- 3 -

A long time ago, when Scorpius was still a child who clung to his father's hand, he made a visit to Diagon Valley. It had been a sunny day at the beginning of summer, when England had just begun to warm up, and a light breeze ruffled at the rose petals in the garden. Maybe Father had been lulled into a false sense of security—what could go wrong a day like that? Or maybe the weather had swept in a wave of nostalgia, that yearning for simpler times of boyhood, when he could run down cobblestone streets and wreak havoc with his friends without a care in the world, confident that his fathercould settle all his problems. Or maybe he just needed to browse at the apothecary. Whatever his motives, Draco Malfoy had succumbed to his son's wide-eyed pleas with an indulgent if exasperated smile on his thin lips and had tugged the boy along for an impromptu trip.

Young Scorpius found wizarding London every bit as fascinating as he had always imagined. His light blue eyes roamed the windows of dingy shops that lined its old streets with endless wonder, Eyelop's Owl Emporium being a personal favorite. And for a boy who's been sequestered in an old Mansion for most his life, the witches and wizards of Diagon Alley were captivating. The weather made it all the lovelier, and Father looked more excited than he's ever appeared before.

But then, someone noticed them. Maybe it was their hair, or the quality of their robes, or the way they carried themselves. There were whispers. Is that? Are they? Surely they wouldn't dare? But the hair, and that face—And soon, wherever Scorpius turned his head, the witches and wizards stared back. Father held his hand tighter.

The flash of a lightbulb went off. A reporter jumped out of nowhere. Mister Malfoy, I presume? Where have you been all these years? Is this your son? Do you still carry the mark? Mr. Malfoy! Mr. Malfoy!

More onlookers gathered, jostling, jeering. Scorpius clutched at Father's robes. When he looked up, he saw that Father's face was no longer smiling and he heard him mutter under his breath something about how people never change and how he was a fool for thinking they would.

Then a plop, followed by dizziness, and they were back at the Manor. The day was still as beautiful as it had started, but nothing was the same. Mother fluttered helplessly, her relentless cheer dampened by Father, who stomped past her in a fit of rage. Scorpius began to cry in earnest.

Later that night, Father sat by Scorpius in bed. He was full of apologies—no, Scorpius, it's not your fault, I would never be angry with you.

"Not even when I dropped my bowl of pudding on your best robes?" Scorpius asked through his sniffles.

"Well...that's rather different," said the elder Malfoy with a resigned grin. "The state of my robes is a serious matter indeed." But then he drew Scorpius into a tight hug and said quietly, "Scorpius, listen carefully. I made many mistakes when I was younger. That's why those wizards were mad at me-us-today."

"You? Made mistakes?" Because it was hard to imagine Father making any mistakes, ever.

Father chuckled. "Yes, I make them too. And they were terrible mistakes. So terrible that other witches and wizards might never forgive me, and that would only be what I deserve. But you, Scorpius, you don't deserve any of that, because you haven't done anything wrong. Yet still, they might not give you a chance either."

"You mean they might be angry at me? But why?"

"Because you are my son."

"Oh..." Scorpius murmured sleepily, confused. "But that...that doesn't seem fair, Father."

"It isn't," Draco agreed with a sad smile, the same one that Scorpius would see again many years later, on Platform 9 3/4. "But we can't help what others think. We can only be try to be fair ourselves and try to forgive others. Maybe only then will others learn to forgive us."

Scorpius wasn't sure what that meant, but he was tired and he was glad that Father wasn't angry, so he nodded as if he understood. In later years, from time to time, he would sometimes think of those words and wonder if they're true.

~a~

~a~

~a~

The next time Hufflepuff has potions with Slytherin, Scorpius takes a deep breath and plunges to the front of the room before Jonathan has the opportunity to sprint away.

Albus Potter stares at him in shock, and Scorpius feels ridiculously proud of himself, even though his hands are trembling from nerves. "Hello Al."

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Albus asks impatiently.

"Er. I. I thought we'd work together again. Because it went so well last time."

"Did it now?" Albus's green eyes are wide with disbelief and Scorpius wishes he'd come up a better explanation. "So well that you concluded that I was a complete arsehole?"

"Um. Yes well, about that." Scorpius smiles nervously. "Well, you are. But you're rather good at potions. Now, shall I get the supplies or you? Everyone else's found their partners already, you see. So I think we're stuck together after all."

Scorpius was grateful that looks couldn't actually kill.

"So you're using me, is that it?"

"What's that?"

Their roles had reserved. Albus, evidently having acquired a better understanding of Scorpius's potions skills, or lack thereof, had taken the reigns from the start, shooing Scorpius to the sidelines. With little else to do, Scorpius contends himself with reading the instructions out loud while Albus prepares the ingredients.

Albus eyes Scorpius suspiciously, even as he continues taking meticulous measurements.

"You've latched onto me because you've realized how appalling your potions skills are and how amazing mine are. And you're using me to obtain a better grade for yourself."

Scorpius rolls his eyes. "That's such a Slytherin thing to think, Al Potter. Here, let me stir, I can do that much."

But Albus stops him before his wand progresses even a centimeter.

"Counter clockwise, Malfoy," Albus bites out through gritted teeth and with clear exasperation. "Don't you know what that means!"

"Oh," Scorpius blinks innocently. "Missed that."

Albus lets out a deep sigh, no doubt mimicking adults in his life, and takes over once more.

"Anyway," Scorpius says, pushing back a strand of his bright hair. "I'm not using you. I promise."

Albus raises a brow: "I beg to differ—"

"—Really! I just thought this would be good for both of us. I mean, no one wants to work with us anyway—"

"—For different reasons, obviously—"

"—For whatever reason. So we might as well work together." A pause. "And you are good at potions. We can easily advance to the top of the class! That'll show them, don't you think?"

Albus looks less impressed than Scorpius ahd hoped.

"Malfoy, I can advance to the top of class with or without your help. What's in it for me?"

"Oh. Well. My company?" Scorpius offers with a tentative smile.

Albus snorts, but Scorpius ignores that.

"Anyway, I think it's silly that people avoid you just because you speak to snakes. I find it rather cool..." Scorpius trails into silence when he sees that Albus has stopped stirring and is staring at him with hardened, green eyes. His nerves return and he wonders if he's said something terribly wrong.

"You pity me," Albus states coldly.

"No, that's not it at all—" Scorpius tries to insist.

"—Don't disgust me, Malfoy," Albus interrupts. "As if I'd ever want pity from the likes of you."

Scorpius blinks several times as he processes Albus's words, and when he does, he's sure that he's never wanted to kick someone so much in his life. But he refrains and settles with a groan of frustration. "Albus Potter, you're impossible, you know that! People are fools for disliking you just because you know parseltongue. They're fools because there are so many other, better reasons to dislike you, like the fact that you're a completely insufferable prick—"

"—Ahem!"

Scorpius starts. "—Professor."

Scorpius offers a weak smile at Slughorn's raised brow. Albus says nothing, only moving aside so the professor could observe their bubbling cauldron.

"Ah yes," Slughorn murmurs, "Excellent as always." He peers doubtfully at Scorpius though. "Perhaps next time, Mister Malfoy might wish to contribute more. Your exams are taken independently, you know."

Scorpius airs out a few dry chuckles and scowls swiftly at Albus after Slughorn glides away. Albus smirks.

"Mind the Professor's words, Mister Malfoy."

"Oh shut up," Scorpius snaps irritably. "I'm sorry I attempted to work with you at all." He thinks to himself about how wrong Father was. Some people don't deserve fairness or forgiveness.

"Right you are," Albus replies. His green eyes twinkle with a rare, genuine mirth, but Scorpius misses it. "But I suppose you could continue working with me, until I tire of you. You're rather amusing, if nothing else."

"Albus Potter, who do you think you—"

"—But I don't need your pity. And we aren't friends, and never will be," Albus says resolutely. Scorpius glares irritably and mutters under his breath, "That's my line."

~a~

~a~

~a~

"It's rather cold tonight, don't you think, Mrs. N?" Scorpius shivers under his woolen cloak and hugs the old cat closer. "Then again, it is already November. I'll get to see Father and Mother again," he muses. "Only, I wonder if everything will be the same? And what shall I tell them about Hogwarts? Surely they'll complain that I haven't written frequently enough—who's there?"

"Talking to yourself now, Malfoy?"

Scorpius groans quietly after he quells his disappointment. Wrong Potter, as always, though he has all but given up on a run-in with James.

"What are you even doing here at this hour, Al?"

Albus shrugs and catches up to him. "You're not the only one allowed to roam the halls. I was hungry. Also, don't call me that, Malfoy."

"Don't call you what, Al?" Scorpius asks petulantly. He only quavers slightly when Albus fastens his intense green eyes upon him; Scorpius considers this a triumph.

But Al only repeats: "We're not friends."

"Obviously."

Their words lack in malice but neither points that out.

"Aren't you afraid of getting caught by Filch?" Scorpius asks after a moment's pause. "Why didn't you borrow your brother's cloak?"

"Please. As if I need to borrow anything from my dimwitted brother. No one wanders these halls at this hour except you."

"Hey, James isn't—wait a minute. How'd you know that?"

"Know what?"

"That I'd be the only one out here? Everyone thinks Filch is still up and monitoring, or the prefects, or the ghosts—" Scorpius peers at Albus suspiciously.

"—I have a special ma...special ability, as you know. I ask the snakes."

Albus dons a crooked smile. A shiver runs down Scorpius's spine; he finds the smile rather sinister.

"And they know...the snakes, that is...they tell you where everyone else?"

"Sure. Everything." The smile grows. "Better watch your back, Malfoy."

By the time Scorpius finds out about the Marauder's Map, it's years later and this conversation's been long forgotten.

But for the moment, he quiets down and studies his surroundings with a mix of skepticism and fear, because what if it's true? You can never tell with Albus Potter, he thinks. The two boys walk side by side in distrustful silence.

But as the silence grows, Scorpius slowly comes to realize that it's not as uncomfortable as he would have imagined. Or at least, it's marginally better than when they're arguing; a silent Albus is a more tolerable Albus. He's almost sorry when the silence is broken upon their entering the kitchen when a million house elves stop mid-motion and bustle over, squealing after Master Potter.

"At least you're popular with the house elves," Scorpius muses after they seat themselves before a table stacked high with food.

"It's because I look like my father."

"Hmm." Scorpius helps himself to a pumpkin pastry, which reminds him of James. "You don't look anything like your brother though."

"James takes after Mum," Albus replies shortly. "And how do you eat that? They're disgusting. Only fools like James eats those."

"They're not!" Scorpius retorts defensively. "Quite good, actually. If a bit sweet."

Albus grimaces. "Then you're a fool too."

Scorpius frowns and takes another bite of his pastry, making sure to exaggerate his delight as he chews. Albus resists the bait and bites into a piece of plain toast.

"Why don't you like James anyway? Everyone else likes him. Even Rose Weaseley, and she thinks everyone's beneath her."

"They're all fools," is Albus's answer. He says it with a roll of his eyes, as if this should be readily apparent. "Especially Rose. Anyway, why do you keep talking about him?"

"I think he's nice, that's all."

"...Is that so? Then you're no different from everyone else."

Albus's gaze has turned glacial again and Scorpius shifts uncomfortably. He decides that, though he does like James, he'd refrain from mentioning it. Suffering Albus's ire more than necessary seems an unappealing prospect.

"You know," Scorpius ventures after the moment of discomfort drags on longer than desirable. "This is the first time I've eaten with someone."

"What? You mean to say you've never eaten with anyone?"

"Well, not...I mean, it's the first time I've eaten with someone I know who isn't Mother or Father or Grandma Cissa," Scorpius explains. "Who's my own age, that is. And who isn't Hufflepuff, though I don't really know them, so I guess they don't count."

He would've preferred to say that it's the first time he's eaten with a friend his own age, but he remembers that they aren't friends at all.

"Anyway, it's nice," he finishes.

"Is it?" Albus queries. "I've always wanted to eat alone."

Scorpius has to fight a scowl from his face. "Is that so? Shall I just leave then?"

"No, I mean..." For the first time, Albus hesitates. "Sometimes it's a luxury, you know," he clarifies, slowly, as if he doesn't quite know how to explain it. "To not have to be one among many. It must be nice, to be an only child."

Scorpius blinks. It's a strange proposition. In fact, he's always wanted a brother, maybe one like James. Albus takes in Scorpius's blank stare and says, "Never mind. You wouldn't understand."

He gets up from the seat, stretches, and walks towards the door. "I like to eat by the statue of Artemis in the side courtyard. It's quieter there."

Then he strolls out leisurely and leaves Scorpius to gape after him.

"What in the world...? Do you suppose that was an invitation to eat with him?"

Mrs. Norris mews daintily with a yawn.

~a~

~a~

~a~

The rest of the term, all one and a half month of it, passes by quickly. It takes Scorpius a week to find the statue Albus refers to, and though Albus insists that no, you were never invited, Scorpius decides that it's a rather nice spot, even if it's a bit cold. And anyway, he doesn't really believe Albus, because he knows that Albus makes sure to cast a warming charm that covers them both. (Really, Malfoy, not even a basic warming charm? Are you actually a squib? How are you terrible at everything?)

Scorpius's marks improve after he gives up wandering the halls at night. (Albus tries to take credit for his higher potions marks, and Scorpius lets him have it because after all, it's mostly true.) And the other Hufflepuffs no longer glance at Scorpius with suspicion, having come to the conclusion that he's relatively harmless, though none of has approached him yet. He supposes that's alright, since he's now successfully made a non-friend.

Soon enough, they've clambered back aboard the Hogwarts Express and were rollicking back to London.

They're almost at the station and Scorpius has just bitten into his third chocolate frog—Father doesn't let him have any at home, he explains to a skeptical and slightly put-off Albus—when the door to their compartment slides open and in walks James Potter.

"Hullo, little brother," the elder Potter says cheerfully and he plops down besides the younger. Then, with a smile to Scorpius, "And hello, Scorpius."

Scorpius blinks in surprise. The easy grin, the friendly brown eyes, the mere acknowledgement—all things Scorpius had craved so exigently just weeks before. But it's December now; his encounter with James Potter had faded to a dim memory, and his thoughts are fully occupied by the things he could've or should've said in retort to mean Albus. That James Potter would suddenly appear on the last minutes of the last day of the term is completely unexpected. An embarrassed blush spreads over his pale skin as he struggles to swallow his mouthful of sticky chocolate. "Hello...James."

Al is less enthused. He doesn't look at James at all, instead electing to stare out the window. "What do you want?" he asks sullenly.

"Can't I come say hi?"

"Haven't all term. Why start now?"

James frowns but looks a bit guilty. "It's not that I didn't want—I just thought you'd like...some space. That's all. That you'd be embarrassed to be seen with your older brother all the time, you know? I'm sorry you've had a hard time with the Slytherins."

Al shrugs. "Okay."

Scorpius glances between the two brothers; he thinks he can touch the tension-it's so tangible—and he's thankful when the train finally slows to a stop. He lurches quickly to his feet and grabs his trunks, waiting for the Potters to do the same.

Albus stands leisurely and follows Scorpius's leads. To James, he says: "Won't you get my trunks, Jamie? It'll show Mum and Dad what a wonderful boy you are." Then he pushes past Scorpius and walks out the door.

James frowns again, but smiles when he catches Scorpius looking at him. "It's alright, I'll just shrink them. I don't mind at all."

Scorpius isn't sure what to say so he waits patiently and walks out with James. As they amble along the corridor—Albus having made his escaped—James turns to Scorpius and says, "Hey, thanks for...you know. Being with Albus."

Scorpius makes a face and James laughs. "Yeah, I know. He's pretty difficult, and we don't always get along at home. But I think he likes you. Or he tolerates you more than he tolerates most people."

"Oh."

Then they're on the platform.

The platform bustles with people, as always. Eager parents scoop up young children and shed tears of joy; friends bid each other goodbye and happy holidays. Scorpius spots his Father and Mother's bright hair and his heart swells with excitement. He runs to their side and is happily swept into Father's arms. He realizes with some measure of relief that nothing's changed at all.

It's only after Mother finishes showering him with kisses that he remembers Albus. But by then, Albus is already walking away with his own large family. He straggles behind the other children, who crowd around the Weaseley adults, and walks silently alongside Harry Potter, who looks tired and frazzled, though Scorpius can see him smiling down at Albus even from the distance. Albus seems to sense Scorpius's stare and he stares back with his usual crooked smile that appears just slightly sinister. Scorpius rolls his eyes and gives him a wave.

He then catches sight of James waving at him from the corner of his eye, so he waves back with a pleased smile though he's slightly unsettled when he sees Mrs. Potter purse her lips in an expression of distrust. He feels Father's hand on his shoulder tighten as he gives a small nod of acknowledgement to Mr. Potter, who nods back just as tersely.

Then they're off to the Manor—Father, Mother, and himself—and Scorpius couldn't be happier. He's already thinking of the terrible presents he can mail to Albus.