The Magical Trip

"Is it okay if we take the Underground, Scorp? I'm not feeling up to a side-along Apparation at the moment."

"Are you alright, Father? You look a bit pale."

"I'm fine. Just not feeling great. I'm sorry, Scorp, but the quicker we get this over with, the better."

The two wizards entered the Bethnal Green Tube station, where the escalators carried them down into the sticky depths of subterranean London. As they rode west into town Draco thanked Merlin they had left the house slightly later than planned and had missed the disgusting rush hour crush of bodies. He was starting to feel really unwell and strangely claustrophobic. He glanced at the station they'd pulled into: Liverpool Street. They had only gone one stop!? How was this possible? He felt like they had been on the hot, stuffy train for hours.

Draco stood and paced the carriage, fanning his t-shirt away from his torso to try and cool down. He was sweating like a pig and was beginning to feel incredibly stressed. He rolled up his sleeves, for once not caring about hiding the Dark Mark. He glanced up again: St Paul's. Only three more stops. He felt faint and sat back down, but then stood up as the anxious writhing in his stomach became too much to bear. What the fuck is happening to me?! I need to get off this train, I can't take it any longer!

"Scorpius, we need to get off, now. Stop the train! I think-"

"Father, it's still moving, you can't stop it!" Scorpius was wide-eyed with concern. "What's wrong? You look awful!"

Draco shook his head and wiped the sweat off his upper lip. Was he having a panic attack? The train was lurching, grinding to a halt. Juddering slowly down the line. A piercing announcement. His stomach twisted. The heat was rising. People were looking. Really staring.

Finally. Freedom. Draco rushed through the doors, gulping down air, heart thundering in his ears. Get away from the Muggles. He leant his head against a wall, trying to calm down, slow his breathing. The coolness of the tiles seeped into his forehead. Scorpius's hand was rubbing his back and he almost shrugged it off, but no - it helped. Slowly, but surely, his breathing returned to normal and with it came a completely unexpected feeling of serenity.

"Keep doing that, Scorpius - it feels amazing." He revelled in the touch and took deep breaths in and out, over and over. With each breath he felt as if his body was filling with a beautiful peaceful feeling, calming down one limb at a time and making each feel weightless and cloud-like. He stood up straight and smiled down at Scorpius.

"Father -" Scorpius paused and took in that wide smile with confusion.

Draco held out a hand and cupped his chin, stroking his cheek with a thumb. He still feels as soft as when he was a baby.

Scorpius frowned, swiped at the hand and took a step back. "Father -" he tried again, but Draco interrupted.

"Shush Scorpius! Can't you feel it?" Something is happening, we must have been put under a powerful spell!" He beamed, feeling this incredible magic rushing through his body. "I feel like... I feel like nothing bad can ever happen to us again! It must be some kind of being - the opposite of a dementor! An angel, perhaps."

"What are you talking about!? I can't feel anything! What's happening to you?" Scorpius said in distress.

But Draco was not listening; he was caught up in his thoughts. Unbelievable, blissful contentment had settled into his very being. He hadn't felt this happy in years, since before Azkaban. Years and years, or even, ever? Maybe when his son had been born? Maybe when he had woken up one day and allowed himself to reciprocate Astoria's love for him? But nothing could compare. He felt like he was having an epiphany. He didn't want to be anywhere else in the world than standing on this platform with Scorpius.

Suddenly, the thought of casting a patronus came to Draco like a ray of sunshine. After a botched attempt when he was fifteen,Draco had never attempted one again, thinking that he probably just wasn't capable of it. Now though, not only did he he feel like he would be able to cast one, but that it would probably exist for eternity, forever protecting him and Scorp. He excitedly drew his wand, raised it, and -

"FATHER! What are you doing! Put it away! Muggles could be around!" Scorpius's frantic voice cut through his thoughts and he looked down, distracted.

"Oops! Sorry! I forgot for a minute where we are!" Draco giggled.

"Please, Father, one minute I thought you were going to faint, and now you're acting really weird and happy!? What's going on?" Scorpius said, clearly upset.

Draco forgot about the Patronus. He focused on his son's little face and felt his heart breaking with love. He sat on a bench and gathered Scorpius in his arms. He felt absolutely perfect.

"I don't know what's happening to me Scorp, but I do know that I love you so much. I am so lucky to have you." He pulled away and gazed into his son's concerned blue eyes, exactly like Astoria's.

"Dad, you look a bit like Grandma..."

Draco laughed again, realisation hitting him. Oh, it made perfect sense! "Scorp, you have nothing to worry about. I think I may have taken one too many of Grandma's calming draft pills. They seem to be quite strong!"

"Please stop stroking my hair."

"Sorry! It's just so soft..."

"Father, I think you're on drugs." Scorpius said, slowly.

"What! Muggle drugs?" He said in surprise.

Scorpius nodded solemnly.

Draco couldn't believe the muggles had invented something like this! They were geniuses! Every bad thought he'd ever had about them was completely wrong. If this was science, then Hermione Granger was right and every witch and wizard was missing out. He repeated this thought to his son, who finally broke into a funy looking smile and shook his head.

Scorpius realised at that point, with terrible clarity, that it was up to him to look after his father - yet again. His dad had been doing so well recently, excepting a few missed mornings due to his 'moods,' or a day or two with empty cupboards.

Scorpius took his father's hand, picked up the bag of his grandmother's belongings, and slowly led them towards the platform that would take them home. He had gotten so close to the wizarding world this time. He blinked hard, desperately fighting the prickling of tears in his eyes and tried not to think about all the magical shops he had been dreaming of all summer. Not that he had any money, but just to look around would have been amazing.

What was wrong with his father? Why couldn't he just be normal, for once? It was just so unfair. Scorpius knew his dad had been through a lot of damaging things, but it wasn't just this. It was just that he was so clueless about everything. Scorpius guessed that this was what happened if you grew up with servants, went to boarding school, and then just straight off to prison. It had taken Scorpius a long time before he felt like he could let Draco get on with being the parent, although he had never stopped worrying.

Today was just another example of just how naïve his father was. Scorpius knew that Draco had an abstract notion of the dangers of Muggle drugs, but - as with everything to do with Muggles - he never assumed that it would be a danger or threat to him, a pure-blood wizard.

Of course, Scorpius knew of the dangers only too well - he had seen the homeless addicts bumming around the estate and been witness to dealing and the crime that went with it. They always had the same desperate, deadened look in their eyes and it repulsed him. Scorpius wanted to achieve too much in his life to ever be like that. He could not pretend his father's prejudices against Muggles did not have certain advantages, though. He would not have gotten away with half of the stuff he did if his father was actually paying attention to any of the people on the estate.

Meeting his mates had resulted in an incredible learning curve for Scorpius. Apart from discovering that despite his grandparents' bigotry, he had learnt his mother had been right and wizards were not actually that different from Muggles. He also had learnt how to fit in and make friends, how to have someone's back in a fight and how to ensure that he did not go to bed hungry, which was often a risk with Draco when his father was having a bad spell. Scorpius had started off as a distraction to the intended victim or a lookout when the others were doing the actual shoplifting, but had soon graduated - he was a very fast learner. The only problem now was that the older boys had started to notice just how unusually talented he was at getting out of impossible situations. Scorpius did not feel bad about stealing if it meant he could eat dinner (every time his father unsubtly sent him out of a shop or cafe to 'pay,' i.e., wipe the memory of the owner, he felt less and less guilty at his own life of crime), but he did feel horribly uncomfortable about the other stuff they were starting to ask him to do.

Scorpius knew he was getting in too deep, but it already felt too late to back out, to go back to a normal life and pretend he had never done anything wrong. He did not even know if were possible, if the others would even let him. It was why he had wanted to go to Hogwarts so badly. It had been his dream; a lifeline out of the ocean of lies and deception he had lost himself in. But now that dream was dead; Scorpius guessed that he would have to work something else out.

He felt terrible about lying to his father, but there was no way he could tell him the truth. Although it was kind of his dad's fault, the idea of him finding out about his son's double life made Scorpius feel utterly wretched. Draco was just so trusting, and thought so highly of him.

The other day, after their meal at the diner, he nearly had been found out. It had been too close, so close that Scorpius believed that it was the end. But of course his father had believed him when he lied about how involved with those boys he really was. He was just that naïve.

Scorpius squeezed his eyes shut against the tears that were blurring his vision and felt like the oldest eleven-year-old in the world. A longing for his simple life with his mum welled up so desperately it hurt. Although what would she think of him now? Scorpius, the occasionally blood-prejudiced wizard and Shawn, the part-time muggle criminal, both influenced and led by whoever was closest. He needed to be stronger, had to be.

"Where are you taking us, Scorp? Don't you want to get your wand?" Draco asked in surprise, interrupting him from his hopeless thoughts. "Hey, are you crying? Why are you upset, love? What's wrong?"

"Well, we can't go to Diagon Alley with you like this! We need to go home, you might get into trouble," he said, his voice wavering. His dad enveloped him in another tight hug. Scorpius relaxed slightly, despite himself.

"Don't be silly! I feel completely wonderful, nothing bad will happen to us today! You have my word. Please don't cry. I'm sorry this is happened, but really, I'll look after you," Draco promised.

Scorpius choked out a dry laugh at the irony. Although... maybe they could get away with it. Maybe he could still get his wand? His mind, used to thinking up strategies to pull off the seemingly unobtainable, thought it through. Get in, get to the antique shop, then to the wand shop and back home, then it may be possible not to bump into too many people. He thought longingly of the other shops he desperately wanted to visit, but pushed the thought away - they needed to focus on what was important.

"Okay, but you promise to let me do the talking?" he said, wiping his eyes.

"Yes, Scorp! You are amazing, of course you will!"

They exited the station, Scorpius still gently guiding Draco by the hand. Despite his worrying, it was pretty funny to see his usually so-serious father dazedly smiling at any Muggle who crossed their path. He listened to Draco natter away about nonsense and decided that he was not going to let this spoil his big day. So what if his dad was high? At least he had a dad who was taking him to get his first wand. As they neared the Leaky Cauldron and it popped into view, Scorpius felt his heart soar. It was actually happening! He rushed them through to the courtyard at the back, not looking up at the old man behind the bar or any of the other customers. He vaguely recalled it from his childhood, but not quite well enough to open the passage himself.

"Father, can you get out your wand and do the thing?" he asked.

Draco gave him a wide smile, drew his wand and tapped a series of bricks. Scorpius watched, committing the motions to memory. A small opening appeared, and the bricks began to break apart in their seamless, ancient routine. Scorpius led Draco through the archway and into the hustle and bustle of Diagon Alley. He finally allowed a smile to break across his face and looked up at his dad, who gave another right back.

They began to wander up the cobblestone road. Scorpius, like thousands of eleven-year-olds before him, was instantly side-tracked from his mission by the wealth of distractions the shops were offering. There was Quality Quidditch supplies! He was proud to note though that thanks to his Greengrass grandparents, he already had the beautiful broom in the window and so passed it by without a second glance. And here was the bright orange, famous Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes! He had been longing to go in there. His grandparents had never allowed it; pronouncing it an 'unsuitable establishment' for someone like him. Now, Scorpius stopped walking and lingered at the window, gazing unreservedly at a small boy his own age chatting to a red-haired man with one ear at the counter. Maybe that was the famous George Weasley? The Gryffindor whose wild pranks featured in many of the stories his mum had told him about her school days.

Suddenly the man looked up and caught Scorpius' eye. Crap. Scorpius shrank away and tugged his dad along with him further up the road. Rule number one when doing a job was don't get distracted, and he had already failed. He looked at the surrounding witches and wizards. Maybe it was his imagination, but did it look like they were already drawing attention to themselves? Did he just see someone point at them? Another witch glanced blatantly around and then whispered loudly to her friend. Was his father really this infamous? Scorpius felt uneasy and shook his dad's hand to get his attention from whatever day dream he was entertaining. "Father. Dad! How do we get to Knockturn Alley?"

"We need to keep going. It's up on the left in a bit," he replied dazedly.

"And how much did you want for Grandma's things?"

Draco thought for a bit before answering. At least he's mellowed out a bit and isn't being so over the top any more, Scorpius thought.

"Maybe fifty Galleons? I'm not sure really..." he answered anxiously.

Scorpius looked up at him. Draco seemed little fearful all of a sudden. "I'm not sure... I'm not sure I can do it, Scorp." His wide eyes gazed down at his son, who squeezed his hand back in reassurance and offered him a the biggest, most confident smile he could muster.

"Don't worry, Father, I've got this."

Scorpius led his father through the faded door of Borgin and Burkes and took in a deep breath for courage. Entering Knockturn Alley had been a little like going into a dark wood on a summer's day; just like going into his grandma's house a few days before. It felt a little colder and wilder, as if danger skirted just behind the shadows of doorways and seemingly innocuous shop windows. It only made Scorpius stand a little straighter though. It was kind of like being on one of the neighbouring estates of a rival gang, nothing he could not handle, and so he entered the antique shop with the determination of someone who knew how to get their own way.

"Mr Malfoy! What a surprise! What an... honour, that you would grace us with your presence after so many years of absence!" A squat, ugly old man stepped out from behind the counter and rushed to meet them.

He offered a limp hand to Draco, who shook it while looking incredibly skittish. The man then offered his hand to Scorpius. He took it, wincing slightly at how cold and clammy it was, and noted with offence the way the man's eyes were raking up and down his clothes in obvious disgust. Scorpius shoved his hand into the pocket of his tracksuit bottoms and wiped it on the inside, trying to dry off the old man's sweat. He had worn his favourite clothes for this occasion, something he had lifted from JD Sports a couple of months ago. Who did this shopkeeper think he was to give him such a dirty look?

"So, Mr Malfoy, are you buying or selling today?" the man inquired in an oily voice, walking back around the counter. Scorpius shot a look at his dad, trying to communicate that he should let him do the talking. Draco stared back with his wide eyes and nodded.

"We're selling, Mr...?" Scorpius said, smoothly. The man's eyes flashed on his and they appraised him, beadily.

"I am Mr Borgin. And you are of course Master Scorpius Malfoy," he identified him, with a nasty yellow smile.

Scorpius tried to keep his cool. Just like dealing with anyone else. Doesn't matter that he's some creepy old dark wizard who somehow already knows my name.

"My father and I would like to sell these items. They are incredibly valuable, and have been in the Malfoy family for generations," he drawled, trying to sound like his dad. He desperately hoped he was saying the right things with the right kind of voice. He could not allow this shopkeeper to detect the weakness he no doubt expected. Scorpius opened the bag on the floor and began to pull out the items, carefully setting them on the desk.

"I shall be the judge of their value, Master Malfoy," Borgin said quietly, thin fingers examining each in turn.

Scorpius felt his dad's hands squeeze his shoulders and heard his voice whisper in his ear, almost too quietly to be heard: "Please be quick Scorp, I hate it in here..."

"No dark pieces I see, young man, but of course, your family lost all of those to the Ministry, did you not? Such a shame," Borgin continued, his eyes roving between the antiques and Scorpius.

He did not know how to respond to this, so instead plowed ahead. "We would like seventy Galleons for the lot."

Mr Borgin let out a harsh laugh. "Your son is quite a chip off the block. Isn't he, Mr Malfoy?"

Draco cleared his throat nervously.

Borgin raised an eyebrow. "Or perhaps not... Perhaps the boy takes after the late, great, Lucius Malfoy? Yes, despite appearances, I rather think he does."

Again, Scorpius was not sure what the man was insinuating, so held his head a little higher and ignored him. "Seventy galleons or we'll go somewhere else."

Borgin's eyes hardened from their confused flickering between father and son, and the bartering began in earnest.

Scorpius and Draco left the shop ten minutes later and fifty five Galleons richer. Scorpius felt incredible, like a enormous weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

Draco was awestruck, rubbing his hands up and down his son's shoulders, and showering him with his own special brand of nonsensical praise. "You're like a pineapple!" he exclaimed.

Scorpius burst out laughing. "What!?"

"Yes! I mean, you were in there! Hard and tough on the outside, but I know you're sweet and lovely in the middle." Scorpius shook his head ruefully. "Don't worry Scorp, most of the time you're like... a peach. Soft and fuzzy on the outside!"

"Da-ad! Please shut up!" he said with a bashful smile, embarrassed despite no one being around to hear.

The feeling of proud accomplishment only intensified after they emerged later on from Ollivander's, with his brand new wand box clutched protectively in a bag to his chest. The feeling the wand had given him had been indescribable. Like a whispered promise of a powerful future, where he didn't have to pretend to be someone he wasn't any more, but could be a somebody. He had practised a few basic spells on his dad's wand during their lessons, but it had never been like that. Scorpius had felt his very soul brush up against something immense and wild and ancient, and the rush it had given him was incredible. Riding this high and dreaming about the future, Scorpius forgot again about his responsibility to his father to get them back out to Muggle London inconspicuously, and they wandered slowly back down the alley, both lost in their own little worlds.

"It can't be..." Draco whispered, suddenly pulling them both to a stop.

With a start, Scorpius realised he recognised the boy walking towards them. He had been the one in the Weasley's joke shop. Now, he was deep in conversation with a man that looked like he could be his father; they had the same shaped face and messy mop of black hair.

"Who is it, Father?" he said, nervously.

"It is! It's him! It's him! The-Man-Who-Lives!" Draco exclaimed loudly.

People were beginning to look, but the man and his son still had not noticed them. If it was one of his dad's old friends, perhaps they could still avoid them? "Father, is it someone you know? We need to get away! Turn around, quickly!"

But Draco was not listening to him. Instead he took a step forwards and shouted down the street to the two wizards. "Oi, Scarhead! SCARHEAD!"

Scorpius cringed behind him, feeling powerless as the black-haired man looked up sharply, an incredulous look breaking on his face.

"Scorp, it's Potter! It's only bloody Harry Potter!" his dad announced.