1

''Pick your battles with care, Scorpius,'' his father said, expression calm but strict. Scorpius’ tears appeared to – once again - have no effect on him, and Scorpius tried to understand what he meant through the haze of his temper tantrum. ''A Slytherin never makes a scene over something as petty as a sweet. Do you remember what I said before?''

Scorpius thought hard, wiping away the tears – half anger, half feigned – and tried to calm himself. ''When you say no, I should ask Mother instead?''

His father laughed. ''Excellent. Not quite what I said, but I see you have learned an important lesson. Subtle means always work better than a full-frontal attack.''

Scorpius didn’t really understand what Father meant, but he was already working on getting fresh tears to spring to his eyes. They affected Mother in quite a different way to Father. He could already taste the sweets on his tongue.

Scorpius tried not to look interested as the youngest male Potter – Albus Severus apparently (the old-fashioned, dignified name sounding pretty stupid when applied to someone with such messy hair) – picked up the Sorting Hat, his face screwed up and tense, and placed it on his head. The kid looked remarkably like his famous father, and was - going by all available evidence – no doubt going to be just as irritating. Although Scorpius had already reserved a particular place in his list of new enemies for the red-haired James, whose Weasley blood and bad manners were already obvious from the way he kept glaring in Scorpius' direction, totally without reason.

Scorpius had spent many hours that summer poring over the books of wizarding heritage and blood-lines to decide which students would be worthy of his friendship. His father had, surprisingly, been a little disapproving of this, but Scorpius was a Malfoy, was he not? He could feel the weight of the generations of pure-bloods behind him, ready to judge him and his conduct. The name of Malfoy had been shamed, tarnished in the last war, and Scorpius was more than aware that it was up to him - the sole heir of the Malfoy line - to make things right. He just wasn’t sure how, as yet.

Scorpius leant forward slightly. The kid looked like he was going to wet himself. Scorpius smirked. What was he so terrified about? Any son of Potter, who was, after all, the Gryffindor poster child, would obviously be sorted with his fellow lions. Just as he, Scorpius, had been sorted into Slytherin just a few minutes ago, following in the footsteps of his father and his father’s father.

''SLYTHERIN!'' the Hat all but screamed.

There was a shocked silence and then the entire school were treated to the sight of a red-faced brat shaking a battered old hat, threatening to tear it to pieces. ''My dad said you’d take my choice into account!'' Albus shouted as he shook the Hat, stamping his feet. ''I don’t want to go to Slytherin. Sort me into Gryffindor or your days are numbered!''

The Hat remained silent but Headmistress McGonagall flicked her wand and it soared out of Albus’ grip and into her own hands.

''Most definitely Slytherin,'' the Hat said, sounding amused.

''See, I told you you weren’t really a Potter,'' James called, and his friends sniggered. ''No Potter would be Sorted into Slytherin. I always said you’d been switched at birth.''

Albus said nothing, but Scorpius noticed how tightly his fingers were curled into fists. His face was pale and his lip was quivering.

''I want to go to Gryffindor, please,'' Albus said to the Headmistress. ''The Hat is wrong.''

The Headmistress looked very kindly. ''I’m sorry, Mr Potter. The Hat has made its decision. Please join your new classmates at the Slytherin table.''

Albus looked undecided for a moment, and then he walked over to the Gryffindor table and sat down, to claps and cheers from his brother and the other Gryffindor students.

In the end he had to be carried, screaming, to the Slytherin table by an awful giant of a man, all hair and dirt, who came much too close to Scorpius for comfort.

Scorpius eyed the Potter kid, blotchy and snotty, with some dislike and a delicious feeling of superiority. Obviously his father hadn’t taught him the right approach to getting your own way. Why make such a fuss when there was nothing that could be immediately done? Scorpius would have kept quiet and then got his father to make a personal visit to the Headmistress to sort things out. He was sure that Potter’s father would have no scruples against doing the same. Wasn’t that what families were for?

''Stop crying,'' he said dismissively, after Albus’ sobs began to get on his nerves. Was he looking for comfort? From Slytherins? If so, he’d be waiting a long time. If they were crocodile tears then it was wasted water and effort. No-one was around who’d pay them the slightest bit of attention.

Albus muttered something that sounded rude.

''My name is Scorpius Malfoy,'' Scorpius said, deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt. He saw no reason to make enemies before he’d evaluated Potter’s potential as an ally.

Albus shot him a look of dislike. ''I know who you are,'' he snuffled, and then blew his nose violently on a handkerchief that looked like it had seen better days. ''I just saw you Sorted, remember? I hate you already.''

Scorpius glared at him. How dare he! ''I hate you too. Only I had more manners than to say so.''

Albus smiled, but it wasn’t with any friendliness. ''You just did. Now leave me alone. I don’t talk to boys like you.'' He put his small nose in the air and looked away, still snuffling.

Scorpius itched to hex him into oblivion, but managed to stop himself. He probably shouldn’t know at least half of the curses he could already perform, and he didn’t want to get his father into trouble. At least Potter had stopped that infuriating sobbing. That would have to do for now. In future he would just have to avoid the brat.

But, adding insult to injury, Albus Severus was assigned the bed right next to his. It took a hefty muffling charm – one that he wasn’t even supposed to know yet - to block out the idiot’s sobs that night. Even then, Scorpius had a hard time getting to sleep.


2. ''Only let others see you doing the things you’re good at,'' Father said slowly, after a ten-year-old Scorpius handed him a drawing of Malfoy Manor, done in watercolours. ''Otherwise you leave yourself open to mockery. Do nothing to bring shame or derision upon yourself. This...'' he pursed his lips and looked down at the painting, ''this... art, is all very well if you keep it to yourself, but do not brag about things that you are less than skilled at.''

''Sorry, Father,'' Scorpius said, snatching back the offending watercolour and ripping it up.

His father looked sad for a moment. ''I did not say you should destroy it, Scorpius. Just keep it to yourself.''

But somehow Scorpius never really found the urge to paint again, and when he came across another drawing some months later he’d laughed at what he’d thought was skill, and burned it without a qualm.

Albus Severus was worse than useless at Quidditch, Scorpius thought with some disdain as he watched his housemate wobble and gasp as he attempted to fly in a straight line. It was, he thought, rather pathetic that he was here at the tryouts at all. Surely it was worse than stupid to show yourself up as so bad at something in only your first week at school?

Scorpius watched the stony faces of the older boys around him, and felt the hysterical tension that had his muscles in knots fade a little. He had – as they all had, from the looks of it – expected the progeny of Potter to be highly skilled on a broom. His brother, James, was seeker for the Gryffindor team, so why should Albus be any different?

Now it seemed that he, Scorpius, had a good chance at making Seeker. He didn’t particularly enjoy flying. He was always a bit scared of falling and hurting himself. He did, however, have some skill and – combined with the most expensive broom on the market, and a summer’s tuition from none other than Quidditch champion Victor Krum – there was now no reason why he couldn’t make the team and make his father proud.

Potter really was pathetic, Scorpius thought as Albus swayed, his face red with effort and laughter as he attempted to dodge a Bludger and ended up nearly hanging one-handed off his broom. He had to be helped down by two other grim-faced Slytherins, who preferred their housemates alive, no matter how idiotic and useless they were.

''Oh,'' Albus said when he finally landed, and had thanked his rescuers with enthusiasm. ''That was fun! I’m sure I can do better, if you give me a chance.'' He didn’t look at all embarrassed by his performance, or even seem to notice the disdainful looks of the other Slytherins.

Scorpius would have glared at him, if he hadn’t been able to think beyond the fact that it was now his turn. He wished he thought flying was as fun as Albus seemed to find it.

He kicked off and, after a technically perfect flight, was named Seeker. When he landed, and was patted on the back by a variety of older Slytherins, he thought that he should feel proud, and so he tried his best. But when he glanced over at Albus, who was watching with a kind of wistful expression, he thought - how bizarre - of his watercolour painting of so long ago, before he dismissed the memory with a grimace. He was making his mark on Slytherin house already. He was glorifying the name of Malfoy. He was playing his part. Fun was irrelevant.

When he stumbled across an impromptu game of Quidditch between a mixed group of Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff second years, cheering Albus on as James flew circles around him - both boys almost falling off their brooms with laughter - Scorpius tried not to feel bad that he hadn’t been invited to play. He didn’t want to, anyway.


3. "Make good friends at Hogwarts, but never forget that blood is thicker than water," his father told him during the summer holidays. Then he paused, and his face twisted. ''However much it hurts.''

Scorpius suspected that his father was slightly drunk, but thought it wise not to mention this fact. He was beginning to suspect that his father wasn't quite as wise as he seemed.

"My loyalty is always to you, Sir," Scorpius said, and felt confused when his father winced.

Later, he asked his mother what Father had meant.

"He lost a dear friend during the war," his mother said slowly, "but a dear enemy saved him and his parents from a lot worse."

She refused to say more and, when asked, his father grew cold and refused to speak to Scorpius for a week. Some things, Scorpius learned, are best left to come out in their own time.

At the start of Second Year, Scorpius was pleased to see that his efforts had paid off. He was, to all intents and purposes, the most popular and respected boy in his year in Slytherin House. He was able to pick which students he wanted in his inner circle with just one exception: Potter. Not that he wanted Potter as a friend. Far from it. Sleeping in the bed next to Albus’ every night the previous school year had been quite enough time spent in the irritating boy’s company, thank you very much. All those tears and noisy nightmares. Ugh. He was so… so… open about his emotions. If he was upset then everyone knew about it. It just wasn’t the Slytherin way.

Of course, Albus was rarely in the Slytherin common-room. He only entered the dorms a minute before curfew, jumping fully clothed onto his bed and drawing the curtains. Scorpius hoped that he changed into his pyjamas behind the privacy of the curtains, but then you never could tell. A few of his classmates certainly smelt like they had dubious personal hygiene, so there was no telling, really.

Apparently Albus (who was known universally by the Gryffindor House as ''Al'', a Muggle name if Scorpius had ever heard one), had the password to the Gryffindor common-room and spent the majority of his time there. It was, Scorpius thought heatedly, an insult to the noble traditions of Slytherin house. No, he certainly didn’t want Potter to be his friend, but it irked him to know that if he offered his friendship, the messy-haired Albus would probably laugh in his face.

Instead, Scorpius had to make do with the children of the pure-blooded elite. Which, he supposed, wasn’t much of a hardship. As best friends he’d chosen Gregorius Goyle, the son of an old family friend, and Pallas Zabini. Greg combined impressive bulk with a talent for terrifying Hufflepuffs to brilliant effect, while Pallas was amusing and intelligent – but willing to do as Scorpius told him.

He also had a great deal of time for Circe Bullstrode and Zabini’s sister, Primrose. Circe wasn’t exactly a thing of beauty, what with her lazy eye and acne, but she had a talent for witticisms that often had him almost helpless with laughter. And Primrose? Well she was both charming and beautiful, and although Scorpius didn’t much see her appeal on a physical level, he was amused at the attention she was paid by boys of all houses. The fact that she paid all her attentions to himself was gratifying to his ego and cemented his position as unofficial ''head'' of the Slytherin second years.

Unfortunately, despite scorning Slytherin itself, ''Al'' didn’t have any problem making friends with everyone in the House except Scorpius.

On the first evening back at school, Scorpius stalked into the Great Hall for dinner, only to be greeted by an unpleasant sight. The Gryffindor table was heaving, students from not only Gryffindor but also Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, packed in so tight that some of them looked almost purple from lack of air. The centre of attention was, of course, the messy-haired Al, who was grinning and tossing fragments of bread indiscriminately at his table-mates.

Scorpius sat down at the Slytherin table with a scowl. It really was too much, he thought with asperity. The Houses were separate because they were supposed to be separate. It was tradition. It was right. What the hell was Potter playing at, trying to unite them all? He was a traitor to Salazar and to anyone who wore Slytherin green.

Circe entered the Hall, tripping over her feet and pushing back her untidy hair with a blush and an irritated scowl. Scorpius waved at her, motioning her to sit by him. She started to move towards him but then Al also spotted her. He grinned, shoved dramatically at the person sitting next to him - who laughed, and shoved back - and beckoned her to squeeze in beside him.

Scorpius smirked. Potter would soon learn that true Slytherins were immune to his brand of imbecilic, messy charm.

Circe sat down next to Al.

And when Scorpius - spluttering with rage - attempted to explain to Greg, in detail, with appropriate hand gestures, just why Al Potter was such bad news in all respects, Greg shrugged, and muttered something that could have been ''I think you’re a bit obsessed, mate''.

Scorpius chose not to hear. He knew where his loyalties lay, even if arsewipes like Greg Goyle were willing to betray everything their families stood for. Tradition was everything. Tradition was all.


4. ''Never forget,'' Father said sternly, as he signed Scorpius’ permission form allowing him to go to his first ever school Hogsmeade weekend, just before the start of his third year at Hogwarts, ''that your conduct reflects on your family. Others may be content to let their offspring run wild, but as Malfoys we have standards. You can spend your money as you like, but do not let me hear that you have abused our trust in you.''

Scorpius flushed with bad grace, and scowled. ''It wasn’t my fault that Al Potter picked a fight when we went to pick up my new robes,'' he mumbled. ''He started it.''

Father fixed him with a cold glare. ''Potter or not, no son of mine will humiliate himself in public, do I make myself clear?''

''Yes, Sir,'' Scorpius said, but he had to bite his tongue until he tasted blood to stop himself from arguing. Father was a hypocrite. And Scorpius wasn’t sure how to cope with that.

''Let’s go to the Three Broomsticks,'' Scorpius said airily to Primrose and Circe, who walked arm in arm beside him, Greg and Pallas trailing behind and sniggering at some muttered joke.

Primrose wrinkled her nose and dropped Circe’s arm, sliding her hand through the bend of Scorpius’ right arm and bumping her hip against his. ''Must we? Those awful Potter boys are bound to be in there, and it’ll be crawling with Hufflepuffs. You could take me to Madam Puddifoot’s for tea if you liked,'' she said in a half-whisper, her fingers tightening around his arm in a possessive grip. ''I’ve heard lovely things about it.''

Scorpius tried not to feel repulsed by her. It was flattering the way she acted towards him, not unpleasant, he reminded himself. It took more work not to flinch each time she touched him that way though, and he wasn’t sure why. Her blood was perfectly pure, and her family background entirely suitable for someone of his standing. Probably it was because she was so unsubtle in her attentions, he reasoned. It just wasn’t classy to be so obvious.

''Let’s just pop in and see what it’s like,'' Scorpius said, trying not to snap. ''We’ve got plenty of time, Primsie.'' As he’d hoped, the use of the vile pet name she adored placated her, and she smiled and flicked her hair, snuggling in closer to him.

Circe rolled her eyes and made a hand gesture that indicated that she was going to be violently sick.

Scorpius, trying not to laugh, unwound himself from Primrose as subtly as he could and led the way into the pub.

Inside, it was packed with Hogswarts students. James Potter was sitting at one of the long tables, a glass of Butterbeer in his hand, shouting out numbers gleefully as two Hufflepuff third years attempted to down their drinks in one.

Scorpius wrinkled his nose and looked around. Al was nowhere to be seen. Scorpius couldn’t decide if this was a good or a bad thing. He hadn’t been hoping that Al would be in the pub. Not really. But keeping a close eye on your rivals was always a good idea, in case they did something unexpected. Plus, when Albus was around there was always a good chance that he’d do something idiotic. Scorpius had highly developed pointing and laughing skills, but he always appreciated a chance to hone them further.

''Well, get the drinks in then,'' Scorpius said to Greg, realising to his irritation that he’d been staring at James, who was now pulling a revolting face in his direction. ''I’ll find us a table.''

None was available but, after a few minutes of glaring, a table of impressionable Ravenclaws grew uncomfortable enough to leave.

Then Al walked in. Or, rather, swayed in. Because, to Scorpius’ mixed delight and horror, someone had evidently got him drunk. James was laughing and beckoning him over, and it didn’t take much of a brain to work out whom the culprit was.

Al nearly fell over as he attempted to sit down but managed to fall onto the bench, rather than the floor. He laughed heartily at nothing, and smiled at the Gryffindor girl next to him, his eyes unfocused.

She reached out and - to a chorus of cheers - pulled Al towards her, their lips meeting in a clumsy kiss. Al pulled away, clearly surprised, but then shrugged and laughed, and leant forwards for another go.

Scorpius didn’t mean to watch, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the disturbing sight. Was he watching Al’s first kiss? Scorpius hadn’t kissed anyone yet. Not that he hadn’t had the chance, of course, but he wasn’t interested in kissing just any drunken tart. He had standards, unlike Al.

Kissing looked… Scorpius felt himself reddening, and took a hasty swig of his cold drink. It looked like fun. The two of them certainly seemed to be enjoying themselves. Al’s eyes were screwed shut, his knees pressed hard against the girl’s, his hand tangled in her hair. As they relaxed, their mouths parted slightly and Scorpius caught glimpses of tongue playing against tongue.

To his absolute disgust he realised that he could feel his cock, trapped inside the trousers under his robe, hard against the inside of his thigh. Thank Merlin for loose robes, he thought with no small degree of self-loathing. Honestly, the very idea of getting turned on by one’s enemy kissing a girl who wasn‘t even a Slytherin. There was wrong, there was very wrong and then there was this.

Scorpius looked away from Al and caught James’ eye. He cocked an eyebrow at Scorpius, glanced towards Al and back to Scorpius and… smiled. As if he could read Scorpius’ very thoughts.

The look on James’ face as every goblet in the pub simultaneously rose, emptied themselves on his head and then proceeded to attack him, following him as he fled, yelling, down the street, was worth the subsequent detentions and blistering lecture from his father. So very worth it. Slytherin pride be damned.

He almost didn’t mind that Al had managed to get away with being drunk in public, not even getting a paltry detention or lecture, as far as he could tell.

Almost.


5. ''Father,'' Scorpius said slowly, and waited for him to look up from his paperwork.

''Yes?''

Scorpius had found himself increasingly wondering what exactly his father was doing, spending hours at his desk when he didn’t have a job and Mother ran the household, but he’d never quite found the nerve to ask. Now didn’t feel like the ideal time, either. ''I need your advice.''

''Go on.''

''How do I deal with… with a problem classmate?'' Scorpius asked, not wanting to admit a weakness, but desperately wanting his father’s advice. He was clinging on to his reputation as the head of his Slytherin year by a thread. One more mistake… He tried not to wince. That stupid, ridiculous Al Potter just rattled him, that was all. He couldn’t keep his cool when he was around. Not that he was planning on admitting to his father that he was handling the next generation of Potters as badly as his father had handled the first.

His father stared at him, and his lips quirked into something that wasn’t quite a smile. ''I always found that sarcasm and insults were enough to provoke Potter into violent indiscretions,'' he said and laughed without humour. ''I doubt his sons will prove any different.'' He turned back to his papers, grasping his pen in a way that suggested that the conversation was definitely over.

Scorpius left, feeling determined. Sarcastic insults he could do - and more. This year Potter would pay for the way he made Scorpius feel. His fourth year at Hogwarts would be the best year yet.

Everyone in the Great Hall burst into giggles when Al entered, and he looked confused, his mouth twitching as if he was longing to join in but wasn’t quite sure if it was a good idea or not. ''What?'' he said, squeezing in next to his sister on the Gryffindor table and grinning at her. ''Did I sprout an extra head?''

Lily smiled back and nudged Rose. ''You didn’t look in the mirror this morning, did you?''

Al shook his head, taking the mirror that Rose had fished out of a pocket in her robes and peering at himself.

''My hair’s green,'' he said and frowned, glancing over at the Slytherin table.

Scorpius tried not to react, but he couldn’t help the smug expression that crept over his face. Potter looked absolutely ridiculous - his hair green, his eyes green, his robe edged with green. Like he’d been rolling in grass, or something equally moronic.

He’d also find, when he looked in his school bag, that his quills only worked with green ink. Scorpius was quite proud of that one.

Al caught his eye and Scorpius’ smug smile froze on his lips. Al didn’t look angry. Just… perplexed. His eyes were shadowed with dark circles, and his skin was pale. He evidently hadn’t slept well the night before, and Scorpius wondered how he hadn’t noticed the magic being worked upon him.

''Well, I think you look adorable,'' Lily said, ruffling her brother’s hair and smiling up at him.

There was a chorus of agreement from the girls at the table, and a lot of good-natured eye-rolling from the boys. And that was that.

All in all, Scorpius thought with some irritation, the prank hadn’t gone down quite as well he had hoped. He would just have to try harder next time, that was all.

~#~~#~~#~

The next day, Scorpius decided that Al, still green tinged, had too many possessions. So he took some. Well, all of them, scattering them liberally across the castle.

When Al returned from his nightly trip to mingle with the Gryffindor enemy, he paused and looked first at his bed, and then over at Scorpius.

Scorpius wondered if stealing the sheets, bedclothes and curtains had been overkill, as he struggled to stare back with as bland an expression as he could muster.

Al pressed his lips so tightly together that they went white, and walked out of the dormitory. He didn’t speak, but he shoved his hands deep into his pockets and his back – Scorpius thought – was very expressive.

It took Scorpius some time to fall sleep that night.

~#~~#~~#~

The next day the Gryffindors, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were playing ''hunt for Al’s things'', and Al was grinning like a loon and offering bribes to anyone who tracked something of his down.

Scorpius was maddened to see that Al was wearing a Ravenclaw robe, a Hufflepuff tie and a Gryffindor scarf.

He tried not to grind his teeth when Al didn’t even turn to look at him that night when he entered the dorm, all his things apparently returned to his trunk and his bed newly made by the house elves.

Still, he couldn’t have found the photo album. That was safely concealed in Scorpius’ locked trunk. Al wasn’t going to win this fight quite so easily if he, Scorpius, had anything to do with it.

Nevertheless, Scorpius had an uncomfortable feeling that he was making something of a fool of himself.

~#~~#~~#~

''Where’s my photo album, Scorpius?''

Scorpius looked up from the bread roll that he was shredding between his fingers, and tried not to do anything that would give him away. Al was still amusingly green-tinged around the edges, but his expression was serious and quiet.

''What makes you think I took it?'' Scorpius said, trying to sound sarcastic and cutting. ''You’re always losing your stuff. You’re a disgrace to wizards worldwide.'' He winced. Not quite the height of wit he’d been aiming for.

Al frowned, and then looked… nervous, Scorpius thought with surprise. Al’s tongue flickered out to moisten his lips, and Scorpius couldn’t force himself to look away.

''I gave everyone else stuff for finding my things,'' Al said slowly.

Was that a faint tinge of a blush, rising up his cheeks?

''If you give it back, I’ll give you something in return,'' Al continued.

''Supposing I did have it. What would you give me?''

''Supposing! There’s no supposing, you slimy bastard,'' James Potter interrupted, slinging an arm over Al’s shoulder, who pushed him off.

''What? It’s true,'' James protested. ''He took your stuff for no reason other than that he’s a bastard.''

''Pure-blood, actually,'' Scorpius snapped, ''unlike some.''

''Looking to make something of it?'' James said, raising his voice.

The general chatter in the Hall had died down, and heads began to turn in their direction.

''Just like a Potter to cause a scene,'' Scorpius sneered. ''Blood will out.''

Al flinched, and Scorpius felt his insides shift, almost as if he’d dropped suddenly on his broomstick.

''Will you give it back?'' Al all but whispered.

''I’ll make him give it back, the bleedin’—''

''Look, fuck off will you, James?'' Al interrupted. ''This is my business. I didn’t ask for your help. Scorpius?''

''What will you give me if I give it back?'' Scorpius replied, and then could have kicked himself for admitting that he had the stupid thing.

Al looked, for some unknown reason, even more nervous, and then he grinned suddenly. ''Well, I kissed the girls. If you don’t give me back the album this instant, I’ll kiss you, too. Think of it as an anti-gift; if you give my album back, you won’t be getting something you don’t want.'' He advanced a few steps towards Scorpius and puckered up winningly. ''I’ll count to three.''

Scorpius felt his heart pick up speed. Everyone was watching.

''Fuck off, Potter,'' he said, trying to sound unconcerned. ''Take your germs elsewhere and leave me be. As if I’d be swayed by that pathetic argument. You’re going to have to do a lot better.''

Al laughed, but it didn’t sound there was any malice behind it. He shrugged. ''Fine. You asked for it.''

As Al took a step forward and leaned down, Scorpius felt as if all his limbs had frozen; like he was in some awful body-bind nightmare. He tried to sneer and tell Potter to go screw himself, oh Merlin he tried, but his entire nervous-system seemed to have fused and was preventing his brain from relaying any commands to his body.

The touch of Al’s lips – warm and firm against his – was so disturbingly delicious, so wonderful that Scorpius almost kissed back, before he flinched and Al instantly moved away.

It was, Scorpius thought hysterically, certainly an odd first kiss by anyone’s standards. He had to clasp his hands tightly together under the table to stop them from shaking.

''I still want my album back,'' Al said and laughed.

At least Scorpius thought it had been Al laughing. It could have been James, or any of the other Gryffindors really. All he knew for sure was that he’d been humiliated in public, by the boy who confused him most in the world, the boy whom he hated and admired and loathed and fucking adored – in a complex, contradictory and no doubt highly screwed-up kind of a way - who was his own housemate and so meant to be on his side, and now people were laughing at him.

He’d hexed Al, James and a good few of the laughing idiots before the teachers managed to restrain him, and drag him away to calm down.

Like father, like son, he consoled himself, as the hateful tears rolled down his cheeks in his temporary solitary confinement, and didn’t even know if he was referring to himself or to Al.


6. ''I don’t see why you don’t show off your Dark Mark, Father,'' Scorpius said, trying to provoke his father into showing anger – anything – after Mother had left them both for an international Quidditch player. ''Then people might pay you a little more respect.''

The strength of his father’s fist connecting with his nose came as a surprise.

''I will not hex my own son,'' his father said, his voice low and venomous. ''But if you don’t watch your mouth I’ll give you such a beating that you’ll never forget it.''

Apparently, Scorpius thought, appearances are everything when they’re all you have left.

Scorpius started his fifth year with mixed feelings of desperation and grim determination. He was resolved that this year he would refrain from any and all embarrassing Potter-related incidents, no matter the provocation. The papers that summer had been full of sly hints and barbs about the enmity between the latest generation of the Potters and the Malfoys. It was humiliating beyond belief.

Receiving the letter that named him prefect had been both a surprise and a great relief. Father would never have let him hear the end of it if he hadn’t managed to gain the position. Plus, if he were a prefect then tradition stated that the other fifth year Slytherin prefect would be a girl and not, say, a certain messy-haired irritation.

So the announcement that Al Potter was to be the other fifth year Slytherin prefect? Not such a wonderful surprise.

Still, Scorpius grit his teeth and held out his hand for Al to shake, almost impressed when Al gripped it and smiled slightly at him without malice. Maybe this wouldn’t be so difficult, after all.

~#~~#~~#~

Scorpius was hidden in the book stacks of the library, doing his best to find an elusive textbook for a spot of extra-curricular reading, (it was the O.W.L.s year, after all, and he could do with any help he could get), when he heard voices.

He paused, unwilling to let an opportunity to use his new prefect powers pass him by. Talking was forbidden in the library, and Scorpius crept closer to the source of the whispers, ready to take points.

Then he heard his name, and froze.

''Did you hear about Scorpius’ mum?'' a male voice said, the tone catty and amused.

''Kind of hard not to hear,'' another snorted. Scorpius instantly recognised the voice and his fingers curled tight around his wand. It was James sodding Potter. ''Given how it’s been on the front cover of the Daily Prophet every day for the past two weeks.''

There was a pause. ''She’s got great tits, mind you,'' James continued, and then there was some hearty laughter.

Scorpius felt himself flushing with anger and shame. Wasn’t his family name tarnished enough without his own mother ruining his life?

''I feel sorry for Scorpius,'' someone said quietly.

Scorpius bit his lip so hard that he could taste blood, sharp and metallic, in his mouth. That was Al’s voice. It was inconceivably awful that Al should feel sorry for him.

''He deserves all he gets,'' James replied. ''That awful, stuck-up tit. He’s worse than his father, and he was bad enough. Imagine being the son of such a pathetic traitor.''

Scorpius leapt out from behind the book stack he was hiding behind, and raised his wand threateningly at James. ''TAKE THAT BACK!'' he all but screamed, his throat feeling raw and his stomach churning. He loved his father, fucking arse that he might be half the time. He even respected him, damn it, and no-one was going to insult him like that and get away with it. James Potter had no idea what his father had been through. No idea at all.

''Like father, like son, I see,'' James said witheringly. ''Coward.''

Scorpius took a very deep breath and lowered his wand. ''You have no idea what you’re talking about,'' he managed to say, trying to push down his rising temper and make his father proud of him for once. ''You don’t know anything about what happened. Did your father ever tell you about the time that he nearly killed mine, on purpose?''

James’ face screwed up in anger. ''You’re a fucking liar.''

''And you’re a fucking moron.''

James raised his wand in a flash, and Scorpius flinched as the hex hit him full in the chest.

He wondered later, as he recovered under the tender care of Poppy Pomfrey, if he’d dreamed the image of Al attempting to tug James away as he launched the hex; a concerned, terrified face peering down into his as he slipped into unconsciousness.

Al didn’t visit him in the hospital wing, so he concluded that it was all a hallucination brought on by stress. There was no way he wanted it to be real, after all. No way in hell.


7. ''You remind me so much of grandfather,'' Scorpius said one afternoon to his father, after he’d watched him reduce a female Ministry of Magic employee to a quivering wreck, and then get exactly his own way.

He hadn’t expected his father to go quite so still and pale at that, his quill falling noiselessly from between fingers that twitched and shook until he tucked his hand out of sight.

He thought he finally understood how blood could be thicker than water and, simultaneously, how sometimes one’s own family could be worse than anything at all.

On the first day back at Hogwarts there was an odd sense of euphoria amongst the sixth year students. Exams were passed, and N.E.W.T.s still far enough away to not be a terrifying prospect.

Still, Scorpius thought gloomily, as he sipped at a glass of Firewhiskey that had been overenthusiastically filled by some Gryffindor of whose name he wasn’t quite sure, that was no excuse for an odd, unlikely combination of spin the bottle and truth or dare. And he certainly had no excuse for his idiocy in getting roped into playing, when – quite honestly – he’d rather disembowel over half the participants than have fun with them. Not that this was fun. Far, far from it. If he learned anything from this terrible experience, it would be never to trust a Slytherin female when she asked him, in a sweet voice, to ''come and have some fun''. Circe was such a cow.

Scorpius would have left, but some bright spark had decided to place a hex on the immediate area in which the game was being played. Once in it was either play or leave suffering from some rather repulsive boils. Scorpius thought that, on balance, he’d rather have the boils, but then again truth or dare was always worth a laugh, if only for the disturbing honesty that some of the students often displayed.

The bottle spun and, as it slowed down, Scorpius saw, with horrible finality, Al sit down opposite him.

Fate really, really hated him.

''So, Al, it’s either snog Scorpius or give us a juicy truth,'' said Griselda, a big-bosomed Gryffindor girl, all hair and teeth. She gave Al a nudge to the ribs and laughed as Al winced, and then grinned back at her.

''What’s the question?'' Al asked, not looking at Scorpius.

Scorpius wondered if he were doing it on purpose. It was the first time he’d seen Al this term, and practically the first time he’d seen him since The Library Incident last year. Al had shown himself highly skilled in the art of avoidance, despite the evident difficulties involved in avoiding someone who slept in the bed next to yours. It was almost impressive, in a highly insulting kind of way.

''Us girls would like to know,'' Griselda said, smiling widely, ''whom you most fancy.''

Al went pink, and several of the girls started to giggle.

''I’d rather not say,'' Al said after a brief pause, and looked down at his feet. ''I don’t think he likes me back.''

There was a shocked silence for a few moments as everyone took in the full import of his words, and then the game broke up amidst hugs and sympathy and so much support offered that Scorpius felt quite ill.

Scorpius’ heart was beating so hard and so fast that he wondered, quite idly, if it were possible to die from it. Could Al mean… Surely he didn’t… And surely he, Scorpius, didn’t want… It was ridiculous. Wasn’t it? His neck ached from the tension in his shoulders and he suddenly found that it took a great deal of mental effort to remember how to breathe. The natural rhythms seemed impossible to find, and he wondered if he were hyperventilating.

Al got up and left, followed by a gaggle of friends. Scorpius sat there for a moment, absolutely paralysed with fear – and yet, contradictorily, he had to knit his fingers tight together to stop them shaking. His palms felt clammy, and for a moment the world swayed and closed in on itself. Scorpius took several deep breaths, trying to calm himself, his mind whirring. Then, feeling rather sick, he thought fuck it and got up, half jogging after Al.

He caught up with the group, but didn’t see the tousle-haired Potter anywhere. Until, that is, he saw him locked in an embrace with a fellow sixth year Hufflepuff boy, all red-faced and dishevelled as the Hufflepuff pressed him up against the castle wall in a manner that was surely far too lewd for public display.

Scorpius stared, and turned, walking away quickly before anyone could see his expression.

He didn’t think he’d ever hated anyone quite so much as he hated Al Potter at that moment.


8. ''Why did you marry Mother?'' Scorpius asked.

His father didn’t answer right away, twirling a quill between his fingers and leaning forward so that his long hair swung in front of his face for a moment, before he tossed it back with an irritated look. His father was rarely in the mood to just sit outside and talk with Scorpius; he always had to have a pile of papers. Almost, Scorpius reflected, like a security blanket.

Scorpius hoped he hadn’t gone too far. Ever since Mother had left, his father had been up and down; sometimes icy cold and stiff, and sometimes overenthusiastic and overfriendly towards Scorpius, probing too far into his personal life and getting irritated when Scorpius was evasive. But if Scorpius asked questions of his own, Father often flared up into an uncharacteristic temper tantrum.

''She came from a good family,'' his father said slowly, putting his quill down and looking into the distance. ''She was beautiful and well-mannered. Younger than myself, and easy to control.''

Scorpius wrinkled his nose in disgust, and said nothing.

''Our mothers devised the match, and we had no objections,'' his father continued, and then looked over at Scorpius, his face stiff. ''I believe the same happened for your grandparents.''

Scorpius tried not to let the shock show on his face.

His father looked away. ''I shall not do the same for you. You should be free to…'' He paused for a long time. ''Free to make your own mistakes, rather than have mistakes foisted upon you. Some traditions are not worth keeping. I wish for you to be happy in your choices.''

Scorpius thought about how much he was capable of disappointing his father and found it hard to keep from trembling.

The moment he saw the unicorn, Scorpius knew that today was going to be a very, very bad day indeed, with the potential to absolutely fuck up the whole of the rest of seventh year.

''This is such a treat for you all,'' the Potions Mistress Professor Hart cooed, clapping her hands. ''Unicorns are so hard to catch, and they have so many wonderful properties. It’s a great honour that this magnificent beast has deigned to stay with us for this lesson. We will be setting it free once we have harvested some of its hair, and then of course I will teach you of the wondrous potions that can be made.''

She opened the door to the stable that the unicorn currently inhabited and the gleaming white beast stepped out, tossing its hair and looking superior.

Primrose immediately stepped forward to greet it, and it suffered her touch for a few moments before backing away. Primrose looked put out, but also rather smug. She shot a look at Scorpius, who nodded shortly. He got the point. She was seventeen and still untouched by a man. Bully for her.

Al, apparently standing as far away as possible from the Hufflepuff boy he’d been almost surgically attached to the previous year, took a ginger step towards the creature. It snorted and moved backwards. Al frowned, and took another step forwards. The unicorn staggered away from him, coming up close to the Hufflepuff who was making cow eyes at Al. The unicorn whinnied and half-reared away, its eyes widening in fear.

And then – of course, Scorpius thought bitterly, because nothing good ever happened to him in his life – it trotted briskly up to Scorpius himself and knelt before him. Scorpius required all his courage to bend down and comfort the terrified creature, which neighed softly under his touch and calmed down almost immediately. Stupid bloody thing, he thought with some ferocity. Weren’t unicorns supposed to like girls better than boys? Were even dumb animals now conspiring to make him look an idiot in front of everyone?

''Excellent!'' Professor Hart said. ''Mr Potter, Mr Brown, do please step as far away from the creature as you can. Only the pure may interact with the noble unicorn. Mr Malfoy, if you could pluck a few hairs from its mane?''

Scorpius did his best not to die of shame. And what a struggle that was. He could hear the snickers of his classmates around him. He had no doubt that most of them were just as… as pure as himself, but they hadn’t had it pointed out quite so obviously, had they? While Al fucking Potter and his… his… Hufflepuff were quite obviously… Well. It didn’t need spelling out, did it?

He plucked out a handful of hair from the beast’s mane. It squirmed slightly but did not protest, leaning in towards him in a loving manner.

When the lesson was over, and the beast was free to leave, it had to be prevented from following Scorpius to his next lesson with a strong spell. Scorpius only managed to refrain from kicking the fucking thing with some considerable effort.

Life, Scorpius thought with immense irritation as a gaggle of girls surrounded him, all smiles and not-so-subtle comments about how they loved a man who waited, was intolerable. And could not, in any way, get any worse.


9. Unable to sleep one night Scorpius noticed that the light in his father’s study was still on, so he padded down the hall and pushed open the door. The question on his lips died when he saw his father curled up on a sofa, shaking with sobs, his face wet and his long hair wild.

His father stiffened instantly, and an expression of anger, embarrassment and extreme weariness clouded his face. ''Did I never teach you to knock?'' he said, his voice calm and controlled, but the effect was somewhat diluted by his bloodshot eyes and the way his hands clenched convulsively into fists.

Scorpius wavered. He knew, instinctively, that the thing to do – the manly thing, the family way – would be to leave and pretend that he’d never seen his father anything other than strong and in control.

He couldn’t do it.

He crossed the room and sat next to his father, wrapping his arms gingerly around him. For a time his father just sat there, quiet and unresponsive. And then, like a floodgate opening, he wept openly and loudly, his whole body shaking with sadness, his tears damp against Scorpius’ cheek as he leaned against him, taking the comfort freely offered.

The next morning his father was cool and calm and in control once more, but at the end of breakfast he looked over at Scorpius, his expression at once soft and tense, and said ''thank you'', before changing the subject with ease.

And Scorpius knew that, whatever he did in life, however badly he screwed up or however much of a disappointment his choices were, he would always love his Father, and that his deeply loyal love would be returned.

But he also knew he’d never feel like a child ever again.

Over the course of the Christmas holidays Scorpius had decided, with some vehemence, that he didn’t care about the stupid Unicorn Incident. His birthday came and went, and with it came an awful sense of responsibility. He was now officially an adult, and his father had made him privy to a great deal of information on various business deals and manoeuvres that suddenly explained exactly why his father was always working even though he didn’t technically have a job. And then there were the stupid N.E.W.T. exams to worry about, too. What, in the grand scheme of things, was a touch of embarrassment when you had your intellectual pride to care about?

Quite a big deal indeed, Scorpius decided when he returned to Hogwarts and a Slytherin student – he didn’t manage to catch who, or by damn he would have strung them up – whinnied softly in his ear. He was, evidently, never Ii>ever going to live it down.

So when the Potions Mistress informed them that they would be examined on how well they could invent a potion utilising unicorn hair for their N.E.W.T.s, Scorpius didn’t even flinch. He simply tapped his prefect’s badge in an idle but meaningful way and tried not to explode. At least he’d be able to harvest the fucking hair, he supposed. And, when this year was finally over, he’d never have to see a single member of his class ever again.

~#~~#~~#~

''Will you help me test my potion?''

Scorpius raised an eyebrow at Primrose. ''No.''

''Oh, go on,'' Primrose said. ''Pretty, pretty please?''

Scorpius tried not to grind his teeth. ''What sort of potion is it?''

''Oh, just, you know. My unicorn potion for the exam. Nothing special.''

''Primrose…'' Scorpius warned.

Primrose smiled very sweetly. ''What are you, a coward? It won’t kill you. It’s just a stupid friendship potion, inspiring harmony and Hufflepuffian sweetness in disgusting amounts.''

Scorpius rolled his eyes. ''How repellent. Fine, I’ll help. But if I’m horribly maimed, there will be legal consequences, let me tell you.''

Primrose laughed. ''Naturally. The professor said I could use the lab tomorrow afternoon to test it. Come by right after lunch.''

''What larks,'' Scorpius said, wrinkling his nose. ''I can hardly wait.''

~#~~#~~#~

It was fucking typical Scorpius thought as Al Potter shoved past him, almost sending him flying, and – practically simultaneously – a spray of silver, wet, shimmering goo coated them both. Not only had Primrose failed to mention that Circe would also be testing her potion, with the help of a certain deadly enemy of his, but now he was covered in ikk.

And then the pain hit.

Nothing as simple as a physical pain. There was no area he could pin it down to. Couldn’t say ''there, my leg,'' or even ''ow, my sodding skin’s on fire''. He looked down at himself in utter terror, but everything appeared to be okay. No limbs obviously missing. Skin a normal colour. But the pain… It felt like - Scorpius shook his head violently, trying to clear it - like all the loneliness and heartache he’d ever experienced ever had clumped together and was… squeezing at his chest. He tried to breathe, but he couldn’t quite manage it and staggered, coming up hard against Al, who was wiping his face and looking infuriated.

Touching Al had a bizarre, terrifying and very, very, very welcome effect. The pain dulled, and was replaced by a kind of strange, delightful warmth, which almost seemed to be emanating from Al and seeping down Scorpius’ arm from where he touched Al and into his very soul.

It was altogether too, too nauseating.

Scorpius snatched back his hand before Al could push him away, and was once more overcome by a wave of awfulness. He gasped and clutched at Al’s wrist.

''Get off me,'' Al said with a scowl, trying to pull away. ''Don’t even try to blame this one on me. We’re lucky we’re not sprouting tails or something, rather than just covered in this crap.''

Scorpius felt his insides drop. Al didn’t feel anything wrong with him at all? Was this something to do with the you-know-what that the Unicorn Incident had so hideously revealed to everyone?

Al took advantage of Scorpius’ sudden confusion to pull away.

The room swayed, and Scorpius nearly fell over. ''I never thought I’d ever, ever say anything quite so awful as I’m about to,'' he managed, as his vision blurred. ''But if you, Albus Severus, don’t hold my hand right now I think I might pass out.''

Al didn’t move.

''For fuck’s sake!'' Scorpius yelled.

A hand clasped his, and the room swam back into focus. Al was glaring at him with a very unpleasant expression. ''If you’re taking the piss, Malfoy…''

''Oh, yes, because I really want to hold your hand, Potter,'' Scorpius snapped back. ''Are you telling me that the potion had no effect on you? Because I think that it’s given me serious brain damage.''

Al’s jaw clenched. ''You seem just the same as usual. Unpleasant, irritating and a total nightmare to be around.''

''Shut up, you two,'' Circe said crossly. She had her arm around Primrose, who was frowning and knitting her fingers together, evidently not sure whether to be worried about Scorpius or annoyed that her potion had exploded. ''Are you seriously telling me that the potion’s done something to you, Scorpius?''

Scorpius glared at her. ''Well, I’m holding hands with Al fucking Potter for the good of my health, so I’d say that something’s definitely wrong.''

Al snatched back his hand and looked deeply offended.

Scorpius tried to reach forward to regain the contact, but a wave of pain overcame him and the room slipped in blackness.

~#~~#~~#~

Scorpius woke up with a splitting headache and something clamped around his wrist. He shook his arm, but it didn’t budge.

''Stop wriggling, Scorpius,'' Al said in an aggrieved voice.

Oh, Merlin.

Scorpius cracked one eyelid open. He was lying in a bed in the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey looking worried in front of him, and Al clinging to his side like a limpet.

''What the hell happened to me, and why haven’t you fixed it?'' Scorpius said, when no-one made a move to explain anything to him. ''Have you called my father yet?''

Madam Pomfrey looked sympathetic and businesslike. ''Don’t worry, Mr Malfoy. You don’t appear to be in any immediate danger, as long as you are in close contact with Mr Potter here. Professor Hart is working in collaboration with Headmistress McGonagall to discover exactly what the potion was, and why it has affected you but not Mr Potter.''

''What do I do until you find a cure?'' Scorpius asked, feeling very, very annoyed. ''Sit about holding hands with my dear friend here?''

Al’s face darkened with something that could have been embarrassment or anger, but he made no attempt to let go of Scorpius’ hand to Scorpius’ reluctant relief.

''You will stay in this private room with Mr Potter,'' Madam Pomfrey said, her tone calm. ''We’ll bring over some of your schoolwork if necessary so you won’t fall behind.''

''I can’t leave this room?''

Madam Pomfrey looked undecided for a moment, and then she stepped forward and briefly placed a hand on Scorpius’ arm.

Scorpius gasped. The pain was unbearable. It was all he could do not to cry. Luckily for his dignity, it receded as soon as Madam Pomfrey let go.

Madam Pomfrey nodded. ''I’m sorry, Mr Malfoy. We just can’t risk anyone else touching you at the moment. You’ll be safest here.''

''But Al and I will kill each other,'' Scorpius muttered.

''You’ll just have to learn to get along,'' Madam Pomfrey said. ''You’re both seventeen, aren’t you? Adult grown men. It shouldn’t be hard.''

Scorpius looked over at Al. His jaw was clenched and he looked mutinous. This was going to be a very, very long couple of days.

2 

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