Just as the legends of Harry Potter spread like wildfire, filling any void of gossip, were a commonly known tale in my childhood, the stories of Voldemort's child spread. Stories about my son.

Perhaps they were not nearly as accepted or enthralling as the rumors of The Boy Who Lived, but they were widely known nonetheless. For two years the gossip columns had a field day, trying to decipher the "captivating mystery" of Scorpius Malfoy, (whom they were still calling "Scorpion") still besmirching the name of my child.

So, it came as a bittersweet surprise when Holly informed me she would be back in the country in the near future.

She and her husband, Ben, had lived in La Rochelle, France, for the past two years. Ben was a magizoologist studying there for a while. They would be in England for all of May, visiting their families, and Holly sent a letter asking if they could stop by.

Of course I said yes, but still, worry was tugging at the pit of my stomach for Scorpius.

On one hand, this would be great. He desperately needed some time with people his own age, and Holly had four kids she was bringing over. And, if all went as I was hoping, perhaps he would hit it off with them, and already have friends waiting for him when he got to Hogwarts. That would be amazing.

However, there of course was the other side of things.

I wasn't sure if they had yet heard the rumors about Scorpius; they had been out of the country for two years after all, hopefully enough time to evade English Wizarding news. Of course, it wasn't Holly or Ben I was worried about; I was positive that if Holly had heard the rumors, she didn't believe them. It was her children I was worried about.

If they'd believed in the gossip, and they told Scorpius about it. . . .

I still hadn't told Scorpius about the rumors. Afterall, he was six years old, too young to be worried of other's preconceived notions of him, way too young to be worried about You-Know-Who.

I would have to tell him eventually, I mean, after all, I couldn't very well have him going off to Hogwarts in five years, unprepared for the wave of speculation that undoubtedly awaited him. Just the thought made me gnash my teeth in frustration; he would have to face such absurd criticism.

Nonetheless, the sixteenth came around, and I decided to have a talk with Scorpius about it. I sat down with him at the foot of his bed, wringing my hands.

"What's wrong?" He asked.

"Oh, nothing's wrong sweetie," I said, dropping my hands immediately. Nothing was wrong, per say, I was just being overly dramatic -- that was all.

"So, you know my friend Holly is coming over today, and she's bringing her children. . . ."

He nodded, looking away, fixing his eyes upon the bookshelf opposite his bed. "Yeah. . . ." he said, in an awfully dejected voice.

I nudged him slightly, and he glanced up at me for a moment, and back down at his hands. "What's wrong?" I asked, genuinely thankful this conversation was veering, for I hadn't thought through how I would express my concerns for him without outwardly saying, So these kids may or may not think you're the son of Voldemort, which, by the way, so does the entire English Wizarding community, and, on top of that, I'm really hoping for you to become lifelong friends with these kids so you have allies against bullies at Hogwarts. Anyway, hopefully you're fine with all that at the mere age of six.

"I'm just a little nervous, that's all," he said, his voice timid, fumbling with his hands in his lap.

"What're you nervous about?" I asked. I mean, it was pretty obvious what he was nervous about, but again, I couldn't very well just blurt, Oh, yes, being worried about whether or not they'll be nice is a very genuine fear, and, hey, I'd be worried too. Well, good luck with that.

"Well, what if. . . what if they don't like me?" He was refusing to make eye contact with me.

I wasn't exactly sure what I should say to this. Logically, this was the perfect segway into what I'd been trying to say from the beginning, warning him that these kids may not be overly nice to him (through no fault of his own, I might add). But, as I looked at his little pursed lips, his small frown, it dawned on me that the entire notion was ridiculous. Once they met him, surely they'd know that this was utterly untrue.

And, what kid wouldn't like Scorpius? He was smart and kind and thoughtful -- I was being absurd before; there was nothing to worry about, and I wouldn't break his heart and possibly demolish his confidence by informing him that his worries had credence, and they may not like him. No way.

Instead, I took his hand in mine and said, "Scorpius, there is no way they won't like you. Just be yourself, okay?"

"And what if they still don't like me?" he said, his voice still timid and small.

"Well, then they're just crazy, and don't deserve you as a friend," I said, certainty and defiance in my tone.

He nodded, like he was trying to muster up courage, but failing. I gripped his hands tighter, and said, "Look, if you're really worried then, here --" I reached into my pocket and pulled out a bag of sweets I was banking on giving him for a backup plan. I remembered the day in the train with Holly, and the day on the balcony with Draco.

I pressed the bag into his hand, and said, or, actually sang, making it up on the spot, "Sweets, they always help you make friends."

At this, he seemed thoroughly enthused, nodding, looking down at the bag. Then, there was a clunking sound from downstairs.

It was them; they'd arrived by floo, and I was astounded when I saw Holly. Somehow, she looked exactly the same since I'd seen her last, which had to have been about five years (we talked over letters, but hadn't met in person in ages). Sure, she gained a few pounds about her hips and arms, and there were a few faint lines around her eyes from years of cheerful smiles, but other than that, she still had such youth and brightness to her.

She must've been taken aback by me, though she hid it well, for I had changed considerably. Sure, I still looked the same as I did a few years ago, but I'd aged in ways no one should have aged in such a short expanse of time.

I'd become very boney indeed, my wrist bones and ribs visible through my ever-paling skin. My hair and eyes had dulled notably, and my cheeks now had a certain sunken-in quality, enhancing my already skeletal cheekbones.

Four children followed her, then Ben. "Astoria!" she gushed, pulling me into a hug.

"Holly, it's great to see you," I said as she released me from the hug. Draco had wandered into the room at some point, for she turned and hugged him too. I held in a laugh at his surprise and uncomfort as she did so.

"Hello Ben, how've you been?" I said, shaking his hand (I thought it'd be weird to hug him too).

"I've been good, been busy," he said, with a mild uncomfortableness in his tone.

"Ben, hon, this is Draco," Holly said, standing between the two. They shook hands, both saying quiet hellos.

I figured Ben knew who Draco was; after all, he was in the year below Holly and I, and who didn't know Draco Malfoy in Hogwarts? I pushed down my new speculation as to where Ben's uncomfortableness was stemming from.

"Scorpius!" Holly suddenly cried, putting her hands to her chest. Only then did I realize where he was; half hidden behind my leg.

"I haven't seen you since you were a baby!" Holly said, as Scorpius emerged only slightly from his hiding, an awkward, nervous smile on his face. "Scorpius, this is Liam," she motioned to the tallest boy standing there, her oldest son (eight). He had sandy hair and a mischievous face, contorting into a weak smile at the mention of his name. "And this is Isobel, she's the same age as you," Isobel was nearly as tall as her brother, with the same upturned nose and gleaming eyes. She half-smiled as her mother went on, "And here is Tabitha and Gabe." These two were twins, and unlike their other siblings, had dark hair and dark eyes. They couldn't have been much more than a year younger than Scorpius.

"Hello," Scorpius said in a quivering voice, waved, then quickly put his hand down.

"You all have grown so much since the last time I saw you," I said, realizing my tone wasn't nearly as perky or welcoming as Holly's had been, despite my attempts to make it so.

"Why don't you bring them out to the backyard, where you guys can play?" I said, turning to Scorpius. He glanced at me with a petrified sort of pleading look, a, please don't make me do this alone, look. But I widened my eyes and my smile, notifying him that it would be fine, and there was no way out of it now.

"O-Okay," he said, his eyes still pleading, "Come, um. . . well, it's just over this way. . . ." He beckoned the kids with his hand, and headed toward the back door.

Once they'd cleared out, I said, "Now, would you guys like a cup of tea?"

A while, and a few cups of tea, later, when I was putting on another pot to brew, I peered out of the window over the sink, looking out onto the back yard.

I felt my heart plummeting in my chest. Four kids were laughing and running around, it seemed perhaps playing tag or something of the likes, and off to the side, sat Scorpius, cross legged on the ground. He had a forced, still nervous, smile on his face, and every once in a while, it seemed he would try to say something, then quickly recoiled, his hands fumbling with the edge of his sweater in his lap.

Oh, hell. They better be being nice to him, or --

"So, anyway, we're thinking of sending them to Beauxbatons anyway, so,"

My attention was snagged away, and I said, "What?" having not been listening to the conversation. I headed back to the table, the teapot in hand.

Holly shrugged. "Well, we really do love France and, well, Ben doesn't know how much longer he'll be there for work, it's seems a while, and" -- she shrugged again -- "we've heard the best things of Beauxbatons, so. . . ." She smiled brightly. "We're thinking of sending them there when the time comes."

If my heart plummeted before, it plunged even lower now. Damn, he was so close, I thought, thinking of the friends Scorpius could've had. But I didn't show that on my face as I said, "Oh, that's great! Have you told them about it yet?" The conversation dragged on for a while, but my thoughts were still in the backyard, where Scorpius sat, alone and uncomfortable.

Later that night, just after the Wilson family had left, I walked back into the kitchen to find Scorpius sitting at the table, his face resting in his palms, his brows furrowed slightly.

"So, it didn't go well?" I said, taking the seat beside him.

He shook his head. "I don't think they liked me very much. . . ."

I felt anger boil up inside me, but concealed it as I said, "What happened?"

He sighed, dropping his hand and staring down at it. "Well, they all really like Quidditch and, well, I'm not very well-versed in that subject. . . ." Did my six year old really just use the term well-versed? How could they not like this kid?! "But I did get to try out Liam's broom, though it was just a toy one -- and, well, they're not very fond of books, or at least not as much as me, and they don't really like history, and. . . ." He paused.

"And?"

"Well, something happened. . . ."

"What?"

He sighed, his face scrunched in concentration, like he was really trying to word this perfectly. Draco was leaning against the counter behind us, listening.

"Well, I offered them the bag of sweets" -- he lifted up the bag out of his pocket -- "and, well, Liam, he said, um, well, he said. . . ." I glanced up at Draco, who was listening very intently, catching my gaze. "He said that they shouldn't take it because-because they might be poisoned because. . . mum, he said I was," he dropped his voice to a whisper, "You-Know-Who's son."

I cringed at the words, squeezing my eyes shut. Draco was at the table in a few strides, standing beside Scorpius, but staring at me, an angry sort of bottled up frustration on his face.

Scorpius went on, his little voice breaking and wavering, "And, and I told him, 'No, my dad's right there' " -- he motioned to Draco with his hand, though he was still staring desperately at me, and continued on, speaking very fast, and very fraught -- "Then he said, "But is that really your dad or are you just lying', and I said, 'No, why would I lie?' Then, they all gave each other this look, this look like I was lying, and just sort of ignored me for the rest of the time, but, mum," there were tears in his eyes "why didn't they believe me? Wh-why did they think that?"

My heart shattered as I stared at his big, teary gray eyes. This is not how I wanted him to find out. This is not how he should have found out.

Draco was biting his lip and running a hand through his hair, his other on his waist.

I took Scorpius's hand in mine and sighed. "There are some people who think that. . . that You-Know-Who had. . . ." His eyes widened even more.

But I was cut off from the shoddy explanation I was trying to stumble through when Draco said, placing a hand on Scorpius' shoulder, "C'mon, there's something I need to talk to you about."

I was taken off guard by this, but he softened his expression and put his hand out, as if to say, it's fine.

He guided Scorpius off the chair and out the front door. I was alone and bamboozled as I heard the door clunk shut. Nosiness prying at me, I scrambled to the front window to listen to what they were saying. I peered up and saw that they were sitting on the front steps, and for a moment, were silent.

Then, Draco started, his voice calm and mildly distant from the glass panes separating us, "When I was a kid, your grandparents. . . they weren't the best people. Neither was I." A pause. "For a while, we thought we were better than most, because, well, because we were pure-blood. And for a long time that served us well. . . until it didn't.

"You see, they weren't just pure-bloods, they were also. . . we were also something called Death Eaters." I cringed at the words. Another pause, in which Scorpius' face was puzzled, and Draco continued, "That means we were supporters of Voldemort." I audibly gasped at the mention of that blasted name, then chastised myself, unsure if they heard me, but when he continued I was assured I was in the clear.

"We did a lot of bad things, my parents and I. We weren't good people." The tone of his voice, somewhere between disgust and pain tugged down on me, and I wished I could go out there and tell him all the reasons as to why he shouldn't be so down on himself, why he is a good person now, one of the best people I know -- I supposed that was why he went outside in the first place, to avoid my arguing with his point.

"You see this?" There was a silence, and I shuddered to realize he was showing him the Dark Mark on his left arm.

"What is that?" Scorpius asked.

"It's his mark. Voldemort's mark." Another silence in which I heard shuffling against the wood of the porch.

"But -- you're not -- you're not still --" Scorpius's voice was panicked and scared.

"No. I'm not." Draco replied. He didn't say it firmly, or shocked, or really any emotion to the words other than tranquility.

Another pause. "But, I used to be. And because of that, people suspect that you could be Voldemort's child."

"But -- but I'm not, I'm not, right?"

"No." Now there was firmness and strength to his words. But it vanished as he continued, "But people have a knack for seeing the worst parts of the best things. They don't know you, but still have a concocted idea of you. It's not fair, and it's not your fault, but they do, and it's my fault."

I wanted to tear the door open and rant about how it wasn't his fault. It was his parents fault, Voldemort's fault, not his. He was a kid -- He had no choice in the matter when that blasted Dark Mark came to be! But I refrained as silence settled over the two once more.

"Anyway, just thought," he cleared his throat, "just thought you ought' to know that." Yet another pause, this time, the silence between the two bordering on awkward.

"It's probably time for you to go to bed anyway, don't want your mother to yell at me. . . ." Nice excuse, blame me.

He opened the door, and I realized I was crushed up against the windowsill still. With anything but agility, I scrambled up and flopped onto the nearest chair in the sitting room, crossed my legs hastily, and rested my chin on my hand, facing the fireplace, trying to look natural. Draco snickered, and so I assumed I failed in my attempts.

Scorpius walked in, biting his lip. He stood there for a moment, then said hurriedly, "Well, I'm tired, goodnight," and rushed up the stairs. Both Draco and I followed him with our eyes, then, once he was gone, I turned to Draco. My stare was somewhere between an annoyed glare, and a sympathetic, remorseful apology, my lips pursed. Annoyed, because he managed to leave out any space for redemption in his explanation, and remorse, for he still thought he wasn't worth redeeming.

I pushed past him without saying a word and rushed up to Scorpius' room. He was sitting up, under the covers, staring somewhere at the wall, seeming to be deep in thought.

I burst through and sat myself on his bed. Before he could say a word, I began, very rapidly, "You know, there's a lot your father left out. It wasn't his choice, okay? He didn't want to be a Death Eater, but what else could he do? Voldemort was threatening his family, he couldn't very well let them die -- you know how much pressure he was under?" I was talking to myself more than him, and I didn't even shudder when I used the word Voldemort.

"He was tasked with impossible things, he was scared, and alone, and no one even cared -- He was pinned as some bad guy his whole life, and you think he wanted to be?! No, no he didn't. Okay, I agree, he was a bit of a prat when he was a little kid but, honestly, given the parents he had, what did anyone expect? But when he was older, he was a good person, a good person that was never given a choice, and, and --" I stopped, nearly out of breath, and saw that Scorpius' eyes were wide and his head jerked backwards. I paused, gathering myself up.

"And what is going on, with these ridiculous rumors, is not his fault. The fault is of those who are dumb enough to belive that a person as amazing as you could ever be related to You-Know-Who." After a long pause, his face softened and he nodded.

I cleared my throat, and, after a moment, kissed him on the head. "I love you. I'm sorry those kids were so naive as to think that of you."

In an unexpected instant, he wrapped his arms around me tightly and buried his face in my shoulder. I held him in my arms, and after a while, he let go, nodding again, and settling back under the covers.

I pushed his hair back, letting my hand trace down to his cheek, cupping it in my hands. Then, I said, my voice now completely soft, the rapid rant of before evaporating, "Goodnight," and got up.

"Goodnight mum." he said back, as I shut the door to his bedroom. I stood there, my hand on the nob, letting my forehead rest against the cool wood as I exhaled.

I jumped when I turned to face Draco. His lips were somewhere between a grin and a frown, his eyebrows furrowed and sloped. We locked eyes for a moment, and he kissed me hard on the lips, and didn't dislocate for a moment. He then pulled away, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. I smiled smally and we stood there for a moment, his hand falling down to my shoulder, before he silently walked away, down the stairs. I guess he heard.