It was a quite disquieting phenomenon, to leave the house with Scorpius, and reenter without him. The whole house felt weird, off kilter without him in it. I was missing him more than was probably normal. I mean, hundreds of parents sent their kids off to Hogwarts every year, right? They're all fine and well, so why was I in knots?

But each of my attempts at reassurance were counter acted by the unwavering bit of pessimism creeping behind each comforting affirmation.

Why was I in knots when loads of kids go off to Hogwarts every year? Well -- not only because I missed him and had no way of knowing if he was eating properly, or going to sleep at a reasonable time, or happy in any way shape or form -- but because he had the added bonus of preconceived rumors and taunts awaiting him.

Hogwarts is safe, there's nothing to worry about. I laughed ruefully at my own thought. Yeah, safe. Oh dear Lord he better be safe. . . .

He's bound to have made at least a few friends, right? I wrung my hands, completely unsure if this was true or not. He should have, but. . . . I shook off the notion, it being too worrisome to even ponder.

He would be okay. He would be happy; he'd been dreaming about this since he was little. He'sokayhe'sokayhe'sokayhe'sokay, I told myself over and over. However, there was only one way to be sure, but it still hadn't come.

It was the day after he'd arrived at Hogwarts, and I'd not yet received a letter from him.

But that's okay -- maybe it's a sign he is busy with friends! And, come on Astoria, he's not five -- I'm sure his first thought once he arrived wasn't "Oh, let me send mummy a letter." You're being ridiculous -- just, relax.

But I couldn't relax. I could do anything but relax.

And then, it came.

I was sitting at the table, tapping my fingers incessantly on the wood, waiting for the post. Draco was sitting, stoic-eyed, slowly sipping tea.

He had been acting very odd indeed since we dropped Scorpius off -- not that I'm one to talk -- very quiet, very still.

Finally, finally, the owl came, swooping low near the window, settling on the sill. I scrambled up like a moron, and hurried over to retrieve the post.

"AH -- IT'S HERE-- It's -- phew, his letter --"

Draco looked up, eyes wide, lips parted, just as apprehensive as I, just doing a better job concealing it.

I tore open the seal, and read, my heart aflutter with a nervous excitement:

"Dear Mum and Dad,

Hello! How are you guys? It feels really, very odd to be writing to you and not just talking. Anyhow, I found the library, and may I just say, it makes the Malfoy Manor bookshelves shutter in comparison! I mean, I'm sure you remember, but wow! It's utterly unimaginable!"

"Come on Scorpius, get to the point. . . ." Draco muttered as I continued;

"But that's besides the point. I'm very happy to report that I'm currently writing this in the Slytherin Common Room! (which really is very nice, I might add.)

Anyways, Hogwarts seems incredible. I've only been to a few, but the classes are absolutely fascinating (my favorite so far is History of Magic).

It seems -- though it is rather early so I'm not getting my hopes up, and I recommend you guys don't either -- that I've actually made a friend! Your sweets worked!

I love you both, and don't forget to write back and tell me what's going on at home!

- Scorpius"

"What? That's it?" I said, turning the page over. "That's all we get?"

Draco stood up, eyes wide, and gripped my shoulders. I scrutinized him, as it seemed a sort of bottled up excitement began to fizzle out. "HE HAS A FRIEND." Letting go of my shoulders, he said, mostly to himself, "He has a friend. . . ."

I clutched the paper to my chest and smiled, letting the words spread flat across my mind. He has a friend. I whispered them outloud, a broad smile forming on my lips.

Sitting again, he raked a hand through his hair. He sighed and shook his head, like a hundred years of worry were vanquished by the single sentence.

I was feeling giddy indeed, but then returned to studying the paper.

The worry slowly rolled back in, and I sat down.

Biting my lip, I then said, "Okay, but what about all the other kids? Do you think they've been being mean? Or, well, who is this friend? He hardly said a thing about them. . . ."

I said it all to myself, but Draco chimed in, "Well, even if they are being mean, maybe this friend can rough them up, or something. . . ." I rather liked that idea.

I walked briskly to find a quill and some parchment, and returned to the table in a matter of moments.

"Okay. . ." I muttered, dipping the quill in the ink. I looked up at him, and asked, my voice thoughtful, "What'd you like to say? Any questions or anything you'd like me to add?"

He nodded, his face solem in thought. "Say that I'm very proud he got in Slytherin," I refrained from grimacing; I didn't want to add that bit in and make it seem as though Scorpius's suspicions of his father's possible disappointment if he wasn't in Slytherin held any merit.

"And. . . that if anyone acts like a prat, he has my full permission to teach them any lesson he sees fit, and. . . oh, and that Hogwarts has the best cake, and he really ought to have as much as possible." He seemed rather proud of his list of topics, and I nodded to each, and began scribbling down a letter. Once finished, my wrist tired, I read:

"Dear Scorpius,

Hogwarts library is rather nice, isn't it? I didn't spend much time there, but when I did it was awfully relaxing.

Anywho, your father is very proud you're in Slytherin, as am I, though you would have been great in any house.

Is Professor Binns still teaching History of Magic? I liked him very much -- though, the poor fellow was a little monotonous.

Anyways, how are the other kids there -- are they being nice? Your father says you have full permission to "teach them any lesson you see fit" if they aren't, and I second that notion.

And tell us more about this friend, who are they? What are they like? Are they in Slytherin? How'd you meet? Honestly we'd be ecstatic at any detail, no matter how mundane it may seem (and I knew those sweets would work eventually!).

As for what's going on here, it's nothing too exciting to report. We really both just miss you very much.

Write back soon -- we're not very patient beings, you know.

We love you so much, and hope you're having a good time there.

Love, Mum and Dad

P.S. Dad highly recommends you eat as much cake as possible, but I must urge you to test out some of the ice cream sundae."

Both satisfied with the letter, we sent it out immediately.

Days, and days, and days passed. No response.

Draco assured me it was probably just because he was busy with work and this new friend, and he would get back to us eventually. He was right. I knew this, but I still couldn't shake the feeling that perhaps something was wrong. Maybe he didn't want to talk about the whole "are kids being nice" part, in fear we might go down to the school? I could put my theories and worries aside for a moment when finally, a week and a half passed, and his letter arrived.

I called Draco in, and, before he could say a word, began to read:

"Dear Mum and Dad,

Rest assured that I have tried both the cake and ice cream, and, in no way could pick a favourite. About the other kids, well, I don't want you guys to worry, it's really not half as bad as you probably thought. I mean, sure, they maybe aren't the perfect example of kindness, but still, I really do love it here, so please don't worry!!!

As for my friend, well, it seems that maybe my hopes can be raised. He's a Slytherin too, and we met on the Hogwarts Express. He's really funny and sort of cool in an extremely uncool way, if that makes any sense. Probably not. . . but, he's sort of sarcastic and dry humored. Anyway, he's really nice and we seem to be getting on really well. We sit together at dinner and in classes and he doesn't care about the rumors, and frequently tells people off about it.

I miss you guys, but please, don't worry about me too much!

- Scorpius"

We then responded back:

"Dear Scorpius,

Ah! We're over the moon that you found such a great friend! And, as for the other kids, if they're bothering you too much, as we said last time, please, do not feel the need to refrain from teaching them a lesson.

Anyway, if you don't mind us asking, what is this allusive friend's name? Sorry we don't have anything exciting to add, but I assure you, you're not missing anything too crazy here.

We love you loads, and hope you and your friend are doing well!

Love you,

Mum and Dad"

Again, silence from his end for days. This time, however, it took him a full two and a half weeks to respond.

"Dear Mum and Dad,

His name is Albus.

Anyways, have you ever noticed how pretty Hogwarts is from the grounds in the afternoon? And how magnificent the view from the astronomy tower is? Honestly, it really is breathtaking.

Also, I really love herbology. It is a fascinating subject.

Anywho, lots of books that still need reading!

Love you both,

- Scorpius"

Draco and I looked at each other. "Is it just me, or does that letter seem. . . off?"

Draco bit the inside of his cheek, and finally said, "Maybe he and this, this Albus got into a fight. Maybe that's why he seemed off?"

"Hm, I sure hope not. Wonder why he didn't say his last name. . . ."

And so I wrote:

"Dear Scorpius,

The view really is rather breathtaking. Your father especially likes the view from the astronomy tower, he used to go up there a lot to clear his mind. I am rather partial to view from the balcony on the fourth floor.

And yes, herbology is rather interesting, isn't it? I hear Neville Longbottom is teaching that now, how is he doing?

Anyways, how are you and Albus doing? Are those hopes still up? And, what is his last name?

Sorry for the ever-growing nosiness.

Love you,

Mum and Dad"

It took him three entire weeks to answer back. I read aloud,

"Dear Mum and Dad,

Yes, Neville Longbottom is my herbology professor, which is absolutely awesome! I mean, come on, it's Neville Longbottom!

Anyway, I just wanted to say a few things before I continue.

Having an open mind is always a great thing. Really, open minds are where all good things are given room to bloom."

I looked up at Draco with a puzzled look, and he merely shrugged.

"And, it doesn't do well to dwell on the past, you know? Dwelling on the past only burns bridges for the future, and sometimes the past doesn't even matter, because the past in question is really just irrelevant."

I had no idea where he was going with this, but I read on.

"And you can't blame other people for who their families are. That's also very important.

So please, please don't get annoyed, because, really he is nothing like what you'd expect.

But, Albus's last name is,"

I stopped dead, the word on the page flashing across my mind. "What?" said Draco, his attention now rapt.

I looked up at him, unsure if I should just have crumpled up the paper and tossed it in the rubbish bin. I was still frozen, staring at him. His eyes searching, his shoulders tense, he said again, "What?"

"Okay, Draco, please -- Scorpius has a point, just keep and open mind, and --"

"Astoria, what. . . ?"

"Potter," I said carefully, still staring at him. His face fell, frozen, eyes wide. He stayed utterly unmoved for a long moment before he finally let his shoulders fall. He clenched his teeth.

"Draco, just --"

"Keep reading," he said, his voice low, without looking at me. I sighed, mildly annoyed that he was taking this just how Scorpius had most likely feared (actually, Scorpius probably expected the third wizarding war to break out, so perhaps this was a mild improvement).

I went on:

"I know, you're probably very shocked, and perhaps even a little mad, but really, he's great!

I mean, he's a Potter who's in Slytherin, so right there is something that is indistinguishable from his father.

Plus, he really doesn't even like his dad very much. And, because of his last name and house, he gets a lot of strife from the other kids too, so we can "band together" in a way.

So, please, whatever you're theorizing about him, don't. He's one thousand times better than what you're envisioning.

He was the only one who didn't care about the rumors -- he was the only one who stayed for the sweets.

Please don't be too upset.

- Scorpius"

After a long moment, I looked up at Draco. His fists were balled up and digging into the table before him. His teeth were clenched, his eyes glaring at the wood before him as though it'd committed a horrific offense against him. He was tapping his foot incessantly on the floor, and refused to make eye contact with me.

In the most soothing voice possible, I said, "Draco --"

"How -- how could this -- why --" Each word was stammered out in a harsh, curt tone. "Why him? Of all the kids there, did it have to be him? He could have sunk his claws into anyone, but no, it had to be him." It took me a good moment to realize the "him" Draco was referring to was Scorpius, not Albus.

His eyes wide with a frenzied annoyance, he said, his finger wagging like he'd deciphered some impossible ancient rune, "You know, he was probably put up to this. Yeah. . . I bet Potter told him all about how evil and horrid "The son of the Dark Lord" is. This is all just some big joke cooked up by those bloody Weasleys, too,"

My shoulders slumped and I listed my head to the side, my one eyebrow raised. "Really Draco? You're being a bit dramatic here --"

"You don't know what that Potter is planning here -- he hates anyone with the Malfoy name, and I wouldn't put it past him --"

Half of me wanted to hysterically laugh and make fun of Draco for how, in a matter of seconds, he reverted back to his school self. But the other side of me wanted to do nothing more than roll my eyes at him for eternity. How could he be tarnishing this, our son finally had a good friend!

The latter won.

Pursing my lips, and swiftly slicing my gaze up the length of him to meet his eyes, I said, in a rather condescending tone, "Draco, stop."

He huffed and pouted, about to protest, but I said before he had the chance, "Scorpius is happy. He has a friend -- so what if you aren't fond of the kid's parents? That doesn't mean this is all some sort of convoluted plot to "take down the Malfoys." Maybe Albus is just a really nice kid, who actually likes who our son is as a person, and doesn't care about stupid last names."

Still pouting, his gaze flickered reluctantly to meet mine. After a pause, he said, with a new resignation, a softness to the words, "I just don't want him to get hurt."

I placed my hand over his now relaxing fists. "Neither do I."

In the following weeks, I continued to write back and forth to Scorpius, and it seemed as though Draco's disdain was at least softening slightly, if not disappearing, for Albus Potter.

When he came home for Chritsmas, he told us all about his favorite classes, new books, and of course, about Albus. He tried to keep talk about him to a bare minimum, but I pressed on, wanting to know everything about his friendship.

I must say, Draco was taking it all surprisingly well. He didn't scoff or protest or make any ill-mannered comments about Harry. Scorpius took notice of this, and it added a dash more of renewed buoyancy to him.

The rest of the school year progressed, and the last day of school came around.

At the platform, waiting for the train to arrive to pick him up, I couldn't help but hope to actually see Albus Potter. When the scarlet steam engine rolled in, the doors opened, and kids flooded out, I kept my eyes searching.

I nudged Draco and pointed, "There," when I spotted Scorpius, a bit taller than the other smaller first years around him.

He waved to someone, and my eyes followed his line of vision as best as possible. I could make out the back and side profile of a boy with messy black hair and bright green eyes. Definitely Harry Potter's son.

When he found us in the crowd, and we said our hellos and such, I couldn't help but notice the double takes and small whispers circling around us. Noticing as well, Draco glared to anyone loitering with particularly obvious whispers to hiss.

Looking around and noting the stares, with an uneasy smile, Scorpius said, "Well, we should probably be going. . . ."

Once home, Draco outside, having been distracted by some appearing garden gnomes and taking survey of how many he would later have to de-gnome, Scorpius and I began bringing the trunks back upstairs to his room.

I was carrying a rather small parcel, whereas Scorpius was lugging two, decent size cases.

"Here let me grab one of those --" I said, reaching out for the trunk in his right hand.

Swinging it behind his back, and going suddenly ridgid, he said, "No, no, it's okay, I've got it."

But I wasn't looking at his uneasy expression or nervous smile, for my eye had snagged on the corner of the now half concealed case behind his back.

"What is that --" I murmured, reaching for the corner. He sidestepped, pressing the trunk into the back of his legs.

I looked at him, perplexed. Not feeling like doing a dance around him to try and get a good glimpse at this case, I reached for my wand and muttered, "Accio."

The case flopped out from his grip and landed on the floor between us.

There, in bright green writing, were the words "Son of Voldemort."

My jaw fell and I looked up at him. There was a reluctant compliance, an embarrassed passivity about him, the way he slouched, his hands behind his back, his eye brows bowed, lips pursed.

My voice started working again. "Who. . . ?"

He shook his head and said, "Just some older kids. Thought it was funny."

My lips were parted, my eyes wide. I didn't know what to say or do -- shocked someone would actually write that. Shocked this was happening to him. It'd been worse than he was admitting in his letters, that much was clear.

The door opened below, and Draco said something aloud about gnomes and how annoying they were, and at the noise I realized there was the smallest trace of tears lining my eyes.

As soon as he heard the door creak, his head whipped back to face me, and he mouthed, a frantic desperation in his eyes, "Don't let dad see!"

I shrugged, my hands out, and mouthed back, "W-why?"

He listed his head, his lips now pursed severely, eyes wide, eye brows dipping, pleading. A look that simply said please.

Still being torn apart by anger, heartbreak, and confusion by the trunk and Scorpius's reaction, Draco called, "Where are you guys?"

My gaze still fixed on a desperate Scorpius, I turned to the stairs and stammered, "Uh -- up here."

Scorpius gestured to the trunk, becoming increasingly more panicked as Draco's footsteps sounded up the stairs, so I muttered "Tergeo," and the green letters faded and disappeared, just in time for Draco to walk into the hallway we stood in.

His brow furrowed, a half grin on his lips, as he said, "What're you guys doing with that trunk?"

I realized how odd that must've looked -- the two of us standing, like deer caught in headlights, with a trunk sprawled out between us on the floor.

I absently swiped the back of my hand on my dampened eye, staring down at the trunk and back to him.

"Just, uh, talking about how heavy all the supplies are and stuff." Lifting the case, Scorpius winced as if the load were immeasurably massive, half smiled with a hint of a nervous laugh, and briskly walked into his bedroom.

Draco looked at me with a skeptically amused confusion. My lips flashed in a weak smile, then I looked away, bringing the parcel I was carrying into Scorpius's room.

Later that night, Draco asked me what that was all about. And though, for some reason, Scorpius had been adamantly against it, I told him.

He went very quiet, and simply nodded his head, looking absently at the far wall.

Not a flash of anger, of confusion, of disgust. No, just dispirited stoicism.