Chapter Text
Scorpius opened the train compartment where Albus and some students he didn’t know were sitting.
“Could I sit here?” he stuttered.
Albus patted the seat next to him.
“Sure,” he said, “I’ll introduce you to everyone.”
Scorpius sat nervously next to him.
“You’re Scorpius, right?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m Albus. Over on the end is Dominique. She’s the oldest. Fifth year.”
“Pleased,” Dominique said, “And, Teddy is the oldest.”
“I meant the oldest still in school,” Albus sighed, “Next to her is Louis, third year, and Dominique’s brother. Fred, a second year. Molly, a third year. My brother James, second…”
Ginger hair. His father had told him about the Weasley’s.
“You guys are Weasley’s,” Scorpius realized.
Albus laughed.
“We all are,” a brunette girl about Scorpius’ age, stated, “Hello, I’m Rose. First year as well.”
“Hello,” the Malfoy greeted, “I’m…”
“Malfoy,” Albus realized, “You’re a Malfoy.”
“I suppose.”
The group stared at him for a moment before Dominique spoke up.
“Your father was a Death Eater,” she looked disgusted.
“What’s a Death Eater?” Scorpius asked.
“You really don’t know?” Louis challenged.
“No. I really don’t.”
“They were followers for the dark wizard Voldemort,” Dominique explained, “The guy who killed Albus and James’ grandparents. Tried to kill their father as well.”
“Ask if he has the Dark Mark,” Molly added, “Voldemort gave it to the Death Eaters. It would glow when he summoned them.”
“They marched into the school and started killing people,” Dominique finished.
“How do you know all this?” Albus asked.
“Grandma Molly,” James answered, “You’ll learn when you’re older.”
“James and Fred were eavesdropping,” Louis said, “That’s the only reason they know anything. They keep stealing George’s extendable ears.”
“Extendable ears?”
Fred reached into his pocket and pulled out a tube with what looked like an ear at the end.
“Take it,” he handed the ear to Scorpius, “Free of charge.”
“Thanks?” Scorpius took the object, “Back to my father. He’s not a killer, he really isn’t.”
Was he? Scorpius vaguely remembered his grandparents speak about blood purity, and…
“Voldemort wanted to kill muggleborns,” Molly stated, “The Death Eaters called them…”
“Mudbloods,” James finished.
“Don’t say that!” Fred yelled, “Dad said it’s a bad word!”
“It’s a funny word,” James defended, “Mud…”
Dominique smacked James on the back of the head.
“No, he isn’t,” he said, “And, once you learn more about the war, you won’t think so anymore.”
“Sorry,” James said, then to Dominique, “I’m telling my dad you hit me.”
“So, Scorpius,” Albus changed the subject, “What house do you think you’ll be put in?”
“Slytherin, most likely.”
Scorpius tuned out. What is a mudblood? Who exactly is Voldemort? And, was his father really a murderer?
…
“Albus Potter,” Hagrid greeted, “Two Weasleys this year. And...Scorpius Malfoy?”
He looked like he expected anything but a smile from Scorpius.
“Hello,” Scorpius greeted.
“Hello,” Hagrid greeted, “And, yer friendly with Albus. Never in a million years. Potter and Malfoy. Ha!”
Neither Scorpius nor Albus understood this as they entered the boats to sail across the lake to the castle. The young Malfoy approached Hagrid before entering the castle.
“Hagrid, could I ask you a question?”
“’Course. What’s on yer mind?”
“What was my father like at Hogwarts?”
Hagrid thought for a moment.
“Your father, well, he was a bit on the abrasive side, that’s for sure. But, I’m certain he’s changed by now.”
“Was he a Death Eater?”
Hagrid froze.
“How’d ye know about…”
“The Weasley kids told me.”
“I see,” Hagrid noted, “Well, you should ask yer father. He’d explain himself better than I could.”
…
Scorpius was sorted into Slytherin almost immediately, like his father. His Death Eater father, a cynical voice spoke in his head. The surprise came when Albus was sorted.
“Slytherin,” the hat announced.
The entire hall was silent. Harry Potter’s son, a Slytherin. Albus, a dissapointed look on his face, headed for the Slytherin table, where Scorpius invited him to sit. Rose was then sorted into Gryffindor.
…
“My father said it gets cold in the winter,” Scorpius explained when he and Albus were shown into the Slytherin common room, “Especially by the lake over there. He told me the glass cracked once and flooded the whole room. Probably another one of his lies.”
“Scorp…”
“Should I ask him?” Scorpius continued, “Ask him who he’s killed.”
“Try floo-calling him,” Albus suggested.
“Yeah.”
…
Draco’s heart ached as he listened to Astoria throw up once again. She’d been unable to keep down food all day.
“You’re getting worse,” he stated.
“Draco, Darling, I’m…”
“Don’t you dare say you are fine,” he snapped, “You’re wasting away. Now, Scorpius is floo-calling me, and I intend to answer. Would you like to speak with him?”
“Tell him I’ve gone to bed.”
“I can only lie for so long,” Draco gritted.
“Dear, please.”
“Fine. Get some rest.”
Astoria left. Draco turned to the fireplace in the Manor.
“Hello, Son,” he greeted when he saw Scorpius’ face, “Was there something you wanted?”
“I got into Slytherin.”
“Excellent!”
“I wanted to ask you something. Well, a few things.”
“Go ahead.”
“What is a mudblood?”
Draco snarled. Had Lucius been teaching Scorpius, spouting nonsense in his ears again?
“Who taught you that word?” he demanded.
“James Potter. He says it’s a funny word.”
“It is not funny! It’s a horrid word and you should never use it!”
“But, what does it mean?”
“Dirty blood,” Draco squeaked, “It’s a rather terrible word for muggleborns. I forbid you to use it. Understood?”
“Yes, Father.”
“Was that all you wanted?”
“I spoke to Albus’ family on the train,” Scorpius began, “They said you were a Death Eater. But, that cant’ be true, can it?”
“Son…”
“Look at me!” Scorpius roared.
Draco rolled up his sleeve and revealed the faded mark, a permanent reminder of his adolescent allegiance.
“Scorpius, listen…”
“You’re a murderer!” his son shouted, “Why should I listen to a word you say?”
“I have never…”
“You said it was wrong to hurt people! You’re a hypocrite!”
Scorpius cut the connection, the last thing Draco saw being his teary-eyed son.
…
Not even a week later, Harry had been wandering around the Ministry’s main floor as he waited for Ron and Hermione to get out of work.
“Potter!” a familiar old voice yelled.
“Malfoy?” Harry asked as Draco approached him, furious, “What do you want?”
“Your son felt it appropriate to teach my son slurs!” Draco stated, “Why is that?”
“Which son?”
“Scorpius informed me that James taught him the word…” Draco paused, then spoke quietly, “The word mudblood.”
Harry snorted.
“Really, Malfoy? You have a hard time saying that word now?”
“Believe it or not, Potter, one does change quite a bit in nearly two decades.”
“So, what do you want from me?”
“Scorpius found out about my...dark past, due to your extended family. He refuses to speak with me.”
“What did you expect? You had to expect this would happen at some point.”
“I would have rather it been my own retelling,” Draco snapped, “Tell your son to refrain from teaching him more names.”
“Albus wrote me,” Harry informed, “He seems to be friendly toward your son. They’re getting along quite well.”
Draco took a moment to digest this.
“Very well,” he said, “I’m willing to put aside our old hatred for each other, for our sons’ sakes.”
He extended his hand.
“I don’t hate you, Malfoy,” Harry shook Draco’s hand, “I’ll have a talk with James.”
…
“What’s the matter, Malfoy?” one of the Hufflepuffs taunted, “Can’t reach?”
“Give it back!” Scorpius screamed as he gripped the books held above his head.
“Better leave him alone,” another Hufflepuff taunted, “He might send his Death Eater father after us.”
“Spoiled brat,” the first one laughed.
“What a loser!”
“Expelliarmus!” Albus screamed, and caused the books to fall to the ground.
Scorpius grabbed his books and stood by Albus.
“Mr. Potter,” Professor Longbottom approached them, “No magic in the halls.”
“I was defending Scorpius!”
“Mr. Douglass and Mr. Leadbetter, detention tonight at seven. And, ten points from Hufflepuff for bullying. Each.”
The Hufflepuffs grumbled angrily.
“And you two,” he pointed to Albus and Scorpius, “Come with me, I want to speak with you.”
The two followed the herbology professor down the hall, away from the prying ears of other students.
“Are you bullied often, Scorpius?”
“Somewhat.”
“Somewhat?”
“They make fun of me because of my father,” Scorpius explained, “Even some of the teachers dislike me.”
“It isn’t right to dislike you because of your father’s actions,” the professor spoke, “Especially teachers.”
“My father is a killer,” Scorpius spat.
“Scorpius!” Albus scolded.
“It’s true! He’s a Death Eater! I saw the mark!”
“Your father took the mark when he was very young,” the professor told them, “Sixteen, I believe. Still a child in the eyes of many.”
“Why are you defending him?”
“From what Albus’ father tells me, your father’s choice in the matter was limited. The ideals his family put in his mind, that pureblood wizards were better than muggleborns, that muggleborns were unfit to even live...That was taught to him in childhood. And, besides, Voldemort gave him a task, and he wasn’t the kind of guy you could just say no to.”
Scorpius began to speak but the professor continued.
“Albus, your father felt the need to defend him after the war. You’ll learn about the war. Malfoy...Draco, was spat on, everywhere he went, cursed and yelled at. He stopped leaving his home for nearly a year, until Harry realized the public didn’t know about the Malfoys’ last minute defection against Voldemort.”
“What did he do?” Albus asked.
“He went to the Daily Prophet and told the true story,” the professor answered, “I must get going. I will see you boys in Herbology.”