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Hanging off the end of the train compartment like a bumbling idiot, he extended his dirty hand out, along with those nasty grimy fingernails right under my nose, laughing loudly at my horror-struck expression. This meant an offering, of mutual trust, of respected acknowledgment between two rivaling families.

I could just see my Father staring disapprovingly over my shoulder—especially at Potter's filthy hands. Hands of blood-traitors and Mudblood lovers.

Ugly. . .double-crossing. . . filthy. .

But warmth and velvet didn't wait for any second thoughts as he smiled at my delay and clasped at my wrist, tightening.



No Hope


In sync with him, Scorpius recited, "-You don't associate with the Potters or that Weasley riffraff. And whenever the opportunity rises, cursing them will—"

Taking note of his son's lack of interest for the subject, cold silver slit.

"Father…if I haven't got it by now, then there clearly can't be any hope for me."

Draco Malfoy stayed mildly impressed by his attitude for a mere three seconds AFTER the Potter boy, who bore a striking resemblance to Potter Sr., snuck up behind Scorpius to hug him gleefully, skewing his son's silver-rimmed glasses with the kiss he set upon his temple.






Clapping rose and fell away shocked from the Gryffindor table. It rose again from the opposite House, followed by boisterous rude laughter.

His stomach felt as if several rogue Bludgers were repeatedly pounding into his intestines as the overwhelming ripple of horrified gasps and whispers washed over the Great Hall. He couldn't bare to remove the Sorting Hat, to stare into the open mouthed gapes of his fellow classmates. James. Rose.

The clenched feeling in his stomach lifted considerably- the Bludgers crumbling- as he peeked under the Hat to glimpse a pale pointed face looking back at him, grinning.





Just a kiss then.

Lip-to-lip, toe tingling, heartbeat against heartbeat, until someone faints. How I long to know what an infamous Malfoy pout feels touching my skin. Are you as soft as you appear to be in your sharp white exterior? Do you taste like the scent you give off, honey and vanilla together?

Can I quell that monster keeping you from me, the obsessive compulsive, stubborn spawn of your Father? Am I worth risking the higher standards of Purebloods? Your aristocratic norm?

Would they reject you, knowing those unspoiled lips prefer the enormity of the blushing dirty blood?





Dark red outlined the now obvious freckles dusting the edges of his cheekbones. He stumbled. "S'srry."

"Potter," his partner sighed as if it took an extraordinary amount of effort to bring himself to speak, "This is not going to work if you can't even keep a simple rhythm. Did that oaf Hagrid teach you?" Darker color rose up his face as Albus glared openly, too angry to speak and too frustrated to argue.

Completely ignoring the hostility, the young Malfoy twisted their hands together, lacing their fingers, and drew the other boy closer so that no space was left unoccupied.



Last Words


Identical emerald green burned itself forever into his memory.

"I don't fear death..."

Unspoken volumes of the love for his family, his boy, were the last that shown in his eyes in those dying moments.

While everyone else around him scattered, Albus numbly watched Harry Potter advance, wand held high, on the horde of cloaked Deatheaters coming through the front door. Scorpius managed to get his arms around the screaming lad, heaving them both back in time to avoid the many curses being flung at them. But not soon enough to spare him his Father's corpse.

"And you shouldn't either…"



First Impressions


"Who're you?"

"Your family knows who I am- my family knows you."

". . . .That's good and all but I asked for your name."

"Scorpius Draco Malfoy."

". . ."

"Did you just laugh?"


"Like your name is any better. Named after two idiots that got themselves killed, Headmasters no less."

"Take that back!"

"Why? It's true. They were Mudblood lovers and disgraces to the wizarding name. Letting filth like that parade around like they weren't inferior to us."

"Is that your Father talking or just you because either way I'm beating the bloody pulp out of you."

"You wish, Potter."







James Potter had everything Sirius Black and James Potter sr. possessed. Pure talent on the Quiddich pitch, popularity in the equal eyes of the opposite and same sex, and a deep disregard for anything logical or relatively safe. Constantly alongside with the mischievous Fred Weasley jr., they created as much destruction as a lit match and gasoline.

On the other hand, Albus Severus Potter did not acquire the passion of Quiddich, was actually a very shy and reserved soul, and had not yet gotten a taste for the dangerous. But paired with Scorpius Malfoy, however, the effects were downright hazardous.





"My cousin isn't interested, Scorp."

Piercing bright green seemed to drill the message NO CHANCE into the other Slytherin's eyes.

"She's in Ravenclaw."

He spoke with a finality that expressed that that was all the reason needed. The other boy, despite flinching at the horrendous nickname, gave him the impression that this was an entertaining subject.

"Jealous, are we? Your family big into mixing the genes?"

A death glare that could have only came from his Father's side surfaced quickly.

"I believe that's your family's forte, Pureblood."

"Now why can't you use that kind of talk when I'm shagging you!?"





The very pink and freckled cheek of Molly Weasley pushed into his very thin and easily bruised face. After he was freed of her motherly bear hug she had had around his vulnerable figure, she absently began smoothing out the wrinkles in his silk shirt and tutted about his weight, apparently being able to tell after seconds of meeting him that he wasn't 'eating enough for a growing boy his age'. And that if he were to join this family he would 'absolutely need a Weasley sweater to match darling Albus's'.

From his right, he heard his fiancé cackle happily.