Chapter Text
"My dad really doesn't like your father very much," Albus Severus Potter—just 'Al' to his friends, of which there are many—states in that usual matter-of-fact way he so often uses and which never fails to make his best mate Scorpius Malfoy wonder if, perhaps, the Sorting Hat made a huge mistake three years ago, because, well, what on earth is Harry Potter's ever spontaneous and regularly blundering son doing in Slytherin House anyhow?
The boy possesses the keen observation skills of a random Hufflepuff as well as all the tact of the average Gryffindor, which results in a rather unfortunate combination that's not often seen and rarely appreciated in the Snake Den.
"So what else is new, Potter?"
Scorpius smirks, shakes his head, and goes back to his Potions essay that, to his grave dismay, is nowhere near finished yet.
Sadly, he didn't inherit his father's natural flair for the subject and has to work harder than even Albus, but he'll do his utmost not to let Professor Granger down and greatly embarrass his father at the same time.
Meanwhile, Al prattles on relentlessly. "They were bitter rivals before the war, and even during, it took a long while before they even—"
"Oh Circe's tits, Potter!"
Irritated, Scorpius throws down his quill. Soundlessly, it lands on the desk. "Yes, I know all that," he snaps. "You've already said so—gosh, what, a thousand times before? So if you have something important to add this time around, if you actually have a point to make for a change, could you please get to it before we both run the risk of missing our Leaving Feast?"
"Well, er—"
Albus frowns. He's used to his friend's outbursts by now, but that isn't to say he appreciates them or even considers them justified. Honestly, Scorpius can be such a temperamental git at times, and more often than not, without good reason.
"I was thinking," Al finally continues, determined to get this out, "you and me, we get along so well, so why can't they; really?"
Scorpius rolls his eyes. "Life really is all black and white to you, isn't it? You have to realise, Al, you and I are very different from our respective fathers. For one thing, we don't have some nasty, hateful history standing between us like a mile-high barricade."
Scorpius doesn't need to add that this history, the one his father pigheadedly refuses to elaborate on, is the main reason why Scorpius isn't allowed to ever visit the Potter-Weasley residence, in the same way Albus isn't welcome at Malfoy Manor, where Scorpius has been living with his father ever since his parents' divorce.
Yes, both boys are well aware their parents don't approve of their friendship, though this hasn't managed to split them apart yet. Try though they might, neither Harry Potter nor Draco Malfoy has any authority at Hogwarts. Here, Headmistress McGonagall's word is law.
"I know." Albus shrugs. "It's just that—well, your father doesn't get out much, you said, and my dad seems pretty lonely lately."
Scorpius frowns, oddly intrigued all of a sudden. "How do you mean, 'lonely'?"
"Er, he could use a friend, I reckon."
"He's friends with the Weasleys, though, isn't he?" Scorpius tries his utmost not to pronounce 'Weasleys' as one might a synonym for 'turds', but it's an uphill struggle to go against one's upbringing, so he only half-succeeds.
"Yeah, but—" Al swallows hard. "The thing is, he's been avoiding them lately."
"Oh?"
"Because of mum, you see. She's been—" He bites his lip and hesitates, unsure whether to say more. It's quite possible he has already said too much as it is.
"Go on."
"Um, you won't—" he clears his throat nervously. "This stays between the two of us, right?"
"How dare you even ask that, Potter? As if I'd ever broadcast your secrets around the school. Give me some credit, would you?"
"Er, yeah. Sorry." He gives a small, rather goofy laugh and then says in a more serious, almost solemn tone, "She's been exchanging Owls with some bloke called Zabrinski or Zobroni or something, and I think she's been meeting with him too while dad was at work. You know, in secret, like."
Scorpius' eyes grow impossibly wide. "You don't mean Zabini, do you? Blaise Zabini?"
Al furrows his brows in concentration. "Yeah," he says after a few moments' consideration. "Yeah, that's the one."
"Oh God." Scorpius runs a hand through his wavy, blond hair. "That's er… not such brilliant news."
"Why?" Al asks, clearly concerned. "You know something, don't you?"
Scorpius hesitates.
"Come on," Al insists. "I tell you everything, don't I? And if it's something important, isn't it kind of your duty to let me know, with you being my best mate and everything?"
"Right." Scorpius takes a deep breath. "That Zabini bloke is a pretty close friend of my father's. He came over one day during the Christmas Hols and I overheard him and Father talking. Zabini kept going on about this hot piece of skirt—er, his words not mine, some redhead he'd known back at school. I won't repeat what he said exactly, Al, because, well—it was sort of rude."
Al swallows nervously and gives a small nod in understanding. He's no expert where people and relationships are concerned, but he definitely knows enough to comprehend what his friend is trying to say.
"Anyway," Scorpius continues, "all the while, Father just sat there, feigning interest and Zabini; well, he's dead serious, apparently; he's really interested in pursuing your mum."
Al looks down at his hands and studies his cuticles. "Scorp," he begins softly, "when did you—when did you first realise there was something amiss with your parents; that things weren't right between them anymore and that they might be splitting up? How could you tell?"
Scorpius shrugs. "Maman moved out when I was still a toddler, and a little after that, Father and I went to live at the Manor. I don't actually remember my parents being together. So I can't help you with that, sorry."
"Oh," Al utters dejectedly, and then goes on to ask, "Does your dad have a lot of friends?"
"Hardly." Scorpius shakes his head. "Zabini and Pucey are the only ones who ever visit, unless Grandmama insists on having other guests over. Father rarely leaves the grounds. He mostly keeps to himself and often locks himself in his study for some reason."
"Sounds like he could use a friend too, then," Al points out.
Scorpius can't help but chuckle at that. "I hear where you're coming from, Potter, but I seriously doubt that would work. It'd be 'hello' and straight into battle."
"Yeah, but at least if they fight they won't be so… passive anymore. You know, sometimes my dad acts like he'll be turning four hundred, not forty, in a few years."
Scorpius frowns. His initial reaction is to retort with some snarky remark, but somehow, for reasons he can't quite put his finger on, his friend's words strike a chord. So he thinks them over carefully until he has to admit that yes, his father could definitely do with some cheering up, or some pulling out of his shell, or well… something to snap him out of his solitude.
"You know, Al," he says, "I think you may be on to something there."
Al grins.
"And am I to assume you also have a plan to go with it?"
Al's grin turns devious and positively Slytherin. "Don't I always?"