So guess what? I own them all. Especially Scorpius Malfoy. He is ALL MINE. You're jealous.

He didn't blame anyone, really.

He didn't blame his father, really, because that was how his father had been brought up. He had been brought up believing in a society that wasn't real, and that would never become real, but that wasn't his fault. And it wasn't Granddad's fault, either, because that was how he had been brought up. Scorpius could go down his family tree in an attempt to find out who exactly had started it all, but what good would that bring, really? He didn't blame his father; in fact, he respected his father, because his father had taught Scorpius differently, he taught him to believe in the way of life they had now, and Scorpius didn't hate muggles, he didn't call people mudbloods, because his father had made sure Scorpius didn't make the same mistakes he had.

If only people gave him a chance to prove that.

He didn't blame the people who were so quick to judge him, either. And even if it hurt, the way people gave him dirty looks, how they steered clear of him, how they whispered about it, he didn't blame them for it. Because of course they would be quick to judge the son of Draco Malfoy, just as they were quick to judge Albus Potter, and James Potter before him. Of course they would expect him to be in Slytherin, like his father (although none of them had expected Albus Potter to be sorted into the same house!). Of course they judged him. The apple doesn't fall from the tree, they said. They expected him to be exactly the same, because who was there to teach him differently?

But still, sometimes Scorpius would lay awake at night, wondering what his life at Hogwarts would be like if his last name was something different, it was Smith or White or even Potter. He was sure people would look at him differently if his last name wasn't Malfoy.

"Malfoy! Look alive!" He jerked his head up as Professor Longbottom called his name, his heart sinking.

"Sorry Professor," he mumbled, flipping through his textbook, hoping he wouldn't be asked for the answer to the question he hadn't heard.

"Care to grace us with the answer, Malfoy?" Professor Longbottom waited patiently. Scorpius cursed under his breath. He absolutely hated Herbology.

"Apparently not. Anyone else?"

Rose Weasley raised her hand. Of course she did, Scorpius thought bitterly to himself, she always knows the answers.

Many people thought he hated Rose Weasley because she was a Weasley, but in truth it was because she beat him in almost everything he did, and he didn't like being beaten.

"It's Gillyweed, sir," she said matter-of-factly, and Scorpius wanted to hit her. Gillyweed? Was that it? It didn't take a genius to know that answer.

"Very good Miss Weasley, 5 points for Ravenclaw. Gillyweed," he said to the class, "to put it bluntly, allows the user to obtain aquatic like qualities, such as scales, webbed feet/hands, etc. It's most well known use was possibly the 1994 Triwizard tournament, where it was used by Mr. Harry Potter-" here he shot Albus a proud look- "in the second task in which it was necessary to delve deep into the lake for..."

Here Scorpius tuned out. He didn't care about hearing the story- he had heard it enough times from enough people.

As the Slytherin's and Ravenclaw's filed out of Herbology for lunch, Scorpius was called back.

"Mr Malfoy, please write me a foot long essay about the advantages and disadvantages of Gillyweed, as you have to learn somehow, and if you're not going to pay attention in my class this is the only other option." Scorpius felt his heart sink- this, on top of the other homework Longbottom had assigned, and everything else? He brushed past Rose Weasley, his anger rising.

He took a detour and went to sit by the big tree facing the lake. When he envisioned his time at Hogwarts, he didn't picture it like this.

He pictured friends and feasts, partying and Quidditch matches. He pictured being liked by all his teachers, being top of his class, surrounded by a group of people who didn't idolize him, but who were his actual genuine friends. He pictured having fun, but that dream was so far off from reality that he couldn't even see it in the distance, not even if he squinted.

Scorpius was so wrapped up in Hogwarts dreamland that he didn't even notice when someone came and sat down on the other side of the tree trunk.

"That really wasn't fair, what Professor Longbottom made you do. The essay." He heard a voice that sounded familiar, though he couldn't place it exactly. He heard the mysterious girl let out a sigh.

"Yeah, no kidding," he said moodily, ignoring his rumbling stomach.

"I know what you're going through, sort of."

Scorpius snorted. "Really."

She didn't say anything, and he took that to mean either she had been thrown off by his tone or the stupid girl had nodded, not remembering that he couldn't see her.

"Well, you're probably feeling frustrated, I imagine, because people keep assuming you are you're father. Which you're not. And it bugs you that people think you are like him. Or maybe you actually are like him, and you just want people to leave you the fuck alone, or maybe you just don't really know who you want to be, yet, and the fact that you're so confused makes you angry-"

Ah, the babbling gave her away. It was the same as in class- once she started, it was hard to stop her.

"Weasley!? What the hell are you doing here? And how the hell do you know anything about what I'm going through?"

He poked his head around the tree trunk and sure enough there was Rose Weasley, looking slightly sheepish that he had figured out it was. Her red hair was piled up on top of her head, and her bright blue eyes were determinedly avoiding his steely grey ones. She looked pretty.


Ignoring he had had such a thought, he continued to stare her down. Because he was slightly offended, and very upset that Rose Weasley actually thought she could understand, that she could relate to what he was going through.

"I'm just saying... well okay, I don't know exactly how you're feeling, but I sort of... ugh! See this is why I hid behind the tree!"

Scorpius surveyed her with an amused look. It was kind of entertaining, watching her squirm.

"Go back behind the tree!"

He cocked an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"

"I can't talk to your face! Go back behind the tree!"

Slightly frightened of her tone, he shrunk back to the other side and rested on the tree trunk. He could hear her breathing on the other side.

"So, you're Draco Malfoy's son. And it's common knowledge that he wasn't exactly a saint in his days, no offence. And so all the people expect you to be just like him, because I mean, he raised you, right? And if he wasn't taught differently, then how could he teach you differently? And it upsets you that people automatically label you into your father's shadow. They expect you to be no different, and maybe you are different, I'm not sure. Plus, on top of this stereotyping all the people who your dad was mean to are now being cruel and unfair to you, because of the sins of your father. Like Neville- or Professor Longbottom, actually- shouldn't have given you an essay about Gillyweed. You should have gotten off with just a reprimand, at most."

She took a breath in after this, and Scorpius sat there, stunned and slightly unnerved that everything she had just said fit him perfectly. But still...

"And what does any of this have to do with you, Weasley?"

She let out a soft laugh.

"Well, it's different with me. And yet at the same time, it's the same. Which doesn't really make any sense..."

Scorpius sighed. He had a feeling he was going to miss lunch entirely.

"Okay, see, I'm the daughter of Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Now Hermione, my mother, was brilliant. Like, she was the smartest witch of her day. She still is. So everybody expects me to be like her. But on the other hand, my dad is Ron Weasley. So people also expect me to be funny, loyal, a really good friend, always making people laugh. And on top of all that, I'm a Weasley, so I was expected to be in Gryffindor- which I wasn't- and to be amazing at Quidditch- which, I can assure you, I'm not. So really, we both have expectations placed on us. Maybe they're different kinds of expectations, but still."

Scorpius rested his head against the trunk. Damn. She was bang on.

"Do you ever think that maybe if we had different last names, we would be different people?" He whispered, not entirely sure if he wanted her to hear.

"I would. Because then I wouldn't have all the pressure on me to be brilliant, I wouldn't stay up until two in the morning studying. And then I wouldn't crack stupid lame jokes most people don't even pretend to laugh at, in an attempt to be like my dad."

"And maybe then I would have a normal name," which he hadn't really intended to say, but it came out anyway. He heard Weasley laugh.

"Scorpius isn't too bad of a name."

"Easy for you to say. You're name is normal."

"My name is a flower."

"A pretty flower," he said, hoping she didn't take that to mean he thought he was pretty. And yet hoping she did at the same time.

"But you're name is tough. People hear my name and they think, hey, a pretty rose."

"Rose's have thorns," he pointed out. She didn't say anything for a moment. Then suddenly, he was looking at her knees, and looking up he saw her, with her hand outstretched to him.

"I suppose they do," she said thoughtfully as he took her hand and pulled himself up. "Now come on, I'm starving."

"You didn't have to come after me," he pointed out. She was silent for a second.

"I know."