Disclaimer: All Harry Potter Characters and Events belong to JK Rowling, not me.

Where does any story truly start?

For to have our own stories, we must also be part of the stories of others, the stories to come before and after us.

Their story did not truly start on the train platform that fall morning. It started two decades before that, with a different set of schoolchildren and a rejected offer of friendship. It started even before that with their grandparents, with the cool looks passed between their ancestors. It started even before that with an orphan named Tom, even before that with the founders and the falling out.

For their story to start as it did, thousands of years of history had to form the back-story. But for simplicities sake, we will say that their story did start on that train platform the moment they locked eyes with each other, and now that they have a story, all the other stories, the important stories, become only subplots.

And so their story begins.

He was the miniature of his father, both pale and silver, both cloaked in black, and both staring unashamedly at the rather ragged bunch that had gathered on the other end of the platform.

She, on the other hand, seemed to be the perfect blend of her parents. She had her mother's hair but colored in the cheerful red of her father, she had her mother's face but punctuated with the blue eyes of her father, and all three of them were staring, just as unashamedly, at the small, isolated family staring back.

And for one moment, the children locked eyes, and then it was over just as quickly as it had begun.

But though she had turned back to her big, bustling family, Scorpius kept watching them.

"The Weasley family," his father murmured, "although I suppose Ginny's a Potter now. I should have known that the 'Golden Trio' would end up related to each other." There was something akin to jealousy in his voice.

"Father," Scorpius started, never taking his eyes off the new girl, "Grandfather says that—"

"Never mind what your grandfather said," Draco rebuked him.

"But Father, aren't they blood tra—"

"Stop, Scorpius," Astoria said. "We told you not to discuss those things."

"Potter and I may never have gotten on," Draco told him, "but I owe him my life many times over. Weasley, too, and Granger."

Scorpius looked slightly taken aback at this, for though Draco never took part in the Potter bashings that seemed to take place whenever Lucius visited, and often left the room, neither had he ever defended the Chosen One or his friends before.

"Listen, Scorp," Draco said, kneeling down to his level, "it's going to be hard enough entering Hogwarts as a Malfoy. We're not exactly popular, not these days. Don't make enemies for yourself. I know what your grandfather tells you, but don't antagonize people. I'm not telling you to befriend the Weasleys, but at least stay neutral."

The train gave one last warning whistle, and Draco straightened back up. He extended his hand to his son, who shook it, trying desperately not to look terrified.

"Good Luck, son," Draco said, pausing a moment before suddenly leaning down and pulling his son into a quick, hard embrace. "I love you."

"Write to us when you've settled in," Astoria said, also embracing the boy.

"Bye, Mum," Scorpius muttered, and then he turned, squared his shoulders, and marched onto the train just in time for it to roll slowly away from the station.

And as he caught his last glimpse of the platform, he saw his mother smiling fondly at him and his father give him one last stoic nod, thrown into sharp contrast against the boisterous Weasley bunch, waving and hollering at their own students as the train pulled away.

And suddenly, Scorpius Malfoy felt very alone in the world.