Albus walked beside Rose down the corridor of the moving train. He listened to his brother's friends talking about their absent friend Zane attending a wizarding school in America. After finding a compartment, James and his friends kicked them out because first-years had to sit in the allotted compartments.
They passed by the Trolley Witch, approaching with her cart filled to the brim with snacks.
"Anything from the trolley, dears? Pumpkin Pasty? Chocolate Frog? Cauldron Cake?" She asked Rose and Albus.
Rose caught Albus staring wistfully at the chocolate frogs on display. She snapped her fingers, bringing him out of his thoughts." Focus, Al. We need to concentrate."
"Concentrate on what?" asked Albus, slightly annoyed by his cousin's bossiness.
" On who we choose to be friends with. My mum and dad met your dad on their first Hogwarts Express, you know . . ."
"Yea yea, everybody knows the story," muttered Albus.
"Everyone needs a personal friend group," continued Rose," James is friends with Fred, Ralph, and Zane. It's a shame that Zane transferred to Alma Alerons for a while."
"So we need to choose who to be friends with for life? That's quite scary," said Albus uncertainly.
Rose said," On the contrary, it's exciting. I'm a Granger-Weasley, you're a Potter — everyone will want to be friends with us, we've got the pick of anyone we want."
Albus asked Rose," So how do we decide — which compartment to go in..."
Rose said," We rate them all and then decide."
"Great," said Albus sarcastically," Where shall we start?"
Before Rose could respond, they spotted a Slytherin student walking briskly, almost daring anyone to cross his path.
"Off, pardon me," said Rose, but the boy didn't even acknowledge brushing against her. She scoffed," Rude much."
Albus and Rose continued down the corridor, peering into different compartments as they passed.
The first one they came across was packed with a group of loud second-years, laughing raucously over a game of Exploding Snap. A burst of sparks shot out from the table, causing one of them to yelp and shake their hand. Rose wrinkled her nose. "Too chaotic," she said dismissively, tugging Albus's sleeve before he could linger.
The next compartment was significantly quieter, filled with a handful of first-years who looked as nervous as Albus felt. One of them, a pale boy with glasses, was anxiously flipping through Hogwarts: A History while the others sat stiffly, avoiding each other's gazes.
Rose hummed in consideration. "This one has potential," she said thoughtfully, but Albus didn't look convinced. If they were going to make lifelong friends, he'd rather they be people who could hold a conversation without looking like they were about to bolt.
The next compartment they stopped at had three boys huddled together in whispered conversation. As Albus and Rose slid the door open slightly, they caught the tail end of their hushed discussion.
"I'm telling you," a freckled boy was saying. "He's in the last compartment. My older brother says he's You-Know-Who's son. That's why everyone's so weird about him."
Albus felt a jolt of curiosity, but Rose immediately pulled him back before they could be noticed. She snapped the door shut with a little more force than necessary and grabbed his wrist, pulling him further down the corridor.
"Come on, let's keep looking," she said quickly.
Albus hesitated. "Did you hear what they just said?"
Rose scoffed. "Yes, and it's ridiculous. Voldemort never had a son. That's just an ill-formed rumor."
Albus didn't respond right away, but the rumor stuck with him.
They continued their search, but Rose was more distracted now, her glances flicking toward the back of the train where the so-called "You-Know-Who's son" was supposedly sitting. She wanted to avoid that compartment at all costs.
But Albus? Albus was intrigued.
Finally, they reached the last few compartments, and Rose stopped abruptly just outside one. The nameplate read Reserved. Through the glass, they could see a lone figure leaning against the windows—pale-haired, sharp-featured, and unmistakably Malfoy.
Scorpius Malfoy. The Malfoy who joked about being a Gryffindor.
Rose stiffened beside him. "We should keep moving," she said quickly. "We don't need to associate with a Malfoy."
Albus, however, didn't budge. He peered inside, curiosity burning brighter than ever. "Why not?" he asked.
Rose gave him a look as if the answer was obvious. "Because he's a Malfoy. He's probably like those old people we meet during the Ministry-hosted events."
"They're not that bad," Albus interrupted.
"Even if they aren't that bad," Rose insisted, lowering her voice, " Dad told me one thing, don't talk to the Malfoys."
Albus frowned. He hated it when people made decisions for him, especially when they weren't based on anything real. He studied Scorpius for a moment. The boy didn't look particularly evil. If anything, he looked bored.
Without another word, Albus reached for the door handle.
"Hi. Is this compartment occupied?" began Albus.
"Yeah, you can sit in here," said the blond-haired boy," It's not like I own Hogwarts Express."
"Thanks," Albus sat down in the compartment. Rose followed in, albeit reluctantly.
"I'm Albus, Albus Potter."
"Albus? Named after Professor Dumbledore?" asked Scorpius.
"Yes, I'm named after him." Albus dimmed a little upon hearing that statement.
"Cool, I'm Scorpius Malfoy." said Scorpius.
"I heard you… on the platform," said Albus.
"I know, I thought it was funny," said Scorpius.
"So you didn't mean it?" asked Albus, his face slightly dimming.
Scorpius tilted his head, a small, unreadable smile playing at his lips. "Well," he said smoothly, "funny is a matter of perspective, isn't it? Some people laugh at jokes, others laugh at the truth dressed as a joke. And then some hear something and decide what they want it to mean."
Albus narrowed his eyes slightly. "So… did you mean it or not?"
Scorpius leaned back against the seat, tapping his fingers idly against his knee. "I meant that it was worth saying."
Rose folded her arms, unimpressed. "That's not an answer."
Scorpius smirked. "Isn't it?"
Rose narrowed her eyes." Typical Malfoy."
"I'm sorry, which Weasley are you again?" asked Scorpius.
"I'm Rose Granger-Weasley," replied Rose.
"Red Rose!" said a voice with a croak.
Albus and Rose jumped and scrambled around to see the source of the voice. Scorpius clicked his tongue and said," No need to worry, that's my pet."
A black raven with beady black eyes emerged from the overhead compartment. "Hello," said the bird, its voice croaky…like a bird's.
"Wicked!" said Albus, looking enviously at it.
"What dark magic did you use to make a bird talk?" demanded Rose.
"I'll have you know that Magical Ravens can imitate a few words, but most choose not to. But Brynden is special. He can speak entire sentences," said Scorpius.
"That's awesome!" said Albus.
"What about you, any pets?" asked Scorpius.
"I have a pet owl," said Albus," She's called Beaky."
"Nice," agreed Scorpius.
They sat in awkward silence for a while, until Rose spoke up," So are you… Voldemort's son."
"How can you call me Malfoy and still expect me to be that guy's son?" questioned Scorpius.
"Your parents were Death Eaters," said Rose.
Scorpius's expression darkened at Rose's accusation. "My father was a Death Eater, yes. He made mistakes. But my mother? She had nothing to do with any of that."
Rose scoffed. "Doesn't change that your family stood on the wrong side."
Scorpius's jaw tightened. "It's easy to talk about sides when you've always been on the winning one."
Albus raised his hands between them. "Okay, can we not do this? We just met."
Rose folded her arms. "I just think we should be careful who we associate with, Albus."
Scorpius let out a dry laugh. "Ah, so we're already at that stage, are we? Right, of course. A Malfoy is always the villain in someone's story."
"That's not what I meant," Albus said quickly.
Rose gave him a pointed look. "Yes, well, we probably should sit somewhere else. Come on, Albus."
Albus hesitated. His mind was buzzing—about Scorpius, about the way people looked at him, about everything he'd heard. But something about Scorpius made him pause.
"No."
Rose turned, frowning. "Albus—"
"I'm okay," Albus said, his voice firm. "You go on."
Rose studied him for a long moment before shaking her head. "Albus. I won't wait."
"And I wouldn't expect you to," he replied evenly. "But I'm staying here."
Rose exhaled sharply, glaring at Scorpius before turning on her heel and storming out of the compartment.
Albus watched her go, then looked back at Scorpius.
Scorpius raised an eyebrow. "Well, that was dramatic."
Albus huffed a quiet laugh. "You have no idea."
"So, what made you stay?" asked Scorpius.
Albus hesitated, staring at his hands. He wasn't sure how to put it into words—the strange, creeping fear that had been gnawing at him ever since he first understood what his last name meant.
Everyone expected something from him. To be like his father. To be a hero. But what if he wasn't? What if the Sorting Hat saw something else in him, something that would disappoint everyone?
"I don't know," he admitted finally. "Maybe because... I know what it's like to have people think they know who you are before they've even spoken to you." He glanced up at Scorpius. "You're the 'son of a Death Eater.' I'm 'Harry Potter's son.' Neither of us got a choice in that, did we?"
Scorpius studied him for a moment, then smirked. "So, you think you'll be sorted into Slytherin?"
Albus felt his stomach twist. He had no idea where he would end up, but the thought of Slytherin lingered in the back of his mind, heavy and unshakable. "I don't know," he admitted.
Scorpius tilted his head. Then, suddenly, he grinned. "Alright. Let's make a deal."
Albus frowned. "A deal?"
"If you get sorted into Slytherin," Scorpius said, leaning forward with an amused glint in his eye, "then I'll go to Gryffindor."
Albus blinked. "That's... not how it works."
Scorpius shrugged. "Who says? The Hat takes our choices into account, doesn't it? If you promise to go to Slytherin, I'll tell the hat I want Gryffindor."
"What hat?" asked Albus.
"Right," Scorpius snapped his fingers. I forgot that most parents don't tell their kids about the sorting ceremony."
"You know what happens in the Sorting Ceremony?" Albus widened his eyes," I've been begging my cousins to tell me the answer, but every answer varies."
"Really, what did they tell you about the sorting ceremony?" asked Scorpius.
Albus sighed, rubbing his temples. "James told me we have to wrestle a troll. Victoire said we had to brew a perfect potion, and Louis swore it was some kind of riddle contest."
Scorpius let out a snort of laughter. "That's brilliant. A troll? That's a little much… but then again, wizards aren't exactly renowned for their logic."
Albus raised his hands. "That's what I thought! But then Teddy said it's different for everyone—that you gaze into a crystal ball that shows you a vision of your future."
Scorpius raised an eyebrow. "Dramatic."
"I know, right?" Albus huffed. "But the worst one was Fred. He said you have to put your wand in a bowl, and if it floats, you're a Gryffindor, but if it sinks, you're a Slytherin. And if it catches fire, you're a Hufflepuff. And if it explodes…"
"Ravenclaw?" guessed Scorpius.
"No. Then you get sent home."
Scorpius burst out laughing. "That's—wow. They had you going, huh?"
Albus crossed his arms. "Well, excuse me for not knowing! No one would tell me the truth!"
Scorpius smirked. "Well, you're in luck, Potter. Because I do."
Albus leaned in, eyes eager. "Well?"
Scorpius paused for dramatic effect, then grinned. "You just sit on a stool and put on a talking hat."
Albus blinked. "That's it?"
"That's it."
"…You're joking."
"Nope." Scorpius spread his hands. "I mean, the Hat does poke around in your head a bit, figures out where you'd fit best, but yeah, no murder or arson?"
"What's… arsen?" asked Albus, tentatively pronouncing the unfamiliar word.
Scorpius simplified it for him," No trolls, no burning, and no future seeing."
Albus sat back, stunned. "That's… so normal."
"I know. Disappointing, isn't it?" Scorpius chuckled. "But, hey, at least now you're prepared. No need to panic when some ancient piece of leather starts talking to you."
Albus sighed in relief. "I can't believe they made all that up. I'm going to kill James."
Scorpius grinned. "Or, hear me out—you could convince him that the Hat does show you visions and that yours revealed something mysterious. Give him a taste of his own medicine."
Albus thought about it. Then he grinned back. "You know what? That's brilliant."
Scorpius shrugged. "So what do you say, deal?"
Albus hesitated. "But—why would you do that for me?"
Scorpius leaned back against the seat, stretching his arms behind his head. "Because Houses don't matter. Not really." He smirked. "And besides, it would be funny. Can you imagine the looks on their faces?"
Albus chuckled despite himself. "I think people would faint."
"Exactly." Scorpius grinned, then held out his hand. "Deal?"
Albus hesitated for only a second before shaking it. "Deal."