By mid-morning, the wizard Draco Malfoy was already having a poor day. His wife was away visiting her sister's family. He'd overslept. His morning coffee was cold. His mother had accosted him on the way to his study regarding some unflattering statements made about her in The Daily Prophet, clearly expecting him to rush off gallantly and "do something about it", though what he could only imagine. He'd received a letter from the Ministry of Magic informing him that he should expect a "follow-up inspection" of one of his businesses within the week. (The third one in a month.) And the gardener had knocked on his study door to inform him that he'd forgotten to dilute the growth potion he'd used on the Rose of Sharon, which in turn accomplished a height of forty-five feet and a habit of eating geese as they flew by. Therefore, he was not especially pleased when he glanced up from his books to discover the expectant face of his son, Scorpius, staring back at him from the other side of his desk.

"Dad, I've nothing to do!" he whined.

"Scorpius," he warned him, "You can see I'm working right now."

"But I'm bored!" he continued, "I don't have anything to do!"

"It's your summer vacation," his father encouraged, "Go outdoors…go practice Quidditch."

"You can't play Quidditch by yourself and besides, there's a blood-thirsty rosebush out there."

"Go for a walk in the park then," he suggested, thumbing through the pages he was working on. Scorpius rolled his eyes.

"I don't want to walk around by myself!"

"I reckon your grandmother would fancy a walk."

"Daaaaad!" Scorpius whined. Draco chuckled softly. He didn't blame his son for not rushing off to spend time with his grandmother after experiencing her mood first hand that morning.

"You know, you would have had Miss Crawford to play with again this summer if you hadn't run her off. You liked practicing your flying with her." Scorpius folded his arms and rolled his eyes defiantly.

"First of all, she was a governess, and I'm twelve years old! Secondly, I did not run her off." His father had risen from his desk to search for something in the file cabinet. He flicked his wand toward the top drawer, trying to summon the correct invoice from the many folders inside. The drawer shot open and several papers cascaded from the drawer, sorting and depositing themselves in a neat pile on Draco's desk.

"Last autumn when you went off to school, I asked her if we could expect her back for the summer," Draco continued, "I believe her exact words were, 'There's no amount of money in the world that would compel me to spend another day with that beastly little tyrant.'"

Scorpius sighed in exasperation and responded matter-of-factly. "In my defense, I did tell her that I don't care for studying French."

"In any event, I don't think she'll be returning."

"I'm so bored…" Scorpius whined again, "This is the most miserable summer ever!"

"Well, son. What is it you want me to do exactly?" he asked the boy as he continued to search for the document he needed.

"Maybe if I had a dog?"

"What?" he exclaimed, nearly turning his inkwell over in alarm.

"A dog?" Scorpius repeated trying to muster up his most appealing and hopeful expression.

"Son, I detest creatures. You know that," he reminded his son as he flicked his wand again, trying to usher the papers back into their folder, to no avail.

"But, dad…"

"No non-human life forms in the house!" he declared with sudden sternness and he flicked his wand again toward the papers on his desk. Suddenly, they jerked to life, shuffled themselves like a deck of cards, then shot out of sight, under a chest of drawers in the corner.

"Eugh! This useless, restricted wand!" he bellowed. Scorpius went over and fetched the papers out from under the chest.

"That's not fair, dad," he continued, unhindered by the difficulty his father was experiencing, "You let Wrinkles stay here and he's not a human!"

"Wrinkles is different. He's a house elf."

"He's not a human," Scorpius retorted.

"I'll tell you what, son. You find a dog that can polish silver, scrub carpets, dust antiques, or even ward off evil rose bushes and he's all yours. In the meantime, you are going to have to find something to occupy yourself until the new school term resumes." Scorpius sighed.

"Fine," he answered tersely and adopted his most disappointed-looking gait as he departed.

Back in his room, he collapsed on the bed. 'Maybe I'll brew a sleeping potion and just sleep until September,' he thought aloud. He glanced over at his desk where his school books sat. 'Maybe when Mum comes back from Aunt Lucinda's she'll order my new books. Guess you know your summer's shot when you look forward to doing homework!'

Suddenly, his thoughts were interrupted by a short popping sound coming from the next room. Scorpius rose from the bed and went in to find Wrinkles placing a soup tureen and a plate of sandwiches on the table in his sitting room.

"Good afternoon, Master Scorpius," the elf greeted cheerfully, "Wrinkles brought up your lunch, sir."

"Oh…thanks." The elf smiled broadly, bowed deeply, and went to disapperate, but suddenly Scorpius had a notion.

"Wrinkles?"

"Yes, Master Scorpius, sir?" the elf responded.

"I have an idea! Wait right here!" Wrinkles stood uneasily still as his young master ran off into the adjoining room where he could hear him rummaging through his drawers in search of something. Wrinkles was often glad that his family only had one child.

Moments later, Wrinkles was tentatively relieved when Scorpius returned carrying nothing but a blue, rubber ball.

"Now, this is what we're going to do, Wrinkles," the young master explained carefully, "I'm going to throw this ball." He held it up for Wrinkles to examine. "Then it will bounce all over the room, and you chase it and try to catch it. Then when you do, bring it here."

"Happily, Master Scorpius, sir." Wrinkles responded without much confidence. It didn't sound like a difficult task but he'd heard stories about boys Scorpius' age playing mean tricks on good house elves.

"Right. Let's try it!" Scorpius exclaimed and held up the ball and released it. The little ball shot around the room with the force of a bullet-train leaving angry dimples in the wall, smashing into the book case, and splashing beef broth from the soup tureen all over the table. Wrinkles dove under a chair in terror as it whizzed past him.

"Go get it, Wrinkles!" Scorpius encouraged gleefully.

"Yes, sir, Master Scorpius," Wrinkles cried obediently and he grabbed hold of the rubbish bin, leaping in the air to scoop up the blue blur lacrosse-style. Once the ball was stayed, he reached in among the scrap paper and soda bottles and gingerly retrieved it, wiped it carefully on the old stained tablecloth he always wore, and held it out to Scorpius.

"Wrinkles has caught your ball, sir," he announced, somewhat out-of-breath. Scorpius took it from his disappointedly.

"It's just not the same," he complained.

"Wrinkles is sorry, sir. Shall Wrinkles try again?"

"No," Scorpius conceded, "It's nothing you did wrong."

"If Wrinkles may say so, Master Scorpius, perhaps it's just as well. Master Lucius is wanting Wrinkles to hurry with lunch so that he can leave for Diagon Alley."

"Grandfather's going to Diagon Alley? When?"

"In just a few minutes, sir," explained the elf, then he added weakly, "Wrinkles is to accompany him, sir." Scorpius felt a pang of compassion for his house elf. He knew that Wrinkles was his grandfather's favorite and most convenient scapegoat. He imagined the only reason the old man had secured the elf's company for Diagon Alley was that Scorpius' mother was away visiting relatives. Wrinkles was her family's elf, given to the Malfoy's as part of her dowry and she wouldn't stand to see him abused by her inlaws.

"You stay here and clean up," Scorpius commanded him, "I'll ask Grandfather if I can go with you!" A meek smile of gratitude spread across Wrinkles face. Lucius Malfoy would be far less apt to abuse his daughter-in-law's elf with his grandson's impressionable eyes and free mouth present.

"Of course, Master Scorpius!" he replied with sudden cheerfulness.

Convincing his grandfather to let him accompany them to London was not at all difficult. He merely pointed out that the sooner he had his school books, the more he could study ahead and possibly earn more house points. Then to cinch the deal he suggested that Rose Weasley had probably already memorized her text books. Procuring pocket money from his father had been a little more difficult.

"Dad, may I have some money?" he requested, bursting into his study without so much as a 'how're-you-doing?'

"For what?" his father demanded.

"To spend in Diagon Alley," he explained, "Grandfather's taking me." "Why's he taking you?" Draco asked suspiciously.

"Because he loves me and he wants to spend time with me before I go back to Hogwarts." Draco grunted disbelievingly.

"That's rubbish, that is!"

"And…so I can get my textbooks early and possibly beat Rose Weasly in our potions lab."

"Ah, that's far more likely," responded his father, but he still seemed concerned.

"I can go, can't I?" Scorpius asked, a little worried that his father might say he wasn't allowed.

"It's going to be mad down there," commented Draco.

"Well…I'll be with Grandfather and Wrinkles…and I am twelve years old, after all," he added defensively.

"You'll stay together?"

"Sure, Dad."

"All right then, here," he agreed and handed him a small bag of gold from his desk drawer.

"Don't flash that about!" he warned him, "You need to get your textbooks and new school robes out of that besides candy, ice cream, or whatever else you've got in mind."

"I can take care of it. I'm responsible."

"Mind your grandfather." Scorpius rolled his eyes.

"Yes!" Draco commanded.

"Yes, sir," he agreed begrudgingly.

"All right then, go on."

Minutes later, Scorpius was standing outside the Leaky Cauldron while his grandfather choked and sputtered from the Floo Network soot in his aged lungs.

"Filthy, common way to travel," he grumbled as he dusted the soot from his robes, "If it wasn't for the Ministry's restriction on us, I could have done a side-along apparation and brought you here.

"Don't worry, Grandfather," Scorpius reminded him with a touch of mischief in his tone, "In a few years, I'll be able to side-along apparate you!" He didn't get the irritated look he'd expected from his grandfather, rather it was uncommon look of pride.

"That's true enough, boy," he agreed, "It won't be long."

They made their way through the alley past large crowds of shoppers, workers, and unsupervised children. Wrinkles followed behind them with an air of protectiveness, ruefully eyeing a group of unkempt-looking teenage boys who had ceased their loud, spirited conversation to glare at the Malfoy patriarch menacingly as he passed by.

The first stop they made was the clothiers, for new school robes.

"Mr. Malfoy," greeted the shopkeeper with un-genuine shopkeeper enthusiasm, "We haven't seen you in such a long time."

"My grandson has outgrown his school robes," Lucius Malfoy stated, ignoring the salutation, "We need to take care of them before they're mistaken for a pinafore."

"Well, I'd be happy to take the hems down for you," she smiled warmly at Scorpius, who answered with a brief smile, than looked down at the floor. "They do nothing but grow at that age."

"I think we can provide him with new ones," he responded with indignation, "He'll feel much more comfortable starting school in new things." The shopkeeper's smiled faded briefly at his gruffness then returned as she answered, "Of course, Mr. Malfoy! Whatever you think is best." Scorpius said nothing. While he felt the shopkeeper had good intentions, neither she nor his grandfather needed to know that one of his school robes had a large patch across backside while the other had scorch marks down both sleeves and something sticky that wouldn't come out just under the crest.

A half hour and about fifty sharp pins later, the Malfoys stood at the counter and Wrinkles stood beside them, loaded down with parcels.

"A handsome little man you've got there, Mr. Malfoy," the shopkeeper cooed as Scorpius counted out the gold to pay her, "He certainly favors your side of the family."

"He does in appearance, anyway," he grunted, but he laid a hand on Scorpius' head with dignified affection. After the clothiers shop, were the obligatory trips to the apothecary, to the bookstore, and past the boy-crowded window where the latest broomsticks were displayed. This of course, caught Scorpius' eye and he had to stop and see the newest and fastest models available.

"Do you want a new broomstick?" his grandfather asked him. Scoprius laughed. "I've had two since last summer! I've only just gotten used to the one I'm riding now!"

"Suit yourself. You're eligible to try out for your house team this year and a Quiditch player is only as good as their equipment."

"Not if they keep changing it so they don't have a chance to learn how it works!" Malfoy seemed to accept the logic of this argument and they continued past the shop with Wrinkles, now almost invisible under his many packages, struggling subserviently behind them. It was getting close to dinner, and Scorpius suggested they stop to eat at a café on the corner. His grandfather didn't seem to like the look of the place. It was crowded and a stage was being set up immediately outside for some sort of concert. However, he didn't protest and they managed to find a table without much trouble.

While they waited on their food, Malfoy asked his grandson about school and told him stories about his own days at Hogwarts. Scorpius normally hated spending time with his grandfather, who was so often angry, rude, and judgmental to the point of irrationality, but he was surprised to find that he was enjoying the pleasant nature of the outing. His grandfather didn't even get upset when he fed nearly all of his chips to Wrinkles under the table and he even offered to treat his grandson to an ice cream sundae.

The concert was underway by the time the Malfoys emerged from the café and there was a thick and raucous crowd gathered around the stage.

"Take those home and come straight back!" Malfoy ordered elf under the pile of boxes and bags on the walkway beside them and they disappeared with a pop. Malfoy led his grandson through the growing crowd to the candy kitchen on the other side of the square. Once inside, he examined his watch.

"Scorpius, I want you to stay right here. I'm going to take care of some business and I'll be right back."

"But, Grandfather," Scoprius argued, "I promised Dad I would stay with you."

"Well, I'm telling you to stay here," he answered, his voice taking on a tinge of anger, "And I expect you to do so. Stay in this shop, eat candy, listen to obnoxious music, and don't get into any trouble." Scorpius crossed his arms.

"You're going to Knockturn Alley aren't you?" he accused.

"It isn't your business where I'm going," he retorted, his eyes getting angrier. He didn't like to be contradicted, "Your business is to be in this shop when I get back. You're twelve year old. You ought to be able to handle being alone for a few minutes." Scorpius shrugged.

"Yeah, of course I can."

"Well, I should think so! Stay out of trouble." And with that, his grandfather disappeared into the mob outside the shop.

"I thought he'd never leave!" came a voice behind him. Scorpius turned around to discover the familiar visage of Albus Potter, peeking at him from behind a display of lollypops, one of which protruded from his mouth. At his side was a little girl of perhaps nine or ten, red braids hanging down past her shoulders and a curious expression in her eyes.