A/N: This story is loosely based upon 'The Parent Trap' movie, but with major HP twists. I thought this would be a fun idea for a fic, I hope you like it!

Chapter 1

A boy of eleven lay awake in his small bed, grey eyes wide with excitement. His pale blond hair stuck messily to his forehead as he watched the sun rise from his window. This was the day he'd spent half of his life waiting for.

After years of anticipation, he was at last to begin his education at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Lysander was a rather quiet boy, raised in the deep countryside by his mother and grandfather. While he loved his family more than he could describe, he always felt that something was missing. Somehow he felt that attending a prestigious school like Hogwarts would fill the void.

The house was silent, a blanket of dimness still sitting over it in the early hours of the morning. He wiggled his toes, squinting at his feet to keep from becoming bored. His mom had graduated from Hogwarts, but was always hesitant to send him there. She was neither strict nor overprotective, Lysander being a rather staid and reserved child, she always tried to encourage a free and wild spirit he never possessed. But she had repeatedly mentioned something about packs of Nargles wandering around Hogwarts campus, notorious for stealing students' belongings. As her son, Lysander knew that was code for other children bullying others.

His mother was a rather frail woman of few words, occasionally uttering a comment of blunt truth or wisdom. She was indeed peculiar, with unusually large eyes. Though Lysander had obviously inherited many of her physical attributes, he couldn't help but think they couldn't have been more different. They shared the same pale skin and blond hair, but his features were sharper. His chin and jaw more prominent, his stare more icy than whimsical. While she excelled in studies of magical plants and creatures, Lysander was far more interested in the Dark Arts. That wasn't to say it was an unhealthy obsession, he was simply more curious. Despite being instructed not to use magic without permission, he had discovered his skill with a wand. He had no doubt that he would become a skilled duelist, incantations and spells always running through his mind.

He concluded that he must have resembled his father more.

His mother was open to speaking about conspiracy in articles of the Quibbler magazine that Lysander's grandfather ran, but she was always reluctant to reveal anything regarding his father. As a young boy, knowing his father's identity had been a crucial piece in his development. He used to press her for information, claiming it was his right to know his father's identity. But as he became older, he saw the sadness in her eyes. His mother was young, much younger than his peer's parents. It was never explicitly stated, but Lysander knew that he had been conceived only months after her seventeenth birthday. Lysander assessed his mere existence had resulted from a union or fling gone wrong. But he decided he didn't care, because his mother was far more caring, loving, and nurturing than any being he knew of. Their relationship wasn't just that of mother and child, but of equals. She forever treated him as a fellow intellect, she never coddled him.

She didn't want to allow him to go so far off to school, but her father had talked her into it. Xenophilious Lovegood, though considered mad and insane by many, could be very persuasive when he wanted to.

Lysander let out a breath as he heard the creak of a door down the hall open, smiling as he listened to the nearly soundless steps approaching him. She didn't knock, turning the knob without making excessive noise. He leaned back, closing his eyes to feign slumber. He sensed her presence as she made her way to the edge of his mattress. The bed shifted with her added wait, and he felt her hand brush over his hair. She was such a morning person.

"Lysander," she whispered as she placed a light kiss on his forehead, "It's time to get up," he imagined the smile on her lips she said it.

His eyelids shot open, meeting her amused gaze.

"Good morning, mother," he responded while looking at the long, golden tresses that rested over her shoulder. It was blonde, but not as white blond as his. "I couldn't sleep,"

"It's the Wrackspurts, they're making your mind too excited," she explained, smoothing his hair affectionately.

He didn't share the same trust in the beliefs his grandfather came up with, but he still nodded. "Must be," he groaned as he sat up. He looked at her face, she looked nervous. "Don't worry, I'll be fine." He assured.

Her chest heaved slowly as she took a deep breath, "Yes, of course you will," something about the way she said it told him she wasn't just worried about the distance that Hogwarts posed.

Despite claiming that her time at Hogwarts had defined her adolescence, his mother seemed full of lament and regret whenever it came up in conversation.

"Get yourself ready, dear. I'll be downstairs, wake grandpa up on your way to the kitchen later,"

"Yes," he agreed, his eyes still surveying her. She was always such an open book, it was odd for her to be so elusive.

With that, she gave him another peck on his brow, and left his room. He listened as she made her way down the stairs of their quaint home and began work in the kitchen. Most witches and wizards used magic or house elves for chores like preparing breakfast, but his mother was insistent that nothing could compare to the love she inserted into her recipes.

Hogwarts, for eleven years he never left the isolated area he had grown up with. He hardly visited places of magic, usually confined to the small Muggle community nearby. Things were going to be different now, he was sure.

But he had no idea just how different. He was going to Hogwarts too further his academic understanding of magic. But there was something else waiting to be learned there. Something he and his mother would have never expected.

He twitched in surprise as he heard a small explosion downstairs. He shook his head, it looked like breakfast was ready.

-p-

A boy's grey eyes narrowed at the woman pulling at his collar. She smoothed the expensive fabric his jacket, making sure he appeared perfect and proper. He bore holes in the mirror that held his reflection.

"Oh, what a handsome young man you are. You look just like your father did at this age," Narcissa placed an exaggerated kiss on his cheek, pinching it after she was done. The second she pulled away and turned her back, he used the back of his hand to wipe off the red lipstick on his face.

He'd heard the same thing his entire life, how he was his father's spitting image. Physically, yes, they were identical, that was indisputable. He even carried himself like his father, with a cold demeanor and menacing glare.

"Where is father?" he asked his grandmother. His dad was absent during their morning meal.

"He had some business to take care of,"

Ah, business. His father loved him, showered him with whatever money could afford. He was the future heir to one of the wizarding world's greatest fortune, and his father was out augmenting their prosperity.

"Don't fret, Scorpius. He sends his love and hopes you have a wonderful trip to Hogwarts,"

His eyebrows rose and met together, "Hogwarts? What happened to Durmstang?" He was sure his father had mentioned that he would be attending the school in Eastern Europe.

"Durmstang? Oh heavens, no. It's too far away, I didn't let your father attend that austere school, and I won't let you either,"

He was half listening to her speak. He'd been excited to go to school, partly because it meant getting away from the cold and lonely mansion he called home. He was short of nothing, his grandmother doted on his every whim and supplied him with every toy and possession he could dream of.

"Your father might not be sending you off on Hogwarts Express, but I think you'll be delighted to know that your mother and I will be escorting you—"

"That vile woman is not my mother," he snapped, his tone hinted with poison. "My mother is dead,"

This was true. He might have had everything material in the world, but a stable set of parents he did not. His father could be warm and supportive at times, but he was hardly ever present. Some would say that would be the benefit of a maternal figure to comfort him, but he didn't have one. His father had explained tersely that his mother had fallen ill following his birth and passed away shortly afterwards.

"You will show some more respect for Ms. Greengrass, she'll be married to your father soon,"

"Yes, grandmother," he obeyed flatly through clenched teeth.

"Prepare yourself and gather your things, the elves will take everything down. We'll be leaving soon," Not wanting to provoke her the temper her son had passed down to his offspring, she patted the boy on the head and exited the room. The heels of her shoes clicked with every step she took.

Scorpius was relieved to discover his father had never held him responsible for her death. But that however didn't lessen his culpable sentiments. He once heard the term, 'First love is the deepest', and even as a young child had guessed that this was the truth. His father was an enigma, no one could openly see past his unemotional eyes.

But Scorpius was far more analytical than the rest of the Malfoy clan. He found himself able to read an individual's motivations and sentiments with ease, a natural talent. It wasn't conventionally deemed a valuable attribute, but he was proud of it. He could see how much his father had loved his late mother. He never spoke of her, but whenever they passed any young woman with blonde hair, Scorpius could see the agony and anguish he had exuded. It was sad really, a man built like a statue brought into a realm of pain by something that seemed so far away. No one dared mention his biological mother, not his grandparents, not the elves, not the servants. It was clear that his father didn't want to be reminded of the woman he lost.

Even as his father had proposed to another woman over the last month, it didn't seem real. Astoria was a fake woman, the biggest sycophant he had ever met. Her smiles were fabricated, her laughs were forced, her love for his father only motivated by their vast wealth. Something inside Scorpius thought that his father knew this, but decided to pursue the engagement anyways. He regarded his son's distaste for the woman to be that of a young boy with his soon to be stepmother.

Scorpius looked at his scowl in the vanity. As soon as he was sure that Narcissa was long gone, he closed the door and locked it with his wand. He made his way over to the grand wooden desk that sat along the far wall. He glanced over his shoulder with paranoia before he carefully opened one of the bottom drawers. A pile of papers sat in the middle, organized and neat. He flicked his wrist, wand in hand and whispered a reveal spell under his breath. After a small pop, he reached down to retrieve his prize.

It was a photograph.

He wasn't sure he was supposed to have it, he had come across it by pure accident. But he couldn't help but take and hide it for himself. Nearly a year had gone by since the time that he was messing around in his father's study. Being the mischievous and restless child he was, he couldn't help but explore the contents of the room while he waited for his father to arrive. He'd just acquired his first wand, a fine instrument carved of dragon bone, and he began to play with it. The incantation must have been gibberish, but as he pointed the stick to one of the shelves, a book fell to the ground.

Knowing he would be scolded if he had made a mess, he grudgingly made his way over to pick it up. He was careless enough to hold the book by its spine, allowing a single slip of parchment to fall out. Scorpius dropped his beautiful wand on the ground as he saw the image moving on the paper.

The photo was old and worn, but its preserved condition told that it had been handled with great care. He bent down to pick it up, his eyes wide with shock. He almost couldn't recognize his own father. The picture had been taken over a decade ago, but his father hadn't aged too greatly.

It was the expression he wore. Who knew the infamous Draco Malfoy could look so happy?

The moment had been captured with a camera, a young man dressed in a pressed black suit with his arm around the waist of a young woman. They were both staring at each other when his father dipped his head to give the woman a lingering kiss. She was beautiful and smiling, small and petite in comparison to his father's tall and lean stature. She had blond hair and fair skin, just like he did.

That woman was his mother, he was sure of it.

Scorpius knew his father didn't love Astoria Greengrass, because his father never looked at her the way he had the woman from the photograph. Scorpius was sure that his father had known about the stolen picture. Gifted with acute perceptiveness, it was no difficult task to see the look of knowledge on his father's face. But his father said nothing, probably letting his son keep it for guilt of never elaborating on his true mother.

The picture was Scorpius' prized possession, it was the last and only thing he personally packed before going away to study. He glanced down at the picture again, watching as his mother, his real mother, laughed in the arms of his father. He closed his eyes, thinking for the millionth time what it would be like had his mother still been alive. He quickly forced his conscious out of its reverie, reentering reality when a soft knock sounded on the door. A house elf had arrived to retrieve his luggage.

Off to Hogwarts, he sighed.

Maybe something interesting would be worth his attention there.

End Chapter 1

A/N: So...what did you think? I thought it would be nice to see how contrasting identical twins' personalities would be when they were raised in such different environments. That, in combination with the Draco/Luna history and relationship is what is to come. Interested, not interested? Leave me a review if you want me to continue, thanks for reading!