Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Chapter I: Hand Me Down, Hold Me Up

In sweltering heat, Diagon Alley was bustling with crowds early August. Adolescent wizards were giddy, running in and out of stores like they were tourist destinations. Meek, young children approached Ollivander's Wand Shop with wonder, and families would march along the cobblestone streets with grins, entranced with their current surroundings.

"The Nimbus looks fantastic." Albus Potter splayed a hand across the glass case, eyes scanning the long, narrow broomstick for the seventh time since they had entered the well-known quidditch store. Mahogany wood gleamed under lights, arched perfectly for any wizard who would ride it. Nimbus 3000 was neatly carved at the tip of the broom. Already looking at his own reflection in its container, Albus was forming strategies and calculating maneuvers for the new school year. He loved every single one of them.

James peered over his younger brother's shoulder, matching green eyes clearly showing disinterest. "A Firebolt would be better. Mum says that's what Dad used through most of his years at Hogwarts."

The younger teen scoffed. "Like Mum and Dad would ever let me get a Firebolt. Especially considering you destroyed yours a week after you got it for Christmas last year."

"I did notdestroy it!" A look of irritation twisted cross James's face in a way only Albus and their sister, Lily, could provoke. "I just kind of…dismantled it a little. Maybe a lot." He began his usual protests, like he always did when trying to defend himself.

Biting back a grin, Albus couldn't help but use that to his advantage and begin a path toward the Firebolt James had mentioned earlier. Standing in the middle of Quality Quidditch Supplies, he began his own list of things to buy for the school year—one that wasn't required for Hogwarts. From the corner of his eye, he saw his father chatting familiarly with the cashier; probably in attempt to strike a bargain.

Switching his interests to seeker gloves, Albus felt awkward even being in the store. After getting all of their supplies for the school year, Mum and Dad had come up with the shocking agreement to allow them to buy whatever they wanted before they would have to leave for Hogwarts.

He placed a hand on a pair of fitting, red and yellow gloves and rubbed a finger across the heel of their palms. They were nice. Thick, like his first pair of seeker gloves were when they were still new. The tips were rigid, implying it would be near-impossible for a snitch's feisty wings to cut through the material.

His current pair of gloves were hand-me-downs from his brother after his second year and James's third year, when James stepped down as seeker to become a chaser. It had been a tradition in their household, and their mother's household since she was little, too. Their immediate families would pass clothes around if there was no damage done, like how their cousin Hugo never bothered asking for new clothes anymore. Just last week, Hugo was wearing what Al was pretty sure a pair of his trousers and James's old t-shirt.

"You see one you like?" Jumping, Albus turned around as Dad and James appeared over his shoulder, interest teeming in their eyes. A smile spread across his father's lips and he let out a low whistle. "A Firebolt is an amazing broom. But it's a lot harder to maneuver in the air because of its speed. A Nimbus has good maneuverability, but isn't as fast."

"So I've been told." Albus grinned. He put enough distance between himself and his father, then placed his hands inside his pockets. Squinting, he could only grimace at the price tag and shrugged. "I'll probably just take James's old broom. Assuming he hasn't pawned it off or something."

"If you want my old broom, you'll have to trade for it," James retorted. He paled, grimace immediately coming to his lips. "Waller plans on having the team train the moment we get back. Apparently Malfoy has been working the Slytherins all summer and training hard as hell."

At the mention of the name, youngest son could feel his teeth grind with discomfort. From the corner of his eye, Albus could see their father bite the inside of his mouth. Malfoy was not a name that was spoken in their household. Mum wasn't fond of it, Uncle Ron twitched and ranted, and Aunt Hermione said nothing.

It had been a peculiar thing, Al thought. Malfoy wasn't intimidating—not like what a lot of the first and second years would say when they first met the Slytherin, whether it be formally or indirectly. Other than Quidditch, Al and Malfoy never spoke to one another; a detail that hadn't been mentioned to their family. (Uncle Ron thought he was an annoying git, anyway, so it probably wouldn't have done much good.)

They were in the same year, but had Albus not been wary of the name 'Malfoy,' he probably would have never known the other teen existed. Back in first year when the Sorting Hat first called his name, Albus remembered stepping away from the table, heart pounding in his chest. From the corner of his eye he first spotted the wispy blond hair on the head of another boy. His hair was slicked back, a perfect mane of almost white hair out of his face, pointy nose distinguishing the direction of his attention, and sharp gray orbs following is every move.

Part of Albus had been ready to puke. His name—Albus Severus Potter—had already turned heads, whether it be the Albus, the Severus, or the big fat Potter. Eyes were glued to him in those few moments as the hat was placed on his head.

He didn't know he was holding his breath, until he had let it go between hearing 'Gryffin' and 'dor.'From that moment on, all he saw was Rose's look of, 'I told you so,' and James's splitting grin as he welcomed his younger brother to the Gryffindor House. Sharp gray eyes still bore holes into the back of his head.

And when he heard the name, 'Scorpius Malfoy' called, cocked his head, and saw the dainty boy trek up to the small chair, he finally understood why. Grey eyes were set specifically on him, that entire time as the hat had a surprisingly hard time placing him.

As for actually having a conversation, it never happened. Albus once caught Malfoy snogging a Slytherin boy fourth year (which had melted into a series of awkward, 'Uh,' 'Erm,' and 'Bye.'s) before running to the Gryffindor common room, into the boys' dormitory, and burying himself under his bed wanting to die in embarrassment.

Now here he was in the beginning sixth year, and still, Malfoy and he never bothered one another.

"Malfoy got promoted to Captain this year. He's fierce," Albus agreed. He kept a watchful eye on their father's reaction, as did James. After all—even if James and henever caused conflict with Malfoy, Dad's rivalry with Mr. Malfoy was infamous and legendary.

"Bloody house won the damn cup last year," James muttered. He clicked his tongue, then reached for the seeker gloves Al had been eying before they came. "You know Waller was pissed. He's going to want you to train harder than any of us."

What James meant was that their captain, Waller, expected it. Malfoy being the Slytherin's seeker and all. Albus shrugged, then snatched the gloves from his brother's hands and elbowed him in the rib. "I'll do it. Malfoy may be good, but I'm better." A claim that sure as hell needed to be truthful this year.

"Hey!" James split into a smirk. Despite the near-invisible height difference, he successfully pulled his little brother into a headlock and noogied him. "If this is going to be my last year at Hogwarts, then there betterbe a House Cup in it for me!"

"Says the git that ate more than Uncle Ron all summer!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Boys," immediately their dad returned. A look of irritation spread across his face, meaning that their father meant business. Immediately his demeanor stumbled, lips twitching downward. "No horseplay. Your mother won't be happy if she finds out you two blew up another store."

There was a time where 'mother' would have been 'mum.'

Albus felt discomfort bubbling in the pit of his stomach and at the mention of her name, James released his younger brother. Both smiles of the Potter boys immediately disappeared and they grew quiet.

That normally-thoughtful look ripped away from Dad's face, replaced with a grimace. Now there was an awkward elephant in the room. "I didn't mean—I…" he sighed, hand pinching the bridge of his nose. "Albus. Pick out something in the store."

"Dad, I'll just take James's old—"

"Al. Please."

Gazing into his father's eyes, Al felt his stomach clench. He looked to James for advice, but his eldest brother feigned interest in the mirror and his reflection. James had dark, unruly hair just like Dad and he. He had a bigger build then Albus, being a chaser, but still smaller than their father, who was the auror of the family. Mum once said that James had taken an uncanny resemblance to an elf, with high eyebrows and a daring grin. It had been an great honor, when Uncle George affectionately remarked James had a resemblance to 'Freddy.'

But here they were, the three Potter men. With much effort when they were kids, Mum had managed to tame most of James's hair, until he decided to cut and crop it short, so it wouldn't get in the way during Quidditch. Lily was the lucky one in their family, taking to Mum's side with someone tamable hair. Green-eyed and dark-haired, both James and he looked just like their dad, while hilariously still taller than the savior of the Wizard World himself.

Sometimes, Al thought, it was the one thing that separated James and he from their father. And he sought relief from it.

Quickly pushing the thought from his mind, Al reached for the pair of seeker gloves he'd accidentally flung to the ground and held them up for his father to see. "These."

"You sure?" Dad frowned, clearly surprised that his youngest son hadn't asked for a new broom, like he'd been begging for since last Christmas. That was when Mum and Dad had put aside their differences and smiled throughout dinner with Uncle Ron and Uncle Hermione and the rest of the Weasley Family. A very, very long time ago.

Albus nodded, brushing his hand against the thick grip on the tips of each finger. "Positive."

xxx

Astrid Longbottom stood apart from the very center of the crowd, whether it was her wild, dirty-blond hair that tumbled behind her shoulders or the dreamy smile she wore, despite being pushed and shoved around by rude shoppers. She looked to the Potters with wonder on her face, then waved. James immediately jumped to his feet, split into a grin, and looked to his dad for approval.

"Can I go?"

Dad's eyebrows immediately knit together, frown contorting upon his lips. It was a bold question, obviously. Albus rolled his eyes and stuffed his hands in his pockets, palming his new purchase. Despite the reluctance across their father's face, both knew the answer.

"I suppose it's alright," Dad sighed finally. "Wait—James."

He pulled his eldest son to the side, leaving Albus alone to 'examine' a nearby booth selling official Quidditch Team paraphernalia. From the corner of his eye, the youngest Potter son saw his brother nod obediently, eyes sporadically darting from his father to his girlfriend, and then back gain. Then, Dad said something that made James's demeanor drop.

Al turned his attention away once more. He caught sight of two other, very distinguishable blonds.

The Malfoys.

Scorpius Malfoy, the first to catch his eye, was prim and proper as Al remembered him. Hair slicked back, with a long and narrow face, his pale nose was turned in the direction of his father. Malfoy had always been naturally pale, with gray eyes as dull as the color of statue. His hair was bright blond, nearly a snowy white, and not a lock was out of place. Malfoy was tall—having gone through a growth spurt in their fifth year, and had the build of a slim, slender seeker just like Al himself. Yet he still looked tiny with Mr. Malfoy standing right next to him.

Mr. Malfoy was pretty, Albus thought. He'd never seen the man before other than the newspapers that equally described Mr. Malfoy's scandals as well as his successes (Dad once grumbled about Rita Skeeter, but Al hadn't thought much of it.) Just like Scorpius, his hair was slicked back, face long, slim, and very much pointy. They walked side-by-side. And out of the six years that Al had known the boy, he'd never seen Malfoy with a smile on his face. Especially one like that.

Dull gray eyes were in no way dull as Malfoy's mouth moved, talking to his father. Occasionally Mr. Malfoy nodded, but he made sure to keep eye contact with his son whenever responding. They were even laughing. (Well, chuckling.)

In all the years he'd known Malfoy, Al would see the blond in the corner of his eye, nose in a book and eyes tight. Occasionally he would nod to his little group of 'friends' that followed his every step. Most people cleared a path as the blond Slytherin came to the Great Hall or his classes, or not acknowledge his presence in the very least.

Al and he had once been assigned partners in Potions. After clumsily knocking over a jar of shrieking beetles, Malfoy quietly mumbled 'working on the project' himself and allowed Al to babble with his friends, who sat in the table adjacent to them. Not even once that day, did Malfoy ever make eye-contact with him.

Now, the middle Potter couldn't help the fascination that bubbled in his mind as he watched them enter the—

"Say hello to Neville and Luna for me!" Dad called off as James finally went to fetch his girlfriend. Albus snapped out of his thoughts, quick to look back to his father. When he turned back, Malfoy and his father were already gone. "What were you looking at?"

"Nothing," the teen lied. At least nothing that his father would find interesting.

"I assume your mother's still out shopping with Lily," Dad professed. He scratched his head and Al couldn't blame him. Clothes-shopping wasn't a hobby Potter men were fond of. Still, it was that little difference between 'Your mother' and 'your mum' that made Albus sick to his stomach. "Do you need anything else?"

"Just a book that Rose forgot to buy when she and Aunt Hermione went shopping yesterday." Albus pointed to Flourish and Blotts. "She says it's important."

A chuckle ran from his father's throat as he nodded and ushered his son closer to the store. "Just like her mother. I wouldn't be surprised if she was taking extra classes."

"Her schedule is hardly free," Albus snorted. "My bet is that her head is going to explode before we finish up our seventh year." Dad hmm'd in agreement, and that was the end of their conversation. It took a moment to sink in, but he then realized James had left them alone. At side-glance, Albus took in the demeanor his father had worn all morning. Weary. Tired. Pleasant, when Dad smiled, but filled with trouble once left alone.

The day had been planned for at least a week now. Dad had come in the morning after three days of absence (Rose fortunately informed her Potter cousins that Dad had been staying with them), a firm, civilizedsmile on his face as he kissed Mum on the cheek and gave all three kids a gentle gaze. The family would go shopping, Mum explained. And James, Lily, and he could buy anything they wanted or needed for the school year.

Mum got Lily, Dad got James and him. When they came to that agreement, Dad looked both of them in the eye, and, 'Please don't be mad at me,' was all either one of them could see.

"You're getting the bond removed tonight, aren't you?" Albus murmured quietly. Low enough that anyone gawking at his father wouldn't hear. "You and Mum are finalizing the divorce tonight?"

Dad stopped cold in his tracks at the entrance of Flourish and Blotts. Guilt fluttered across his face, and he involuntarily cringed. "Albus..."

"It's fine, Dad." We all saw it coming, he didn't say.

"You, James, and Lily will be staying with your Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron tonight."

Al cocked his head to his father in surprise.

Dad swallowed hard, holding the door open for his son. "That way your mother and I can sort out our thoughts and not make it awkward for you kids-"

Your mother.

Entering the bookstore, Al purposefully left his dad standing at the doorway. He sucked in a breath, marching past other shoppers going who-knows-where. Anger that he'd been suppressing for months came out in pounding steps as he tried to get humanly far as possible.

Dad usedto come home and immediately kiss Mum.

He usedto blush bashfully, when Mum smiled at him and hold his hand.

He usedto waltz into the kitchen without telling her when his latest case was over, whirl her around just to hear her cry of surprise and drown her in a bouquet of red roses.

Dad no longer stared across the dinner table just to take in the sight of their mother.

He no longer laughed when James or Al complained how disgusting it was that their parents were snogging.

His parents no longer snogged.

Now Albus would give anything just to see his parents flirt like two love-struck fourth years instead of hearing Mum yell in the middle of the night because Dad was unexpectedly called away for business. Or to walk into the kitchen on the morning of Dad's day off to see his parents looking one another in the eye.

It had been a long time since he saw his parents look at each other with all the love in the world. Like Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron, or Victoire and Teddy.

Frustration boiled in the pit of his stomach, anger soon consuming it. His throat clenched, jaw hardened, and Al curled his right hand into a fist.

He'd known that his parents' marriage was withering-they alldid. Him and Lily and James.

But until that very moment, not saying it aloud kept their family together.

"Damn it," Al seethed. Damn it. He slammed his fist into a wall of books. The shelves came undone, breaking in a symphony of firecrackers and falling to the floor as an avalanche. The teen jumped back, then yowled when one of the books his foot.

Fortunately he'd buried himself in the back of the store. As loud as the sound was, anyone who noticed gave only a second or two of attention before returning to their own business. Looking around, Al caught his father still at the front, searching for his son with distress. Great.

"Smooth."

Al turned his head at the sound of another voice. Immediately (and involuntarily) he felt his cheeks turn red, green eyes meeting with grey. Malfoy stood tall in front of him—and for a brief moment, the Gryffindor realized he stood maybe an inch taller than his rival for the first time since third year. No longer was his classmate's face flushed with a smile, or his eyes shimmering with conversation. Malfoy stood tall, grim, and very disapproving of the heap of books in the middle of the ground.

"Sod off, Malfoy." Albus dropped to the ground, eyes burning holes into the floor. His cheeks grew hot as he collected the books between his hands.

What surprised him was when Malfoy tentatively dropped to the ground, too.

Albus stared.

The tip of Malfoy's blond brow twitched, lips sauntering to a small frown. "What?"

"Why are you…?"

"I'm looking for a book." Eyebrows furrowing together, Malfoy's gaze once again fell to the ground and he picked up one in particular: Important Modern Magical Discoveries, vol. 3.

Ironically that was the book that Rose had wanted, Al realized. His eyebrows rose beneath his hairline and instinctively he reached out for it, grabbing the binding for the book. Gray eyes looked to him, clearly startled before melting warily. Malfoy's lip curled downward, twitching as though he was about to say something, but didn't.

"I—" Al froze. He was incredibly aware of the fact he'd impulsively reached out for the book without reason and looked like a child throwing a bloody temper tantrum. "Er. My cousin. She's looking for the book, too."

Suddenly he was also hyperaware of the color of Malfoy's skin. Pale white, like moonlight. His face was as pointy as his father's (if that were the right word for it, Albus later contemplated), but a light spew of freckles splayed across the bridge of his nose, so near invisible that someone had to be incredibly closed to Malfoy to see. Al had seen the other seeker plenty of times on the Quidditch Pitch, but never like this. He broke away from his thoughts as he realized pale skin was being overtaken by a smooth, sanguine blush.

"Why are you blushing?" he muttered carefully under his breath. Was he going mad? To the tips of his ears, his apparent Slytherin rival was blooming red with a look of bewilderment in his gaze. Sure, any bloke would freak out if another guy was staring intently at him, but—oh. Oh. Al was too close.

Malfoy recoiled, yanking the book out of Al's hands and holding it close to his chest. He stood to his feet, dusting dirt off his trousers before attempting to flee away.

"Wait!" Al called midway through his stupor. "I need that book."

The lanky figure of his classmate suddenly halted in the middle of the countless aisles of books. Albus stopped, nearly tipping over and colliding with the Slytherin. He hadn't expected for Scorpius Malfoy of all people to stop for him.

"Um," he squeaked, unsure where his brain had disappeared off to, "please?"

It was the first time they ever saw each other, eye-to-eye. Malfoy and Potter. Potter and Malfoy. Standing in front of one another, Albus couldn't think of one occasion where they'd ever had a conversation with one another. Days at Hogwarts were spent chatting with his cousin, Rose, pulling pranks with Damian Finnigan, and desperately trying to get Alaina Creech to notice him. Once in a while their eyes would meet across the Hall, seeing what the other boy was doing, then look away, like it'd never happened at all.

Funny, the rational part of Albus's brain mused, how they'd never had a bloody conversation and somehow seemed to know each other very well regardless. All because of their fathers' history in Hogwarts.

Raising his head slightly, it was the way light hit Malfoy's face that made him seem ethereal. Blond eyelashes, long and almost invisible, twitched slightly, and his brow knit together. A soft tenor reached Albus's ears, never once raised with irritation. "I saw it first."

The Golden Rule in the Potter-Weasley Household was: 'You see it first, you get to have it.' Unless you were overruled by a parent. Albus felt the heat on his cheeks. That was basically the rule of life, too, wasn't it? "Don't you have a big giant library or something in the Malfoy Mansion?"

Evidently that wasn't the proper thing to say, if his goal was to get on Scorpius Malfoy's good side (since when did he want to get on Malfoy's good side?) Malfoy's lip twitched and behind the dull glaze of gray eyes, irritation brimmed.

"Albus! There you are!"

"Scorpius."

At the mention of their respective names, both boys turned in the direction they heard their father. Al let out a breath of relief, hoping to get out of his current predicament as fast as possible. Despite his frustrations with his father, all he wanted to do was crawl back in his own bed and forget today happened.

But before he saw his father's familiar, unruly mane, he saw the prim, white-blond hair that belonged to Mr. Malfoy. Mr. Malfoy walked down the aisle of the Potions section, three particular books in his hand and an odd, somewhat satisfied smile on his lips. The moment he looked up, that content smile disappeared, eyes meeting with Al's.

Albus gulped. He looked to Malfoy from the corner of his eye, but the Slytherin looked straight past him. Down the other aisle, Dad finally found him, relief spilling across his features. The familiar feeling of guilt and discomfort buzzed in his chest, and casually he looked away to his classmate.

It looked as though Malfoy's face had gotten paler. His demeanor became tight and nose somehow less pointy. The glaze of dismissal ran away from gray eyes. He looked to Albus, expression small and reserved as each respective parent made their way toward them. Oh.

Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter.

The Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter.

Part of the reason they had avoided one another through Hogwarts was because of their fathers' infamous rivalry. During their first year after Scorpius Malfoy had been announced a Slytherin and Albus Potter a Gryffindor, it wasn't long before people started making bets. Who would punch whom first? Would Malfoy hex Potter into the next century the next time they met? Who was the better wizard?

Rose and James had done the best they could to dispel the wonder and curiosity since Albus hadn't been very confident in himself when first arriving at Hogwarts. Fortunately neither boy had taken it into stride and ignored the 'Potter-Malfoy rivalry.' Albus reveled in the fact that he was not his father and never would be.

But if he was right, Dad and Mr. Malfoy hadn't run into one another since they were still students at Hogwarts or something. Otherwise the Daily Prophet would be all over it. Lily once joked that if "Daddy and Mr. Malfoy" ever met again, the world would face a Third Wizarding War.

As both fathers approached, Albus felt his heart leap out of his chest. Dad looked relieved and a little bit uncomfortable. They'd never finished their conversation about tonight. Mr. Malfoy's eyes, too, kept darting between his son and Al. 'Awkward' was not a strong enough word for how Al felt at the moment.

It wasn't until both men met dead center, where Al and Malfoy stood, did the parents notice one another. Albus took a quick look to his father, who looked genuinely startled. Mr. Malfoy, too, who evidently did not expect to run into the other man. Mr. Malfoy looked as reserved and eloquent as his son did, refusing to say a word. Dad's green eyes darted between Al and his old school…rival, Al guessed.

Behind him, Al was sure he heard a soft breath draw from Malfoy's lips, like he, too, was expecting hellfire. But it never came.

Mr. Malfoy's lips parted carefully and he bowed his head. Solemnly, he muttered, "Potter."

Al cocked his head to the tall man with curiosity. Mr. Malfoy's look wasn't warm, but it wasn't cold. Instead, it looked as though he was really scanning his father for everything he was worth. What Dad really looked like.

"Malfoy," Dad murmured softly. He looked to the blond man warily, but not with suspicion.

There wasn't hate exchanged between them. Dad spoke with familiarity and something else in his tone that Al couldn't quite place his finger on, and a gleam appeared in Mr. Malfoy's eyes, expression more unreadable than it had already been.

Then for a moment, their gazes lingered at one another. Dad's eyes had never looked greener as he stared into Mr. Malfoy's stone grey eyes.

"Come, Scorpius," Mr. Malfoy said loudly. All four men snapped out of their stupors and the eldest Malfoy tore his attention away from the eldest Potter. Al was certain the gesture was forced, like Mr. Malfoy was trying to look anywhere but Dad's face. "We should get going."

Malfoy nodded obediently, book still tight in his grasp. He ushered toward his father's side and pulled part of Mr. Malfoy's load into his hands. They started walking away, neither man looking back. How peculiar.

"W-Wait, Malfoy!" Al spoke before he could stop himself. Immediately both men turned around, but the younger Malfoy's gray eyes looked to him curiously. The poor brunet felt his mind go blank and cheeks go hot. "Um, see you at school, yeah? I heard you're captain of your house's team now."

Wrong move, number two. Something in those gray eyes stormed, eyebrows furrowing together with trouble. Malfoy had only blinked once before shaking his head. "I quit."

What?

Malfoy and his father walked off and Al had a feeling he wouldn't see either one again until school started.