AN: This has been sitting on my computer for nearly a year, and I've been dithering about whether to post it or not… but I thought "why not" after getting quite a few requests, so here goes. If you haven't read Third Time's the Charm, I would suggest you do so, as this is a one shot sequel to that story. Thanks so much to my reviewers – your comments are always gratefully received. ~ LouisaM

Disclaimer: Still don't own anything. Still sad about that.

"LONGBOTTOM!

Professor Neville Longbottom started violently as a furious voice bellowed out of his fireplace, and the contents of the mug of hot tea he was holding slopped down the front of his clean robes. Frowning, he used his handkerchief to dab ineffectively at the spreading brown stain, before grabbing his wand and aiming a mumbled cleaning charm at his chest.

However, as Charms had never been his strongest skill, the offending area simply faded slightly yet did not disappear. Sighing, Neville reached out to put his wand on the desk and, as he did so, discovered that he had also inadvertently shortened his sleeves until the cuffs were just above his elbows.

"Yes, Ron?" he snapped at the head of his old friend, which was sitting in the grate of his fireplace and glaring at him. "What can I do for you today?"

"For starters, you can tell me what kind of a school you lot are running these days?" bellowed Ron Weasley, whose face was bright red with rage even in the dim light of the Floo. "Debauchery, no discipline or staff supervision – I should take my children out of there immediately!"

Neville sighed and checked his watch. "Ron, you've got exactly one minute to tell me what in Hades you're on about. I've got a NEWT class starting soon in Greenhouse Three and I don't want to keep them waiting."

Ron's hand, waving a piece of paper, appeared next to his head. "THIS is the problem!" he shouted. "Got this from Rosie this morning. Apparently, she's going out with..." And here Ron seemed lost for words, mouthing silently and incoherently.

Neville rolled his eyes and checked his watch impatiently. "Tick, tock," he said, tapping the face. "Spit it out, man, don't be shy. Gathering dust, here."

Ron glared at him, bug-eyed, before eventually getting his voice back. "She's says she's going out with that Malfoy brat!"

"Huh," Neville mused, somewhat surprised. "Scorpius and Rose? That's a good match, actually."

For a second, he thought Ron was having a minor stroke. "WHAT? How can you say that? This is Draco Malfoy's spawn we're talking about here!"

"Exactly. Draco Malfoy's child, not Draco," said Neville evenly, before rummaging through his desk drawers for a pair of secateurs he was almost sure he'd left there yesterday. Looking up, he noticed that a vein in Ron's temple was starting to throb. Neville sighed and went around his desk to kneel on the hearthrug in front of the fireplace.

"He's a really decent boy, Ron – no, seriously, Rose could do a lot worse," he said, holding up his hand as Ron started to object. "I like Scorpius tremendously. He's bright, dedicated, honest, and good-natured. Wish I'd gotten him in Gryffindor, actually."

Ron snorted, blowing a cloud of ash into Neville's face. "Hah – a Malfoy in Gryffindor? That'll be the day you replace the Sorting Hat."

"Forgotten Sirius 'Gryffindor' Black so soon, have you?" coughed Neville as he brushed grey powder from his hair. "Not all purebloods end up in Slytherin, you know – look at the two of us! I was surprised at first when Scorpius ended up in Ravenclaw, but not any longer – there's no more Slytherin in that boy than there is in you or I."

"Be that as it may, how could you let this happen?" yelled Ron, rumpling his orange hair into spikes, giving him the overall look of someone who was becoming seriously unhinged.

Neville opened his mouth to reply when there was a loud bang and Ron's head suddenly disappeared, only to be replaced by Hermione's.

"Hello Neville, good to see you," she said, smiling serenely. "How are Hannah and the children?'

"They're very well, thanks," he replied confusedly, trying to look around her. "Where did Ron go?"

"He's lying on the kitchen floor."

"Great Godric – should I call St Mungo's?"

"No, he's fine – that's just where he landed after I stunned him," explained Hermione calmly. "He was getting a bit too worked up. Sorry about all this, Neville, but you know how protective Ron is of Rose. I always knew it would be a bad day for him when she got a proper boyfriend, but the news that it's a Malfoy has just sent Ron right over the edge."

As a father of a girl himself, Neville could sympathise. Fortunately, his little Alice was still only nine, and had her very protective big brother Frank, aged 11, to watch out for her. Neville had a few years to go before all this started for him.

"Hermione, I was just telling Ron that Scorpius is not his father, and is actually a very nice boy," said Neville firmly. "I have to admit, I was a bit unnerved when I first saw him – Merlin, he looks as much like Draco as Albus resembles Harry. And I was bullied horrendously by Draco and his goons when we were here, so if anyone has an axe to grind it should be me. But seriously, Scorpius is different – I think you'll like him very much."

Hermione looked thoughtful. "I remember Astoria from our Hogwarts days – she was a Ravenclaw too, as I recall?"

"Yeah, she was, and I think Scorpius takes more after her in personality than his father," said Neville distractedly, having an aha! moment as he spotted his missing secateurs under the bookshelf. "Draco's changed too, though, he's bit more humble than he used to be. So you never know – it might turn out better than you think. Give the kids a chance, yeah?"

Hermione nodded. "I agree, Neville. I don't our children to inherit our prejudices. Rose wants to invite the Malfoys over during the Christmas holidays for a meal – think it might be a step too far?"

Neville snorted with laughter.

"Leave me out of this, Hermione! I don't want to be responsible for any murder or mayhem over the festive season," he said, grinning. "In the meantime, I'll keep an eye on things here and report back if there are any problems."

"Thanks Neville – especially with James and Fred. I don't trust those two as far as I could levitate a cathedral. I'd better Enervate Ron or he'll be late for work. Love to Hannah!"

And with that, she was gone.

With a groan, Neville stood and reached behind his office door for a fresh set of robes, discarding the stained and shortened ones in a heap of equally spell-damaged clothing already piled there. If he tried to fix the damage he'd done, Merlin only knew what he would do to himself. The last time he'd tried a Reparo he'd hexed his own hair off and had to attend lessons as bald as an egg for the whole day, until he could find Flitwick and get him to fix it.

As he left his office, absent-mindedly forgetting the secateurs on the floor next to the fireplace, Neville was humming happily to himself. Oh, this new development between the Weasleys and the Malfoys was going to be so much fun to watch, and he planned to have a front row seat.

Professor Horace Slughorn settled himself comfortably on his favourite barstool at The Three Broomsticks, and smugly contemplated the rich golden colour of the tankard of honeyed mead in front of him. Now well into his nineties, Horace had been appointed as Professor Emeritus at Hogwarts, which essentially meant he had all the benefits of living at the school without having to do much teaching. It also gave him ample time to observe, cultivate and harvest the best Hogwarts had to offer, to add to his enviable collection of past students – many of whom were now eminent members of society.

Taking a long pull of his mead, Horace reflected that he really should make more of an effort to come to the Broomsticks during the week, as it was pleasantly quiet and he could enjoy a quiet read of the Prophet while enjoying a tipple without interruption. Being here on a Monday night was unusual, but he had received a desperate plea from an old student for help, and no-one was better at storing up favours for future use than Horace Slughorn.

"Good evening, Professor," said a smooth, aristocratic voice, as the owner slid elegantly onto the barstool next to him and signaled the barman. "May I have a glass of Ogden's Finest, please?"

"Evening, Draco," replied Horace jovially, glancing sideways at the pointed profile of one Draco Malfoy. "Are you well?"

Draco looked gloomily at him. "Not particularly, thank you. I've had the most terrible indigestion since I got Scorpius' latest letter."

"Indeed, indeed. You did mention some bad news. What is it, dear boy?"

Draco picked up his Firewhiskey and downed half of it with a grimace. "It would seem that my only son and heir has gone and gotten himself involved with..." He shuddered.

"Firewhiskey too strong for you? Perhaps a butterbeer?"

"No, no, the drink is fine. It's the horror. It would seem that Scorpius has started going out with a... a Weasley!"

"Ah," mused Horace sagely. "Which one? There are a multitude of them at Hogwarts at the moment."

"They're like bloody rabbits. But it's the worst of the bunch... it's Ron and Hermione's daughter."

"Rose?" said Horace, surprised at Draco's disgusted tone. "She's a lovely girl, in my opinion."

Draco scoffed, scowling into his drink.

"It could be worse, you know," continued Horace, ignoring him.

"How? How in the name of Dumbledore's phoenix, could it possibly be worse than my son dating the child of not one, but two of my oldest school enemies?" Shaken, Draco swallowed the rest of his drink and signaled to the barman for another, crossing his arms on the bar counter in front of him.

"Well, he could be going out with one of the Weasley boys," said Horace slyly, sniggering as Draco blanched and dropped his head onto his arms with a groan. "I've seen all sorts at in my life, my boy, and believe me, as long as they're happy it really doesn't matter who they're with, does it?"

Draco raised his head and stared at Horace in disbelief. "You sound just like Astoria," he mumbled. "Of course it matters."

"Because Rose isn't a pureblood?"

"No, because she's a Weasley! Ron loathes me, and our families have hated each other for generations. There's no way this can end well!"

Horace sighed and took another gulp of his mead. "Why did you come to me, Draco? It's not like Scorpius is in my House, after all."

"I still can't believe he didn't get into Slytherin. I mean," Draco amended quickly, "there's nothing wrong with Ravenclaw - it's just that he's the first Malfoy in ... well, forever, not to be in Slytherin. It was a bit of a shock."

"Well, Astoria was in Ravenclaw, so there was always a fifty-fifty shot Scorpius would be too," Horace pointed out logically. "Your son is quite brilliant, so I daresay he's in the right house. And just because all your ancestors have done something, doesn't mean you have to do the same – look at Sirius Black. His father nearly had an apoplectic fit when he was Sorted into Gryffindor."

Draco sighed. "I'm not disappointed in Scorpius at all – really, I'm not," he argued, noting Horace's cynical look. "He's never done anything to let us or himself down. And the reason I came to you, Horace, is because you're one of the few Slytherins I know who can help me work this out. Imagine if I spoke to Blaise or Pansy about this; the reaction I would get!" He laughed humorlessly.

"Indeed, indeed," mused Horace. "I can tell you one thing that I've learned in all my years as a teacher, Draco, and that is this: if you want a teenager to stop doing something, for Merlin's sake do not tell him that. It's like a red rag to a bull. Telling Scorpius to stop seeing Rose is going to only increase his resolve to do precisely that."

Draco nodded morosely. "I suppose you're right – the one thing Scorpius did inherit from his grandfather is his utter stubbornness. So I should just wait and see what happens?"

"Wait and see," agreed Horace, settling more comfortably onto his barstool. "And in the meantime, how about sponsoring your old Professor another mug of mead? Times are hard, dear boy, hard indeed..."

The Potter's annual Christmas Eve party was usually anticipated with enthusiasm by its regular guests. As it was traditional for the Weasleys and their vastly-extended family to gather at the Burrow on Christmas Day to exchange gifts and eat copious amounts of food, the Potters had made their own tradition of inviting their closest friends for celebrations on the evening before this boisterous event.

This usually included the families of Ron and Hermione Weasley, the Longbottoms, and the Lovegood-Scamanders, as well as Professors Hagrid, Flitwick and McGonagall. This year was no exception, and also included Teddy Lupin and his new fiancee, Victoire Weasley. The recently-engaged couple was flushed with delight over their announcement, and also with the extracurricular activities under the mistletoe that Harry Potter had interrupted on his way to the cellar to fetch more mead.

As he staggered back up the stairs with a crate of full bottles, he was saved from permanent back strain by Ginny, who Levitated his burden and laughed uproariously as his suddenly-weightless arms pinwheeled frantically to stop him teetering backwards into the basement.

"Honestly, Harry, you're still such a Muggle sometimes!" she said, dextrously maneuvering the crate in front of her as she headed towards the magically enlarged sitting room. "Swish and flick, remember? Wingardium Leviosa? Hello?"

"If you'd just caught Teddy and Victoire doing what I just saw, you'd also be distracted," muttered Harry defensively as he followed the petite figure of his wife. "My eyes are still burning."

Ginny laughed. "Can't be as bad as the time you stumbled in on Ron and Hermione in his old bedroom at the Burrow. You never told me what you actually saw, but you were speechless for at least an hour."

Harry pushed the door open and held it for her as she sailed through under his arm. "Don't remind me," he said, grinning. "Scarred me for life, that did."

The blast of noise and heat that met him as Harry entered the room almost rocked him back on his heels, but he pushed his way in nonetheless. The sheer number of people in there was astonishing, and as always, the once-lonely ten year old boy inside him thrilled at the sight. Hagrid was settled into magically-enlarged armchair and chatting animatedly to Rolf Scamander, who had just returned from Columbia after discovering a new species of Acromantula. Professor McGonagall, now retired, was discussing Animagi regulations with Hermione, and the ever-helpful Hannah Longbottom was circulating with a tray of snacks.

Harry shot a worried look at the knot of teenagers in the corner, who had their heads together and were no doubt plotting evil actions with dire consequences, but he relaxed when he saw that Rose was standing with them, chatting to his daughter and Lysander Scamander. His niece was far too sensible to allow anything too serious to take place, but he really didn't trust James and Hugo at all.

At that moment, the doorbell rang, and for a brief instant Harry's brow furrowed in confusion. Who could it be? Surely everyone was already here? As he moved towards the hallway, he saw Ginny ahead of him, and she smiled wickedly and cocked her head in Ron's direction.

"Watch him, Harry, won't you?"

And then Harry he remembered who had been invited and had clearly just arrived, and he edged over to stand next to his best friend, grabbing a bottle as he went. Uncharacteristically, Ron was standing alone, glowering into his glass.

"Knut for your thoughts?" Harry quickly sloshed another measure of FireWhiskey into Ron's nearly-full glass. "That's still your first drink – going a bit slow tonight, aren't you?"

"Don't try and cheer me up, you know what's going on," muttered Ron mutinously.

"No, what's up?" asked Harry innocently, watching the lounge door out of the corner of his eye.

Ron opened his mouth to reply, when the door swung open and Ginny entered, followed by three very blond people – which made them stick out like kneazles in a krup litter. The noise in the room subsided slightly as everyone took in the new arrivals.

"That," said Ron furiously. "That's what's up, and you bloody well know it." Downing his drink, he glared at Harry as if it was all his fault, before grabbing the nearly full bottle of whiskey and sulking off to an alcove behind the Christmas tree.

Harry sighed, and shaking his head, plastered on a smile before going over to greet his guests.

"Hello, Draco," he said, holding out his hand.

"Harry," said Draco Malfoy, shaking hands firmly. "Do you know my wife, Astoria?"

"We've never officially met – welcome," said Harry, smiling at the pretty woman on Draco's arm.

"It's a pleasure to meet you at last, Harry," she said, smiling back rather apprehensively. "This is our son, Scorpius." And she pulled the young man standing behind her forward.

Harry was astonished at how much young Scorpius resembled his father at the same age, and then the boy smiled warmly and the illusion was shattered as a dimple appeared in his cheek and his eyes brightened.

"It's an honour to meet you, sir," said Scorpius, pumping his hand enthusiastically. "Thanks for inviting us tonight."

Shaking the boy's hand, Harry opened his mouth to speak when he found himself being barreled aside by something red-headed and excited.

"You're here!" said Rose, beaming at Scorpius as though he was a particularly fabulous present under the tree.

Bemused, Harry watched as Rose shook hands with the Malfoys, and then, taking Scorpius by the hand, dragged him over to meet her mother. The boy's charm was easy and comfortable, and he had Hermione relaxed and smiling at something he said to her in minutes. Casting a glance over his shoulder, Harry spotted Ron glaring at his daughter and her boyfriend through the boughs of the Christmas tree, clutching his glass like a lifeline. Draco and Astoria were quickly absorbed into the crowd, and Harry sighed, turning to deal with his old friend.

But before he could get there, Scorpius had marched over and ducked behind the tree. Harry sidled over and pretended to be re-hanging a bauble.

"Good evening, Mr Weasley," Scorpius said firmly, holding his hand out. "I'm Scorpius Malfoy."

Nonplussed, but too well brought up to do anything else, Ron took the proffered hand and shook it firmly – too firmly, as Harry detected a slight wince in Scorpius' expression.

"So," said Ron heavily, eyeballing Scorpius with intent. "You're the one going out with my little girl."

Harry had to give the boy credit – he barely flinched. "Yes, sir. And I'm the luckiest boy at Hogwarts. I promise you, sir, I'll take good care of her. She's wonderful."

"Yes, she is, and don't you forget it!" blustered Ron, clearly out of his depth. Casting around for something further to say, he glanced down at Scorpius' jacket lapel and his jaw dropped.

"Did Rosie tell you to wear that?" he barked, indicating something Harry couldn't see.

"What?" Scorpius glanced down. "Oh, you mean my Cannons lapel pin?"

Ron nodded suspiciously.

"No, sir – I'm a fan. This was an early Christmas present from my Grandmother. My father's mortified, as he's a Tutshill supporter, but I've been following the Cannons since I was five."

"Why? They haven't won a tournament in nearly a hundred years!"

Scorpius shrugged. "I like their spirit, I suppose – they don't give up, even when there's no chance of winning."

"Oh yes? What was their latest score then?" shot back Ron, clearly trying to trip the boy up, and believing this was a setup orchestrated by his clever daughter.

"They lost 50-170 to the Harpies, and Crowe went out with concussion," replied Scorpius without missing a beat. "But I've been tracking their results for the last four years, and the losing margins are getting smaller all the time. I'm telling you, sir, with Wood joining up as coach I think they're going to make the quarter-finals next year and then we're in business!"

And that was it. To Harry's utter astonishment, the two launched into a detailed discussion of statistics and scores, and were still at it ten minutes later when Rose came over to find out where her boyfriend had gone.

Seeing him deep in conversation with her father, she went white.

Harry chuckled and threw his arm around her shoulders. "Relax, Rosie, your boyfriend's got your dad eating out of his hand. Did you know he's a Cannons fan, or was that you giving him hints?"

Rose looked up at him, her mouth a perfect O of astonishment. "Is he really? I had no idea!"

"Never discussed Quidditch with him, eh?"

"Not the Leagues, just school games. Can you believe it, Uncle Harry? I was hoping Dad would just be polite, but they seem to really be getting on well! It's like a Christmas miracle!"

Giving her shoulders a squeeze, Harry agreed and leaned his cheek against her red curls as he watched the two very different characters in front of him find common ground.

Stranger things had happened indeed. He was living proof.