The first thing I noticed about the boy with the golden hair was his eyes.

Nico's eyes.

They were like emeralds sparkling out of a small sea of porcelain. Skin so delicate and pure.

The boy with no name, just a number.

*****

The children's home, much to my cold horror, reminded me of the warehouse.

Not from the outside. From there it looked like a large gothic house enclosed behind a large wrought iron gate, perhaps one you would find in the opening scene of a horror movie. Beautiful, yet haunting.

But it was like stepping back to the worst week of my life when inside we were shown to The Dormitory.

"This isn't a home," I whispered furiously to Draco as we stood at the threshold of a high ceilinged hall filled with rows and rows of camp beds, where upon each one sat a numbered child with sunken eyes and bony limbs, "it's a fucking institution."

He gently placed a hand on my back, moving me closer to his side. He knew that I would find this difficult, that it would break my heart knowing we could not save all the other children, that we were only there for one.

No inspections needed. No references. The manager, an overweight woman in her fifties who acted as though she liked kids as much as Voldemort liked Muggles, seemed to be expecting us. I could only assume that this had something to do with Snape. Because there seemed to be no question that we would be leaving without Nico's son.

"It's the depression," Marge the manager muttered as she clocked the horrified expression on my face, "people dropping their kids on the doorstep thinking we could give 'em a better life. What a joke. Ain't got no money, that's the problem. And the government ain't interested, they're more concerned with all the mysterious disappearances that keep happening lately."

"If it's money you need," I said at once, seizing at the chance, "we can give you some. These poor children need feeding."

Marge licked her fat lips, probably already mentally spending it on restocking her own private fridge.

"Maybe some kind of payment plan might work best-"

Draco pointedly cleared his throat. It was not that he did not care, but it was not what we were there for.

"Oh, right yes," Marge grunted, shuffling the papers in her hand. "Number 067," she barked loudly into the room, "you're up."

It was as though the ground had vanished from beneath my feet. The entire room tipped and I was overcome by a dizziness that made me feel sick. But it had to be a coincidence? Surely?

My eyes met Draco's and I could see he was as deeply disturbed by this as I was. Had Lucius known all along? Had it been some kind of sick joke to him to have given Nico that exact same number?

Draco clutched my shaking hand in his, tightly entwining his fingers around them, helping to give me strength as I pressed my face into his shoulder, trying to stop the spinning.

"Look up, Alia," Draco murmured in my ear, his voice choking slightly, "it's him... my brother."

Drawing in a shaky breath, I slowly lifted my head, my heart stilling as a small boy with a mop of shockingly blonde hair and bright green eyes slid off the foot of his bed. On the front of his dirty vest displayed a sticker, the number 067 scrawled untidily upon it.

There was no question that this boy was a Malfoy. It was like staring at a mini Draco.

"Come," Marge barked, "and bring your belongings. You'll be sleeping in a new bed tonight."

The boy, only four years of age - almost five according to his papers - looked utterly fearful as he bent down and picked up a small brown paper bag at his feet. Ignoring the silent glares from the other children, he hurried unsteadily across the room towards us, tripping over his skinny legs.

"You sure you want this one?" Marge said, looking down at the boy distastefully as he came to a breathless stop in front of us. "He's a naughty little brat. Had ter put him in the cupboard a fair few times."

"The cupboard?!" I gasped, horrified. "What is this? Oliver Twist?!"

"What does a child do to deserve such treatment?" Draco asked sternly, the muscle pulsing in his jaw giving away his anger.

"He lies. Says it wasn't him. But their ent no other explanation. Once caught him up on the roof clinging ter the chimney pot. Said he didn't know how he got up there. Another time I caught him with a chocolate bar, and when questioned where it came from, he claimed that an owl brought it ter him."

"But it did-" the boy protested in the smallest of voices as his lower lip trembled.

"LIAR! You've been breaking into my office, haven't you? You thieving little brat!"

The boy flinched away from her, looking terrified. I wanted to sweep him up in my arms and take him as far away from that horrible woman as possible.

"Did you have proof that a chocolate bar went missing from your office?" Draco demanded, his face darkening in anger as his silver eyes flashed furiously.

Marge looked up in surprise, as though she was shocked it was her that we were directing our anger at. "Well, I uh- I wouldn't know. Got so many, you see."

That was it. I needed to get him out of there, and fast. My only regret would be leaving all those other poor children under this vile woman's care.

Letting go of Draco's hand, I stepped towards the boy and crouched down in front of him, giving him my warmest smile.

"Hello," I said gently, "my name is Alia, and I was hoping that you would like to come home with us and let us look after you?"

Nervously, he gave a small nod, casting a curious glance up at Draco.

"That man has my hair," he whispered ever so quietly.

Draco's expression softened as his Adam's apple bobbed prominently in his throat.

"He certainly does." I agreed, smiling. "His name is Draco, and he wants to look after you as well."

The boy's green eyes widened as he looked back at me, causing a lump to form in my throat. It was like looking at Nico.

"Are you going to be my mummy and daddy?"

"If you would like." I nodded, blinking back the stinging sensation behind my eyes. "I know we would very much like to be, and we also have a little girl at home who would love to be your baby sister."

A small gasp of delight passed his lips as his entire face lit up. "Really?"

Draco crouched down next to me, smiling softly. "Her name is Lulu, she's still only a baby, but when she laughs it makes you feel so warm and happy-" he paused to place a hand against his chest, his expression full of tenderness, "-right here."

"Lulu," the boy whispered. "I like that name."

"And what about you?" I prompted, "what would you like your name to be?"

He frowned in puzzlement, confused by my question. And I realised it was probably because he had never considered himself to be someone who was allowed a name before, and this caused me to experience an emotion so strong, it took me a while to understand it had been my maternal instinct kicking in.

Because loving Nico's son came as easily to me as loving my own daughter.

"It can be anything you like," Draco answered when I could not, "or if you'd prefer, we could come up with a name for you?"

It was at this moment when the boy reached into his bag and pulled from it a very battered looking book. It was a space encyclopaedia.

"I like the names of the stars, like your name," the boy said looking at Draco, astonishing us both with his knowledge. "Yours is a dragon."

Draco stilled, emotion swimming in his eyes. "It is. That's very clever of you to know. My mother chose it. Would you like to me choose one for you?"

The boy nodded, offering out the book to Draco.

But instead of taking it, Draco reached out and peeled away the sticker on the boy's front which labelled him as nothing but a number.

"Well then," he murmured, screwing it up firmly in his hand as his silver eyes twinkled warmly, "from now on, son, you shall be known as Scorpius."

*****