Over the next year, I became increasingly apprehensive over the fact that the rumors of Scorpius were not going away anytime soon, and not even dying down a bit. He would be going to Hogwarts soon, and the cloud of suspicion and rumor still hung thickly around him. A school full of judgemental and vial teenagers was not my idea of a great setting for the situation.

And yet, this didn't even seem to phase Scorpius. He knew all about the rumors -- in full -- now. But he wasn't consumed with nerves at the thought of how others may stare or comment; he wasn't full of dread, or even a trace of it. He was too busy being humorously ecstatic. He was always the first to sift through the post in the morning, his face falling when there was nothing addressed to him.

Then, one morning towards the end of July, while shuffling through the post, his jaw fell open, and from it, a series of cheers and squeals.

"It came?!" I asked. He nodded, already peeling the wax seal, gingerly yet hastily, and seized the papers inside. His eyes scanned the page, his smile stretching ear to ear. He was frantically whispering, "OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod," under his breath.

When he had read the two enclosed slips, I peered over the supply list, and said, "So, are you guys ready to go to Diagon Alley?"

The look on Scorpius's face was akin to that of someone who had just won one thousand galleons. "YES, let me just get dressed!" By the last word he was already out of the room, running up the stairs.

After a moment, Draco turned to me, an uneasy look on his face, and said, "Astoria, are you sure it's such a good idea for you to go? You've been. . . It's been bad recently. . ." he asked, his voice low.

"I'm not missing this," I said, a definite firmness in my voice, in my fixed gaze.

He looked unconvinced, biting the inside of his cheek. I sighed, softening slightly, and said with as much reassurance I could muster, "I'll be fine. Don't worry." I wasn't missing this. No way.

However, I couldn't argue with the mention of my recent state. With each passing hour, it was as if I'd become more delicate, more fragile. My heart beats were erratic and fluttering when I simply walked up the stairs.

How could I be so weak? I was embarrassed with each volatile heartbeat, each shaking breath. I had no reason to be, of course, I knew. For, Draco and Scorpius were nothing but concerned and supportive. But it wasn't them I was ashamed in front of, no, it was my own judgement. I was appalled by my lack of strength, my weakness.

How could I allow myself to be this way? I had too much to live for to be so very frail. So very decayed.

I would not let myself miss this. I just couldn't.

A few minutes later, Scorpius reappeared in the room, out of breath from running, and adorned with an enormous smile.

To the back of The Leaky Cauldron, and watching the bricks twist and retreat, revealing Diagon Alley, was a pleasant wave of nostalgia. It'd been too long since I was last there.

We made our way, squeezing into the vacant corners of the bustling street, checking off store after store on the list. Scorpius spent an exorbitant amount of time gaping around at the shelves of Flourish and Blotts, and was literally pulled out by Draco.

"Okay. . ." I said, glazing over the list one more time, "Now all you need is a wand."

Walking over to Ollivander's, Draco opened the door, Scorpius wandering in, and shut it behind him. Just before the door closed, Scorpius turned, about to protest, but from his lack of exiting the store, I assumed Ollivander appeared before he could ask why we hadn't followed him in.

Leaning against the storefront, I said, "I expect he'll get unicorn hair. . . ."

"Yeah, if not, then phoenix feather, but I doubt dragon heart string."

I nodded, refraining from peering into the window beside me.

His voice low, moving a bit closer, he said, "Astoria, you really don't look very well. . . ."

"You sure do know how to flatter a girl, Draco," I said with a playful smile and a lightness to my tone. This didn't help to soften the stone cold concern on his face.

I looked down and sighed, biting my lip. If I looked unwell, it was because I felt unwell, and I had assumed I was doing a decent job of concealing that. Apparently not.

I'd only ever been on a broom a few times in my life, but I remembered distinctly how it felt as though the bottom on my stomach dropped out when looking down from so high in the air. That's how I felt now, the mild disorientated nausea pushing its way up into a clouding headache over my mind. My lips were dry and pale no matter how many times I bit them to add a shade more color, to stop looking like a walking corpse.

"I'm fine." I tried adding confidence, lightness, or perhaps even a solid sternness, reassurance. But I'd said these words so many times, they came out robotically, the fail-safe my mouth always resorted to when faced with this situation. So trite, so vague.

And he'd heard them so many times over, it was as though I hadn't said anything at all.

But his determined concern was unnecessary, and useless. He knew this, as resignation dawned on his face. For, the day was closing, the damage was done. And even if this wasn't the case, he knew I would never listen to his protests. I would stay anyway.

The little door bell rang as Scorpius walked out, clutching a long box in his hands.

With a small, content smile on his face, he lifted the lid and said, "Unicorn hair, beech wood, twelve inches." Inside the box, beneath the ribbon wrappings, was a twisty sort of black and white piece of wood, with little runes and lines etched and carved into its surface.

* * *

Though Scorpius still wasn't nervous about the rumors, and the repercussions that would arise because of them, he did look awfully pale the morning of September first.

I walked into his room, his trunk opened on his bed, clothes and supplies neatly folded and tucked, all in order.

"Do you have everything?" I said, walking farther into the room. "I would just do a double check around the room to make sure -- that's what I always did." I smiled warmly, but he did not look up. His eyes were fixated on the trunk before him, yet it seemed as though he wasn't really looking at the trunk at all.

"What's wrong?" I asked, standing beside him.

He looked up at me, his eyes wide with stifled apprehension. He opened his mouth to speak, but snapped his jaw closed, crossing the room to close the door, first peering out to ensure the hallway was clear.

Sighing, he pursed his lips, then said, in a quick and rushed manner, "WhatifI'mnotinSlytherin?"

I stared at him for a moment, deciphering what it was that he'd said, my lips parted. "Oh, oh." I nodded my head, and sat on the side of his bed.

"And what if you're not?" I said.

He put his face in his hands and shook his head, standing in front of me now, and said, "Could you imagine the look on Dad's face?" he said. Then, resting his hand on his chin in mock thoughtfulness, said, "Hmm, let's see, how do I disappoint him further? Ah-ha! I know! Come home as a Hufflepuff, or something."

I sighed, listing my head to the side, one eyebrow raised. I shook my head. "Your father would not be disappointed."

He looked at me, his expression disbelieving, and shook his head, saying, "I'm like the least Slytherin-y person I know. I'm not cunning, or shrewd, or a leader at all!" He listed the traits off on his fingers as he spoke.

"Scorpius, would you stop? Maybe you aren't the most Slytherin-y person, but you're also kind, and smart and brave -- all traits of the other houses -- all amazing things about you," I said, and smiled. "So, if you don't get Slytherin, would that be so bad?"

His eyes went wide and he was nodding his head. "YES. Yes, that would be very bad. Catastrophically bad. I'm talking, the worst possible case-scenario bad."

"You're being a bit ridiculous, don't you think --"

"No, I'm really not." He sighed, and sat beside me, ordering his words in his mind. "Mum, all my life I've just been this major disappointment to dad" -- I opened my mouth to protest, but he continued -- "and I just want to get this one thing right."

I looked at him, a stone cold sternness to my expression, that soon subsided to mild desperation. "You know, you've really got a backwards idea about your father."

"It's not that I think he's evil or anything, but --"

"But you do. Even if you fail to realize it. But, Scorpius, he's not this heartless villain you've made him out to be." I spoke with a warm lightness, tinged with stern truth around its edges.

I was saying the words, caught in the memory, before I could even stop to read Scorpius's expression, as I began, "You know, your Grandfather didn't like me very much. He thought I was too muggle-loving. He opposed the match. But, your father defied him for me." I smiled. "It was the bravest thing I'd ever seen."

A pause. Then, I looked him in the eyes, and said, with absolute certainty, "He is a better man than you can see."

I could see the words swirling in his mind, trying to resonate. I hoped they did. I really hoped they did.

He looked away, and after another long, long moment nodded.

I sighed, trying to brush off some of the stoic nostalgia, and said, "But, look, if you really want to be in Slytherin, it might be helpful to persuade the Sorting Hat."

His ears perked up at this, turning to face me with renewed curiosity. "Really?"

I nodded. "It's what I did to get into Slytherin. I mean, other than the fact that my name was Greengrass. They couldn't very well have anyone labeled with the color green going into a different house."

He laughed, mostly ironically, at my very lame joke.

He smiled, determination yet relief flooding his face. "You really think it'd work for me?"

In a sarcastic tone, I said, "The Greengrass thing? Hm, probably not, but --"

He nudged me, his smile recast as a grin.

"Yes. I think it would work; but that doesn't mean I think you should."

He bit the inside of his cheek, his expression half wanting me to elaborate, the other not wanting to know; I went for the former. "Because no matter what house tie you wear, or what common room you sleep in, nothing will ever change how much your father loves you."

I stood up and gave him a kiss on the head. "Plus, I think the Ravenclaw robes would look adorable on you."

* * *

There they were, all the nerves he'd been immune to the last few months, mixed awkwardly with a bursting elation.

He stood on the platform, wringing his hands, a wide yet wavering smile on his face, his eyes wide with, somehow simultaneously, apprehension and anticipation.

Someone called for the kids to board the train, and I saw Scorpius's breath hitch. From the corner of my eye, I saw Draco nod at someone, and turn curtly back to face us. Before I could ponder who, Scorpius spoke.

"Oh, I, I should, I have to go --" he said through a nervous smile. I hugged him, hard, and he somehow managed to hug me even harder.

"You're going to do great, honey," I said, kissing the top of his head. "I love you."

He let go, a half nod, his lips parted slightly, and said, "Love you too, mum."

He turned to Draco, his expression contorting into hesitance.

Clearing his throat, and placing a stiff hand on Scorpius' shoulder, Draco said with a wavering smile, "Good luck, I'm sure -- you're going to --" He stumbled on a few other words, before finally settling on, "It'll be. . . good."

I refrained from cringing as Scorpius nodded, his mouth open, unsure of what to respond. "Thanks," he half nervous-laughed.

He turned, now facing the both of us, and I said, "Oh!" fishing through the pocket of my robes.

I produced a small paper bag, and pressed it into Scorpius's palm, quietly reciting the song, "Sweets, they always help you make friends,"

He looked down at the bag, then back up at me, and said with a smile, "Thank you."

He inhaled and faced the train again, taking up his trunk.

"Well, goodbye. . . ?" he said, still sporting the terrified smile.

I nodded, my hands clasped together in front of me, a smile that was somewhere between eager and anxious on my lips.

"Goodbye honey!" I called as he walked onto the train, along with a rush of other kids.

It was only a few moments till the train departed, and I was left alone with Draco. Still staring at the now vacant tracks, I began, "Do you think he found someone to sit with? Or, or what if all the compartments are full and, and what if he is standing in the aisle, or, or what if he's all alone? What if no one will sit with him? I-I --"

I turned to Draco, my expression frantic, and found he was standing there, stone still, eyes wide and teeth clenched. His own brand of nervousness.

I tried to calm myself down for a moment, but said, just as fast and frantically, "But, but I'm sure he's fine. . . right?"

He sighed, still staring in front of him, and said, "Dear Lord, I hope so. . . ."