In which Scorpius meets the Sorting Hat and then everything goes pear-shaped.

It's for the best, Draco keeps telling himself—over and over like an endless mantra. But self-deception has never been that high on his list of coping techniques.

Albus plays wicked games, Scorpius can't escape, and Lily Potter quite possibly wins all the bets.

Potter doesn't deserve any kind of power—especially not over Draco—because Potter is an imbecile and quite possibly a bit of a sadist, and he obviously has no idea what to do with it anyway. Aside from, apparently, screwing Draco over until he no longer knows which way is north.

Scorpius knows he's being played. But this time, he's not exactly sure what James' game is.

Deep down, Draco has always been a dreamer, orbiting around his own private sun.

This is the way the world ends, not with a bang but with the Chosen One turning into a flesh-eating monstrosity, and Pansy thinking introducing Draco to Muggle cinema may not have been the brightest of ideas, after all—but then, what does she know?

Al never figured out whether James was trying to play matchmaker or just wanted to have a laugh at his expense—but either way, Scorpius wasn't entirely blameless.

In hindsight, Draco should have known change was often unstoppable when it came heralded by one Harry Potter.

Malfoy is sort of all right, these days. Except when he really isn't.

Figuratively speaking, Draco wins all the tricks.

Life after Hogwarts is hard. Or maybe that's just Scorpius.

Four weeks after his twenty-second birthday, Draco found himself with a mysterious gift, a cheeky house-elf, and an assortment of wilfully unhelpful acquaintances.

Scorpius is frustrated. Albus aims to confuse. Together, they don't make much sense—only, perhaps they do, because they're them.

Harry wasn't sure what he'd expected from life after the war—peace, obviously, a sense of accomplishment, maybe—but it certainly hadn't been this.