Introduction
“Do I have to go?” Scorpius asked solemnly, looking up at his mother’s kind face. She looked slightly older than she was, the stress of her illness causing her to wrinkle prematurely. She and Scorpius didn’t look very similar—her hair was long and wavy and brown, flowing down to her lower back when it wasn’t in a bun. A few streaks of gray were beginning to be visible around her hairline, even though she was only 36 or so. Still, she emanated light, comfort. Some of Scorpius’s best memories had been spent with her, relaxing together in the orchards of Malfoy manor.
Scorpius had been told that when his father and mother were married, that was he first thing she’d asked of him—to allow her to turn the wide lawns behind the house into a forest of fruit trees. Of course, he’d agreed. Scorpius knew his father would’ve done anything for her.
The only way in which Scorpius’s appearance was unlike his father was his eyes—instead of inheriting his father’s cool gray ones, his were a deep blue color. They were what Scorpius liked most about himself—their color reminded him of trips to the sea with his family when they were younger, before the stress of travel was too much for their family.
Scorpius surveyed his father—his receding hairline was also graying—sometimes Scorpius thought his mother’s illness took almost as much of a toll on his father, like he was sick with worry.
“Yes, son,” his father’s mouth was a straight line.
“I know.” Scorpius murmured, staring at the floor. He’d known the answer when he’d asked the question.
“You’ll do wonderful.” His mother smiled kindly.
“What if I’m…” Scorpius struggle to vocalize the thoughts that had been bouncing around his head the previous night, keeping him from sleep. “What if I’m not in Slytherin?”
“You will be.” Draco said surely, looking at his son with pride.
“But if you’re not,” Astoria bent down slightly so Scorpius could look her in the eye—even at eleven, Scorpius was very tall for his age, and they were almost the same height. “I’m sure you’ll do wonderful wherever they put you.”
Scorpius looked around at all the other students. All of them seemed delighted to be there, only a few wearing the miserable expression that Scorpius knew must’ve been on his face.
A flash of red caught his eye. A girl was standing on practically the opposite side of the platform from him. She had incredibly long hair. It was wavy and fiery colored. The girl it belonged to looked about medium height, standing with a little boy who had hair her color and a boy that looked their age, his hair messy and dark. She caught his eye, seemingly taking as much interest in him as he did her.
“Scorpius?” His mother noticed his distraction.
Scorpius hugged her. He’d dreamed of Hogwarts when he was younger, of being free from Malfoy Manor and its cold hallways, unfriendly portraits, and ghostly rooms, getting to be with other people his age for once. But now, leaving his mother was the last thing he wanted to do.
Scorpius was most like his father physically, but g favored his mother more in personality. They were both rather soft spoken but witty and intelligent. He’d inherited her love of reading, and the library at Malfoy Manor did not disappoint. Scorpius was sure he wouldn’t be able to read every book on the shelf before he got a house of his own. Even at eleven, Scorpius knew he had not desire to remain in Malfoy Manor for the rest of his life.
The whistle blew.
“Better get on the train,” his mother whispered to him, releasing him. They helped him haul his trunk on the plane, and waved goodbye to him from the platform.
Scorpius felt the train begin to move, and watched his parents speed away on the platform. He wouldn’t see them again until Christmas.
He searched for an empty compartment, looking up and down the corridor, but most of them were packed with chattering students, some even looking to be his age. Did everyone already have friends? Was Scorpius going to be alone for the next seven years, that one kid everyone pitied with a father with a strange tattoo and a grandfather in prison—
“Oi!” He’d been so absorbed in his own self deprecation, Scorpius hadn’t payed attention where he was going. He’d bumped right into a boy who looked a little older, with black hair and almond shaped green eyes. “Watch where you’re going—oh! I know who you are.” The boy surveyed him. “You’re that Malfoy boy, aren’t you?”
Come to think of it, Scorpius thought he knew who this boy was. He must’ve been Harry Potter’s son.
Scorpius knew his father had known Harry Potter. Draco didn’t speak of him much, other than to say that he was a good man. They didn’t speak much of the Potters, or the war that had happened nineteen years before. Scorpius knew that his father didn’t like to speak of it, didn’t like to speak about the strange tattoo on his arm. Once, Scorpius had asked what it meant, and his father told him never to speak of it or repeat it anywhere.
“James, who are you—oh!” A girl emerged from the compartment door next to them. It was the girl from the platform, the one with the dark red hair. Up close, he could see the details of her face—it was oval shaped and freckled. Her eyes were a warm, light brown color, and rimmed with thick eyelashes. “Who’s this?”
“It’s the Malfoy boy, remember? The one your dad told us about?”
“Who’s your dad?” Scorpius asked, curious why someone would bother to point him out to their child.
“Ronald Weasley.” She answered. “I’m Rose. Rose Weasley.”
“Scorpius.” He nodded. He didn’t want to mention his last name, since the Potter boy had brought it up with such a negative connotation.
“Rose.” The Potter boy hissed. “Did you forget what else your dad said?”
She seemed to remember, a confident look crossing her face as she set her shoulders back. “I look forward to beating you in every class, Scorpius Malfoy.”
He raised his eyebrows, amused. “Cheers.”