Scorpius Malfoy is a Squib
Scorpius Malfoy is a Squib.
It becomes apparent at around six or seven years old. Even for late-blooming wizards, Scorpius is late. Much later than he should be, given who his parents are. Draco watches his son and fears he may never show an ounce of any magical talent. That he’ll be powerless, lesser. Astoria reminds him sternly that lack of ability would not make their son any lesser.
Draco needs reminding, sometimes.
Astoria fears, as well - that her child will be mocked and ridiculed for who he is, something he cannot help, something he cannot control, just as much a part of him as his pale hair and his rounded young face.
There are tests. Lots of them. Finally, the family is forced to confront the truth.
Scorpius takes the news solemnly; too solemn for his age. He knows he’s never felt anything like magic in his blood. If he could make it otherwise, he would. Magic is critical, magic is practical - Scorpius has grown up within a world that tells him, plainly, that magic is life - and he, evidently, is not truly living.
Astoria and Draco acclimate. They take care to do things the “Muggle way” as often as they can when around their son. They keep all magic in the household to a minimum. They haven’t lived in Malfoy Manor, not since Astoria discovered she was pregnant and Draco discovered that raising his child in such a place would be cruel and unfair. They have a town home, in London, charming and furnished. They have Muggle neighbors on their left side, and Draco has become good friends with the husband, Nathan. Scorpius becomes so infatuated with their television set that finally Astoria breaks down and buys one for their own home.
Malfoy Manor was sold to the highest bidder - Rita Skeeter, desperate for dirt on the tarnished Malfoy name, now that Lucius is dead and Narcissa is in St. Mungo’s.
If she’d found anything, Draco doesn't care. He’d stopped caring for his surname a long while ago.
Scorpius Malfoy does not meet and become best friends with Albus Potter on the Hogwarts Express; Albus sticks with his cousins and brother in a bustling train compartment, whilst Scorpius gets on with Posy, a Muggle girl at his secondary school. They have MarioKart marathons on his Playstation and drink Pepsi, while Albus sleeps in the dungeons of a castle, alone, and learns how to be a wizard.
The pair don’t officially meet until they are both fourteen years old, at a Ministry event both families happen to be present at. Scorpius watches as the Boy Who Lived tries awkward, forced-smile small-talk with his father over lilac glasses of bubbling champagne; then he sees the small boy hovering by the refreshments table, and goes over to join him, instead.
“Hello.”
The small boy looks up, blinks slowly. “You’re Scorpius Malfoy,” he says. “You’re a Squib,” he adds bluntly.
“You’re Albus Potter,” counters Scorpius. “The Chosen One’s kid who somehow managed Slytherin.”
“At least I could get Sorted at all,” Albus retorts, and they both stop. Pause.
And Scorpius begins to laugh. “Fair enough. Our dads really hate each other, eh?”
Albus, grinning in a twisted, middle-child sort of way, says, “No. It isn’t hate. It’s just…weird.”
“Yeah,” Scorpius agrees. “Bet it would be horribly unfortunate if we managed to become friends.”
“Yeah,” Albus echoes. “Unfortunate.”
From then on, the two are inseparable. Albus gets on with Posy, and Scorpius (strangely enough) gets on with Albus’s brother, James. Scorpius is there for every pressure-induced breakdown over Albus’s father; Albus is there for every time Scorpius aches for a wand to call his very own, feel its magic coursing throughout his veins.
Albus isn’t old enough to show any of what he’s learned to Scorpius yet, and Scorpius can’t say he quite minds. But Albus can show Scorpius Quidditch, and you don’t need magic to ride a broomstick. Scorpius becomes a Beater on par to the talent of that of the Weasley twins, and Draco wonders, wonders, wonders.
It is suitably awkward, for the Potters, the Malfoys, and the Granger-Weasleys to suddenly be forced to see a lot more of each other. But people change. Draco may never truly be trusted, but Astoria gets on with Ginny, and after a while, even Ron relents and knocks back a glass of Firewhiskey or two with his former school rival.
Astoria does not die, not here. No one questions Scorpius’s heritage; how could the Dark Lord’s spawn be a Squib?
Draco comes to love his son, truly, deeply love him more than anything else in his life. So what if he’d be a disappoint to the ancestral name for as far back in the family tree as Draco can remember? None of that matters. It’s never mattered, not even once.
But Scorpius feels as though Albus’s parents and everyone don’t like him very much. They know who his father is. They know what he can’t do. Yet in the fifth year, Harry finds Scorpius sobbing in his room over the winter holidays, about one thing or another, and though it’s definitely uncomfortable for the both of them, his words of encouragement really do make Scorpius think.
Perhaps, when you’ve cheated Death, you become a lot wiser than you let on.
In the seventh year, Scorpius tells Posy what exactly his parents are, and she isn’t too shocked. She’s not an idiot; even with minimal magic being used around the home, she’d seen the signs and picked up the truth along the way.
“Is it bad,” she says, grinning. “That I’m glad you don’t have powers? Then you’d never have met me.”
Scorpius realizes that this is absolutely correct.
The summer comes; the families all go to see Scorpius and Posy graduate, and Posy definitely has a crush on Rose Granger-Weasley, but Scorpius can’t poke fun when Albus is right there, and Scorpius has been in love with him for as far back as he can remember.
Albus graduates, too, along with Rose - Posy isn’t able to come, of course, but Scorpius promises to tell her everything. Scorpius, for the first time in his life, steps onto the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the place his best friend has called home for the past seven years of their lives.
And he understands that…
An old man is staring at him, from his spot up against the castle wall. Lank-haired and grizzled, he watches Scorpius with near-blind eyes; an ancient, dusty cat curls about his ankles.
And Scorpius talks to him. He gets to know Argus Filch, clocks him immediately as nonmagical like him. Filch is resistant, at first; but then again, he doesn’t get the chance to speak to many other Squibs. And this boy, he realizes, this pureblooded, raised wealthy boy…
Is happy. Completely happy with who and what he is.
Filch is old. Filch knows the castle like the back of his hand, knows every nook and cranny and mouse's hole there is. He’s lived around magic his entire, long life; and Mrs. Norris is rubbing her face up against this boy’s leg like he’s an old, dear friend.
Argus smiles, a real, genuine smile, full of joy and not wracked with spite. He really smiles for what must be the first time in…God only knows how long, but certainly long enough.
Scorpius smiles back. He likes this old man, likes his moth-ball eaten coat and his geriatric feline companion. “Would you like to come with me to see my best friend graduate?”
Mrs. Norris mewls happily, and Filch, warmer than he's felt since he was a boy, accepts the invitation.