fic: postwar (scorpius, draco, albus severus, narcissa, g)
Title: Postwar
Author: V.M. Bell
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JKR.
Summary: Growing up, Scorpius had the feeling that he was not like everybody else around him.
Rating:
Characters: Scorpius, Draco, Albus Severus, Narcissa
Word Count: 9062
Author's Notes: Written for catsintheattic at springtime_gen. Title and inspiration for this fic borrowed from Tony Judt's Postwar: A History of Europe since 1945. For the purposes of the story, I accept JKR's assertion that the Malfoys were able to avoid Azkaban after the war as part of canon. Many thanks, as always, to alexajohnson for her incredibly helpful comments & insight.
--
Growing up, Scorpius had the feeling that he was not like everybody else around him. He would notice, every now and then, that people would look at him in funny ways when Mother took him to Diagon Alley on the weekends or when he would go with Father to Wiltshire during the holidays. He never asked about it, but, when nobody was around, he would sneak into his parents' room and examine himself in the mirror, which never failed to assure him that he looked quite lovely. Scorpius was inclined to agree, personally, and Grandfather constantly told him that, in time, he would make a dashing young man. He had blonde hair, like Father, and blue eyes, like Mother, and there were no strange marks on his face or arms or legs. Even if there were, it wouldn't have been a problem: everyone in the Wizarding world knew that Harry Potter had a scar, and, if Harry Potter had one, then surely it was all right.
And it wasn't that their family had no friends. His parents hosted guests at least once a week, and, though Scorpius sometimes wished he could be in his room covertly flipping through Father's old schoolbooks, he was on good terms with the children that Mother told him were his responsibility to entertain, which he thought he did very well. He had sensed, though, there was always something strange about those gatherings. Gatherings should be happy, he thought, but the ones in the Malfoys' flat consisted of the adults meeting in the sitting room downstairs and conversing in hushed tones. Scorpius tried eavesdropping once; all he could hear were the clinking of glasses and a low mumbling that he supposed was everyone talking, but Father caught him soon after and reprimanded him immediately.
Everything should have been right, yet everything was slightly off, only slightly. Scorpius wondered what could have been wrong and never came up with an answer; therefore, nothing could be wrong. Still, he was so worried about being different that, in the months approaching his eleventh birthday, he was almost certain that he would not get a letter from Hogwarts. Mother and Father showed no sign of worry, so he never mentioned just how relieved he was when he spotted a large tawny owl, its talons clutching a thick parchment envelope, waiting outside the kitchen window.
--
September was unusually chilly when Mother took his hand and led him through the gate to Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters. They spotted Father standing beside the Hogwarts Express. His arm was resting on Scorpius's trunk, which had been turned on its end. His expression was blank and distant, and Scorpius wondered if Father was remembering all of the times that he had stood on this exact same platform, waiting for this exact same train, years and years ago.
"There you are, Draco." Mother walked up to Father and kissed him on the cheek. This seemed to bring him out of his reverie.
"Ah, Astoria. Is Scorpius with you?"
Scorpius, though, had fallen behind because something else -- or, more accurately, someone else -- had caught his eye. Not far from where his parents were standing, there was a man with black hair, and he was helping his children move their trunks onto the train. As Scorpius looked at the man more closely and thought he discerned some vague shape of a scar on the stranger's forehead, it occurred to him that he was staring at Harry Potter. That man was Harry Potter. Scorpius rolled up his sleeves, wondering if it would be proper for him to walk over there and introduce himself -- surely someone that famous was used to this sort of thing -- only to be wrenched backwards by a stern hand on his shoulder.
"Ow, Father, that hurt!"
"Scorpius, keep your voice down. We're in public."
"But, over there, do you see him?" Scorpius pointed in the direction where Harry Potter had last been standing. "That's Harry Potter! I want to go talk to him."
Father opened his mouth to say more, but, abruptly, the lines of his face, which had been contorted with irritation, softened. His gaze, though, seemed sharper, and Scorpius wondered, for an instant, if there was something that made Father scared. Discreetly, Scorpius turned his head to glance at Harry Potter, and, looking up at Father, he gasped as he realized that Father and Harry Potter were now looking at each other. Scorpius, without a word, watched as the two men exchanged a brief nod before Harry Potter turned away to talk to a red-haired woman standing beside him -- his wife, Scorpius guessed. He and Father did not move or talk, and, by the time Scorpius screwed up the courage to ask about the encounter, Mother was at his side, urging him towards the Hogwarts Express.
"Sweetheart, if you linger here any longer, you're going to miss the train." Scorpius knew better than to protest, so he allowed her to lead him to the nearest car. "I already put your things in an empty compartment -- it's the second one on your right -- and took out a robe for you to change into, all right?"
Turning around to face his parents, he nodded. "Yes, Mother."
"Hogwarts is the last and only stop, so you shouldn't have any trouble getting to school."
"Yes, Mother."
"And, if you get hungry, there will be a witch pushing around a trolley with all sorts of sweets and other food, though, of course, I thought to bring along some snacks -- " Almost out of nowhere, she brandished a bag stuffed full with every edible treat imaginable and handed it to him " -- if that isn't enough."
"Right, thanks, Mother."
"Oh, and be sure to send us an owl when you've arrived. You know how -- "
Father cleared his throat. "Astoria, Scorpius is quite grown up now -- he's very capable of looking after himself. The train will be leaving in a few minutes, so I suppose we should say goodbye."
Scorpius embraced Mother as her eyes welled up with tears. "It's all right," he said when she released him at last. "I'll be home for the Christmas holiday, which isn't very far away."
"Yes, yes, of course," she muttered as she pulled a handkerchief out of her purse. "Oh, I do look like such a mess when I cry -- say goodbye to your father, Scorpius."
As Mother turned away to blow her nose, he and Father regarded one another, and Scorpius knew that this was his last chance for almost three months to ask about what had happened on the platform. Before he could say anything, though, Father hugged him more tightly than he usually did.
"You'll have a wonderful time at Hogwarts. I know that I -- " Father paused for a second " -- I know that I did, for the most part. And remember that you will always make me and your mother proud, won't you?"
Scorpius managed a smile as he felt the engine of the Hogwarts Express shuddering into motion. "I will."
A few moments later, as the train pulled away from King's Cross Station, Scorpius was sitting in his compartment, his face pressed to the window as he watched his parents growing ever smaller in the distance.
--
The Hogwarts Express was incredibly boring, Scorpius decided. Since the train had left London, only his cousin, whom he'd always found annoying, had stopped by to say hello. He supposed that he could wander through the cars himself and strike up his own conversations, but he was still preoccupied by Father's mysterious connection with the Chosen One. Father rarely mentioned Harry Potter, though he did tell Scorpius once that they were in the same year at Hogwarts. Perhaps they had not known each other very well -- they had been in different Houses, after all -- or, more likely, Father simply did not like talking about that particular time in the past, a past to which Harry Potter was linked. This, Scorpius could understand: Lord Voldemort had been regaining his former strength then, and, like so many other families, the Malfoys had suffered at his hand.
Just then, there was a rush of footsteps outside his compartment door. A high-spirited voice rang out above the commotion. "James, I told you to give it back to me!"
"And I told you," came the reply, "that I just want to see what you're studying. One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi? Oh, dear me, Al, you'll never pass the Sorting with this kind of knowledge."
James, Scorpius gathered from the conversation, was Al's brother. Among his parents' social circle, it was common to see older relatives concoct elaborate lies about what the Sorting actually involved, and their parents usually let it happen. Mother and Father never stood for such nonsense and told him exactly what would happen.
"You -- you told me just last week that I would only be tested on Potions!"
"Did I? I could have sworn that I said Charms. And maybe a bit of Transfiguration too."
"Charms and Transfiguration?"
Growing tired of listening to this argument, Scorpius got up and opened the compartment door, where he found the two boys standing a foot apart. The taller one -- James, most likely -- was holding One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi above Al's head.
"You just have to put on a special hat to be Sorted into a House," Scorpius said.
James scoffed, but Al, slightly breathless, spun around to look at Scorpius. "I know, but there's an exam afterwards, isn't there? To make sure that you're good enough for the House you've been Sorted into?"
"I think your brother is lying to you," Scorpius replied, hoping that he sounded serious enough.
James sighed loudly before tossing the book back to Al. "What's the point of having bloody first-years around if you can't take the mickey out of them?"
"James," Al said with a touch of irritation, "why are you always doing this to me?"
"Oh, you'll understand when you're older!" With that, James walked away, chuckling under his breath. This left Scorpius and Al standing in the corridor together.
"Uh, would you like to sit in my compartment with me?" Scorpius asked.
"Sure, better than sitting in one with my brother." Al offered up a nervous smile. "Otherwise, he might tell me that I have to wrestle with a troll when we get to Hogwarts!" They shared a laugh as Scorpius closed the door behind them and they sat down opposite one another. "I'm Al, by the way."
"And I'm Scorpius." They shook hands, and Scorpius was feeling much happier than he had been just a few minutes earlier. "So, do you know what House you'll be in?"
"James has been teasing me all summer that I'll get Sorted into Slytherin, which I wouldn't like very much. What about you?"
Scorpius grimaced. His entire family, going back for generations, had been in Slytherin, and, when he had received his letter, there was no question that he, too, would join the ranks of that House. Father told him that there was no shame in being a Slytherin: though more supporters of Lord Voldemort had emerged from that House than any other, it had also produced many fine witches and wizards through the centuries. And merely belonging to Slytherin House, after all, had not protected his family, so he decided to tell Al the truth.
"I reckon I'll be Slytherin."
"I mean, I know that Slytherin can't be all bad," Al began, but he crossed his arms. "That's what my dad says. Actually, my dad said that the bravest person he ever knew was in Slytherin. But don't you think that, after all that happened during the Wars, Slytherin is a bit, you know, evil?"
"I don't think -- " Scorpius stopped mid-sentence, thinking hard. "Wait, who's the bravest person your father ever knew?"
Unexpectedly, Al blushed. "I probably shouldn't have said that, but, I guess, now that I have...Severus Snape."
There was not a soul in the Wizarding world who did know the story of Severus Snape. He had been a spy for Albus Dumbledore until the end, Head of Slytherin House, and, after Dumbledore's death, Headmaster of Hogwarts, and he had sacrificed his life to protect Harry Potter. And, as Scorpius recounted this tale to himself, he found himself taking a closer look at Al's appearance. It did not take long for him to discover the identity of the boy sitting on the other side of the other side of the compartment.
"Your father -- is your father Harry Potter?"
"Erm, well, yes, he is," Al mumbled, turning an even darker shade of red. "Sorry, I -- I really didn't want to tell you that."
"Why not?"
"Well, I don't want people to just -- you know, judge me just because my dad, well, you know. I mean, it's just a name, isn't it? It shouldn't matter."
"Right," Scorpius echoed.
Al shifted closer to the window and scanned the now darkened Scottish countryside. His eyes widened. "Oh, look -- I think that's Hogwarts, right there!"
Scorpius joined Al by the window, taking in tower upon tower of windows glimmering with light. As subtly as possible, he looked down at Al, who was still staring at the rapidly approaching castle, and was unexpectedly jealous of the other boy. Al would fit in at Hogwarts without a problem, and, even if he did not, his surname would always redeem him. Compared to that, Scorpius thought, what good was the Malfoy name? Well, he began to argue with himself, not everybody could have been a hero like Harry Potter and his friends. Many people were tortured and cursed by Lord Voldemort but had still done what they could to resist him. Why, hadn't Father once told him that Grandmother had defied Voldemort in her own way? Yes, surely that should count for something, Scorpius told himself, and he made himself smile as Al stood up again.
"Well, I should go back to my own compartment if we're almost there, or James might tell my parents that he flushed me down a toilet or something."
"Right. Well, um, I'll see you at the Sorting, then?"
" 'Course."
Al left the compartment, closing the door with a wave. Scorpius returned the wave, then slumped against the back of his seat, massaging his stomach and thinking that he had never been so nervous about anything in his entire life. The nerves had been there for at least a week, though he hadn't wanted to admit that to himself, but there was nothing like the sight of Hogwarts itself to bring those thoughts back to the surface. He forced himself to stay relaxed, reminding himself that almost every wizard in Britain had made it through Hogwarts. If they could, Scorpius could too. Besides, he had Al. Scorpius wasn't sure if it was appropriate to consider Al a friend already, having only known him for a short period of time, but hadn't they enjoyed a nice conversation on the train just then? And, surely, the fact that he had saved Al from the misfortunes of being the younger sibling at least gave them a shared experience, something from which a true friendship could grow. Scorpius smiled. Perhaps, in the end, things would work themselves out.
Being a Potter, Al had not yet been sorted when "Malfoy, Scorpius!" rang out through the Great Hall. Scorpius tried to push aside the whispers that flared up among the students as he walked towards the stool where the Sorting Hat awaited him, but he could not ignore the slight frown on Al's face as he pulled the Hat over his eyes, nor could he fail to notice Al's averted gaze as he walked over to the Slytherin table and sat down.
--
In the months that followed, Scorpius proved to be a good student endowed with a fair amount of diligence, or so his Head of House had told him. In truth, he did not spend as much time studying and working as some of the other students, but his marks were high enough to earn regular packages of congratulatory sweets from Mother in the post. Scorpius was fond of sweets but not that fond, so he would share most of them with his friends in Slytherin. He liked them well enough -- some of them, he recognized from the social functions hosted by his parents -- and they were good company during classes and mealtimes.
With his family away from home, he made fun of other students while other students made fun of them, and, in many ways, this was exactly what Scorpius had always imagined life at Hogwarts should be like. Father had told him that he met his two best friends at Hogwarts, though one of them died in a tragic accident during the Second War, and even Grandfather, whom Scorpius had always found to be rather uptight, had alluded to some of the mischief that he and his circle had caused. In the letters he wrote back home, then, Scorpius made sure to let his parents know that he had flown faster than anyone during the first flying lesson of the year, that he had taken part in a prank on a Hufflepuff prefect, that things at Hogwarts honestly could not be better.
What he did not write was that, when he went to the Great Hall every morning for breakfast, he would see Al sitting there, usually frantically scribbling away at a homework assignment in between gulps of toast and orange juice. Although the Gryffindor and Slytherin first-years had Potions together, they had not talked very much since their first meeting on the Hogwarts Express beyond a few greetings, and, every time Scorpius had bothered to say hello, Al was usually only capable of mumbling a reply before dashing off to somewhere else. Part of this was because Gryffindor and Slytherin were historically rivals, and Slytherin was still tainted by its association with Lord Voldemort. Scorpius thought this was unfair: no witch or wizard from Slytherin had so much as put a toe out of line since the end of the Wars, and, last year, the first Muggle-born in over two centuries had been Sorted into the House, much to the consternation of some of his parents' friends. Nevertheless, he could understand why it would be bad form for Al to be seen consorting too much with someone from Slytherin House.
Scorpius was certain, though, that this could not be the entire reason. He had seen Al talking to other Slytherins before without any reluctance, so the only conclusion he could draw was that Al found something personally objectionable about him. But when could he have ever given Al a reason for that if they hadn't even had a conversation since term started? Well, Al had turned on him in that exact moment Scorpius's name had been read out during the Sorting, but hadn't Al himself said that names weren't of any importance? He knew that he did not need Al's friendship -- in fact, he had done quite well without it -- but he could not deny to himself that the Gryffindor's sudden about face had hurt him and that, somehow, his days at Hogwarts seemed emptier because of it.
The Christmas holiday was exactly one week away when Scorpius finally decided to go through with something he had been planning to do for all of term: confront Al. Most of the students had already left the Hall, and only a few stragglers, Al being among them, were left finishing their dinner. Clearing his throat, Scorpius caught Al off-guard as he sat down at the Gryffindor table.
"Oh, hi, Scorpius," he said, putting his fork and knife down.
"Are you all right?"
"I'm fine. I was just, um -- did you think there was something strange about the steak and ale pie today?"
"I thought it was nice, but maybe the House Elves are on strike," Scorpius offered.
Al let out a weak laugh. "Yeah, maybe."
Neither of them spoke for a time, as Scorpius pondered how he might approach the subject and Al appeared to be searching for the most painless way of getting himself out of this conversation. Scorpius reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, gift-wrapped box. "Here, this is for you. Happy Christmas, Al."
"Um, thanks." Al unwrapped it and let out a low whoa. "A chocolate frog with a Limited Edition Collector's Card? But these are supposed to be really expensive!"
"My mum sent me a few a while back, and, well, I guess I don't need that many, do I?"
"Guess not. James is going to go crazy when he sees I've got one of these," Al said quickly before flushing. "I'm so sorry, I don't have anything for you."
"It's all right -- I wasn't expecting anything."
"Hope you have a happy Christmas too, though."
Scorpius nodded, thinking that, if he didn't speak now, he never would. "Al, can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Why have you been ignoring me all term?"
Al blanched. "I haven't -- I haven't been ignoring you. You haven't come to talk to me at all."
Now it was Scorpius's turn to cringe. This was undeniably true. "Well, okay, but -- can I ask you something else?" Al barely acknowledged him. "You looked at me kind of funny during the Sorting, and I was just wondering -- well, it was like you realized something about me and then, after that, and -- "
Al reached for his bag and stood up. "Look, I really didn't want to talk to you about this. I'm not supposed to. But it was just something that my Uncle Ron told me, all right?"
Before Scorpius could utter another word, Al had already swung his bag over his shoulder and scurried out of the Great Hall.
--
The dining room of his family's London flat seemed strangely quiet when they gathered for dinner. Scorpius had grown used to the noise of hundreds of students sitting down in the Hall for meals, and even Mother's never-ending prattle couldn't make up for it.
"Are you sure you're eating well at Hogwarts, dear?" she asked as she scooped another helping of steamed vegetables onto his plate. "You look thin."
"Mother, I'm eating everything they serve us at Hogwarts."
"I am merely saying that you've seemed a bit pale since you got back."
Scorpius chose to ignore this observation. "When's Father coming home?"
"After work, though Merlin knows how long the office might keep him there. But do eat your vegetables, Scorpius."
Without another word, he shoved the mixture of boiled cabbage and carrots down his throat as quickly as possible before darting back upstairs. He heard Mother indistinctly mutter something about how he never helped her clean up after a meal, but he didn't have the time to bother with such details. Slipping back into his room, he returned to his desk, where the book was right where he had left it. It was not, by any standards, a forbidden text -- the back cover featured an excerpt from the Daily Prophet's review, which had hailed it as "the most authoritative account yet penned about this era of Wizarding history" -- but he had the suspicion that his parents would likely not approve of him reading it.
Mother and Father had never liked talking about the Wars very much, impressing upon Scorpius that they belonged firmly in the past. The Dark Lord's defeat, Father had told him, meant that everything that came before it did not matter: through it, Wizarding Britain was made anew. Scorpius, however, could not convince himself to forget his exchange with Al or, in particular, the latter's mention of "Uncle Ron." It was clear that, whatever was at work, Al and his family knew far more about it than his own.
Scorpius picked up A Power the Dark Lord Knows Not: A Concise and Objective History of the First and Second Wars. He had made good progress on it throughout the day -- Mother had been too busy chastising their House Elf for her shoddy work ethic to check up on him, and Father was at the office -- and was, at last, about to read the chapter on the Battle of Hogwarts. Unbidden, he felt a tingle of excitement: this was it, the final confrontation between Light and Dark, Death Eaters besieging the castle and students defending it at every turn, Lord Voldemort, who had tried to conquer death, and Harry Potter, who had risen from the dead, dueling for nothing less than the prize of the Wizarding world itself, and, finally, his parents and their parents playing their parts in this great drama.
...Thus was the Boy Who Lived sprawled dead upon the floor of the forest as Lord Voldemort and his minions cheered for the final demise of their enemy. What transpired thereafter in the consciousness of Harry will be forever a mystery to all of us, but Voldemort's plans had been stymied too many times in the past by a revived Potter; therefore, it was of the utmost importance for him to confirm, once and for all, that Harry had truly perished for good. Sent to inspect the boy was none other than Narcissa Malfoy. Unbeknownst by the latter, Harry had indeed survived the Killing Curse, and Narcissa was confronted with the most pressing dilemma at all: would she consent to do the Dark Lord's bidding and tell him that Potter yet lived, or would she risk her own life and lie to the world's most powerful Legilimens in order to save that of the Chosen One? Who can say what thoughts ran through that remarkable woman's mind -- to have suffered so grievously at Voldemort's hands and yet to remain dependent on him for survival -- but, when she turned to face the Dark Lord, she pronounced the boy dead. In doing so, she gave the Wizarding world one last fighting chance, the only chance it would need to defeat Darkness at last...
So, that's what had happened: Grandmother had lied Voldemort and singlehandedly saved Harry Potter's life. Was that such a shameful history, Scorpius wondered? Why, he could think of nothing more heroic! Sighing, he set the book down, disappointment slowly replacing the enthusiasm he had felt previously. This act of bravery had saved the life of Al's father, so this simply couldn't be whatever story Al had refused to share.
Just then, there was a knock on the door, and Scorpius had only just managed to shut the book in his desk drawer when Father walked into the room. He looked very worn, but he had been at work for a very long time.
"Sorry, Father, I didn't know you were home," Scorpius said, hiding the drawer from view.
"I only just got in. Are your things ready yet?" Scorpius looked at his room strewn with clothes, books, and owl feathers. At the foot of his bed was an open trunk -- at least he had completed the first step of packing. "Well, we are going to Wiltshire tomorrow, and I know your grandparents are very eager to see you after your first term at Hogwarts."
"Yeah, okay, I'll go pack, then."
Father was about to leave the room when Scorpius called out, "Wait!"
"Hm?"
"Can you tell me about Grandmother saving Harry Potter's life in the forest?" he blurted out before he could find a reason not to ask about it.
"Your grandmother was a very brave woman," Father said, smoothing the front of his jacket.
"But why'd she do it?"
"Scorpius, this doesn't concern you in the least bit. I don't see why -- "
"So, Grandmother was just trying being brave, then."
Father paused. "Yes."
"Then why won't you talk about it? If what she did was so important, then why aren't we celebrating it?"
"That's enough now."
"What aren't you telling me?"
Scorpius, of course, had little idea as to what he might or might not have been told over the years, but the question had hardly escaped his lips when Father strode out of the room, shutting the door in his wake.
--
Scorpius would never tell his parents this, but he always found the sight of Malfoy Manor rising up over the horizon unsettling. No doubt he was too used to the city with its blocks of houses and impatient drivers; by comparison, the countryside seemed too quiet and too empty for him to like it very much. He looked at Father, whose eyes were trained on the road before him, and wondered how he ever managed to live here as a child. Didn't it ever get boring, to not have anyone else around except for Grandmother and Grandfather?
His grandparents were already at the front of the manor as the car pulled up into the driveway. Grandmother, a grey shawl draped over her shoulders, walked towards them with her arms outstretched. Stepping out of the car, Father accepted her embrace. "Oh, Draco, it is so wonderful to see you. You know, I never have and never will understand why you had to move to London. It is so far away, isn't it, and there are plenty of rooms for you and your family here."
"Mother, do we have to talk about this now?"
With that, she moved on to embrace Mother. Scorpius tried to hide behind his parents, hoping that Grandmother would not notice him. This turned out to be too ambitious a goal.
"And Scorpius! Your father tells me that you've gotten excellent marks at Hogwarts so far and are an absolute asset to Slytherin."
"Hi, Grandmother," he mumbled as she bent down to hug him.
As she ushered them towards the manor, where Grandfather stood waiting for them with the slight hint of a smile on his face, she entertained them with the story about how her favorite pet peacock had managed to molt all of his feathers this morning and now bore a striking resemblance to a plucked chicken. Scorpius actually laughed upon hearing this, though he stopped short as soon as he saw Grandfather peering down at him.
"Scorpius, do you find the plight of our dear Honoria so amusing?"
"Not at all, Grandfather," he replied quickly, and, chuckling, Grandfather reached down to tousle his hair before turning to greet his parents. Scorpius began examining his fingernails as they conversed, and, after a time, he felt somebody tap him on the shoulder.
"Would you like to go inside?" Grandmother asked. "Your grandfather seems perfectly fine, but I am quite freezing and children like you shouldn't be outside in weather like this."
Nodding, Scorpius let her lead him into the manor, which, after standin gin the cold for far longer than he would have liked, was blessedly warm. As often happened during his visits to Wiltshire, he found himself catching his breath as he surveyed the entrance hall. Rich oil portraits of the Malfoy family, present and past, lined the walls, although their subjects appeared to be taking a mid-afternoon nap, thereby sparing Scorpius their usual lectures. Scorpius felt his weight sinking into the emerald green carpet underfoot -- "The colour of Slytherin, just for you," Grandmother remarked -- as he followed Grandmother into a parlor. There, a tea set awaited them in the center of the room, and they sat down on either side of the table.
"I thought some tea might be appropriate after your long journey," she said, pouring him a cup. "Cream and sugar?"
"Just cream, please."
Listening to the gentle clink of teaspoon against china, Scorpius sat in silence as Grandmother finished preparing the tea for the both of them and handed a cup to him. He thanked her with a nod, setting it down on the table to let it cool and watching the steam spiral into the air. "Where are my parents?" he asked, suddenly aware of the fact that he was alone.
"Oh, I'm sure they'll be here soon. You know your grandfather has been ill lately, and, well, he was never quite well after the Wars, you know, but he's become rather obsessed with getting fresh air. That's what the Healers recommended, anyway. I think it's all a bit ridiculous -- surely a man as old as that should be resting at home and not walking about all day?"
"Well, I don't know anything about Healing, but I guess if that's what they say he should do..." Scorpius said, intrigued by her reference to the Wars.
"I suppose you're right, but never mind them. It is so rare, isn't it, that we get to spend any time together? Tell me all about Hogwarts, Scorpius."
As she leaned in closer to listen, Scorpius thought that she did not seem very old. The Wars had taken a toll on Grandfather, who had been hobbling around with the aid of a walking stick for as long as Scorpius could remember, but Grandmother still seemed to have a lively wit about her. She appeared positively carefree, as if the world had never changed at all. As she studied him with those keen blue eyes, it truly hit Scorpius that she was capable of far more than anyone had ever given her credit for.
"Hogwarts was really great. Yeah, um, I'm really enjoying all of my classes, but I think I still like flying lessons the best."
"Of course, of course, but Quidditch is in your blood, you know."
"Yeah, I know. Oh, and I got in trouble with a Hufflepuff prefect for being out after hours, but my friends and I took care of him," he boasted , thinking that she would be proud. Incidents of inter-House rivalry were a natural part of life at Hogwarts.
"Indeed."
"Yeah. I managed to levitate a spider into his leek and potato soup at lunch the day after. I don't think he was very happy about it."
Grandmother smiled at him as she took a long sip of tea. "Congratulations are in order, then."
"And I also met Al Potter -- you know, Harry Potter's son," Scorpius added, praying that he sounded as nonchalant as possible.
Grandmother's teacup clattered slightly as she set it down on the saucer. "And what did you think of him?"
"I mean, he was very nice to me, but we didn't -- we didn't talk very much during term. But he was nice."
"Well, at least they aren't causing any trouble," she muttered, seemingly more to herself to herself than to him.
"He did say something about -- something about what -- something that his uncle had told him. You know, Harry Potter's best friend, Ron Weasley."
"Yes, I know who Ron Weasley is." She pursed her lips. "It figures that a Bloodtr -- that he would be the one to say something."
Scorpius paused to gather his thoughts before he continued. "What do you mean by that?"
"How much do you know?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. At first, he said nothing, but then he opened his mouth, prepared to recount to his own grandmother her wartime exploits. At that moment, however, he heard footsteps approaching the front door and Grandfather's low laugh. He sent a look of desperation in Grandmother's direction, but she remained unperturbed. "Scorpius, you see, I know quite a bit, but -- well, this story is not mine to tell."
Scorpius turned to watch Grandfather welcome his parents into the manor. Then he looked back at Grandmother, whose smile had not changed. "I believe that would be your father's responsibility."
--
Plagued with curiosity yet unable to voice to any of it, Scorpius spent a restless week at Malfoy Manor. Whenever his parents spoke to him, he could not prevent the bitterness from entering into his voice. He was frustrated with Grandmother, who had at once told him so much and nothing at all, but it was because of her that he now knew with certainty that the truth was being hidden from him. Through an endless succession of dinners, walks around the grounds, and the elaborate affair that was Christmas morning, he allowed his imagination to wander. His grandparents, his parents, or perhaps both had to have committed some wrongdoing during the Wars. It was clear to him -- and he wondered why he had never seen this before, when, now, it appeared so evident to him -- that the Malfoy family -- his family -- had something to hide.
As the week finally drew to a close, he and his parents said goodbye to Grandmother and Grandfather. Scorpius lingered by the doorway as Father promised, as he did every year, that they would return to Wiltshire during the summer. It was not until they were in the car and en route to London that Father turned on Scorpius.
"Scorpius," he began, "we need to talk."
Scorpius had already anticipated this conversation. "About what?"
"About how you've acted over the last week."
"Right."
"Your behavior was regrettable, to say the least. I didn't want to ruin our holiday by mentioning it while we were still at the manor, but -- well, if something is wrong, I would want you to let me or your mother know. We're always here to listen."
"Then why have you been lying to me?"
To this, Father had no immediate response. Mother looked back at him, her look clearly urging him to drop the subject immediately, but he ignored her.
"Scorpius, I don't know what you're talking about," Father said finally.
"You're lying to me again, aren't you?"
"Scorpius, something is clearly the matter if you're talking to me like this -- "
"You did something during the War, didn't you? You weren't -- were you a Death Eater?"
From the backseat of the car, Scorpius could see Father's hands trembling as they clutched the steering wheel. And Scorpius knew, without a single doubt, that his worst fear had just been confirmed.
Father sighed. "It's more complicated than that, Scorpius, but you're right. I was a Death Eater."
"Draco," Mother hissed, "you shouldn't be doing this."
"No, Astoria, it's all right."
"You told Harry -- "
"Yes, but do you think that Harry and his crowd have been doing the same with their children? How else do you think he found out?"
"Found what out, Father?" Scorpius demanded anew.
"You see what you've done?" Mother pressed.
"Scorpius, we'll talk about this when we get home."
"But -- "
Father, though, would hear none of it. "That's enough. We'll talk about it later, and I promise -- I promise that I will tell everything."
--
Claiming that he did not feel the least bit hungry, Scorpius had skipped dinner and was now lying on his bed in his darkened room. The prospect of sitting at a table with his parents, forced conversation stalled between the three of them, could not have been less welcome after the scene in the car, but he was hungry, of course, and wished that he had not acted so impulsively. Now that he had, there was nothing he could do but stay here and listen to the thoughts buzzing in his mind.
Scorpius noticed footsteps coming up the stairs and sat up. There were two sets of them, and he heard Father mumble something to Mother. She wished him a good night, then her steps trailed away. She must be going to bed, he thought. For a moment, he listened to the December wind gusting outside, then there was the squeak of the floor boards as Father shuffled closer.
"Scorpius, can I come in for a moment?"
"Sure."
He pushed the door open, and Scorpius saw him standing there, silhouetted against the light in the hallway, with something in his outstretched hand. "It's a bit dark in here, isn't it?"
"Forgot to turn on the lights, I guess."
Scorpius squinted as his room brightened. Father was bearing a plate of leftovers from dinner. "I thought you might be hungry."
"A bit," Scorpius admitted as his stomach rumbled. Father pulled up a chair, set the food down on the bed, and conjured some silverware out of the air, handing it to Scorpius, who accepted without a word. He pulled the plate closer towards him, then pushed it away. Father looked at him with concern, but all Scorpius said was, "I just don't feel like eating right now."
"Ah, all right, then."
"Father," Scorpius blurted out, "I'm sorry for how I acted earlier. It wasn't very right of me."
"No, no, I understand," he replied, absentmindedly smoothing the bedcovers. "I suppose -- well, I suppose it was naïve of me and your mother to believe that you could somehow go your entire life without knowing. All that I can say in our defense is that we wanted you to have as normal -- " And Father broke off again, as if he were an actor and had forgotten his lines " -- as normal a childhood as possible."
From the other end of the bed, Scorpius examined his father as he never had before: the thinning blond hair, the quiet creases on his forehead, the hooded grey eyes. So, this was what a Death Eater looked like. Everyone knew what Death Eaters did. They were the Dark Lord's closest, most loyal servants. They were cruel and intolerant, and nobody could even count the number of people they had tortured and killed. Muggles and Wizards alike had suffered at their hands, and, worst of all, there wasn't always a reason for their suffering. Sometimes, inflicting pain was merely a way of having fun. It chilled Scorpius to the bone to think that his father -- his father, who had always seemed to him the very model of a good wizard -- might have cackled madly over the bodies of innocent people, for, if Father had been capable of that, what power and darkness might linger in Scorpius's own blood?
"Did Lord Voldemort," he said, and Father cringed, as those of his generation were still unused to saying his name aloud " -- force you to be one?"
"Scorpius, I know you must have a lot of questions, but will you let me explain things first?" Having no other option, Scorpius nodded. "It starts with your grandfather."
"But Grandfather was tortured by Lord Voldemort."
His father held up a hand. "I know, but your grandfather was still a Death Eater, and a very loyal one at that. We're Purebloods, Scorpius. That may not mean a lot now, but it did during that time, and it did when I was in school. It means that you deserved more than everyone else, simply because you were one, and the old families -- our friends -- felt threatened by the half-bloods and Muggle-borns that suddenly seemed to be everywhere. Maybe you can understand that, when the Dark -- when Lord Voldemort came along, promising that he would restore things to how they used to be...maybe you can understand that your grandfather was attracted to that."
"Was Grandmother a Death Eater too?"
"No, but she believed in Voldemort's cause, as we all did. After the First War, your grandfather was able to avoid punishment by claiming that he had been intimidated into working for Voldemort, and it was easy to persuade people of this. Your grandfather has always been very charitable towards the Wizarding community, so how could the Ministry of Magical Law Enforcement toss him into Azkaban? He returned to Voldemort's service after the rebirth, of course, but he later failed in one of his assignments and was -- well, Voldemort was not kind to him, nor was he kind to me or your grandmother."
"So," Scorpius said slowly, "you were forced into it?"
Head lowered, he did not reply, and, when Scorpius thought he heard some sniffling, he crawled over to sit beside Father, who hastily dashed away any tears with the back of his hand. "These things aren't always as clear as you wish they could be. And it isn't relevant, besides, but, one day, I will tell you about it, is that all right?"
Silently promising himself that he would never bring up this up with his father again, Scorpius agreed.
"Anyway, I suppose there cam e a point when we all must have realized that Voldemort, whether he was going to win or not or whether we believed his ideology was correct, was going to destroy us. He thought that we had proved ourselves to be too disloyal, too fickle to be trusted."
"Is that why Grandmother switched sides and saved Harry Potter's life?"
The barest trace of a grin flickered past Father's face. "You've been reading your history, clearly. Yes, she saved Harry Potter, but it was to save me, you see. I was in the castle at the time, and she wanted to know if I was still alive. Potter told her that I was, so she spared his life."
"If we did the right thing in the end, though, why are we still -- " Scorpius wanted to say looked down upon but could not bring himself to do it.
Father held up his hand, and Scorpius knew that there was yet more to be said.
"Voldemort's death marked the end of the Second War, as you know, and there was simply no way that the Wizarding world -- that Potter and his allies -- would risk even the smallest chance of, I don't know, somebody -- maybe one of his followers, or maybe someone else entirely -- taking his place. The Ministry were brutal -- some say too brutal -- in imprisoning Death Eaters and those who had aided them, and -- Merlin, I still remember sitting in the manor day after day, reading the news, knowing perfectly well that it was only a matter of time before they would take us away and try us in the courts.
"Your grandmother, though, had risked too much to save us all, so she met with Potter one day, because Potter was the only person, besides her, who truly knew what had happened between them and had the legitimacy to make this happen. They arrived at a deal: Potter would issue a statement, informing the Wizarding world that we had seen the errors of our ways and that your grandmother had endangered her own life to save his, and he personally pardoned us. In return, we had to withdraw from the public sphere -- no more Malfoy influence in politics or business, only the simple matters of raising a family and living relatively uneventful lives. Your grandparents, and your mother and I, were told that the old Pureblood ideology had to die. Potter expressly told me that any children I had must be kept away from it, or he would reveal us for what we truly were."
"And what was that?"
"Do you believe your grandparents truly changed? Do you believe that -- that I could truly change?" Father, who had until then been lecturing towards the floor, turned to face Scorpius.
Scorpius thought about this for a few seconds. "Maybe?"
Father smiled. "You're too kind, Scorpius."
"But people can change, can't they?"
"They can. We are too old for that, I think. Look at your grandparents: every single one of their friends is dead or in jail, and they will spend the rest of their days living alone. And your mother and I -- we cannot consort too widely either, because, even though Potter may have forgiven us, other people don't believe that we're any different." Then, he placed a hand on Scorpius's shoulder. "But we thought that you, Scorpius, could be different. There was no need for you to suffer for things that you had never done. Whether or not it turned out to be the right course of action, I'm still not sure, but we ultimately decided to tell you nothing beyond what you absolutely needed to know."
"That wasn't in the agreement with Harry Potter, was it? I thought he just didn't want you telling me, years after the fact, that Voldemort had been right all along."
"No, you're absolutely right. Potter had nothing to do with this. It was my decision and mine alone, and that would be why I moved us out of the manor before you were born. Your grandparents are quite unreformed, you see, and, well, who knows how well they would have stuck to our agreement with Potter if you had been there to tempt them? You know, your grandmother mentioned that you had met Potter's son at Hogwarts, and, after she told me that, I wondered if perhaps he had said something to you. I always assumed that Potter would, ah, not speak badly of me in front of his own children, but maybe I was wrong."
"Al said that there was something his uncle told him."
Father's eyes narrowed. "Weasley. Ah, yes, now it all makes sense. Anyway, I've spoken my part -- is there anything else you want to know?"
Is there anything else you want to know? Suddenly feeling ravenous, Scorpius moved the plate of food onto his lap and began to eat. The pasta was quite cold, but he hardly noticed as he stuffed his mouth full of it. When he was finished, he set the plate aside and folded his hands into his lap. "Why do you call Harry Potter just by his surname?"
"We were -- I suppose you can say that we were rivals at Hogwarts. We are so different, he and I, and there was never a moment I felt like I wasn't competing with him in some way and trying to show him that I was superior to him. Of course, looking back on everything, perhaps I had known all along that he was the better man."
--
Scorpius was the first one in his dormitory to unpack his things after everyone returned from the holiday. They had already finished recounting stories to one another -- Scorpius had merely left his own at visiting Wiltshire -- and he was bored. There would still be another hour before dinner would be served in the Hall, so he set off wandering through the castle. One of his favourite parts of being at Hogwarts, he thought to himself as he darted through a tapestry that he had never seen before, was that it never stayed the same. In the course of a single day, this staircase could shift, that passageway could disappear, and, on the next day, that same passageway would reappear with a fire-breathing tortoise blocking the way. Scorpius liked getting as close as he could to the top of the castle and made it a point of finding a new route from the dungeons to the Astronomy Tower every time he decided to go for a walk.
He was rather winded by the time he walked out onto the balcony and into the biting wind. Though Mother had bought him the best winter coat that Wizarding money could buy, it still seemed insufficient when compared to the sheer power of the elements. He was about to head back when he noticed somebody standing by the parapet. Intrigued, he inched closer.
"Al?" he exclaimed.
"Hm? Oh, Scorpius, it's you. What are you doing here?"
"I was going to ask you the same thing."
"Well, sometimes, it's just nice to get away from things, you know? And James was just being a complete twat on the train and made me really angry, so I didn't want to be around him anymore."
"Yeah. I mean, I like walking up here every now and then, but I think I forgot that it was January. Right, um, do you want to go inside for a second?"
Al seemed to hesitate for a moment, but, in between the shivering, Scorpius thought he saw a nod. Together, they stepped back inside the castle and exhaled loudly as they exited the cold.
"So, how was your holiday?"
"Other than learning for the first time that my family are a bunch of Death Eaters, it was all right."
A conspicuous silence filled the air. "Oh."
"And I don't know what you might have heard, but I'm not -- well, I'm not that kind of person, okay?"
Al's eyes widened. "Yeah, well -- of course you aren't. That was all such a long time ago, wasn't it?" When Scorpius did not reply, he continued. "Look, all my uncle told me was right when I was ready to get on the Hogwarts Express last fall, and all he said was that I should watch out for Draco Malfoy's son because your dad had caused all of them some trouble while they were at Hogwarts, and he just wanted me to make sure that -- I don't know -- that I didn't let you jinx me behind my back or anything like that. I actually thought about it over the holiday, and I realized that -- I mean, I know what your parents did, and, okay, I might have been a little bit afraid of you when I realized that you were a Malfoy, but you aren't them, are you?"
Scorpius studied the stair beneath his feet before shrugging. "I don't even know any jinxes."
"Neither do I."
"I imagine it would be easier to deal with James if you did?" Scorpius looked up at Al standing above him, and, without meaning to, they both laughed.
"Well, as long as I could stop him from enchanting my duvet so that it tickled me every time I tried to make the bed..."
Al was clearly trying to say this with as straight a face as possible, but they only laughed harder, the sound of it echoing throughout the stairwell.
"Hm, the library probably has some books with good jinxes. How about we go there to do some research? After a couple of afternoons, I'm sure we could show your brother a thing or two."
Al considered the proposition for a moment, then donned a wide grin. "That we could."
--
Signing off, V.M. Bell
Author: V.M. Bell
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JKR.
Summary: Growing up, Scorpius had the feeling that he was not like everybody else around him.
Rating:
Characters: Scorpius, Draco, Albus Severus, Narcissa
Word Count: 9062
Author's Notes: Written for catsintheattic at springtime_gen. Title and inspiration for this fic borrowed from Tony Judt's Postwar: A History of Europe since 1945. For the purposes of the story, I accept JKR's assertion that the Malfoys were able to avoid Azkaban after the war as part of canon. Many thanks, as always, to alexajohnson for her incredibly helpful comments & insight.
--
Growing up, Scorpius had the feeling that he was not like everybody else around him. He would notice, every now and then, that people would look at him in funny ways when Mother took him to Diagon Alley on the weekends or when he would go with Father to Wiltshire during the holidays. He never asked about it, but, when nobody was around, he would sneak into his parents' room and examine himself in the mirror, which never failed to assure him that he looked quite lovely. Scorpius was inclined to agree, personally, and Grandfather constantly told him that, in time, he would make a dashing young man. He had blonde hair, like Father, and blue eyes, like Mother, and there were no strange marks on his face or arms or legs. Even if there were, it wouldn't have been a problem: everyone in the Wizarding world knew that Harry Potter had a scar, and, if Harry Potter had one, then surely it was all right.
And it wasn't that their family had no friends. His parents hosted guests at least once a week, and, though Scorpius sometimes wished he could be in his room covertly flipping through Father's old schoolbooks, he was on good terms with the children that Mother told him were his responsibility to entertain, which he thought he did very well. He had sensed, though, there was always something strange about those gatherings. Gatherings should be happy, he thought, but the ones in the Malfoys' flat consisted of the adults meeting in the sitting room downstairs and conversing in hushed tones. Scorpius tried eavesdropping once; all he could hear were the clinking of glasses and a low mumbling that he supposed was everyone talking, but Father caught him soon after and reprimanded him immediately.
Everything should have been right, yet everything was slightly off, only slightly. Scorpius wondered what could have been wrong and never came up with an answer; therefore, nothing could be wrong. Still, he was so worried about being different that, in the months approaching his eleventh birthday, he was almost certain that he would not get a letter from Hogwarts. Mother and Father showed no sign of worry, so he never mentioned just how relieved he was when he spotted a large tawny owl, its talons clutching a thick parchment envelope, waiting outside the kitchen window.
--
September was unusually chilly when Mother took his hand and led him through the gate to Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters. They spotted Father standing beside the Hogwarts Express. His arm was resting on Scorpius's trunk, which had been turned on its end. His expression was blank and distant, and Scorpius wondered if Father was remembering all of the times that he had stood on this exact same platform, waiting for this exact same train, years and years ago.
"There you are, Draco." Mother walked up to Father and kissed him on the cheek. This seemed to bring him out of his reverie.
"Ah, Astoria. Is Scorpius with you?"
Scorpius, though, had fallen behind because something else -- or, more accurately, someone else -- had caught his eye. Not far from where his parents were standing, there was a man with black hair, and he was helping his children move their trunks onto the train. As Scorpius looked at the man more closely and thought he discerned some vague shape of a scar on the stranger's forehead, it occurred to him that he was staring at Harry Potter. That man was Harry Potter. Scorpius rolled up his sleeves, wondering if it would be proper for him to walk over there and introduce himself -- surely someone that famous was used to this sort of thing -- only to be wrenched backwards by a stern hand on his shoulder.
"Ow, Father, that hurt!"
"Scorpius, keep your voice down. We're in public."
"But, over there, do you see him?" Scorpius pointed in the direction where Harry Potter had last been standing. "That's Harry Potter! I want to go talk to him."
Father opened his mouth to say more, but, abruptly, the lines of his face, which had been contorted with irritation, softened. His gaze, though, seemed sharper, and Scorpius wondered, for an instant, if there was something that made Father scared. Discreetly, Scorpius turned his head to glance at Harry Potter, and, looking up at Father, he gasped as he realized that Father and Harry Potter were now looking at each other. Scorpius, without a word, watched as the two men exchanged a brief nod before Harry Potter turned away to talk to a red-haired woman standing beside him -- his wife, Scorpius guessed. He and Father did not move or talk, and, by the time Scorpius screwed up the courage to ask about the encounter, Mother was at his side, urging him towards the Hogwarts Express.
"Sweetheart, if you linger here any longer, you're going to miss the train." Scorpius knew better than to protest, so he allowed her to lead him to the nearest car. "I already put your things in an empty compartment -- it's the second one on your right -- and took out a robe for you to change into, all right?"
Turning around to face his parents, he nodded. "Yes, Mother."
"Hogwarts is the last and only stop, so you shouldn't have any trouble getting to school."
"Yes, Mother."
"And, if you get hungry, there will be a witch pushing around a trolley with all sorts of sweets and other food, though, of course, I thought to bring along some snacks -- " Almost out of nowhere, she brandished a bag stuffed full with every edible treat imaginable and handed it to him " -- if that isn't enough."
"Right, thanks, Mother."
"Oh, and be sure to send us an owl when you've arrived. You know how -- "
Father cleared his throat. "Astoria, Scorpius is quite grown up now -- he's very capable of looking after himself. The train will be leaving in a few minutes, so I suppose we should say goodbye."
Scorpius embraced Mother as her eyes welled up with tears. "It's all right," he said when she released him at last. "I'll be home for the Christmas holiday, which isn't very far away."
"Yes, yes, of course," she muttered as she pulled a handkerchief out of her purse. "Oh, I do look like such a mess when I cry -- say goodbye to your father, Scorpius."
As Mother turned away to blow her nose, he and Father regarded one another, and Scorpius knew that this was his last chance for almost three months to ask about what had happened on the platform. Before he could say anything, though, Father hugged him more tightly than he usually did.
"You'll have a wonderful time at Hogwarts. I know that I -- " Father paused for a second " -- I know that I did, for the most part. And remember that you will always make me and your mother proud, won't you?"
Scorpius managed a smile as he felt the engine of the Hogwarts Express shuddering into motion. "I will."
A few moments later, as the train pulled away from King's Cross Station, Scorpius was sitting in his compartment, his face pressed to the window as he watched his parents growing ever smaller in the distance.
--
The Hogwarts Express was incredibly boring, Scorpius decided. Since the train had left London, only his cousin, whom he'd always found annoying, had stopped by to say hello. He supposed that he could wander through the cars himself and strike up his own conversations, but he was still preoccupied by Father's mysterious connection with the Chosen One. Father rarely mentioned Harry Potter, though he did tell Scorpius once that they were in the same year at Hogwarts. Perhaps they had not known each other very well -- they had been in different Houses, after all -- or, more likely, Father simply did not like talking about that particular time in the past, a past to which Harry Potter was linked. This, Scorpius could understand: Lord Voldemort had been regaining his former strength then, and, like so many other families, the Malfoys had suffered at his hand.
Just then, there was a rush of footsteps outside his compartment door. A high-spirited voice rang out above the commotion. "James, I told you to give it back to me!"
"And I told you," came the reply, "that I just want to see what you're studying. One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi? Oh, dear me, Al, you'll never pass the Sorting with this kind of knowledge."
James, Scorpius gathered from the conversation, was Al's brother. Among his parents' social circle, it was common to see older relatives concoct elaborate lies about what the Sorting actually involved, and their parents usually let it happen. Mother and Father never stood for such nonsense and told him exactly what would happen.
"You -- you told me just last week that I would only be tested on Potions!"
"Did I? I could have sworn that I said Charms. And maybe a bit of Transfiguration too."
"Charms and Transfiguration?"
Growing tired of listening to this argument, Scorpius got up and opened the compartment door, where he found the two boys standing a foot apart. The taller one -- James, most likely -- was holding One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi above Al's head.
"You just have to put on a special hat to be Sorted into a House," Scorpius said.
James scoffed, but Al, slightly breathless, spun around to look at Scorpius. "I know, but there's an exam afterwards, isn't there? To make sure that you're good enough for the House you've been Sorted into?"
"I think your brother is lying to you," Scorpius replied, hoping that he sounded serious enough.
James sighed loudly before tossing the book back to Al. "What's the point of having bloody first-years around if you can't take the mickey out of them?"
"James," Al said with a touch of irritation, "why are you always doing this to me?"
"Oh, you'll understand when you're older!" With that, James walked away, chuckling under his breath. This left Scorpius and Al standing in the corridor together.
"Uh, would you like to sit in my compartment with me?" Scorpius asked.
"Sure, better than sitting in one with my brother." Al offered up a nervous smile. "Otherwise, he might tell me that I have to wrestle with a troll when we get to Hogwarts!" They shared a laugh as Scorpius closed the door behind them and they sat down opposite one another. "I'm Al, by the way."
"And I'm Scorpius." They shook hands, and Scorpius was feeling much happier than he had been just a few minutes earlier. "So, do you know what House you'll be in?"
"James has been teasing me all summer that I'll get Sorted into Slytherin, which I wouldn't like very much. What about you?"
Scorpius grimaced. His entire family, going back for generations, had been in Slytherin, and, when he had received his letter, there was no question that he, too, would join the ranks of that House. Father told him that there was no shame in being a Slytherin: though more supporters of Lord Voldemort had emerged from that House than any other, it had also produced many fine witches and wizards through the centuries. And merely belonging to Slytherin House, after all, had not protected his family, so he decided to tell Al the truth.
"I reckon I'll be Slytherin."
"I mean, I know that Slytherin can't be all bad," Al began, but he crossed his arms. "That's what my dad says. Actually, my dad said that the bravest person he ever knew was in Slytherin. But don't you think that, after all that happened during the Wars, Slytherin is a bit, you know, evil?"
"I don't think -- " Scorpius stopped mid-sentence, thinking hard. "Wait, who's the bravest person your father ever knew?"
Unexpectedly, Al blushed. "I probably shouldn't have said that, but, I guess, now that I have...Severus Snape."
There was not a soul in the Wizarding world who did know the story of Severus Snape. He had been a spy for Albus Dumbledore until the end, Head of Slytherin House, and, after Dumbledore's death, Headmaster of Hogwarts, and he had sacrificed his life to protect Harry Potter. And, as Scorpius recounted this tale to himself, he found himself taking a closer look at Al's appearance. It did not take long for him to discover the identity of the boy sitting on the other side of the other side of the compartment.
"Your father -- is your father Harry Potter?"
"Erm, well, yes, he is," Al mumbled, turning an even darker shade of red. "Sorry, I -- I really didn't want to tell you that."
"Why not?"
"Well, I don't want people to just -- you know, judge me just because my dad, well, you know. I mean, it's just a name, isn't it? It shouldn't matter."
"Right," Scorpius echoed.
Al shifted closer to the window and scanned the now darkened Scottish countryside. His eyes widened. "Oh, look -- I think that's Hogwarts, right there!"
Scorpius joined Al by the window, taking in tower upon tower of windows glimmering with light. As subtly as possible, he looked down at Al, who was still staring at the rapidly approaching castle, and was unexpectedly jealous of the other boy. Al would fit in at Hogwarts without a problem, and, even if he did not, his surname would always redeem him. Compared to that, Scorpius thought, what good was the Malfoy name? Well, he began to argue with himself, not everybody could have been a hero like Harry Potter and his friends. Many people were tortured and cursed by Lord Voldemort but had still done what they could to resist him. Why, hadn't Father once told him that Grandmother had defied Voldemort in her own way? Yes, surely that should count for something, Scorpius told himself, and he made himself smile as Al stood up again.
"Well, I should go back to my own compartment if we're almost there, or James might tell my parents that he flushed me down a toilet or something."
"Right. Well, um, I'll see you at the Sorting, then?"
" 'Course."
Al left the compartment, closing the door with a wave. Scorpius returned the wave, then slumped against the back of his seat, massaging his stomach and thinking that he had never been so nervous about anything in his entire life. The nerves had been there for at least a week, though he hadn't wanted to admit that to himself, but there was nothing like the sight of Hogwarts itself to bring those thoughts back to the surface. He forced himself to stay relaxed, reminding himself that almost every wizard in Britain had made it through Hogwarts. If they could, Scorpius could too. Besides, he had Al. Scorpius wasn't sure if it was appropriate to consider Al a friend already, having only known him for a short period of time, but hadn't they enjoyed a nice conversation on the train just then? And, surely, the fact that he had saved Al from the misfortunes of being the younger sibling at least gave them a shared experience, something from which a true friendship could grow. Scorpius smiled. Perhaps, in the end, things would work themselves out.
Being a Potter, Al had not yet been sorted when "Malfoy, Scorpius!" rang out through the Great Hall. Scorpius tried to push aside the whispers that flared up among the students as he walked towards the stool where the Sorting Hat awaited him, but he could not ignore the slight frown on Al's face as he pulled the Hat over his eyes, nor could he fail to notice Al's averted gaze as he walked over to the Slytherin table and sat down.
--
In the months that followed, Scorpius proved to be a good student endowed with a fair amount of diligence, or so his Head of House had told him. In truth, he did not spend as much time studying and working as some of the other students, but his marks were high enough to earn regular packages of congratulatory sweets from Mother in the post. Scorpius was fond of sweets but not that fond, so he would share most of them with his friends in Slytherin. He liked them well enough -- some of them, he recognized from the social functions hosted by his parents -- and they were good company during classes and mealtimes.
With his family away from home, he made fun of other students while other students made fun of them, and, in many ways, this was exactly what Scorpius had always imagined life at Hogwarts should be like. Father had told him that he met his two best friends at Hogwarts, though one of them died in a tragic accident during the Second War, and even Grandfather, whom Scorpius had always found to be rather uptight, had alluded to some of the mischief that he and his circle had caused. In the letters he wrote back home, then, Scorpius made sure to let his parents know that he had flown faster than anyone during the first flying lesson of the year, that he had taken part in a prank on a Hufflepuff prefect, that things at Hogwarts honestly could not be better.
What he did not write was that, when he went to the Great Hall every morning for breakfast, he would see Al sitting there, usually frantically scribbling away at a homework assignment in between gulps of toast and orange juice. Although the Gryffindor and Slytherin first-years had Potions together, they had not talked very much since their first meeting on the Hogwarts Express beyond a few greetings, and, every time Scorpius had bothered to say hello, Al was usually only capable of mumbling a reply before dashing off to somewhere else. Part of this was because Gryffindor and Slytherin were historically rivals, and Slytherin was still tainted by its association with Lord Voldemort. Scorpius thought this was unfair: no witch or wizard from Slytherin had so much as put a toe out of line since the end of the Wars, and, last year, the first Muggle-born in over two centuries had been Sorted into the House, much to the consternation of some of his parents' friends. Nevertheless, he could understand why it would be bad form for Al to be seen consorting too much with someone from Slytherin House.
Scorpius was certain, though, that this could not be the entire reason. He had seen Al talking to other Slytherins before without any reluctance, so the only conclusion he could draw was that Al found something personally objectionable about him. But when could he have ever given Al a reason for that if they hadn't even had a conversation since term started? Well, Al had turned on him in that exact moment Scorpius's name had been read out during the Sorting, but hadn't Al himself said that names weren't of any importance? He knew that he did not need Al's friendship -- in fact, he had done quite well without it -- but he could not deny to himself that the Gryffindor's sudden about face had hurt him and that, somehow, his days at Hogwarts seemed emptier because of it.
The Christmas holiday was exactly one week away when Scorpius finally decided to go through with something he had been planning to do for all of term: confront Al. Most of the students had already left the Hall, and only a few stragglers, Al being among them, were left finishing their dinner. Clearing his throat, Scorpius caught Al off-guard as he sat down at the Gryffindor table.
"Oh, hi, Scorpius," he said, putting his fork and knife down.
"Are you all right?"
"I'm fine. I was just, um -- did you think there was something strange about the steak and ale pie today?"
"I thought it was nice, but maybe the House Elves are on strike," Scorpius offered.
Al let out a weak laugh. "Yeah, maybe."
Neither of them spoke for a time, as Scorpius pondered how he might approach the subject and Al appeared to be searching for the most painless way of getting himself out of this conversation. Scorpius reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, gift-wrapped box. "Here, this is for you. Happy Christmas, Al."
"Um, thanks." Al unwrapped it and let out a low whoa. "A chocolate frog with a Limited Edition Collector's Card? But these are supposed to be really expensive!"
"My mum sent me a few a while back, and, well, I guess I don't need that many, do I?"
"Guess not. James is going to go crazy when he sees I've got one of these," Al said quickly before flushing. "I'm so sorry, I don't have anything for you."
"It's all right -- I wasn't expecting anything."
"Hope you have a happy Christmas too, though."
Scorpius nodded, thinking that, if he didn't speak now, he never would. "Al, can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Why have you been ignoring me all term?"
Al blanched. "I haven't -- I haven't been ignoring you. You haven't come to talk to me at all."
Now it was Scorpius's turn to cringe. This was undeniably true. "Well, okay, but -- can I ask you something else?" Al barely acknowledged him. "You looked at me kind of funny during the Sorting, and I was just wondering -- well, it was like you realized something about me and then, after that, and -- "
Al reached for his bag and stood up. "Look, I really didn't want to talk to you about this. I'm not supposed to. But it was just something that my Uncle Ron told me, all right?"
Before Scorpius could utter another word, Al had already swung his bag over his shoulder and scurried out of the Great Hall.
--
The dining room of his family's London flat seemed strangely quiet when they gathered for dinner. Scorpius had grown used to the noise of hundreds of students sitting down in the Hall for meals, and even Mother's never-ending prattle couldn't make up for it.
"Are you sure you're eating well at Hogwarts, dear?" she asked as she scooped another helping of steamed vegetables onto his plate. "You look thin."
"Mother, I'm eating everything they serve us at Hogwarts."
"I am merely saying that you've seemed a bit pale since you got back."
Scorpius chose to ignore this observation. "When's Father coming home?"
"After work, though Merlin knows how long the office might keep him there. But do eat your vegetables, Scorpius."
Without another word, he shoved the mixture of boiled cabbage and carrots down his throat as quickly as possible before darting back upstairs. He heard Mother indistinctly mutter something about how he never helped her clean up after a meal, but he didn't have the time to bother with such details. Slipping back into his room, he returned to his desk, where the book was right where he had left it. It was not, by any standards, a forbidden text -- the back cover featured an excerpt from the Daily Prophet's review, which had hailed it as "the most authoritative account yet penned about this era of Wizarding history" -- but he had the suspicion that his parents would likely not approve of him reading it.
Mother and Father had never liked talking about the Wars very much, impressing upon Scorpius that they belonged firmly in the past. The Dark Lord's defeat, Father had told him, meant that everything that came before it did not matter: through it, Wizarding Britain was made anew. Scorpius, however, could not convince himself to forget his exchange with Al or, in particular, the latter's mention of "Uncle Ron." It was clear that, whatever was at work, Al and his family knew far more about it than his own.
Scorpius picked up A Power the Dark Lord Knows Not: A Concise and Objective History of the First and Second Wars. He had made good progress on it throughout the day -- Mother had been too busy chastising their House Elf for her shoddy work ethic to check up on him, and Father was at the office -- and was, at last, about to read the chapter on the Battle of Hogwarts. Unbidden, he felt a tingle of excitement: this was it, the final confrontation between Light and Dark, Death Eaters besieging the castle and students defending it at every turn, Lord Voldemort, who had tried to conquer death, and Harry Potter, who had risen from the dead, dueling for nothing less than the prize of the Wizarding world itself, and, finally, his parents and their parents playing their parts in this great drama.
...Thus was the Boy Who Lived sprawled dead upon the floor of the forest as Lord Voldemort and his minions cheered for the final demise of their enemy. What transpired thereafter in the consciousness of Harry will be forever a mystery to all of us, but Voldemort's plans had been stymied too many times in the past by a revived Potter; therefore, it was of the utmost importance for him to confirm, once and for all, that Harry had truly perished for good. Sent to inspect the boy was none other than Narcissa Malfoy. Unbeknownst by the latter, Harry had indeed survived the Killing Curse, and Narcissa was confronted with the most pressing dilemma at all: would she consent to do the Dark Lord's bidding and tell him that Potter yet lived, or would she risk her own life and lie to the world's most powerful Legilimens in order to save that of the Chosen One? Who can say what thoughts ran through that remarkable woman's mind -- to have suffered so grievously at Voldemort's hands and yet to remain dependent on him for survival -- but, when she turned to face the Dark Lord, she pronounced the boy dead. In doing so, she gave the Wizarding world one last fighting chance, the only chance it would need to defeat Darkness at last...
So, that's what had happened: Grandmother had lied Voldemort and singlehandedly saved Harry Potter's life. Was that such a shameful history, Scorpius wondered? Why, he could think of nothing more heroic! Sighing, he set the book down, disappointment slowly replacing the enthusiasm he had felt previously. This act of bravery had saved the life of Al's father, so this simply couldn't be whatever story Al had refused to share.
Just then, there was a knock on the door, and Scorpius had only just managed to shut the book in his desk drawer when Father walked into the room. He looked very worn, but he had been at work for a very long time.
"Sorry, Father, I didn't know you were home," Scorpius said, hiding the drawer from view.
"I only just got in. Are your things ready yet?" Scorpius looked at his room strewn with clothes, books, and owl feathers. At the foot of his bed was an open trunk -- at least he had completed the first step of packing. "Well, we are going to Wiltshire tomorrow, and I know your grandparents are very eager to see you after your first term at Hogwarts."
"Yeah, okay, I'll go pack, then."
Father was about to leave the room when Scorpius called out, "Wait!"
"Hm?"
"Can you tell me about Grandmother saving Harry Potter's life in the forest?" he blurted out before he could find a reason not to ask about it.
"Your grandmother was a very brave woman," Father said, smoothing the front of his jacket.
"But why'd she do it?"
"Scorpius, this doesn't concern you in the least bit. I don't see why -- "
"So, Grandmother was just trying being brave, then."
Father paused. "Yes."
"Then why won't you talk about it? If what she did was so important, then why aren't we celebrating it?"
"That's enough now."
"What aren't you telling me?"
Scorpius, of course, had little idea as to what he might or might not have been told over the years, but the question had hardly escaped his lips when Father strode out of the room, shutting the door in his wake.
--
Scorpius would never tell his parents this, but he always found the sight of Malfoy Manor rising up over the horizon unsettling. No doubt he was too used to the city with its blocks of houses and impatient drivers; by comparison, the countryside seemed too quiet and too empty for him to like it very much. He looked at Father, whose eyes were trained on the road before him, and wondered how he ever managed to live here as a child. Didn't it ever get boring, to not have anyone else around except for Grandmother and Grandfather?
His grandparents were already at the front of the manor as the car pulled up into the driveway. Grandmother, a grey shawl draped over her shoulders, walked towards them with her arms outstretched. Stepping out of the car, Father accepted her embrace. "Oh, Draco, it is so wonderful to see you. You know, I never have and never will understand why you had to move to London. It is so far away, isn't it, and there are plenty of rooms for you and your family here."
"Mother, do we have to talk about this now?"
With that, she moved on to embrace Mother. Scorpius tried to hide behind his parents, hoping that Grandmother would not notice him. This turned out to be too ambitious a goal.
"And Scorpius! Your father tells me that you've gotten excellent marks at Hogwarts so far and are an absolute asset to Slytherin."
"Hi, Grandmother," he mumbled as she bent down to hug him.
As she ushered them towards the manor, where Grandfather stood waiting for them with the slight hint of a smile on his face, she entertained them with the story about how her favorite pet peacock had managed to molt all of his feathers this morning and now bore a striking resemblance to a plucked chicken. Scorpius actually laughed upon hearing this, though he stopped short as soon as he saw Grandfather peering down at him.
"Scorpius, do you find the plight of our dear Honoria so amusing?"
"Not at all, Grandfather," he replied quickly, and, chuckling, Grandfather reached down to tousle his hair before turning to greet his parents. Scorpius began examining his fingernails as they conversed, and, after a time, he felt somebody tap him on the shoulder.
"Would you like to go inside?" Grandmother asked. "Your grandfather seems perfectly fine, but I am quite freezing and children like you shouldn't be outside in weather like this."
Nodding, Scorpius let her lead him into the manor, which, after standin gin the cold for far longer than he would have liked, was blessedly warm. As often happened during his visits to Wiltshire, he found himself catching his breath as he surveyed the entrance hall. Rich oil portraits of the Malfoy family, present and past, lined the walls, although their subjects appeared to be taking a mid-afternoon nap, thereby sparing Scorpius their usual lectures. Scorpius felt his weight sinking into the emerald green carpet underfoot -- "The colour of Slytherin, just for you," Grandmother remarked -- as he followed Grandmother into a parlor. There, a tea set awaited them in the center of the room, and they sat down on either side of the table.
"I thought some tea might be appropriate after your long journey," she said, pouring him a cup. "Cream and sugar?"
"Just cream, please."
Listening to the gentle clink of teaspoon against china, Scorpius sat in silence as Grandmother finished preparing the tea for the both of them and handed a cup to him. He thanked her with a nod, setting it down on the table to let it cool and watching the steam spiral into the air. "Where are my parents?" he asked, suddenly aware of the fact that he was alone.
"Oh, I'm sure they'll be here soon. You know your grandfather has been ill lately, and, well, he was never quite well after the Wars, you know, but he's become rather obsessed with getting fresh air. That's what the Healers recommended, anyway. I think it's all a bit ridiculous -- surely a man as old as that should be resting at home and not walking about all day?"
"Well, I don't know anything about Healing, but I guess if that's what they say he should do..." Scorpius said, intrigued by her reference to the Wars.
"I suppose you're right, but never mind them. It is so rare, isn't it, that we get to spend any time together? Tell me all about Hogwarts, Scorpius."
As she leaned in closer to listen, Scorpius thought that she did not seem very old. The Wars had taken a toll on Grandfather, who had been hobbling around with the aid of a walking stick for as long as Scorpius could remember, but Grandmother still seemed to have a lively wit about her. She appeared positively carefree, as if the world had never changed at all. As she studied him with those keen blue eyes, it truly hit Scorpius that she was capable of far more than anyone had ever given her credit for.
"Hogwarts was really great. Yeah, um, I'm really enjoying all of my classes, but I think I still like flying lessons the best."
"Of course, of course, but Quidditch is in your blood, you know."
"Yeah, I know. Oh, and I got in trouble with a Hufflepuff prefect for being out after hours, but my friends and I took care of him," he boasted , thinking that she would be proud. Incidents of inter-House rivalry were a natural part of life at Hogwarts.
"Indeed."
"Yeah. I managed to levitate a spider into his leek and potato soup at lunch the day after. I don't think he was very happy about it."
Grandmother smiled at him as she took a long sip of tea. "Congratulations are in order, then."
"And I also met Al Potter -- you know, Harry Potter's son," Scorpius added, praying that he sounded as nonchalant as possible.
Grandmother's teacup clattered slightly as she set it down on the saucer. "And what did you think of him?"
"I mean, he was very nice to me, but we didn't -- we didn't talk very much during term. But he was nice."
"Well, at least they aren't causing any trouble," she muttered, seemingly more to herself to herself than to him.
"He did say something about -- something about what -- something that his uncle had told him. You know, Harry Potter's best friend, Ron Weasley."
"Yes, I know who Ron Weasley is." She pursed her lips. "It figures that a Bloodtr -- that he would be the one to say something."
Scorpius paused to gather his thoughts before he continued. "What do you mean by that?"
"How much do you know?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. At first, he said nothing, but then he opened his mouth, prepared to recount to his own grandmother her wartime exploits. At that moment, however, he heard footsteps approaching the front door and Grandfather's low laugh. He sent a look of desperation in Grandmother's direction, but she remained unperturbed. "Scorpius, you see, I know quite a bit, but -- well, this story is not mine to tell."
Scorpius turned to watch Grandfather welcome his parents into the manor. Then he looked back at Grandmother, whose smile had not changed. "I believe that would be your father's responsibility."
--
Plagued with curiosity yet unable to voice to any of it, Scorpius spent a restless week at Malfoy Manor. Whenever his parents spoke to him, he could not prevent the bitterness from entering into his voice. He was frustrated with Grandmother, who had at once told him so much and nothing at all, but it was because of her that he now knew with certainty that the truth was being hidden from him. Through an endless succession of dinners, walks around the grounds, and the elaborate affair that was Christmas morning, he allowed his imagination to wander. His grandparents, his parents, or perhaps both had to have committed some wrongdoing during the Wars. It was clear to him -- and he wondered why he had never seen this before, when, now, it appeared so evident to him -- that the Malfoy family -- his family -- had something to hide.
As the week finally drew to a close, he and his parents said goodbye to Grandmother and Grandfather. Scorpius lingered by the doorway as Father promised, as he did every year, that they would return to Wiltshire during the summer. It was not until they were in the car and en route to London that Father turned on Scorpius.
"Scorpius," he began, "we need to talk."
Scorpius had already anticipated this conversation. "About what?"
"About how you've acted over the last week."
"Right."
"Your behavior was regrettable, to say the least. I didn't want to ruin our holiday by mentioning it while we were still at the manor, but -- well, if something is wrong, I would want you to let me or your mother know. We're always here to listen."
"Then why have you been lying to me?"
To this, Father had no immediate response. Mother looked back at him, her look clearly urging him to drop the subject immediately, but he ignored her.
"Scorpius, I don't know what you're talking about," Father said finally.
"You're lying to me again, aren't you?"
"Scorpius, something is clearly the matter if you're talking to me like this -- "
"You did something during the War, didn't you? You weren't -- were you a Death Eater?"
From the backseat of the car, Scorpius could see Father's hands trembling as they clutched the steering wheel. And Scorpius knew, without a single doubt, that his worst fear had just been confirmed.
Father sighed. "It's more complicated than that, Scorpius, but you're right. I was a Death Eater."
"Draco," Mother hissed, "you shouldn't be doing this."
"No, Astoria, it's all right."
"You told Harry -- "
"Yes, but do you think that Harry and his crowd have been doing the same with their children? How else do you think he found out?"
"Found what out, Father?" Scorpius demanded anew.
"You see what you've done?" Mother pressed.
"Scorpius, we'll talk about this when we get home."
"But -- "
Father, though, would hear none of it. "That's enough. We'll talk about it later, and I promise -- I promise that I will tell everything."
--
Claiming that he did not feel the least bit hungry, Scorpius had skipped dinner and was now lying on his bed in his darkened room. The prospect of sitting at a table with his parents, forced conversation stalled between the three of them, could not have been less welcome after the scene in the car, but he was hungry, of course, and wished that he had not acted so impulsively. Now that he had, there was nothing he could do but stay here and listen to the thoughts buzzing in his mind.
Scorpius noticed footsteps coming up the stairs and sat up. There were two sets of them, and he heard Father mumble something to Mother. She wished him a good night, then her steps trailed away. She must be going to bed, he thought. For a moment, he listened to the December wind gusting outside, then there was the squeak of the floor boards as Father shuffled closer.
"Scorpius, can I come in for a moment?"
"Sure."
He pushed the door open, and Scorpius saw him standing there, silhouetted against the light in the hallway, with something in his outstretched hand. "It's a bit dark in here, isn't it?"
"Forgot to turn on the lights, I guess."
Scorpius squinted as his room brightened. Father was bearing a plate of leftovers from dinner. "I thought you might be hungry."
"A bit," Scorpius admitted as his stomach rumbled. Father pulled up a chair, set the food down on the bed, and conjured some silverware out of the air, handing it to Scorpius, who accepted without a word. He pulled the plate closer towards him, then pushed it away. Father looked at him with concern, but all Scorpius said was, "I just don't feel like eating right now."
"Ah, all right, then."
"Father," Scorpius blurted out, "I'm sorry for how I acted earlier. It wasn't very right of me."
"No, no, I understand," he replied, absentmindedly smoothing the bedcovers. "I suppose -- well, I suppose it was naïve of me and your mother to believe that you could somehow go your entire life without knowing. All that I can say in our defense is that we wanted you to have as normal -- " And Father broke off again, as if he were an actor and had forgotten his lines " -- as normal a childhood as possible."
From the other end of the bed, Scorpius examined his father as he never had before: the thinning blond hair, the quiet creases on his forehead, the hooded grey eyes. So, this was what a Death Eater looked like. Everyone knew what Death Eaters did. They were the Dark Lord's closest, most loyal servants. They were cruel and intolerant, and nobody could even count the number of people they had tortured and killed. Muggles and Wizards alike had suffered at their hands, and, worst of all, there wasn't always a reason for their suffering. Sometimes, inflicting pain was merely a way of having fun. It chilled Scorpius to the bone to think that his father -- his father, who had always seemed to him the very model of a good wizard -- might have cackled madly over the bodies of innocent people, for, if Father had been capable of that, what power and darkness might linger in Scorpius's own blood?
"Did Lord Voldemort," he said, and Father cringed, as those of his generation were still unused to saying his name aloud " -- force you to be one?"
"Scorpius, I know you must have a lot of questions, but will you let me explain things first?" Having no other option, Scorpius nodded. "It starts with your grandfather."
"But Grandfather was tortured by Lord Voldemort."
His father held up a hand. "I know, but your grandfather was still a Death Eater, and a very loyal one at that. We're Purebloods, Scorpius. That may not mean a lot now, but it did during that time, and it did when I was in school. It means that you deserved more than everyone else, simply because you were one, and the old families -- our friends -- felt threatened by the half-bloods and Muggle-borns that suddenly seemed to be everywhere. Maybe you can understand that, when the Dark -- when Lord Voldemort came along, promising that he would restore things to how they used to be...maybe you can understand that your grandfather was attracted to that."
"Was Grandmother a Death Eater too?"
"No, but she believed in Voldemort's cause, as we all did. After the First War, your grandfather was able to avoid punishment by claiming that he had been intimidated into working for Voldemort, and it was easy to persuade people of this. Your grandfather has always been very charitable towards the Wizarding community, so how could the Ministry of Magical Law Enforcement toss him into Azkaban? He returned to Voldemort's service after the rebirth, of course, but he later failed in one of his assignments and was -- well, Voldemort was not kind to him, nor was he kind to me or your grandmother."
"So," Scorpius said slowly, "you were forced into it?"
Head lowered, he did not reply, and, when Scorpius thought he heard some sniffling, he crawled over to sit beside Father, who hastily dashed away any tears with the back of his hand. "These things aren't always as clear as you wish they could be. And it isn't relevant, besides, but, one day, I will tell you about it, is that all right?"
Silently promising himself that he would never bring up this up with his father again, Scorpius agreed.
"Anyway, I suppose there cam e a point when we all must have realized that Voldemort, whether he was going to win or not or whether we believed his ideology was correct, was going to destroy us. He thought that we had proved ourselves to be too disloyal, too fickle to be trusted."
"Is that why Grandmother switched sides and saved Harry Potter's life?"
The barest trace of a grin flickered past Father's face. "You've been reading your history, clearly. Yes, she saved Harry Potter, but it was to save me, you see. I was in the castle at the time, and she wanted to know if I was still alive. Potter told her that I was, so she spared his life."
"If we did the right thing in the end, though, why are we still -- " Scorpius wanted to say looked down upon but could not bring himself to do it.
Father held up his hand, and Scorpius knew that there was yet more to be said.
"Voldemort's death marked the end of the Second War, as you know, and there was simply no way that the Wizarding world -- that Potter and his allies -- would risk even the smallest chance of, I don't know, somebody -- maybe one of his followers, or maybe someone else entirely -- taking his place. The Ministry were brutal -- some say too brutal -- in imprisoning Death Eaters and those who had aided them, and -- Merlin, I still remember sitting in the manor day after day, reading the news, knowing perfectly well that it was only a matter of time before they would take us away and try us in the courts.
"Your grandmother, though, had risked too much to save us all, so she met with Potter one day, because Potter was the only person, besides her, who truly knew what had happened between them and had the legitimacy to make this happen. They arrived at a deal: Potter would issue a statement, informing the Wizarding world that we had seen the errors of our ways and that your grandmother had endangered her own life to save his, and he personally pardoned us. In return, we had to withdraw from the public sphere -- no more Malfoy influence in politics or business, only the simple matters of raising a family and living relatively uneventful lives. Your grandparents, and your mother and I, were told that the old Pureblood ideology had to die. Potter expressly told me that any children I had must be kept away from it, or he would reveal us for what we truly were."
"And what was that?"
"Do you believe your grandparents truly changed? Do you believe that -- that I could truly change?" Father, who had until then been lecturing towards the floor, turned to face Scorpius.
Scorpius thought about this for a few seconds. "Maybe?"
Father smiled. "You're too kind, Scorpius."
"But people can change, can't they?"
"They can. We are too old for that, I think. Look at your grandparents: every single one of their friends is dead or in jail, and they will spend the rest of their days living alone. And your mother and I -- we cannot consort too widely either, because, even though Potter may have forgiven us, other people don't believe that we're any different." Then, he placed a hand on Scorpius's shoulder. "But we thought that you, Scorpius, could be different. There was no need for you to suffer for things that you had never done. Whether or not it turned out to be the right course of action, I'm still not sure, but we ultimately decided to tell you nothing beyond what you absolutely needed to know."
"That wasn't in the agreement with Harry Potter, was it? I thought he just didn't want you telling me, years after the fact, that Voldemort had been right all along."
"No, you're absolutely right. Potter had nothing to do with this. It was my decision and mine alone, and that would be why I moved us out of the manor before you were born. Your grandparents are quite unreformed, you see, and, well, who knows how well they would have stuck to our agreement with Potter if you had been there to tempt them? You know, your grandmother mentioned that you had met Potter's son at Hogwarts, and, after she told me that, I wondered if perhaps he had said something to you. I always assumed that Potter would, ah, not speak badly of me in front of his own children, but maybe I was wrong."
"Al said that there was something his uncle told him."
Father's eyes narrowed. "Weasley. Ah, yes, now it all makes sense. Anyway, I've spoken my part -- is there anything else you want to know?"
Is there anything else you want to know? Suddenly feeling ravenous, Scorpius moved the plate of food onto his lap and began to eat. The pasta was quite cold, but he hardly noticed as he stuffed his mouth full of it. When he was finished, he set the plate aside and folded his hands into his lap. "Why do you call Harry Potter just by his surname?"
"We were -- I suppose you can say that we were rivals at Hogwarts. We are so different, he and I, and there was never a moment I felt like I wasn't competing with him in some way and trying to show him that I was superior to him. Of course, looking back on everything, perhaps I had known all along that he was the better man."
--
Scorpius was the first one in his dormitory to unpack his things after everyone returned from the holiday. They had already finished recounting stories to one another -- Scorpius had merely left his own at visiting Wiltshire -- and he was bored. There would still be another hour before dinner would be served in the Hall, so he set off wandering through the castle. One of his favourite parts of being at Hogwarts, he thought to himself as he darted through a tapestry that he had never seen before, was that it never stayed the same. In the course of a single day, this staircase could shift, that passageway could disappear, and, on the next day, that same passageway would reappear with a fire-breathing tortoise blocking the way. Scorpius liked getting as close as he could to the top of the castle and made it a point of finding a new route from the dungeons to the Astronomy Tower every time he decided to go for a walk.
He was rather winded by the time he walked out onto the balcony and into the biting wind. Though Mother had bought him the best winter coat that Wizarding money could buy, it still seemed insufficient when compared to the sheer power of the elements. He was about to head back when he noticed somebody standing by the parapet. Intrigued, he inched closer.
"Al?" he exclaimed.
"Hm? Oh, Scorpius, it's you. What are you doing here?"
"I was going to ask you the same thing."
"Well, sometimes, it's just nice to get away from things, you know? And James was just being a complete twat on the train and made me really angry, so I didn't want to be around him anymore."
"Yeah. I mean, I like walking up here every now and then, but I think I forgot that it was January. Right, um, do you want to go inside for a second?"
Al seemed to hesitate for a moment, but, in between the shivering, Scorpius thought he saw a nod. Together, they stepped back inside the castle and exhaled loudly as they exited the cold.
"So, how was your holiday?"
"Other than learning for the first time that my family are a bunch of Death Eaters, it was all right."
A conspicuous silence filled the air. "Oh."
"And I don't know what you might have heard, but I'm not -- well, I'm not that kind of person, okay?"
Al's eyes widened. "Yeah, well -- of course you aren't. That was all such a long time ago, wasn't it?" When Scorpius did not reply, he continued. "Look, all my uncle told me was right when I was ready to get on the Hogwarts Express last fall, and all he said was that I should watch out for Draco Malfoy's son because your dad had caused all of them some trouble while they were at Hogwarts, and he just wanted me to make sure that -- I don't know -- that I didn't let you jinx me behind my back or anything like that. I actually thought about it over the holiday, and I realized that -- I mean, I know what your parents did, and, okay, I might have been a little bit afraid of you when I realized that you were a Malfoy, but you aren't them, are you?"
Scorpius studied the stair beneath his feet before shrugging. "I don't even know any jinxes."
"Neither do I."
"I imagine it would be easier to deal with James if you did?" Scorpius looked up at Al standing above him, and, without meaning to, they both laughed.
"Well, as long as I could stop him from enchanting my duvet so that it tickled me every time I tried to make the bed..."
Al was clearly trying to say this with as straight a face as possible, but they only laughed harder, the sound of it echoing throughout the stairwell.
"Hm, the library probably has some books with good jinxes. How about we go there to do some research? After a couple of afternoons, I'm sure we could show your brother a thing or two."
Al considered the proposition for a moment, then donned a wide grin. "That we could."
--
Signing off, V.M. Bell