A Credit to Their Houses, Chapter 1: One Little Wizard
A Credit to Their Houses
By dracontia
Chapter 1: One Little Wizard
Characters: Scorpius Malfoy, Albus Severus Potter, Rose Weasley, James Sirius Potter, Louis Weasley, Lysander Scamander, Lorcan Scamander, Draco Malfoy, Asteria Greengrass-Malfoy, assorted canon & original characters
Rating: G
Summary: Two little wizards and one little witch meet in the Hogwarts Express on their way to their first school term. This story can absolutely, positively stand alone, with no reference to any other fanfiction; however, it was written with the intent of taking up the narrative from the end of ‘In Your Debt,’ as the title implies.
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling’s characters are on completely unpaid leave in my imagination.
Not yet beta-read; not yet posted to any archive.
Chapter 1: One Little Wizard
Scorpius tried to ignore the oddly constrictive feel of the Muggle clothes he was wearing and pay attention to Father.
“Our family name is not quite held in the same regard as it once was,” Father had said as they made their way from Diagon Alley to the old Muggle automobile that Great-Uncle Crius provided for the purpose of getting to the station. “There are those who still judge us for things that happened before you were born.”
Scorpius didn’t like the too-sad tone of Father’s voice as he said it; still, this was not news. He had heard and overheard snippets of conversation to this effect before. Everything seemed to come down to the War for grownups. He gathered that their family had been on rather the wrong side of it, particularly Grandfather.
“Don’t forget your manners. If someone will insist on disliking you, let it be for completely irrational reasons,” Father said.
Scorpius understood this was a joke, but he managed only a wan smile. He wasn’t worried about that… much. Nothing bad ever happened to them if Father was recognized. Some people crossed to the other side of the street, or gave them nasty looks. That was all. If Mum was with them, she made a funny face back. Father would roll his eyes at her and Scorpius would laugh, and it was all fine again.
It was almost weirder when some stranger would stand in front of Mum and Father, wringing their hands and stammering out some form of ‘Thank you.’ This, Scorpius knew, had to do with a potion for werewolves that Mum and Father had made. It puzzled Scorpius more than hushed talk of the war and nasty looks. After all, werewolves were just old people who had to take medicine once a year, sort of like Great Aunt Andromeda did for her aches.
Grownups were quite incomprehensible to Scorpius. He rather hoped that children his own age would make more sense. Admittedly, Cousin Phoebe and Cousin Laurel were not precisely reassuring in that regard. Scorpius chalked that up to equal parts Aunt Daphne’s and Beauxbatons’ influence. He couldn’t see why she never allowed them over to play when the Manor was so much more fun than their house.
Outdoors were the gardens-the ancient Rose Garden whose blooms never faded unless they chose to allow it to change with the seasons; the kitchen garden which Father and Mum had carved out of a neglected maze, where the odd surviving topiary or statue still oversaw the vegetables or contemplated the fruit trees; Grandmother’ herb garden, where she and Great-Aunt Andromeda spent most of their time together; the long, shady, walk to the dilapidated Summer House; the great lawns, long gone to wildflowers but still capital for flying over as asserted by no less authority than Cousin Teddy; and the chance of spotting one of the last surviving white peacocks roosting in the wild tangle that lurked beyond the gardens, which could only be explored with Mum, Father, or Grandmother.
Indoors were miles of empty (and a few not-so-empty) rooms to explore. Old portraits might quiz you about who you were and ask after people you never heard of. Mysterious curiosities left over from the old days hid amidst the new furniture that Father made, like so many stone-still rabbits trying to evade notice. The Ballroom tiles were still mostly shiny enough for sliding-if one was careful not to giggle too loudly and get caught at it-and the Solarium offered welcome greenery on rainy days. Father and Mum discouraged poking about their Potions laboratory, but Father’s workshop might be visited if one took care not to touch the things being built. Loneliness aside, the Manor was something approaching Paradise in Scorpius' eyes.
Scorpius would miss watching a piece of furniture or bit of replacement molding or whatnot emerge from the long, beautiful shavings that curled away under the spells from Father’s wand. With Christmas approaching, Father would begin to make toys again. Why Grandmother wanted Father to go back to his old, boring, job Scorpius could never guess. Who would want to write other people’s paperwork all day when they could make wonderful things instead?
Unthinkingly, he touched the wand holstered in the sleeve of his funny Muggle garment, a sort of short robe with a hood. Grandmother said he ought to have a new wand that was just his own, but Scorpius reasoned that every Galleon that they saved might go to buy him an owl for Christmas. This old wand that Father never used any more suited him right down to the ground. It seemed almost as if there was a live thing strapped to his arm, a little friend made of hawthorn whose mere presence reassured him. He had been able to effortlessly perform the simple Levitation Charm that Mum taught him (and that was all the magic she would teach him before school, no matter how he pleaded.) Grandmother tried to teach him a Patronus Charm, but all he managed was a trail of silver sparks.
Maybe I’ll make some friends at school who will want to stay over, Scorpius’ thoughts wandered hopefully. Now that some of the spare bedrooms had furniture-made by Father, so it was really nicer than anything that might have been there before-and most of the bathrooms worked, surely they could have guests? Mum’s friend Gus visited sometimes but never stayed. Father had mentioned his friend Theo might come back from Toronto someday, but in Scorpius’ experience ‘someday’ was a measure of time that was as solid as jelly; it might mean anytime between tomorrow and never.
Scorpius conceded that Grandfather might be something of a bar to having guests over. He would likely have to be kept out of the way since one never quite knew how he would behave around visitors, even though Grandmother insisted that his turning into a peacock had done wonders for his disposition.
Yes, grownups were indeed inexplicable.
Father was talking, and Scorpius realized guiltily that he’d no idea when he’d begun again. “Just to be safe, avoid any gingers you may see on the train. I have little doubt that Weasley memory-”
“-oh, leave it. You sound like a fraud fortune-teller,” Mum interrupted. “‘Beware the red-haired man!’” she said in an ominous tone. Father pulled a subtle face at her. She made a blatantly silly one in reply.
Scorpius smiled a little more and tried not to sick up at the smells inside The Leaky Cauldron. He supposed that the food didn’t actually smell bad, but his nervous stomach would have failed to appreciate pine shavings or lavender, his favorite scents from home, at the moment. Just because he hoped that children his own age would be more comprehensible didn’t mean that he wouldn’t miss Mummy, Father, and Grandmother terribly. Even Grandfather, last seen moulting dispiritedly in the parlor, was a bit of the familiar he was loath to relinquish.
He had mixed feelings at seeing Uncle Crius waiting for them by his automobile and trying to look at ease in Muggle London. Scorpius supposed that technically, he ought to call him Great-Uncle Crius, but Mum liked to say ‘he isn’t all that great.’
“No Grandmum to see him off?” Uncle Crius asked Mum while Father got the trunk sorted.
“She was feeling poorly,” Mum answered. In fact, Father gave Grandmother a potion before they left and Floo-called Great Aunt Andromeda to look after her. She was quite beside herself at the thought of Scorpius leaving. Mum had left muttering about excessive drama and Father made her involuntarily snort with amusement by saying something about marrying into the wrong family. Scorpius was torn between missing Grandmother and relief that she wouldn’t be present to cause a scene.
Oblivious to Mum’s ‘I do not care to speak of this’ expression and stiff tone, Uncle Crius plowed on. “Too bad, that. You ought to talk to your mum about giving equal time to Scorpius, you know? She needn’t go with Daphne’s lot every time they ponce off to France.”
Scorpius stifled a giggle at Uncle Crius’ language. Mum’s friend Gus said that Crius was ‘born with a silver foot in his mouth.’
“Let her,” Mum said dryly, and Scorpius could tell by the way Father’s lips twitched that he was glad she had been the one to say it.
“So, Scorpius,” Uncle Crius asked once they were all inside, “how do you think you’ll Sort?”
“Um, sorry?” Scorpius was fascinated by the interior of the automobile and wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly.
“What House do you think you’ll be in?” he clarified.
“Oh… Well, we’ve always been Slytherins, haven’t we, Father?” Several of the older portraits that Father recalled from the attic were quite adamant on that point. Scorpius looked to his father for reassurance, but found him staring intently out the window. Scorpius thought of the delicate wooden snakes that Father carved from twigs, their painted eyes bright as they glided across the floor at a word of command. They were such agile, elegant things, and real ones were such useful creatures.Scorpius loved them quite as much as he did owls.
“Not on both sides,” Uncle Crius said. “Your mother was a Ravenclaw, as was I. Most Greengrasses are Ravenclaws.” He said it with the air of someone offering consolation.
“Daphne was in Slytherin,” Mum said as if it was a challenge, “and she wasn’t the only one.”
“Yes, well, it was a viable option in those days. If you want a career with the Ministry, better be in any other House. Of course, to get the real plum positions, you need to be a Gryffindor.”
“Speaking of the Ministry, how are things in Magical Games and Sports?” Mum asked, deftly distracting Uncle Crius and shutting him up on the subject of Houses.
That didn’t necessarily mean that he was wrong.
“Father?” Scorpius whispered.
“Hmm?”
“Is it true… about Slytherin?”
Father was silent for a while. Finally, he sighed heavily.
“They’re right, Scorpius,” he said, keeping his voice low to sneak under the conversation Mum was having with Uncle Crius. “It’s no longer quite the thing to be in Slytherin.” He hesitated a long while, looking down at his hands. “I can’t really recommend it if you are interested in a political career. It’s not the House of heroes. Even so…” Father drew his wand. Scorpius knew it well; Ebony and Dragon Heartstring, eleven inches and a quarter. “Slytherin did have Severus Snape, and most count him a hero of the War. He is a hero to us-to our family. This was his wand.”
Scorpius gazed at it in some awe. “He gave it to you?”
“He left it to me,” Father said sadly. “I don’t suppose that he would be very pleased to know that I use it mostly for putting tables together. It’s not very… ambitious.” Father put the wand away and sighed again. “Do what you must, Scorpius.”
Despite that, Scorpius had the feeling that Father would very much like it if he was in Slytherin.
“Uncle Crius, what sort of Automobile is this?” Scorpius asked in a lull. Mum had taught him the art of deflection well. The question kept Uncle Crius off the topic of Sorting the rest of the way to the station.Scorpius was almost interested in his answers. Muggle automobiles were as great a curiosity as their binding clothes were a mild annoyance. He wished he were not too nervous to appreciate either.
The station was something of a madhouse outside. Uncle Crius shook his head. “I’ll have to drop you off. I’ll get to the platform if I can find a place to park.”
While Father and Mum were handling the trunk, Uncle Crius caught Scorpius by the sleeve. “Here, lad-a little something for the long trip.” He pressed a tiny, heavy, bag that jingled slightly into Scorpius’ hand. He offered a kindly smile, and Scorpius remembered how Uncle Crius always had a smile when no one else could manage one. “I’m sure that the tea trolley lady will have something that catches your fancy.”
“Th-thanks,” Scorpius managed before being ushered out the door. He waved after the antique Citroen even while Mum and Father hustled him into the station.
Maybe Uncle Crius isn’t all that ‘great,’ but he’s still pretty good.
Mum walked in front of them, clearing a path with the weight of her glare. Father liked to joke that she was the real dragon in the family. Scorpius, for his part, didn’t think it was a joke. He always felt safe between Father and Mum as if they were both real dragons and he was their one egg. He never hesitated to follow her into an apparent pillar; he never doubted that Father was immediately behind him with the trunk.
The platform was utter chaos. Scorpius’ eyes fairly bulged at the sight of so many children-tall, short, thin, plump, boys and girls, hair a rainbow of colors, his age to nearly grown; all in Muggle clothes but clearly wizards by the owls, wands, and jingling purses. He had never realized how many children there were in the world. He couldn’t decide if it was more exciting or frightening. It took the full weight of everything that Grandmother and Father had told him about his duty as a Malfoy to keep him from asking if he couldn’t just go home.
Then he caught sight of a little girl nearly crying. “But I want to go, too!” she wailed to her parents, who were quite occupied putting her older siblings on the train. Scorpius felt embarrassed for her.
Still… if she wants that badly to go to Hogwarts… that bodes well. Doesn’t it?
Now Father and Mum were pressing last words of advice on him, but he scarcely marked it amid the whirl. His luggage was dealt with; Mum whispered ‘I love you;’ Father clasped him quickly in one last hug that was so tight he didn’t think that he would be able to escape it and wasn’t sure that he wanted to. They helped him onto the train like they were packing away fragile Christmas ornaments just as the whistle blew.
The whistle meant he was really going. A little tremor of excitement edged out the fear.
Maybe I’ll find a friend. Maybe… maybe we’ll be in Slytherin, and that will make Father really smile. Politics sound awfully boring.
“I’ll write,” he said over his shoulder just as the door to the carriage closed behind him. He watched them through the small window in the door until the train pulled away. He spared a moment to wish that he had an owl of his own with which to send letters.
There’s always Christmas, he thought. He gently petted the toy owl in his pocket.
Chapter 2: Two Little Cousins
Chapter 3: Three Little Purses
Photo Post: A Glimpse of Scorpius’ world. These are photos that resemble the Manor grounds as Scorpius knows them.
Photo Post: Agate.
Chapter 4: Four the Win
Chapter 5: Five by Five
Chapter 6: Six of One...
...Half-dozen (of an Epilogue)
Comprehensive Fic List
By dracontia
Chapter 1: One Little Wizard
Characters: Scorpius Malfoy, Albus Severus Potter, Rose Weasley, James Sirius Potter, Louis Weasley, Lysander Scamander, Lorcan Scamander, Draco Malfoy, Asteria Greengrass-Malfoy, assorted canon & original characters
Rating: G
Summary: Two little wizards and one little witch meet in the Hogwarts Express on their way to their first school term. This story can absolutely, positively stand alone, with no reference to any other fanfiction; however, it was written with the intent of taking up the narrative from the end of ‘In Your Debt,’ as the title implies.
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling’s characters are on completely unpaid leave in my imagination.
Not yet beta-read; not yet posted to any archive.
Chapter 1: One Little Wizard
Scorpius tried to ignore the oddly constrictive feel of the Muggle clothes he was wearing and pay attention to Father.
“Our family name is not quite held in the same regard as it once was,” Father had said as they made their way from Diagon Alley to the old Muggle automobile that Great-Uncle Crius provided for the purpose of getting to the station. “There are those who still judge us for things that happened before you were born.”
Scorpius didn’t like the too-sad tone of Father’s voice as he said it; still, this was not news. He had heard and overheard snippets of conversation to this effect before. Everything seemed to come down to the War for grownups. He gathered that their family had been on rather the wrong side of it, particularly Grandfather.
“Don’t forget your manners. If someone will insist on disliking you, let it be for completely irrational reasons,” Father said.
Scorpius understood this was a joke, but he managed only a wan smile. He wasn’t worried about that… much. Nothing bad ever happened to them if Father was recognized. Some people crossed to the other side of the street, or gave them nasty looks. That was all. If Mum was with them, she made a funny face back. Father would roll his eyes at her and Scorpius would laugh, and it was all fine again.
It was almost weirder when some stranger would stand in front of Mum and Father, wringing their hands and stammering out some form of ‘Thank you.’ This, Scorpius knew, had to do with a potion for werewolves that Mum and Father had made. It puzzled Scorpius more than hushed talk of the war and nasty looks. After all, werewolves were just old people who had to take medicine once a year, sort of like Great Aunt Andromeda did for her aches.
Grownups were quite incomprehensible to Scorpius. He rather hoped that children his own age would make more sense. Admittedly, Cousin Phoebe and Cousin Laurel were not precisely reassuring in that regard. Scorpius chalked that up to equal parts Aunt Daphne’s and Beauxbatons’ influence. He couldn’t see why she never allowed them over to play when the Manor was so much more fun than their house.
Outdoors were the gardens-the ancient Rose Garden whose blooms never faded unless they chose to allow it to change with the seasons; the kitchen garden which Father and Mum had carved out of a neglected maze, where the odd surviving topiary or statue still oversaw the vegetables or contemplated the fruit trees; Grandmother’ herb garden, where she and Great-Aunt Andromeda spent most of their time together; the long, shady, walk to the dilapidated Summer House; the great lawns, long gone to wildflowers but still capital for flying over as asserted by no less authority than Cousin Teddy; and the chance of spotting one of the last surviving white peacocks roosting in the wild tangle that lurked beyond the gardens, which could only be explored with Mum, Father, or Grandmother.
Indoors were miles of empty (and a few not-so-empty) rooms to explore. Old portraits might quiz you about who you were and ask after people you never heard of. Mysterious curiosities left over from the old days hid amidst the new furniture that Father made, like so many stone-still rabbits trying to evade notice. The Ballroom tiles were still mostly shiny enough for sliding-if one was careful not to giggle too loudly and get caught at it-and the Solarium offered welcome greenery on rainy days. Father and Mum discouraged poking about their Potions laboratory, but Father’s workshop might be visited if one took care not to touch the things being built. Loneliness aside, the Manor was something approaching Paradise in Scorpius' eyes.
Scorpius would miss watching a piece of furniture or bit of replacement molding or whatnot emerge from the long, beautiful shavings that curled away under the spells from Father’s wand. With Christmas approaching, Father would begin to make toys again. Why Grandmother wanted Father to go back to his old, boring, job Scorpius could never guess. Who would want to write other people’s paperwork all day when they could make wonderful things instead?
Unthinkingly, he touched the wand holstered in the sleeve of his funny Muggle garment, a sort of short robe with a hood. Grandmother said he ought to have a new wand that was just his own, but Scorpius reasoned that every Galleon that they saved might go to buy him an owl for Christmas. This old wand that Father never used any more suited him right down to the ground. It seemed almost as if there was a live thing strapped to his arm, a little friend made of hawthorn whose mere presence reassured him. He had been able to effortlessly perform the simple Levitation Charm that Mum taught him (and that was all the magic she would teach him before school, no matter how he pleaded.) Grandmother tried to teach him a Patronus Charm, but all he managed was a trail of silver sparks.
Maybe I’ll make some friends at school who will want to stay over, Scorpius’ thoughts wandered hopefully. Now that some of the spare bedrooms had furniture-made by Father, so it was really nicer than anything that might have been there before-and most of the bathrooms worked, surely they could have guests? Mum’s friend Gus visited sometimes but never stayed. Father had mentioned his friend Theo might come back from Toronto someday, but in Scorpius’ experience ‘someday’ was a measure of time that was as solid as jelly; it might mean anytime between tomorrow and never.
Scorpius conceded that Grandfather might be something of a bar to having guests over. He would likely have to be kept out of the way since one never quite knew how he would behave around visitors, even though Grandmother insisted that his turning into a peacock had done wonders for his disposition.
Yes, grownups were indeed inexplicable.
Father was talking, and Scorpius realized guiltily that he’d no idea when he’d begun again. “Just to be safe, avoid any gingers you may see on the train. I have little doubt that Weasley memory-”
“-oh, leave it. You sound like a fraud fortune-teller,” Mum interrupted. “‘Beware the red-haired man!’” she said in an ominous tone. Father pulled a subtle face at her. She made a blatantly silly one in reply.
Scorpius smiled a little more and tried not to sick up at the smells inside The Leaky Cauldron. He supposed that the food didn’t actually smell bad, but his nervous stomach would have failed to appreciate pine shavings or lavender, his favorite scents from home, at the moment. Just because he hoped that children his own age would be more comprehensible didn’t mean that he wouldn’t miss Mummy, Father, and Grandmother terribly. Even Grandfather, last seen moulting dispiritedly in the parlor, was a bit of the familiar he was loath to relinquish.
He had mixed feelings at seeing Uncle Crius waiting for them by his automobile and trying to look at ease in Muggle London. Scorpius supposed that technically, he ought to call him Great-Uncle Crius, but Mum liked to say ‘he isn’t all that great.’
“No Grandmum to see him off?” Uncle Crius asked Mum while Father got the trunk sorted.
“She was feeling poorly,” Mum answered. In fact, Father gave Grandmother a potion before they left and Floo-called Great Aunt Andromeda to look after her. She was quite beside herself at the thought of Scorpius leaving. Mum had left muttering about excessive drama and Father made her involuntarily snort with amusement by saying something about marrying into the wrong family. Scorpius was torn between missing Grandmother and relief that she wouldn’t be present to cause a scene.
Oblivious to Mum’s ‘I do not care to speak of this’ expression and stiff tone, Uncle Crius plowed on. “Too bad, that. You ought to talk to your mum about giving equal time to Scorpius, you know? She needn’t go with Daphne’s lot every time they ponce off to France.”
Scorpius stifled a giggle at Uncle Crius’ language. Mum’s friend Gus said that Crius was ‘born with a silver foot in his mouth.’
“Let her,” Mum said dryly, and Scorpius could tell by the way Father’s lips twitched that he was glad she had been the one to say it.
“So, Scorpius,” Uncle Crius asked once they were all inside, “how do you think you’ll Sort?”
“Um, sorry?” Scorpius was fascinated by the interior of the automobile and wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly.
“What House do you think you’ll be in?” he clarified.
“Oh… Well, we’ve always been Slytherins, haven’t we, Father?” Several of the older portraits that Father recalled from the attic were quite adamant on that point. Scorpius looked to his father for reassurance, but found him staring intently out the window. Scorpius thought of the delicate wooden snakes that Father carved from twigs, their painted eyes bright as they glided across the floor at a word of command. They were such agile, elegant things, and real ones were such useful creatures.Scorpius loved them quite as much as he did owls.
“Not on both sides,” Uncle Crius said. “Your mother was a Ravenclaw, as was I. Most Greengrasses are Ravenclaws.” He said it with the air of someone offering consolation.
“Daphne was in Slytherin,” Mum said as if it was a challenge, “and she wasn’t the only one.”
“Yes, well, it was a viable option in those days. If you want a career with the Ministry, better be in any other House. Of course, to get the real plum positions, you need to be a Gryffindor.”
“Speaking of the Ministry, how are things in Magical Games and Sports?” Mum asked, deftly distracting Uncle Crius and shutting him up on the subject of Houses.
That didn’t necessarily mean that he was wrong.
“Father?” Scorpius whispered.
“Hmm?”
“Is it true… about Slytherin?”
Father was silent for a while. Finally, he sighed heavily.
“They’re right, Scorpius,” he said, keeping his voice low to sneak under the conversation Mum was having with Uncle Crius. “It’s no longer quite the thing to be in Slytherin.” He hesitated a long while, looking down at his hands. “I can’t really recommend it if you are interested in a political career. It’s not the House of heroes. Even so…” Father drew his wand. Scorpius knew it well; Ebony and Dragon Heartstring, eleven inches and a quarter. “Slytherin did have Severus Snape, and most count him a hero of the War. He is a hero to us-to our family. This was his wand.”
Scorpius gazed at it in some awe. “He gave it to you?”
“He left it to me,” Father said sadly. “I don’t suppose that he would be very pleased to know that I use it mostly for putting tables together. It’s not very… ambitious.” Father put the wand away and sighed again. “Do what you must, Scorpius.”
Despite that, Scorpius had the feeling that Father would very much like it if he was in Slytherin.
“Uncle Crius, what sort of Automobile is this?” Scorpius asked in a lull. Mum had taught him the art of deflection well. The question kept Uncle Crius off the topic of Sorting the rest of the way to the station.Scorpius was almost interested in his answers. Muggle automobiles were as great a curiosity as their binding clothes were a mild annoyance. He wished he were not too nervous to appreciate either.
The station was something of a madhouse outside. Uncle Crius shook his head. “I’ll have to drop you off. I’ll get to the platform if I can find a place to park.”
While Father and Mum were handling the trunk, Uncle Crius caught Scorpius by the sleeve. “Here, lad-a little something for the long trip.” He pressed a tiny, heavy, bag that jingled slightly into Scorpius’ hand. He offered a kindly smile, and Scorpius remembered how Uncle Crius always had a smile when no one else could manage one. “I’m sure that the tea trolley lady will have something that catches your fancy.”
“Th-thanks,” Scorpius managed before being ushered out the door. He waved after the antique Citroen even while Mum and Father hustled him into the station.
Maybe Uncle Crius isn’t all that ‘great,’ but he’s still pretty good.
Mum walked in front of them, clearing a path with the weight of her glare. Father liked to joke that she was the real dragon in the family. Scorpius, for his part, didn’t think it was a joke. He always felt safe between Father and Mum as if they were both real dragons and he was their one egg. He never hesitated to follow her into an apparent pillar; he never doubted that Father was immediately behind him with the trunk.
The platform was utter chaos. Scorpius’ eyes fairly bulged at the sight of so many children-tall, short, thin, plump, boys and girls, hair a rainbow of colors, his age to nearly grown; all in Muggle clothes but clearly wizards by the owls, wands, and jingling purses. He had never realized how many children there were in the world. He couldn’t decide if it was more exciting or frightening. It took the full weight of everything that Grandmother and Father had told him about his duty as a Malfoy to keep him from asking if he couldn’t just go home.
Then he caught sight of a little girl nearly crying. “But I want to go, too!” she wailed to her parents, who were quite occupied putting her older siblings on the train. Scorpius felt embarrassed for her.
Still… if she wants that badly to go to Hogwarts… that bodes well. Doesn’t it?
Now Father and Mum were pressing last words of advice on him, but he scarcely marked it amid the whirl. His luggage was dealt with; Mum whispered ‘I love you;’ Father clasped him quickly in one last hug that was so tight he didn’t think that he would be able to escape it and wasn’t sure that he wanted to. They helped him onto the train like they were packing away fragile Christmas ornaments just as the whistle blew.
The whistle meant he was really going. A little tremor of excitement edged out the fear.
Maybe I’ll find a friend. Maybe… maybe we’ll be in Slytherin, and that will make Father really smile. Politics sound awfully boring.
“I’ll write,” he said over his shoulder just as the door to the carriage closed behind him. He watched them through the small window in the door until the train pulled away. He spared a moment to wish that he had an owl of his own with which to send letters.
There’s always Christmas, he thought. He gently petted the toy owl in his pocket.
Chapter 2: Two Little Cousins
Chapter 3: Three Little Purses
Photo Post: A Glimpse of Scorpius’ world. These are photos that resemble the Manor grounds as Scorpius knows them.
Photo Post: Agate.
Chapter 4: Four the Win
Chapter 5: Five by Five
Chapter 6: Six of One...
...Half-dozen (of an Epilogue)
Comprehensive Fic List