Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy

The train huffed smoke, as cloaked children kissed their parents, wiped away unwanted kisses, gathered their luggage and dashed onto the train as if it could get them there faster. Any ordinary muggle would be astounded by the attire, the cages with owls of all breeds, the books that seemed to be fighting their bindings as if a rabid dog. Then again, no ordinary muggle would know that there was, indeed right in King’s Crossing, a Platform 9 ¾.

Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy watched his father intently, without saying a word. He noticed no one spoke to his father, but he noticed him nodding with his white blond head towards a messy haired man surrounded by other children. His father did not look pleased, though, his father never looked pleased.

Scorpius glanced between the two men again, before watching the family intently. One boy, who looked remarkably like the older man rushed forward to the man, exclaiming something about ‘snogging’ strangers. After the exclamation little could be heard. Scorpius’ father placed a hand on his shoulder, quietly, and he knew that he meant for him to step forward and join the students on the train.

“Mother?” Scorpius called. “Is that Harry Potter?”

His mother, placed her own alabaster white hand onto Scorpius’ head, without an answer.
Immediately, and irrationally as he knew it to be, Scorpius filed the entire group around the man, Harry Potter, into a disdainful category in his mind. Why must his father nod to and be civil to the man who destroyed his reputation?

Many kids his age, his mother had told him once when he asked, would not be clever enough to ask. He was afraid to tell her that the sorting hat HAD insinuated that he belonged in Ravenclaw. Most other 12-year olds didn’t have their father’s reputation looming over them. As a coward. As a traitor. As someone with a life debt to the illustrious Harry Potter, savior of the wizarding race. Even Kingsley Shacklebolt would kiss Potter’s shoes if he had only just asked him to.

Scorpius felt too much affection, pity, and disdain towards his own father, now that he had the source in front of him, he couldn’t just let the moment pass. He made up his mind to confront the man with the round glasses and the lightning scar.

There were cries from younger children, mothers and fathers peeling themselves away from their children, and screeches from owls. His mother planted a kiss on his forehead and his father gave him a reassuring nod that was not quite as reassuring without eye contact or a smile. Then, they departed, leaving him alone in the crowd. Scorpius stuck his fingers through the cage of his own owl, to reassure him before the journey.

“It’ll be a fine ride, I promise, Hagrid,” he said, not wary of the shaggy haired boy in glasses approaching.

“Why’d you go and name your owl after the groundskeeper, Malfoy? Got yourself a crush on old Hagrid? Or do you think that you can get him on your side like Voldemort did with the giants? Fancy yourself as Voldemort, do you Malfoy? Hmmm?”

Scorpius did not even look up at James Sirius Potter, as he knew it would only reveal his scowl. No need to have Potter spread any more rumors about him this year. He could only imagine showing interest in his made up stories would be like admittance to James.

Another dark haired boy rushed forward, younger and dressed in a sweater vest and black slacks. His hair was dark and straight, and his eyes, unlike his brothers, were a brilliant shade of green and kind.

“James! Dad told you to wait for me! And you’ve left your luggage behind. Your cat has just about started a full on brawl with that one monster book.” The boy looked flustered, and genuinely concerned. Then he glanced at Scorpius, and to his brother. “Oh, hullo there. Ummm…”

He had left an obvious pause for Scorpius to produce his name, but Scorpius didn’t even bother. He knew, with certainty that James would fill in the blanks for his fellow Potter.
“Malfffoyyy, Albus, this is Malfoy. Honestly, you’ve got to have heard of him. The coward’s son. The traitor’s son. Voldemort wanna-be.”
Scorpius grit his teeth but said nothing. He looked back to his owl, and began pushing his cart on the train. It was set to depart in less than five minutes, and he wanted to seriously berate Harry Potter. He felt like if he could just say it to Harry Potter’s face, he would have done his father justice.

“Inbreeder!” James called after him, in a tone that indicated he actually knew what he was talking about. Scorpius only knew of it as an insult, but let it roll off of him either way.

Just as the words escaped James, Harry was behind him. “James! Apologize. I won’t have bullys in my household.”

Harry shot Scorpius an apologetic smile, which left Scorpius flustered and perplexed. Here he had his moment to tell him that it was he who had caused him the most damage, and not his son. To tell him he abhorred him. But, in all likelihood, he realized that he might never have the courage to say that sort of thing to someone who defeated dark wizards and witches before. Impossible, he now realized. It was impossible to stand up to the head of the Aurors, to the murderer of Voldemort, and the great wizard Dumbledore’s favorite.

“Forget it!” Scorpius snarked, and then boarded the train.

How happy he had been the day he had received his letter. He had snuck glances at photos of his father at Hogwarts when he visited Crabbe and Goyle, in lieu of actually talking to Crabbe and Goyle. He loved the cloaks, the castle, and everything he could learn about magic.

He had first realized he was magic the moment he could realize anything at all. Being raised by pureblooded wizards, after all, made you all the more special, or so his mother had said. He remembered creating a storm of colorful bubbles during a bath at three, rinsing himself clean with some sort of rain cloud. He had played get away with Crabbe and Goyle by apparating every time they threw a fist his way. When his father made him visit them, he’d sometimes apparate straight to the basement where all relics of Hogwarts were kept. Crabbe and Goyle, like his father, didn’t much relish in their history at Hogwarts, and Scorpius learned over time through outsiders that it was because they had taken part in destroying it in the manhunt for Harry Potter.

He could fly on a broom, too, and did so whenever he could. His father didn’t offer him much praise. He said his son didn’t need coddling. Scorpius’ mother was more affectionate, but didn’t answer many of his questions regarding his father’s history, and why their family was so hated. He had seen her cry into his father’s knees, at the age of ten, pleading with him to simply offer a public apology to Potter as had several of the Death Eaters recently now that their children had to join schools. Malfoy did not oblige her.

Still, he was happy, Scorpius was ecstatic to get a letter from Hogwarts. He had read every book before he even began the semester. His father, who still proudly adorned half of the house with silver and green, expected him to continue in family tradition.

Scorpius, who knew Crabbe and Goyle, and knew how much he did not care for their kind did not want to enter Slytherin, but knew that he had to. If ever he was to appease his father, he had to. He must.

Crabbe and Goyle had joined another train car with more Slytherin-like Slytherins. It was sort of refreshing to Scorpius to know that they liked him as little as he did him. At least he would not have to play act as friends as they did in front of their parents.

Hagrid was slowly walking to and fro on the perch in his cage. Scorpius turned the leather satchel around on his shoulders and sat down to retrieve a dead rat for his owl. He had received the owl as a gift not from his parents, but from Headmaster McGonagall. She pitied him, and he hated that, but he loved the bird. However, he had never had an owl of his own before, so of course he approached the teacher of the class on beasts. He wished he could have a class with the kind and gentle giant.
Hagrid had given him tips on how to maintain a healthy relationship with his owl. Mainly, respect, but also food. That was the key. Feed your owl before they have to alert you to their hunger, and respect their needs. Hagrid the owl had become quite fond of Hagrid the part-giant over the first year, and as the bird had previously been named Bug-eyes by Argus Filch, Scorpius renamed him. The gray and white northern white-faced owl had also become Scorpius main friend and confidante. The only places he didn’t take his owl were class and the library, and only because Hagrid the owl was forbidden in both.

“Oh, hullo again,” the Potter child from earlier glanced into his empty cart. “Happen to have space? My brother disappeared to go hang around some Griffindor girls...”

A small red head peeked out from behind him, its sheen vibrant, it’s eyes a dark deep brown. She was eyeing Scorpius warily.

“Albus,” she whispered cautiously, but not so that Scorpius couldn’t hear. “He’s a Malfoy. He’s a Slytherin. See, it says so on his luggage.”

Scorpius wished he had just been born with a different name, so he didn’t have to always suffer the same response.

“My dad says all Slytherin’s turn rotten. Plus dad hates Malfoys.”

Scorpius pretended not to hear, but assumed she was also a Potter. Who else would have reason to hate Malfoys and Slytherin’s so much they would ingrain it in their children. Plus the hair, it was vibrant orange just like the woman Harry Potter had been with.

“Well…” Albus began, and Scorpius just watched him curiously. “I was named after a Slytherin. Dad told me so. They can’t be all bad. If I became a Slytherin, would you think I was a bad guy?”

Scorpius was stunned, but silent. Harry Potter’s son named after a Slytherin? The girl also looked offput by the news, but decided she had no right to judge. She glanced at Scorpius again, eyes narrowing.

“I forgot your name,” Albus said, “I’m Albus Potter.”

“Albus isn’t Slytherin,” Scorpius said quizzically. “He’s a Griffindor.”

Albus just smiled, as if happy to hear Scorpius speak at last.

“Albus Severus Potter,” he corrected, sticking out a hand. “I’m a first year, and this is Rose Weasley. She is, too.”

Scorpius wondered how much flakk he would get from the Slytherin house for conversing with future Griffindor’s, but decided that since none of them had tried to befriend him either, he would do as he pleased. He locked hands with Albus.

“Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy. Feel free to come in.”

Rose seemed nervous and reluctant, but Albus was unloading before Scorpius knew what was happening. Rose stood in the door with her luggage, trying to decide to follow Albus, and follow her mothers instructions on looking after him, or to find her family and relax knowing she was not surrounded with Slytherin’s.

Albus finished unloading his things and looked back towards the hall, not overly expectant. Just then, the snack cart was behind her, forcing her inside. She gave a wry smile and plopped down as Scorpius offered to load her bags.

Albus bought them a pile of candies and cakes, and offered to share them with Scorpius and not just Rose. Though they hardly spoke, Scorpius hoped that they would.

He, for the first time, wished that he too could become a Gryffindor. Though, even the sorting hat said he was so lacking in courage he would never have a chance. Sitting in a train car eating cakes with a Potter, how much he knew it would displease his father. So, why then, did he feel happier in that moment than his entire first year at Hogwarts?