Hey Everyone! Welcome to my next series starring the one and only Scorpius Malfoy! Sorry that the first chapter is short but I wanted to start it off simple for this one. I have high ambitions for this story so expect lots of updates! Also for those wondering, although this will include a romance between Scorpius Malfoy and Rose Weasley, it will not be the main focus of the story. The main focus will be the life and struggles of Scorpius. This is going to be a lot different from my previous fan fiction as it's going to have more of a story and a darker tone to it. Please enjoy and favorite/follow and write me a review of what you think of the first chapter!
~MEM
I'm going to tell you something. This is not a happy story. I didn't write it all down so that you can read it and feel sorry for me. I don't want your pity. I don't want anything from you.
I've spent my entire life alone, feeling like an outsider. I felt like I was standing outside at the window of a lavish party where everyone was happy and enjoying themselves but I wasn't allowed in. No one cared enough to let me in, no one even wanted me in. I used to not understand why my family distanced themselves so much from the rest of the wizarding community, why it felt like people shrank away or glared at us in public. My father always wears a long coat. When I was little I naively thought he was always cold. The truth is there's a large scar on his forearm that looks like a skull with a serpent coming out of its mouth. I remember when I was little poking it with my finger and he jumped back as if I had burned him. He then hit me several times and sent me to my room. That was when I learned never to look, touch, or even acknowledge the existence of his scar. My grandfather has one too, but unlike my dad he doesn't try to hide his. The life that my father has has not been good to him. He's unstable, has a terrible temper and drinks a lot to deal with his demons from the past.
I am not like the rest of my family. That became clear before I even went to Hogwarts. Most children begin showing magical ability when they are seven or eight. Several of my friends at that time were able to do fantastic things like make objects float or conjure up colorful sparks. When I was forced to play with Alfred Goyle, he tried to impress me by magically setting a tree on fire. I couldn't do any of that. I showed no magical ability whatsoever. My father became agitated, but my mother urged him to be patient and that I would soon begin to do the magic I so longed to be able to do. When I turned eight I was still unable to do any magic. I tried to make things float and to do incredible things but I couldn't. My father began getting angry. He would constantly scream at me "why can't you do magic you useless thing?" I felt worthless. By the time I turned nine my entire family was forced to face the fact that I was a squib, that I the son of a long line of ancient magical ancestry was unable to produce the slightest amount of magic. And do you know what they did with me? My father hid me away in our basement in order to hide the fact that his precious pureblood family had produced a squib. He was so ashamed that I was never allowed to leave the basement except for mealtimes. And when he did see me, all I could see was the disgust in his eyes. He didn't love me, he hated me. And once I realized that, I began to hate him to. I hated my entire family; my father, my mother, and my grandfather. Sitting alone in that basement for two years was what made me reject the pureblood status. All I wanted was to get away from it all.
I was almost 11 years old when it happened. My father came home one night angry, drunk and on a rampage. When he saw me, he became more enraged.
"It's your fault," He screamed. "Your a disgrace and a worthless creature! Who would want you you useless thing? You were supposed to bring honor to our family!" He lunged at me and I cringed waiting for the slap that was sure to come. But suddenly I felt something churn in the pit of my stomach. Was it fear? No it wasn't fear, and it wasn't sadness either. It was something deeper; it was power. I felt a shiver run down my spine as something erupted from inside me and launched at my father throwing him backward at least 20 feet. There was a loud bang and then the room stood still. Everyone was too shocked to say anything. My entire body was shaking as I let tears roll down my cheeks. Through my blurred vision I could see my mother standing still in the corner, a look of shock etched on her face. I didn't wait around for my father to come to his senses. I ran down to my room in the basement, locked my door and shrank down behind it let the sobs rack my entire body. I was crying too hard to address the miracle that had just occurred. For the first time ever, I had performed magic.