Scorpius was dreaming.

Of old dusty books, of the sound of rain drops on his window at Hogwarts, of fish cakes, of a ferret named Spoon, of the horrible taste of treacle tarts, of letters sent to his father, of the smell of parchment and honeysuckle soap, of green eyes filled up with tears and of the day the skylark had fallen into his cauldron...

The living room was bathed in the soft light of the candles and the warmth running through the copper pipes. Behind the big window, the snow was falling slowly, sprinkling the night in light sugar flakes.

WAITING IN THE LOST AND FOUND

The old sorting hat smelled of boiled leather, girly shampoo and cheap hair gel.

Scorpius was hoping nobody had left some lice in the folds and felt rather relieved when the rustling voice finished procrastinating with itself and finally announced in which house he had been sorted.

- "Gryffindor!"

The designated table burst into warm applause, but Scorpius paled and nearly tripped over his robes as he went down the stairs in a daze.

Gryffindor? This was not what was expected. Something was going terribly wrong.

He slipped on the edge of a bench and stared at his fists, feeling very unhappy.

How was he going to tell his father that he had not been sorted into Slytherin? And what would his grandfather say? That it was "not surprising Draco's offspring was an imbecile unworthy of the glory of Salazar"... and then his father would blanch and his grandmother would step in and the evening would turn into yet another disaster. Later his mother would cry and beg again her husband to move to India or anywhere, far away from Malfoy Manor.

Scorpius pursed his lips, fighting to hold back his tears.

He wanted so much to make his father happy. Draco Malfoy had looked so proud on Platform 9 ¾, readjusting his son's bow tie. For once, his gray eyes had not been melancholic.

Why Gryffindor? Stupid and senile mumbling hat...

The first years sorting out ended without his noticing, and when he looked up at the end of the welcome speech, he found in front of him, on the other side of the table, a girl with neat brown curls who seemed terrified by the roast, and a blond boy with round glasses, busy tapping his wand on his pumpkin juice glass, who was mumbling a ridiculous spell sounding like "Robin eggs, lavender ; sweet magic of Moon River ; Bubblegum, blue brownies, Toffee Eclair ; turn these peas in what I prefer."

Scorpius glanced around, met the unkind stares of few Seventh years and slouched on the bench, not understanding why they looked like they were whispering about him. The other students seemed to care only about filling their stomachs or catching up after the summer holidays. You could hear gossip, giggles, jokes that would have hurt the delicate ears of his mother and apparently at his table, no one knew how to use a fork.

Ghosts were swirling under the magic starry ceiling, stirring cries of fear or delight that did not disturb the teachers absorbed by their dinner. A giant hare with mangy fur was watching over the Great Hall with severity, seated on the stool that had been used for the sorting out.

Nothing was like it was at home.

Golden plates instead of silver dishes, so much noise it would have been hard to hear the quartet of violins playing in a corner of the Malfoy's dining room... and then it was not his mother smiling at the end of the table, but a sullen teenager covered with pimples.

Scorpius's throat felt clogged. Everything, even going back on the lake in these coarse boats suddenly seemed preferable to stay in this castle buzzing new things and rude people.

- "Hey", said a voice next to him. "Can you grab the fish cakes?"

He turned his head and met two big green eyes looking a bit worried.

- "You okay?" asked the student with black tousled hair who had talked to him. "You don't look so good. Did you get seasick on the lake?"

It was another First year, not very tall and rather skinny - built like Scorpius was, actually. He had long dark eyelashes, a snub nose, some mayonnaise at the corner of his mouth and fingers flecked with crisps crumbs.

- "Hey, you're Albus, aren't you?" shouted another boy, leaning over his plate and pushing aside the girl with the brown curls who glared at him. "You're Harry Potter's son, aren't you? Wicked!"

This one had an Irish accent, freckles, close-cut hair and very clear blue eyes.

- "I'm Craig Finnigan", he introduced himself, thumping his chest, regardless of his tie sweeping over chicken drumsticks. "Me father was in school with yours and me brother Colin's in his third year with your brother James," he added, pointing at a group of teenagers of their house, a few benches away.

One of them was casually running a hand in his mop of hair from time to time, obviously trying to get the attention of a fourth year of Hufflepuff who was stupidly giggling among her flock of tittering friends. He looked a bit like the boy sitting next to Scorpius, but in older and more... arrogant.

Albus smiled shyly at Finnigan, bravely bearing with the stares of wonder of the other students, and young Malfoy examined him, raising an eyebrow.

Potter.

The name his father abhorred.

Really, there was nothing to be impressed with.

- "Harry Potter, that's the man who saved the world, isn't it?" asked the blond boy with glasses. "He defeated Lord Ventdemort. I read it in Hogwarts: A History."

The girl next to him did not look impressed at all. She had decided to try on the Homity pie and seemed to find it at her taste.

- "Lord Voldemort", corrected someone in a shocked whisper.

Cold air crept under Scorpius' shirt.

That name, Draco Malfoy never mentioned it, but he hated even more, if that was possible.

- "I hope we'll be in the same bedroom!" Craig Finnigan continued excitedly. "Me father would be so thrilled! Can I get an autograph?"

Albus protested, but no one listened to him because the desserts had suddenly appeared on the table, triggering a new startled yelp from the girl with brown curls.

This one was definitely Muggle born, but Scorpius did not want to make fun of her. He was tired from the long hours of train. His clothes were still slightly damp after crossing the lake under a cold drizzle. He was missing home and he had a headache.

He heaved a sigh of relief when the headmaster announced it was time to go to bed and hurried after their prefect to the door.

After a long hike in the cold corridors of Hogwarts and some scary episodes in the enchanted stairs - the boy with glasses, whose name was Terrence Swanson, nearly fell into the void several times - they finally arrived in front of the painting concealing the entrance to their common room. Scorpius scribbled on a piece of parchment the password given by the leprechaun who was riding a morose goat in a faded meadow, but the prefect severely confiscated all papers before reciting the rules of the dormitory.

- "Before it was a fat lady", whispered a boy who had a name like Mule or Mulan - Macmillan, perhaps? - and someone sniggered: "the painting or the prefect?"

The Fifth year boy who was in charge of them glowered at them and warned them that it was the last time he would tolerate such insolence. He showed them the dormitories, explained their luggage would already be upstairs and went away muttering something about unbearable marmosets in diapers.

Scorpius found out he would share a room with Craig Finnigan, Terrence Swanson and... Albus Potter, but he did not have time to worry about what would happen when his father would find out. There was too much to deal with.

First, Toughie, the bedraggled owl owned by the blond boy with glasses, began fluttering everywhere, uttering excited hoots and they had to shove down his throat some Owl treats and blindfold him with a sock to make him stop and stay put.

Then the inexhaustible Irish boy started to cast permanent sticking charms on his Quidditch posters and only succeeded in tearing off half of his left eyebrow. He told them his father had blown up Hogwarts when he was in seventh grade and they pretended to believe him so he would let them tape up the posters.

In the bathroom, it was a mess again – splashes and comparing their toothbrushes: Swanson's one was supposed to be elecfric, but it did not work, Potter's was shouting Halloo! when it found a bunt and Finnigan owned toothpaste that smoked red and tasted like chili.

Finally, when Scorpius had finally managed to wash up his face and put on his pajamas, he found in between his sheets a sick looking ferret who planted its tiny sharp teeth into his hand.

- "Spoon, there you are!" Albus cried with relief.

The nasty little creature snuggled against him, eyeing Malfoy whose eyes were widened in stunned anger.

- "It bit me!"

- "Let me see", said Terrence. He gave an interested glance at the rodent rack- shaped bloody mark. "Oh, it's nothing, you'll survive."

- "Maybe it has rabies", stammered Scorpius, out of it.

His nostrils were pinched and his eyes were glowing furiously, but internally he was fighting against a terrible urge to burst into tears.

- "Spoon doesn't have rabies", protested Albus anxiously. "Well... I don't think so. Do you want to go to the infirmary?"

- "If it has rabies, then it's already too late", Finnigan chimed in happily.

Scorpius gasped. He spun around angrily and buried himself in his bed, pulling the curtains to no longer see them.

- "Sorry", said the voice of that idiot Potter.

The worst part was that he sounded sincerely sorry.

There were rustling and whispers for a few more minutes, then the other three were also settled in their bed.

- "I hope no one's snoring", said Craig. "I'm telling you, me father taught me a spell if it's the case. Apparently, there was a terrible snorer in his room when he was in school, so..."

- "Do you ever stop talking?" groaned Terrence's voice.

- "Er… I think I'm snoring. I'm sorry", Albus said shyly. "I don't do it on purpose, I promise."

- "Too bad for you", solemnly announced Finnigan. "If you suffocate in your snot during the night, don't come asking why. I'm an expert at casting this spell, even when I'm asleep."

Scorpius rolled his eyes behind the wall of scarlet curtains. He let himself sink deeper under the covers, until only his nose was sticking out. The silly chatter of the others finally ended and silence fell in the room.

It was raining outside and a pale mist was rising behind the windows, like the vapor of a ghost. The blankets smelled weird and were itchy. In its cage, the tiny owl was dozing, swaying on its roost with small satisfied 'hooo hooo hooo'.

There was a running scratching on the floor. No doubt it was the abominable ferret, snooping and ransacking in their open trunks.

Scorpius had never seen people as messy as his roommates. Life at Hogwarts was going to be hell. His parents had told him about the Slytherin common room, of its elegant green and silver furniture and of the shiny reflections of the lake rippling on the ceiling. And now he was stuck in the scarlet Gryffindor tower where everything seemed to be shabby, worn out, pilling.

He bit his lip to keep his chin from trembling, shut his eyelids very tight. He wanted to be at home, to feel his mother's soothing kiss on his forehead, to hear her soft footsteps in the dimly lit hallway. Isosceles, his cat, would be snuggled against him to keep him warm, he would breathed in the familiar scent of his bed and everything would have be perfect.

He clapped his hands over his mouth to stifle a sob.

Eleven. I'm eleven. I'm too big to cry.

But tears were swelling in his throat regardless of his age and they would soon overflow.

He did not know that in the other four-poster beds, Terrence was furtively wiping his eyes and Craig was sniffling as discreetly as possible.

They had had a long day, too many emotions, and they were far from their families, in a castle perched on a rock in the depths of Scotland.

There was no magic that could comfort three young wizards on their first night at boarding school.

But there was a miracle.

A peaceful purr, reassuring, that rose in the dark, pushing away the shadows. A sound that wrapped them in the wellness of a soft chocolate cake, of a ray of sunshine at the end of a summer day or of the soft embrace of their mothers.

At first, Scorpius thought it was the ferret. Then he pulled open the curtains of his bed, met the astonished gazes of Swanson and Finnigan who had imitated him, and realized he was mistaken.

Spoon was perched in the canopy above Potter's bed and was cleaning his scruffy fur, looking supremely bored.

It was Albus who was making this strangely comforting throat sound. He was curled up under his blanket, his lips slightly parted, fast asleep.

Terrence put a finger on his lips and leaned back in his bed, quickly followed by Finnigan whose blue eyes were growing heavy with sleep.

Scorpius let his curtains drawn to keep watching from a distance the boy who was sleeping in the bed in front of his. He felt good, like in a cocoon, but a bit intrigued. He yawned, rubbed his eyes.

Had Albus felt the same distress as them? Did he know he was not snoring for real? Did he…

Scorpius fell asleep without noticing and had none of the dreams that usually troubled him when he was in an unknown location.

The next day, when he awoke with a start, feeling the ferret nibble his ear, the pact was concluded between the occupants of the room.

It would be their secret.

And Scorpius held onto this during the long grueling weeks that followed.

Before the end of the first half-term, Scorpius knew why his father hated the name Potter. If Harry was anything like his son James, that was not surprising.

Scorpius had not asked for anything.

He had deliberately step aside as he watched the budding friendship between Terrence and Albus, and had not try to be included in the trio formed by Craig Finnigan, Samuel Flinch-Fletchley and Fabius Macmillan, two boys from the dorm next door who looked like they were high on sugar all the time. He was not used to frequent other children and had learned to fade in the background in the presence of grown-ups. As a result, he had mastered the art of being invisible, even when he wished to be involved.

Yet James Potter's gang was always watching him.

Two weeks after the school had started, Scorpius was sporting a bump the size of a pigeon's egg. When asked what had happened, he would say he was a stupid accident with a drawer, but the truth was James and his buddy Colin had tried to push his head down Moaning Myrtle's toilet.

By the end of September, someone had exchanged all his quills for Weasley gimmicks and was getting scolded each time the teachers gave them back their homework: his were filled with obscenities and spelling mistakes, when not downright insulting the professors.

In the Great Hall, he had learn to use elaborate ruses to bring back his dinner to his table without having it spread on the front of his robes. For some unknown reason, James Potter liked especially when it was a treacle tart that ended plastered in Malfoy's hair. After a few weeks, even the simple smell of caramel gave Scorpius nauseas.

The following month, he slept in a swimsuit in spite of the fact the temperature had gone down considerably: every night there were new frogs in his mattress that now smelled of rotten seaweed. He ended up getting sick, and when the other three explained to the nurse in what state was the dormitory, Hannah Abbott decided to put them in the infirmary for the weekend, while she would clean up the room. Scorpius felt utterly relieved yet overwhelmed with shame. His face buried under his pillow to muffle the sound of his sobs, he could barely hear Albus' familiar purring in the next bed and he was feeling terribly alone and miserable.

Some Seventh years joined Potter's gang in November and the persecution took an even more vicious turn. Scorpius hated especially when they were saying awful things about his father's past. James did not seem to fully understand why it was so much fun, but he would sneer, running a hand in his untidy hair and encouragethe others. On Halloween's night, they cornered Scorpius in a broom closet and drew something horrible on his left arm with indelible ink. When he decided to show the drawing to the nurse, she nearly fainted. She scrubbed it with a nasty spell, almost ripping off his skin, and severely warned she would have to report it to the headmaster. Scorpius felt even worse, like if this was his fault.

Mrs McGonagall never called him to her office, but he felt many times her piercing gaze on him in the Great Hall.

His tormentors left the castle for the Christmas holidays, but Scorpius wrote to his parents he did not want to go home. He was not yet ready to face his father, especially after the polite but cold letter he had received after telling them in which house he had been sorted. And even if he was dying to snuggle in his mother's arms, he knew he would never have the courage to go back to school if he saw her.

Christmas holidays were strange. In the Gryffindor Tower were only left a few students studying hard for their O.W.L and N.E.W.T and - Wendy Philips.

The girl with brown curls had soon proved she was not the scaredy cat she had seemed to be during their first dinner at Hogwarts. In fact, there was probably nothing that she was afraid to face – except maybe her schoolbooks. She was crawling at the bottom of school rankings with a string of T, but she reaped points for Gryffindor in all classes where you needed to be mad to volunteer. She was the first to successfully fly on a broom and the last to come back – in rags but victorious - when they had to pass a test in a maze.

She was not a fussy mademoiselle nor a stupid tomboy either. In fact, Scorpius thought she was quite okay for a female creature and if he was ever to have a sister, he probably would have liked her to be a bit like Wendy, except of course, a girl whose shoes were always muddy and whose fingers were always stained with ink would not readily be accepted in Malfoy Manor.

Wendy was never making fun of Scorpius' pale complexion or of his almost white blond hair. She never chuckled when he arrived late for class, hastily putting back in place his robes. She did not look sorry like Albus who looked at him from afar in the Great Hall, or serious like Terrence when he was blowing warm air under the desk to dry Scorpius' soaked socks after an ambush in the bathroom (Malfoy feared - and hoped despite himself - that the genius blond boy who had guessed it all would go denounce Potter's gang to the professors).

Wendy was clumsy like Scorpius, but she laughed at her mistakes or threatened to smash down people when they laughed at her – when he could only stare at the ground, hoping his cheeks would not set fire to his hair.

At Christmas, she gave him Made in China brass knuckles and advised him to use them if anyone bothered him. Scorpius laughed in spite of himself, picturing James Potter with two panda eyes and Wendy looked pleasantly surprised. She told him it was the first time she'd seen him laugh since September and he frowned.

He was eager to grow up and finally leave this darned Hogwarts. Maybe at summer holidays, if he could gather enough courage, he would ask his parents if he could be transferred to Beaux Bâtons or any other school of magic.

Some place where there would no one named Potter.

In January, this painful desire completely changed.

In January, he was late again for Potions, running and panting in distraught: Pernickety Nick was well known for his bad temper and his spittle could turn sour the best preparation.

In January, in the hallway leading to the dungeons, he found Albus Potter, crouched in front of a stone wall.

TBC

Next chapter (2/3): The Skylark

The title of this story is a quote from "The Little Prince".