I hate my life. I hate everything about myself right down to my ridiculous name, Scorpius. What kind of name is that to give a child? The kind that will get them bullied in the school yard, that's what kind. It's not that my parents haven't tried, but they certainly wouldn't win the World's Most Affectionate Parents award. Which is why instead of hugging and kissing me goodbye, they are just standing here looking at me as though they can't wait to apparate home. My father keeps looking around at all the other families, like he's checking for any outward signs of contagious diseases, and other than nodding at Harry Potter a little further down the platform like he's done for the last two years, Dad hasn't acknowledged anyone else's existence. I guess it's fruitless to keep holding out for a tearful goodbye. Guess I should just get on the train.
"Bye, Mum. Bye, Dad," I mutter.
"Good bye, son. Remember the advice I gave you," Says Dad.
Yeah, about that advice—'Only make friends with other Slytherins, don't get detention, and above all stay away from the Potters and Weasleys—what sort of rubbish advice is that? The few –Slytherin- friends of my dad's that have come by our place have creeped me out, and their kids aren't any better. From my first encounter with their 'group', I became known as the punching bag. Actually, torture victim would be more accurate. I mean these guys are twisted. I think I've suffered enough humiliation in my life, but Dad expects me to endure it for the remainder of my childhood.
I heave my trunk onto the train, envious of other people whose families and friends bother to, you know, help them. Books alone weight about a zillion kilograms for my year, and there's more than books in my trunk. After all, I couldn't leave behind my collection of Armani shoes.
Once safely inside the train, the search for an unoccupied compartment begins. I pass one without slowing down. I wouldn't even dream of going into that compartment! Nott, Goyle, and McNair are just a few of those whose main goal in life is to witness my painful, prolonged death. It's bad enough sharing a dorm room with them; I'm certainly not sharing the train ride as well. Moving on, I finally see a compartment at the end of the train that isn't taken. I shove my trunk up into the rack, and settle down to wait for the trip to begin.
Shortly after the train starts to move, I hear voices outside the compartment, and somebody shoves the door open.
"Hello. Do you mind if we sit here? Everywhere else is full," breathes a girl, ducking her head through the door and grinning at me. She's stunningly pretty, and I'm completely gutted just looking at her.—How could I possibly?
"Uh…su-sure—I mean no, not at all," I reply and think to myself, 'What an idiot! Great line, Scor; way to impress the lady.'
I watch her wiggle in and sit down across from me, and I barely register Albus Potter drag in behind her and stow both their trunks in the rack. The black-haired boy has the nerve to sit next to her, and they both start chatting pleasantly. Did I ever mention how much I hate black hair? Now red hair, especially beautiful red hair, like hers—what's not to like? Maybe I should interrupt them, introduce myself or something. Oh! She's looking at me.
"My name's Lily, by the way," she says, "You're Scorpius, right?" Ugh, she knows—so much for making up a better name.
"Uh…yeah, but you can…uh…call me Scor. It's shorter." It's shorter! Have I gone completely barking? Who in his right mind would say that? Other than pointing out the obvious, it's far from smooth. But then she smiles again, and I completely melt. Can I be blamed for losing my senses over this girl?
"Scor, you know Albus?" she asks, jerking her thumb at Potter.
"Al," he reminds her sheepishly. 'Al,' I think: 'It's shorter.' Ha! Not that I have anything in common with Potter, mind.
"Right, sorry Al." Why does she have to smile at him? In a perfect universe she would reserve those smiles for me.
"Yeah, we've met," I say, trying to direct her attention back to me, but then Potter says something inane and she turns back to him. I growl inwardly. Those Potters must lead a charmed life. It seems pretty obvious that he knows her already, but I've never seen her before. She has to be a first year. So how did he get to be so close to her before anyone else? It must be that 'Savior of the Wizarding World' rubbish again.
I slide down in my seat, so she'll think I'm brooding and mysterious, but then I realize I have no idea what to do with my hands. It's amazing how much they get in the way. I realize that I should say something quick before she thinks I'm incapable of speech.
Topic, topic, topic… "So what house are you in…I mean going to be in…I mean which house would you like to be in?" That—was—so—cool. Ugh. Now I'm probably ranked with the mentally incapacitated in her book.
"Well…" There's that smile again. I think my heart might stop beating if she keeps doing that. "Gryffindor would be nice…but Ravenclaw is good, too. I don't know. I guess it wouldn't matter to me, really."
"Anything's better than Slytherin. Slytherin would be just awful," says the Potter brat. Yeah and he just has to look right at me when he say it, too. Git is determined to have this girl see me in the worst light. I mean I didn't ask to be sorted to Slytherin. He probably just wants me out of the picture so he can have the new girl to himself.
As so far my attempts at speech have been complete bollocks, I decide to shut up and avoid further humiliation. Instead, I content myself with stealing glances at Lily when I'm sure she's not looking. Well, okay, I'm not sure every time. And she's way too perceptive. Great, she's caught me at it again. But instead of saying something embarrassing, she just smiles a little and goes back to staring out the window.
It seems like forever until the train finally decides to slow down and stop at the station, but for once I don't mind. As we get our things together to deboard, I manage to beat Potter in asking Lily if she'd like me to carry her owl. Oddly Potter doesn't seem near as put out about it as I would have liked.
"First years! First years over 'ere." Hagrid is another recipient of her smiles, I see, but I sure wasn't expecting her to run up and throw herself at him like that!
"Why little Lily Potter! I can' believe how much you've grown," he rumbles, catching her up in his massive arms.
Lily Potter?Did he just say Lily Potter? My insides turn to glue, and for a minute I just can't move.I should have known. Here I am, standing here holding this bird cage for Lily Potter. I feel like the biggest idiot ever born. Of course she's Lily Potter. Didn't her Mum have ginger hair? Weasley hair? There's no way she'll ever look twice at me. I mean c'mon. I'm a Malfoy which translates into Deatheater for the 'Savior of the Wizarding World Society.' I might as well just kiss her goodbye. No, probably not with the kissing: I would definitely enjoy that too much.
"Um…here's your owl," I mutter as she starts to walk away with the rest of the first years toward the boats docked in the distance.
"Oh…" Maybe if she smiles at me a few more times like that my heart might just burst and spare me from committing suicide. "Thanks Scor. I'll see you at the feast, yeah?"
"Uh…yeah, sure." Yes, I think. I'll be the one with my face buried in the shepherd's pie bemoaning my lineage.
I manage to fill the carriage ride to the castle with wondering about which house Lily will be in. Of course it would be torture seeing her sorted into Gryffindor, or Ravenclaw, but in any case, she'll be at Hogwarts. At least I'll be able to see her. I've never felt so edgy before a sorting, even my own. I mean there wasn't much to wonder about there. I was pretty sure the hat wouldn't get much further than my surname before chucking me in Slytherin, and I wasn't far off. Slytherin holds your salvation. What rot.
That night at the feast, I look down the row of tables and there she is. How does she manage to seem so calm? Her confidence practically radiates from her.
Ugh, it's taking forever. Why do they have to sort in alphabetical order? I mean couldn't they just skip to the important part? No—instead they insist on sorting Ainsley, Jeff and Azzerkoff, Sven and so on until I nearly pass out from holding my breath. Finally, after I almost turn blue through the unusually large amount of first years with last names starting with 'P', they say the name I'm dying to hear: Potter, Lily. That old, ragged, burned hat never looked so good on anyone, not even Gryffindor himself, I'm sure. I wish I could hear what it is saying to her. Is it telling her how smart she is, or how brave? Is it telling her how loyal she is or…
"Slytherin!" What? I must be taking this daydreaming thing a little too far. Now I'm starting to hallucinate. I watch the teacher pick up the hat, but instead of the smile that was there before, Lily now wears a sad, frightened expression.
Part of me wants to comfort that expression right off her face. But the other part of me is too excited. I can't believe it! She's really coming to this table! Oh, please sit by me, I beg silently. Please God, I'll denounce my house, my name, just please let her sit here. I can't believe the hat put her in Slytherin. Not that I'm complaining. I just don't see how someone so beautiful and happy can belong here in the snake's den. Someone up there must love me, because instead of heading to the end of the table where it is less crowded, she sits right across from me.
"I guess you were right, eh?" I say hoping to cheer her up a bit.
"About what?" I love the way her brow crinkles when she's confused.
"You said you would see me at the feast, and here you are." She laughs! She actually laughs. Is there a chance…could she ever like me? I hear the sorting hat continue to place first years in the various houses, but I don't care anymore. I'm in the same house as Lily. I made Lily laugh. The world is good. Though, wouldn't you know it, at my happiest moment, James Potter would have to come over and intrude.
"You okay, Lils?" James asks, every inch the considerate big brother. Wanker. Potter's lucky, though—I wish I could put my arm around her shoulders like that.
"I'm fine, Scor's cheering me up." Zing! Whoa there, Potter, no fair trying to murder me with your eyes like that.
"Lily, he's a Malfoy," James reminds her, as if that weren't bloody obvious. Did I forget to mention that? Well, so much for hope.
"So, he's a nice Malfoy." What? What's that she said? Did she just use the words 'Malfoy' and 'nice' in the same sentence?
"He's a Dea…" James starts in.
"He is not! His father might have been, but look,"—Did I just imagine it, or did Lily Potter just reach over, grab my arm, and shove my shirt sleeve up to my elbow? This has to be the most surreal experience I have ever had!—"See! Nothing!"
Okay, I'm not sure I can take much more of this running her hand up my arm stuff.
"Not a mark!" she repeats, and then leaves off fondling my arm. Whew, that would have been embarrassing in a few more seconds. "Not everyone is just like their dad!"
Ouch! Big brother doesn't look too happy now. Uh huh…a-a-a-and…neither do the rest of the happy Gryffindor family.
"You okay?" I lean over to ask, once James slinks off to fume with the other Gryffindors. I mentally punch myself for asking something so obvious.
"Sure," she says. Well that's an obvious lie, but I suddenly have an overwhelming urge to make her. Okay, that is. Sitting there at the Slytherin table, watching the Gryffindors whisper and do all but point at Lily, I swear to myself that I'll make it all okay. For her. I mean, she stood up for me to her overbearing big brother. I owe her one. Who would have though that a Potter would ever stick up for me?
Malfoy, I think to myself, your ship has just come in!