So, I started this story quite a while ago, and then abandoned it...well, not abandoned it, but neglected it cruelly for well over a year. This is the start of a review process I am initiating with all my stories (at least, all the ones I think worthy of redemption). In this process I intend to improve upon what my fourteen-year-old self wrote in a frenzy of fanatic passion, taking advantage of constructive criticism recieved in reviews and of over a year's new writing experience. Enjoy, or don't.
"Make sure you beat him in every class, Rosie." A random memory fragment, six years old, drifted through my mind as I considered Scorpius Malfoy. I had beaten him in every class, just as my father wanted. He never specified anything else about the boy, except that "Grandpa Weasley would never forgive you if you married a pureblood." Well, marriage was out of the question anyway. But he never said anything about friendship. I had tried not to hate him, even though, by all accounts, he didn't deserve the chance.
And Malfoy was crying. He was trying to hide it, and failing miserably I might add, but I never, ever left anyone in tears. That was just not me. "Are you okay?" Anyone could see that he wasn't.
"What do you want, Weasley?" He glared at me, the force of his annoyance somewhat diminished by the fact that his mouth was trembling and tears continued to leak from his eyes.
"It was a trick question, Malfoy. You are clearly not okay. What's wrong?" I tried again. He glared again before picking up a small, limp bundle of feathers. It was an extremely tiny owl with a letter tied to its ankle. An extremely tiny, extremely dead owl, if the angle of its neck was anything to go by.
Malfoy's face twisted, and his voice was broken. "It-it was my sister's owl. I was p-practicing shield charms outside…it hit the shield and…and…"
"You have a sister?" I asked as I moved to sit beside him. He nodded.
"Astoria. She's ten."
"Give me the owl, Malfoy." He handed it to me, then tried to grab it back when he saw me pull out my wand.
"What are you doing?" he demanded hoarsely.
"Fixing its neck. That owl died of natural causes, Malfoy, possibly even the strain of such a long journey, which you will not mention, of course. Here." I handed the repaired, though still dead, bird, back to him, and he took it. "I can even put it in a special box so that it won't start to rot until it gets to your sister."
"I don't need your help!" he said angrily. I raised my eyebrows.
"You don't need my help until I've told you how to explain its death without your sister hating you, you mean. But don't worry, I understand. What Malfoy needs help from a blood-traitor Weasley?" I gave him my brightest smile as I said this.
Malfoy grimaced. "Sorry, Weasley, I didn't mean it to come out like that. I don't want to hurt my sister, you're right. Thank you." The last words came out sounding hurried or forced, but they were there. There was hope for him yet.
This is the only chapter that shall remain untouched. Please review, even if you have already.