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My first Harry Potter fic! It's post-Epilogue; I'm a huge Malfoy fangirl so I take an optimistic view of their future. Please tell me what you think ... if you like this enough I have another related oneshot all ready to post :)
Everything about Malfoy Manor screams of pain and decay and dark places where sorrows breed in the slime and dirt. Its gates are always shut, the iron twisted into tortured shapes. Behind them the long drive gapes like a tunnel. Everywhere is thick stone – old, discolored walls, black towers stabbing at the sky.
What no one realizes is that the sun angling through the arrow slits paints warm, pretty stripes across the worn tower floor. Those high, round rooms are perfect places for a child to sit and read, perhaps reenacting scenes from the weathered history books in high-pitched, exaggerated character voices. Behind the house stretch acres of land ideal for a small boy to explore, at first on foot, later racing over the ground on his father's old broomstick.
What no one realizes is that Scorpius Malfoy had a happy childhood.
You might not think so to look at him – such a thin, pale child, so quiet and socially awkward. Growing up in the ancient, isolated family mansion wasn't the best preparation for interacting with everyday witches and wizards. It wasn't the best place for preserving childhood innocence, either. Scorpius has always known there are dark places in his family's history. Locked doors. Covered portraits. Grandmother Narcissa, raving up in the attic. The announcers on the radio who spit out the Malfoy name like poison.
It is not, he understands, a well-liked family into which he was born. He knows what they say, the witches and wizards of England, about his family … about his father … his father, who never denies the things they say, only turns away and shuts himself behind a cold, solemn face. If Scorpius could he would throw open the Manor's iron gates and show the world that his happiness – his family's happiness – is real. But those terrible things he's heard … they're real too. He can't just deny them.
Maybe so, but he knows how to look away from the darkness. He walks the damp, winding corridors with confidence and picks through the cases of family artifacts in fascination. After all, this is his home, and this is his family.
The corridors of Hogwarts are clean and brightly lit. The dungeon walls aren't streaked with old stains you try not to wonder about. The stones ring with the chatter of busy children.
So many other children … so many new voices and bodies. On weekdays Scorpius can't move two feet without brushing into someone else's black robes. Around every corner is a new face to duck out of the way of and apologize to. Everywhere he turns, someone's eyes are always on him. Everyone seems to know who he is, without being told, and they all find it necessary to let him know. Death-Eater, Traitor, Pureblood brat, so many names he can't keep track of them all.
And for the first time, he fully realizes that his parents raised him so isolated because they truly believed it would be better for him than growing up out here. Out here, where everywhere he turns his family's evils are thrown in his face. In these bustling halls he has no sanctuary. In the cheery, crowded Great Hall, he feels more alone than he ever has in all the Manor's echoing rooms.
It's no contest where Scorpius Malfoy would rather be.