A/N: Welcome to my story, I hope you enjoy reading it. For those who don't know, this tale is set 21 years after Voldemort's death, and is about a young Pureblood named Michael Serino, who's been bought up on the ideals of Blood Purity, and his experiences and adventures at Hogwarts, a place which has no tolerance for his ideology.
I would like to thank Alyssa for being an absolutely fantastic beta reader, your editing and corrections helped change my writing from brick to marble.
Also a big thanks to Jean-Roberta, my amazing girlfriend who's been working so hard on drawing art for my story, which we'll hopefully be seeing sometime soon.
And lastly, my gratitude goes out to you the reader, for taking the time out of your day to read my work. Enjoy.
The warning whistle of the Hogwarts Express rang out across Platform nine and three quarters, Father strode across Platform Nine and Three Quarters, carrying my school trunk over his shoulder. Despite the fact he hasn't set foot on the battlefield for ten years, the strength he obtained from fighting on mainland Europe is still very impressive. In fact, I'd say he'd still be fighting there if Mother hadn't threatened to take me and leave. As far as I know, she's the only one who's ever managed to sway Father in his decision making.
The muscled man made his way through the crowd like a battering ram, clearing a path for Mother and I. The pair of us following quickly behind him, earning glares from the other parents who were in turn saying their goodbyes to their departing children. Thus, it took very little effort on our part to reach the small set of metal steps that lead up to the foremost carriage of the Hogwarts Express.
As I stepped up onto the steps, Father placed a hand on my shoulder.
"Now listen here boy, I know I've warned you already, but Hogwarts is filled with Mudbloods and the Blood Traitors who enable them." Father spat angrily, drawing the attention of several bystanders. Father has never been one for subtlety, but I can't judge, neither have I apparently.
"Husband, now's not the ti-"
"Quiet Daphne."
It was obvious that Mother wasn't happy with being hushed, but she didn't say anything. She never did in public, always respecting Father's authority as the family Patriarch. But you could see by her furrowed brow, the pair of them were going to have a discussion about this. Not a pleasant prospect really. An angry Mother is a scary Mother, to me at least. Father barely cares. I don't know how he does it. God knows she's tried scaring him, yelling, threatening to hex him, threatening to leave – nothing fazes him. He just gets this awful look in his eye and he stares. Stares and stares. It's incredibly unnerving, and I'd rather take an hour of Mother's yelling at me than a minute of that look.
"They'll try to bring you down for who you are, what you are. Never give in to them. Study hard, show them what you're made of. Because let me tell you boy, you're made of sterner stuff than the spineless Blood Traitors who run the school."
Looking straight at Father, his sharp brown eyes meeting mine, he kept his expression unreadable – yet I could feel the pride radiating off him, and I loved him for it.
Over Father's shoulder, I saw that a light skinned lady with bushy brown hair was standing behind us, with a redheaded girl about my age, both of whom were listening very keenly to our conversation. The lady in question was awfully familiar. My eyes darted from Father to the pair of them, I couldn't help not keeping the frown off my face as I stared at the eavesdroppers, wondering what on Earth they could possibly want.
Noticing my stare, the lady in question began to talk, "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation, but are you aware the Ministry has taken steps to outlaw Pureblood elitism from influencing children?"
Anger bubbled in the pit of my stomach, how dare she? This is the last time I'll see my parents for a long time and she wants to ruin my moment with politics? It seemed that Father was of a similar mind as his hand disappeared into his robes, and I knew for a fact that he was clutching his wand.
Mother went pale and tugged on his sleeve, "Husband... Please..."
Even from up here I could hear him grinding his teeth as he turned and snapped at the lady, facing her for the first time, "I could care less what the Ministry does, or doesn't. How I raise my child is my business Minister, not yours or your Ministry."
Oh Merlin... That's where I've seen the lady before... Hermione Granger - Weasley, Minister for Magic. War Hero and darling of the Magical world, not to mention notorious for stamping down on Pureblood Elitism – a dangerous ideology according to the Ministry.
I would have thought a sharp retort would be on the tip of the Minister's tongue, but to my surprise her jaw simply dropped. Out of astonishment or something else I could not tell.
"Antonius?" Her eyes widened, her voice timid, "Oh."
Now that... That was not the response I foresaw.
A middle-aged redhead man came up behind the Minister, slipping his arm around her waist, staring hard at my Father with a look that could only be described as disgust.
"You." He spat, "I thought you'd be dead by now you tosspot."
"Ronald! Let me handle this!" The Minister silenced her husband.
Anger bubbled, like an unruly Potion in a far too small cauldron. How dare this fat tub of lard speak to Father like that?
"How dare you speak to my Father in such a manner? He's twice the man you'll ever be." I snap at the messy haired redhead, causing his face to turn purple with fury.
"At least my Dad is a man, you're still just a boy, living in your dad's shadow." The Minister's daughter had spoken for the first time.
It was also for the first time that I payed her proper attention. She stood at least an inch taller than me, with her father's pale skin and red hair which she held in a ponytail. That said, if it wasn't in a pony tail, it'd be just as bushy as her mother's. However she held her father's blue eyes – but unlike his, there was a true fire behind them, and the dangerous expression on her face was all her mother's. And it was directed at me. For a second I was cowed – but that only served to fuel my own inferno that lit my belly aflame.
"At least my Blood's Pure you filthy, upjumped little M-"
"Michael!" Father growled, "That's enough boy, get on the train. We'll see you for Christmas."
"Yes Father." With what I hoped was a withering glare, I boarded the train, and to my frustration – the girl was not fazed at all.
"Yes, do what your Daddy says, don't even try thinking for yo-"
"That's enough Rose." I heard the Minister sigh, I heard my Father say something but by that stage, I'd already slammed the door to the carriage and lugged my trunk down the corridor, looking for an empty compartment.
It was only after I'd collapsed into a seat in an empty compartment that I realized when a spike of guilt impaled me, that I'd forgot to kiss Mother goodbye.
It was only after a great effort that I was able to lift my trunk up onto the rack above the seat, regret still coursing through my veins. Poor Mother, she's been nothing but good and kind to me. It was obvious to even a squib that Mother and Father's relationship was loveless, but Mother loved me fiercely.
When I was younger, Mother shielded me from an alcoholic Mudblood who mistook me for my Father; she held him back long enough for Father to arrive. Needless to say, the Mudblood spent a month in St. Mungos. Father on the other hand, had to go before the entire Wizengamot who accused him of a Hate Crime. A Hate Crime for defending us?
That was the point in my life that I began to hate the Ministry. They treated Father like a common criminal for doing nothing more than his duty! They were so desperate to find a reason to lock him up, but he got off with a warning about 'excessive force'. It makes me sick to my very bones.
After making a full recovery, the Mudblood, to my horror, was released without charge. Something about trauma from the war. Evil bastards.
I had nightmares about that man for over a year, but they soon stopped after Father taught me how to duel, all against the law of course, but none of us cared by that stage. When I turned nine, I was taken to Ollivanders and fitted for a wand.
Apparently the friendly old Wandmaker owed Father a favour from during the war and he was more than happy to repay it.
The wand in question sat on my lap, as I rubbed it up and down with a handkerchief, giving it a good clean. Father taught me to look after my wand and keep it in good condition, as one day it could very well save my life. The wand was made out of wood from a Fir Tree and contained a core from a Dragon Heartstring. Father hasn't told me much about his side of the family, but from what I gathered, each and every one of my ancestors used a Dragon Heartstring wand of some sort, Father included, all harvested from the same Dragon, a fact Mr. Ollivander proudly testified to.
The Dragon, if family legend has it, was a Hungarian Horntail that was slain by my ancestor Brutus Serinius, or Brutus Dragonslayer as he was more commonly known. So it was, that when Mr. Ollivander put together my wand it was with a Dragon Heartstring that Father dug out from the Family vaults.
The wand's colour was a light brown, almost caramel with a thick handle and lines cut into it for a better grip, and a wooden pommel a third of the way up the wand, marked the end of the handle area of the wand. The remainder of the wand is straight, except for an ominous bend that gives it a corkscrew like appearance.
Mr. Ollivander went on to say that the wand was twelve and a half inches long and unbending; meaning it would rather break than bend. I remember Father had found that incredibly amusing at the time.
I used to carry a wand holster at my hip, but after Friedrich von Baden, one of the other Purebloods snatched it and hexed me with it, I kept it stashed up the sleeve of my Robes instead.
The train had just left the station, and my parents had apparently left as soon as they knew I was safely aboard the train. It was sad really, to see all those families crying, waving off their kids, hugging them before they leave.
Not going to lie, I wanted that sort of love, attention and affection from Mother and Father. It's impossible however, Father wouldn't be seen dead crying and Mother only ever cries when she thinks no one is looking. Yeah, it's selfish, my parent's have provided me with the clothes on my back, the shelter of Greengrass Cottage, and the food in my belly. But I want it anyway, selfishness be damned.
The door to my compartment slid open, a pale faced boy in Slytherin robes stepped inside, followed by what I assumed to be his friend. I didn't recognize the black haired boy beside him, standing quietly in robes lined with Gryffindor colours. My eyes darted to the proud lion on his chest with a frown. The Slytherin however, wore a smirk that I would know anywhere.
"When I heard that Michael Serino himself was coming to Hogwarts, I just couldn't believe it. But here you are."
My lips curl upwards into a smile as I stand and wrap the young man in a tight embrace which he eagerly returns.
"Cousin Scorpius." I gesture to the seat opposite mine, "It's been too long since I've seen you last. Sit, you and your friend are more than welcome to join me."
Scorpius and I take seats opposite each other while his friend sits down next to him. Scorpius Malfoy and I go back a long time. Our father's were best friend's at Hogwarts and they married the Greengrass sisters, my father marrying Daphne, and Scorpius's father, Uncle Draco, marrying Astoria, making them brothers and Scorpius and I cousins. We grew up together, close as brothers but after he went to Hogwarts and I to Durmstrang we were both too busy and too far apart to meet, though we did write on occasion. That being the case, we haven't seen each other since before we were eleven.
He looks exactly like I remember, the same smirk, the same slicked back white hair, the same mirthful eyes. Damn have I missed him.
"This is Albus by the way, we've been friends since first year. Albus, this is Michael, my cousin that I was telling you guys about." Scorpius jerked his head in Albus's direction, and I hold my hand out for him to shake which he does, albeit cautiously.
A green eyed monster worms its way through my soul. Does Scorpius already have a best friend? Has this Albus replaced me?
"Any friend of Scorpius's is a friend of mine." My best impression of a warm smile obviously didn't do much for him as he flinches away from me. What's wrong with this one?
Scorpius either doesn't notice or chooses not to, as he nodded at my tattered, faded and ripped uniform, "So confident that you'll be in Slytherin Michael?"
It was then that I realized a critical error on my parent's and indeed, my own part. Durmstrang has no Houses, which is why no one noticed the robes I donned, Father's old Hogwarts uniform, were emblazoned with the Snake of Slytherin and coloured green and silver, just like my tie. The nasty feeling of fear snaked its way into my bones as my stomach flipped. Oh God, this will be the death of me.
It was with great effort that I forced my mouth into a grin, "Of course I'll be in Slytherin. The other Houses aren't worth the mud on my boots."
The truth was, we couldn't afford one new uniform for me, let alone the three my list of equipment and gear requested we get. I'm not one to shy away from hard facts, so I'll just say we are poverty stricken and be done with it. If we weren't wizards, we wouldn't be able to afford food. Which is why I had to settle for Father's old uniforms that he wore in school, when we were an incredibly wealthy Family. They were made of fine material, just old. I praise God that the Uniform remained the same over the years, otherwise I'd be in for it.
Albus glared at me, obviously offended. "What's wrong with Gryffindor? All of my family have been in it for generations."
Oh yes, I forgot the young Gryffindor was there.
"What isn't wrong with Gryffindor?" I laugh, "It's a bastion of Mudbloods and Blood Traitors. A band of idiots who think with emotion instead of logic; like girls."
The look on Albus's face was priceless, red and contorted with rage the young Gryffindor abruptly stood up, walked out into the corridor and slammed the door behind him.
"Case in point." I shrug, gesturing at the door.
To my absolute shock, Scorpius was scowling at me. Scowling!
"That was bang out of order Cousin."
The laughter died in my throat and I felt my eyes narrow to slits, "What are you on about Scorpius?"
Scorpius sighed and shook his head, "Never mind. Do you still play Quidditch?"
The tension that previously filled the room left as quick as it came as we discussed our favourite sport of all time.
"You wound me Cousin!" I bark with laughter, "Of course I still play. I might have a go at the Slytherin team, do you need a Chaser?"
"We got Flint, Urquhart and Pucey as Chasers. Flint and Pucey are great, but Urquhart's a brute, can't aim a Quaffle to save his life. You might actually have a chance." Scorpius smiles, "I'm going for Seeker. Our last Seeker graduated last year, so the position's open. "
"I hope we get to play together then, just like old times." I grin, "Still supporting the Tornados?"
"Still supporting the Harpies?"
"Is the sky blue?" I ask, lacing my voice with sarcasm, "They're my home team Scorp, there's no way I wouldn't support them."
"Then you'll be disappointed to know that Albus's Mum played for them up till Two thousand and Four?" Scorpius said, his irritating smirk firmly in place,
My eyebrows rose on their own accord, "Say I believe you. Who was she?"
"She went by Ginevra Weasley back then. She's a Potter now."
"Albus is a Potter?" I ask, curiosity overtaking me, "Any relation to the Boy-who-Lived?"
"Yeah, Harry Potter's his dad. Nice guy actually." Scorpius says calmly, "Probably not someone you want to make mad though."
If Scorpius made his subliminal message any less subliminal, he'd be a Hufflepuff.
"He's got nothing to do with Hogwarts." I bark, no patience for implications, "He's a bloody Auror. He can't touch me while I'm there."
A spike of regret shot through me, as Scorpius flinched at my tone.
"He's teaching this year." He mumbled, "Defence Against the Dark Arts."
It felt like my stomach had been thrown off a cliff, it dropped so badly. The bloody Hero of the Wizarding World, one of Father's biggest enemies was going to teach me? Oh that's not good. That's not good at all.
Scorpius felt pity stir inside him as he watched his cousin silently fretting. He always did this, thinking no one would notice; but Scorpius did. It took a couple of years to pick up on, but he did. Michael had changed so much since their last meeting, where the two of them parted – one as a student of Durmstrang, and the other, one of Hogwarts.
Scorpius didn't particularly like this post – Durmstrang Michael. He's cruel, mean, cold and confrontational. All of these traits he demonstrated in his interaction with Albus. Not to mention, he's seemed to have developed a hatred for Muggleborns, something that shocked Scorpius heavily. Yes, Michael was never fond of Muggles and Muggleborns. But the venom that laced his tone when he said the M word was intense. And it scared him.
What Scorpius also noticed, was his appearance had changed dramatically. His light brown skin was still the same, but his hair, which was once curled and messy, was slicked back the same way his was. The colour of it changed too, where once it was a darker sort of chestnut, the years spent apart had darkened it to black. Only in the light of the dying sun did Scorpius see any remnants of the lighter shade that it once was.
The way Michael talked had changed. His voice was a bit deeper, a sign of puberty hitting but he'd lost the aristocratic sort of accent he proudly held onto when they were younger. Instead, his voice was rough, coarse and blunt. His words were said individually, rather than flowing into a sentence, as if he'd thought about each word before he's said them. A couple of harsh words from him felt like being hit by a Beater's Bat. With spikes.
But the change that scared Scorpius the most wasn't the way he talked the way he talked, or styled his hair, or even his new found hatred for Muggleborns. It was his eyes. Last time Scorpius had seen him, Michael's eyes always held a certain warmth behind them, as if he was smiling with just his eyes. But now... They were cold. Ice cold. Not vacant, nor dead, but cold. Cold and knowing. And when they weren't knowing they were searching, and Scorpius knew that they would find what they sought. An inevitability as it were. And when they searched for answers, they pierced their target like spears. Albus had been on the receiving end of such a stare earlier, and he saw that poor old Al could barely meet his gaze.
Though not all the change was bad, for all it's faults, Durmstrang seemed to have toughened Michael up. His back was that much straighter and chin that much higher. Where Michael used to overly care what others thought of him, and a harsh word would see his ego crumble, he now doesn't seem to care enough. His sensitivities are all but nonexistent, and he seems to be hell bent on telling the truth. Or at least, his version of it.
Though, Michael's immediate alienation of Al worried Scorpius. Al was his first friend at Hogwarts, and he worried what his cousin's backwards views would do to their friendship. Not to mention, what would he do if he was forced to choose between Al and his cousin?
If he chose to stick by his cousin, he'd lose Al, Rose, James, Fred, Ted and all the friends he'd made in Gryffindor, but Michael is his family. He hoped that he wouldn't have to choose any time soon; or at all. That would be the ideal situation. But as Scorpius knows full well, life is rarely ideal.
"I could talk to Al you know." Scorpius mumbled, "You can apologise if you want to make amends. There's no shame in admitting you were wrong."
That, apparently, was the wrong thing to say. Michael's face contorted with rage, and he narrowed his eyes at Scorpius.
"I've done nothing wrong. Nothing." He hissed, "I didn't have you pegged for a Blood Traitor Cousin, but I've been wrong before."
"I don't care what your blood is!" Scorpius protested, "They're not bad people Michael! You just need to give them a chance."
"A chance to do what Scorpius?" Michael nearly yelled, "Steal more of my family's money? Rob us of our fortunes with a smile? I'm not so spineless as that. We're a dying breed Cousin, you and I are what's left of an ancient blood, and there are so few of us left. And the Mudbloods; they want us gone."
"Don't be ridiculous!" Scorpius shot back, "You make it sound like there's a plot to wipe us out! Years of inbreeding is to blame for that. As for your gold, it's not yours, it's society's! We have a debt to pay for the suffering and misery we caused during the war. Our ancestors took that gold through centuries of war and violence, there are far better uses for it than sitting in some vault! Our family's gold built orphanages and museums! They helped settle new Muggleborns into our society and provided scholarships for those who couldn't afford tuition and school supplies by themselves! And we're both still better off than most! What's there to complain about?"
The anger left Michael's face as quick as it came, replaced by confusion. Scorpius smirked, knowing that he won.
But like Michael's anger, his smirk disappeared as Michael's features twisted into an emotion regularly seen on his Grandfather Lucius – disgust.
And what Michael did next completely befuddled him. He rolled up the sleeve of his left arm, and bared it to Scorpius who thought – no, knew for the briefest of seconds he'd see the infamous Dark Mark on his forearm. But there was nothing. Just plain, light brown skin, the same colour of his Father, and his Father's Father before him.
"I don't remember taking the Mark." Michael snarled, "Nor do I remember being a Death Eater, or ever serving the Dark Lord. What I do remember, is being born into a Pureblood Family. And if that makes me guilty of some kind of war crime in your eyes you can go straight to Hell. I owe nobody, anything. Why should I suffer for the actions of my Father? He payed his debt to society – Five years in Azkaban. And he's still being forced to pay reparations and ridiculously high taxes. And that affects my mother and I too." He rolled his sleeve back down.
"As for our fortunes, open your eyes and see it for yourself. The Ministry has taken away our money the same way we took it – at the end of a wand. If you weren't so blind you'd see they're just as bad as you accuse us to be." He finished, the bitterness evident in his tone.
"Now get. Out." He spat out each word with venom, "I've had enough of Blood Traitors to last a lifetime."
Without another word, Scorpius left the compartment with a heavy heart. He was miserable. He didn't agree with everything his cousin had said, but it was obvious he'd somehow suffered. That much was true, Michael was never much of a liar, nor was he as particularly good at it as Scorpius. With that, a very confused Scorpius made his way down the train, looking for his friends to tell them of what he heard.
How was that? Did you sympathize with Michael? Or do you hope James catches up with him and gives him a good old fashioned hexing? If you are so inclined, let us all know what you think in the review section. I'm afraid that's all for today Folks, you'll see me with Chapter 2 when it's done! You can check my profile for updates on how it's coming along. Until then, good people!