It all started with the Hat.
Perhaps Scorpius should have seen it coming even before that—on the train ride to Hogwarts, or maybe as he said goodbye to his parents on Platform 9¾, with the Potters and their offspring standing just a few feet away.
Some of the other first years looked frightened, but Scorpius couldn't fathom why they'd be. This was the beginning of a fascinating journey, their journey to become full-fledged wizards. Could anything be more important than that? As Headmistress McGonagall lowered the Sorting Hat onto his head, Scorpius felt nothing but pride—a warm, billowy feeling in his chest that refused to be contained.
That's why it never occurred to him the life he had once envisioned for himself might well be on the verge of falling to shreds around him. At least, not until the Hat spoke.
"Well, well, what do we have here? I must admit you're not quite what I expected, young Malfoy. Do I sense some Ravenclaw in you?"
Absolutely not, Scorpius thought, determined that his downfall would not be brought about by some sodding piece of tattered headgear with a know-it-all complex. He had to be sorted into Slytherin. It was his family's house. That's where he belonged, and he vehemently forbade the Hat to sort him anywhere else.
"I see. That's interesting, I'll have you know few wizards have the guts to order the Sorting Hat about. Very well, I believe you ought to be in—" Slytherin, exactly. "GRYFFINDOR!"
Scorpius' stomach twisted. That was that. It was over for him, and the Hat had even managed to sound pleased as it broadcast this, this ... most gruesome betrayal of Scorpius' family's values and heritage, in front of the whole school. His father would disown him; his mother would die of shame. Even Hufflepuff would have been a safer bet.
One day, Scorpius vowed to make that wretched hat pay dearly for this. That day, however, he thought bitterly as Professor Longbottom—his new head of house—steered him towards the Gryffindor table, would most likely not be today.
