"Never let others dictate your path," Scorpius's mother told him, more often than not at bedtime, tucking him in and smoothing back his light blonde hair, so like his father's. "No matter what society, your peers, your family-even your father and I!-may say, let your own heart guide you. Learning from other's mistakes is important, but remember, Scorpius, others cannot choose for you."
"Yes, Mother," he would always repeat dutifully as she tiptoed from his room, ensuring that the nightlight charm glowed softly, chasing bad dreams away. He didn't understand, of course. Not really.
He understood more when he trotted about at his father's side, hearing the snide whispers in Diagon Alley, seeing the sneers and haughty eyebrows raised amongst the towering wizards and witches.
Death Eater, he heard spat in Draco's direction more than once. You Know Who's supporter to the last. Bought his way out of Azkaban again, I expect.
He asked his father what a Death Eater was once. Draco had gone deadly white and told Scorpius never to mention the words again as his hands tightened on the boy's shoulders until they hurt. Astoria had taken him aside later and told him that it was a very cruel epithet to use against someone, even his father.
"Your father made some mistakes in his youth," she said, looking wistful and ashamed all at once. "Some people choose not to forget."
Scorpius did not understand what it really meant until he was nine and an overly pugnacious dark-haired boy told him his father was Voldemort's toady. He'd nearly hit the boy before his mum pulled him away, admonishing him in her gentlest voice not to let the insults and slurs of children get to him.
"Remember your honour," she'd told him and glared at the dark-haired child, who'd looked smugly unrepentant, even as he was dragged away by a woman with very bright, red hair.
When he was eleven, he received his Hogwarts letter and nearly jumped up and down in joy. Although he knew he had magic-it had flourished from his first accidental bout at age six-a small corner of his heart had still been afraid he wouldn't get it. His parents had made him a celebratory dinner of his favourite things, and as he sat down to it, he felt the happiest he ever had.
"Tell me about the Houses, Mum," he begged Astoria over and over, almost every day that summer.
"Gryffindor is for those who prize bravery above all others," she said patiently as she sat embroidering the Malfoy crest on another handkerchief. "Ravenclaw for those who prize intelligence and learning. Hufflepuff is for those who are hard-working and loyal. And Slytherin..."
"Slytherin is for those who prize cunning and ambition!" he filled in for her, beaming. Both of his parents had been in Slytherin, and Scorpius was sure he would be, too.
"Yes," Astoria said, smiling at her only son as she rose gracefully to her feet. "No matter which House you are Sorted into, we shall be proud of you."
"Yes, mum," he agreed impatiently as he bounced to his feet as well, ready for lunch. But he knew what House he wanted to be in. There could be no other choice.
September first dawned cold, the sky an unpleasant grey, as the Malfoys took their son to Kings Cross. He had all of his school belongings, and was the proud (albeit very shy) owner of a new tawny owl named Artemis, who kept tucking her head beneath her wing and hooting at him. His wand was stuffed in his pants pocket and he assured both parents multiple times he wouldn't lose it.
The landing was very crowded and busy, and Scorpius felt his throat dry up at the sight of so many people. Living his childhood alone in Malfoy Manor as he did, he'd been a very isolated boy. He saw a few people he knew, like the daughter of Theodore Nott and the buck-teethed son of Pansy Parkinson, but that was it.
"D'you see them over there?" Draco asked loudly in his ear, pointing. Scorpius's eyes rounded as he fell on the small family a few feet away. Of course he knew! That was Harry Potter! Potter had three children clustered tightly around him, and a red-haired woman who looked oddly familiar. The youngest, a girl, was crying and tugging at her mum's jacket.
"Don't let appearances deceive you," Draco murmured. "Friends can be found in the unlikeliest of places. Don't let past prejudice get in the way."
Confused, Scorpius turned to ask his father what he meant, but the whistle of the Hogwarts Express shrilled out, and suddenly, he was being bundled onto the train, his cheeks tingling with his mum's farewell kisses and his shoulders taut with his father's tight hug.
The journey was painfully slow as the train meandered its way through rolling green hills and the odd town or two. Scorpius plastered his nose to the window half the time, ignoring the fog and the icy traces of rain down the windowpane.
A very shy girl by the name of Lillie Bulstrode came into his compartment halfway through the journey, her cheeks flushed pink as she awkwardly tugged her trunk behind her.
"Mind if I sit here?" she said, her voice so quiet Scorpius had to strain his ears to hear her.
"Not at all," he said, waving a hand toward the opposite seats. "What's your name?"
"Lillie," came the quiet response. "Lillie Bulstrode. And yours?"
"Scorpius Malfoy," he answered proudly. He saw her blink a bit, but then she accepted it with pleasant equanimity.
"I was in another compartment but another boy came in and was being a git," she confided, her shoulders slumping. "I...I couldn't take it anymore."
"I'm sorry," Scorpius said, slightly awkward. He didn't know how to handle girls! "Do you know who he was?"
"James something, I think," she said. "That's what a boy he was with called him. I don't know his name, though."
"He sounds like an arse," Scorpius said, reminded of the scruffy-haired boy in Diagon Alley when he was nine, the one who had called his father You-Know-Who's toady.
"He is!" she said emphatically. They passed the rest of the trip in companionable silence.
Hogwarts was bigger than he'd imagined, the twinkling lights making it seem a virtual fairy-tale palace come to life. Scorpius gasped in awe, and he knew he wasn't the only one. The place was incredible, and not even the thought of trying on the Sorting Hat dimmed his joy at finally being there.
Lillie was Sorted into Gryffindor, and he saw a look of almost grim resignation settle over her as she climbed off the stool and made her way to her new House. From the way her housemates barely budged up when she sat down, he wondered how intelligent the Hat's decision was. And fiercely decided that no matter where he was Sorted (although it had to be Slytherin, of course, there wasn't any other possibility), he would protect her as much as he could.
"Malfoy, Scorpius!" called the stern-faced older woman who had introduced herself as Minerva McGonagall, and he mounted the steps to whispers on either side. The Hat was so big it drooped over his eyes, blocking out the sight of the Great Hall.
"Interesting, quite interesting," the Hat said in his head and he stifled a start of surprise. "Quite a thirst for knowledge, yes, and a streak of cunning hidden in that guileless exterior...quite loyal as well, aren't you? And bravery, yes, but where to put you?"
Slytherin, put me in Slytherin, Scorpius thought as loudly as he could, his fingers clenching in his voluminous robe sleeves.
"Slytherin? Ah, child, but would you do well in Slytherin? Ambitious, yes, but your loyalty runs far deeper, you would give up on your ambitions if it meant helping a friend," the Hat pointed out.
"No, no, not Slytherin, in fact, better be...HUFFLEPUFF!" the last word was shouted out to the Great Hall, and as Scorpius slipped off the stool, shoulders rounded in disappointment, he saw an older boy with scruffy dark hair leap up from the Gryffindor table and announce what a disappointment he must be, not getting to be a slimy snake like his da.
"Mr. Potter!" McGonagall reproved, and Scorpius glared at the familiar miscreant, his hands scrunched into fists. Not a surprise at all, he thought as he made his way to the Hufflepuff table. Bloody Gryffindors.
His dad's words came to him as he was sipping his goblet of pumpkin juice (which, he decided, must be an acquired taste and was far too sickly sweet for him to enjoy properly). Don't let past prejudice get in the way.
It's not past prejudice, he told his father's voice sternly, scowling so badly Lysander Scamander asked if he'd swallowed a bug.
Appearances can be deceiving, echoed Draco Malfoy, and Scorpius sighed, taking another bite of his mashed potatoes.
We'll see, he thought. He was already down enough about being in Hufflepuff, no matter what his mother had said. Astoria Malfoy might be all right with her son being in Hufflepuff, but Draco? He'd told Scorpius time and time again how proud he would be to see the boy in silver and green, chucking his chin and telling him what a good Slytherin he'd make. And then he'd gone and been Sorted into Hufflepuff, it was enough to make a boy cringe.
"You weren't expecting this, were you," said a voice at his elbow. He turned in surprise and saw a girl with very long red hair smiling at him.
"What do you mean?" he asked guardedly.
"Being Sorted into Hufflepuff," she said, raising one eyebrow. "It's all right. Not many people do. It's a wonderful House though, even if it is under-appreciated."
"What?" he asked again, starting to feel rather dim, but she just smiled at him again, laughter dancing in dark grey eyes.
"Think about it. What does everyone appreciate, even if they don't know it? Hard work. Loyalty. Friendship. Important qualities to have, yes?"
"Yes..." he trailed off.
"Just because you're in here doesn't mean you aren't ambitious or smart or brave," she pointed out. "It just means that loyalty and friendship are more important to you. That's okay, you know."
"Yeah, I guess so, I just. I don't know. What's your name?" he tried, feeling his ears turn red.
"Roxanne," she said. "Roxanne Weasley."
"Thank you," Scorpius mumbled, retreating into his mashed potatoes. But the girl's words wouldn't leave and as he filed after the rest of his year-mates to the dormitory later, he couldn't help but think that perhaps, he'd gotten the best of the lot after all.
Perhaps the Sorting Hat had chosen wisely.