"Scorpius! Here, darling, Mr. Ollivander's wand shop is right here!"
The clear, though slightly haughty voice of Astoria Malfoy cut through the hustle and bustle of Diagon Alley like a finely sharpened knife.
Scorpius whirled around to the sound of his mother's voice. Searching for the dark auburn mane of his mother's hair, he pushed through the stream of hurrying Wizarding folk. Finding her at last, she grasped his hand, and led him to a rickety old shop, centuries older, it seemed, to it's neighboring stops.
Draco Malfoy awaited outside Ollivander's, a proud and slightly grim expression crossing his pale face.
"Right, then, Scorpius? I knew we should have come earlier, August thirty-first is the busiest day of the year for this place."
They walked prominently through the door, Scorpius trailing obediently behind his mother. A resounding jingle sounded as they entered. The store was surprisingly vacant, with the exception of two people. One was a woman with brown bushy hair, and the other was a short girl with very large red hair, resembling slightly that of her elder's. A wispy male, barely thirty, was helping the pair.
At the sight of the bushy hair, Draco Malfoy stopped in his tracks. He exchanged a glance with Astoria, and they both seemed to come to full height. This happened often when they were out, and he knew better than to question this, because he always knew the bitter answer.
"Now, Rosie, is it?" said the wispy old man, smiling at the face of the girl Scorpius could not see.
"Yes," she said kindly.
"I feel this might…fit."
The girl called Rose grasped the wand in her hand. Silver sparks shot out of the end of it, and ricocheted off a nearby chair. The leg broke with a swift crack.
"I think we have found the one," the man smiled. "Now, I'll get that-"
"No, let me!" Rose cried, and with a small flick of her wand, she said, "Reparo!" and the chair was mended.
"Very good, very good! Brightest witch of her age, or soon to be, correct?"
The lady with the bushy hair turned smiling, and bid the man thanks in midst of the patter of Galleons. Rose was beaming, her bright blue eyes alight.
"Oh!" gasped the older woman in surprise, as she saw Scorpius's father. Her warm brown eyes were alight much like her daughter's in what seemed polite surprise.
"How…pleasant," Astoria huffed, drifting towards the counter without a further glance at the woman called Hermione Weasley.
Hermione ignored her. Rose looked curiously at her mother. Her eyes found Scorpius, and she scowled at him with what seemed predetermined bitterness. Scorpius felt a pang of foreboding at this.
Astoria was speaking with the wand maker now. Hermione held his father's gaze, but he wished she wouldn't. Most just avoided awkward moments like these by completely ignoring them. Something was peculiar about this witch.
"How's your father?" she whispered to him, her eyes not leaving his.
"Don't you know?" his father replied indifferently. "Some things aren't as easy as they are for you, Weasley."
She looked at him with a look that mirrored her daughter's. "Fine," she said, equally as indifferent. "I just wanted to help you, Draco."
And with that, both Hermione and Rose were gone.
"Filthy little Mudblood," Draco whispered under his breath, but Scorpius could tell the words meant nothing to him, not really.
"Hello, then. What is your name?" the wand maker asked lightly.
Scorpius returned his nature. "My name is Scorpius Malfoy, sir."
"Ah, Scorpius! I must say, you are a duplicate of your father! I was wondering when I should be seeing you here!"
Astoria smiled, but without much warmth. "Yes, yes. I was going to ask, how did you come about gaining a place like this?"
"Well, it helps to be the how many greats grandson of the original Ollivander, I suppose," he said, while busying himself with boxes of wands, now in floating stacks behind him.
"I daresay it would," she said, twirling a bit of her auburn hair around her wand.
"Like my grandfather, I can never forget a wand that was given away," he smiled, handing Scorpius a slim box. Inside was a slightly stubby wand.
"Nine inches, dragon heartstring, oak," he said, feeling the wand, and bending it gently. "Especially springy. Have a wave, my boy, have a wave!"
Scorpius waved the wand uncertainly. Twenty boxes erupted off the shelves. Scorpius flinched. "Now, now, don't be discouraged, we always have some of that. Rarely do we find one on the first try," he said happily. With a flick of his wand, the boxes were reestablished to their former places.
He chose another box.
"Now this is all well, thirteen inches, unicorn hair, blackthorn," he said. "Unyielding."
He placed the wand on the counter and slid it towards Scorpius. He looked round to his father, who was smiling, though with cold eyes.
Scorpius waved his wand, and a rain cloud appeared inches about his mother's head. She screeched as rain pattered her hair.
"Now, now, no harm done," he said, just as happily. Draco waved his wand quicker, however, and the rain cloud vanished.
Ollivander drummed his fingers along the counter thoughtfully. He raised a finger as though something struck him, and passed him another box. It was golden.
"Thirteen inches, phoenix feather, maple, yielding," he said, thoughtfully, pushing the wand towards Scorpius. Draco watched his son precariously, as if daring him to wave the wand.
Scorpius gave the wand a flourish and a sudden warmth filled his fingers. Golden sparks flew out of the end, and dribbled along the wooden counter, though fortunately not erupting it into flames.
"Well, I think we have a winner!" Mr. Ollivander said triumphantly. "Eight Galleons, then, please!"
By the time they had flown home, Scorpius's father was quite bitter. He was slighted in line at Flourish and Blott's and aroused constricted whispers when in Quality Quidditch. Scorpius had always resented it, but resented it more to see how his parents dealt with it. They whispered, "Mudblood" under their breath too often, among other mutterings, that always caught eyes and left them narrowed.
"Scorpius," his father said, his mouth in a scowl. "You'll be in Slytherin tomorrow, make your father proud, won't you? You're a Malfoy, Scorpius, you are a Slytherin."
He had heard these words too much, but he disagreed with them too many. His mother nodded at him when his father said these words. Was it a crime to be, maybe...different?
By the time they had bid him goodnight, it was nearly eleven, but he could not fall asleep. The more he thought of the way Rose Weasley glared at him, the way his father denied Hermione Weasley's help, the more it plagued him. Suddenly, he felt an alien in the Malfoy Manor. He wanted to change. How he hated how the Malfoys were muttered about. Would it be too much to ask…?
He contemplated the Sorting with growing anguish. Suddenly, he thought of Mrs. Weasley's offer.
It had been almost a year since his grandfather was released from Azkaban, but he still made no progress pertaining to realizing he was no longer there. He remembered vaguely of his grandfather staring blankly, his father throwing a chair, and his mother pulling him away….
