A/N: It's been a hot minute since I've written a lick of Fanfiction, but this little tidbit has been in the works for several years. I hope it gives you a little taste of the personalities of the "Core Four" of this next-gen story.
Disclaimer: The majority of these characters, sans Ella and her mother, belong to JK Rowling and her wonderful magical world.
Chapter One: Letters
It was a dark, gloomy sort of September day. Despite the weather, the window was propped open, and cold seaside air drifted in. The occupant of the room sat in her armchair, curled under a fluffy blanket and writing in a battered old journal. Her task however, was not uninterrupted; Every few minutes, she glanced across the sill expectantly, hoping that she might see a figure approaching through the dense sky. Each time, she returned to her writing disappointed.
This routine was not short-lived. The girl spent almost three hours of the morning of her eleventh birthday sitting there, writing and waiting. It would come, of course. There was no reason it shouldn't. But still, she could not convince herself that there would not be some horrible mistake which would cause her to be overlooked.
Her mother popped her head around the doorframe. "Ella, come downstairs. You've been sitting here since breakfast. Your letter will come, I promise, but sitting here won't make it come any faster."
Ella peered across the edge of the blanket, looking rather silly with one arm sticking out, holding her pencil, and the rest of her completely shrouded. Quietly, she replied, "But mum, what if there was a mistake? What if they didn't know whether to put me down for Hogwarts or Ilvermorny so no one put my name down at all?"
"Sweet pea, I've got it on good authority that every last magic baby born in the country is put down on that list. It's not a matter of your dad and I having gone to different schools," she said, perching herself on the arm of the chair her daughter occupied. She patted her daughter's head and continued, "And Sara and Levi both got their letters right on time, didn't they?"
Ella turned to completely face her mother, looking every bit as anxious as she sounded. She contemplated her mother's logic for a moment, then nodded in surrender.
"I suppose you're right," she said. "Hogwarts, A History, does say that an enchanted quill writes the rolls, so there isn't any room for uncertainty, is there?" Her shoulders relaxed, and her mother let out a small sigh of relief.
"Exactly. No room for human error. It's a fully automatic system. Now, will you come downstairs? It's practically lunchtime already."
"I suppose. It'll come when it comes," Ella sighed.
She made to free herself from the blanket and pry herself out of the chair. Just as she stood up however, a large object whizzed past her head, screeching to a halt just short of the wall. She looked around frantically, and saw that the object was, in fact, a small barn owl with a thick envelope clutched in it's beak. Still a bit stunned from the owl's sudden entrance, it took her a moment to collect herself before reaching for the letter. Once she did, she felt the heavy parchment in her hand, and felt the last dredges of her anxiety over this day dissipate.
Tossing a cat treat the owl's way, she carefully broke the seal and pulled out the heavy parchment inside. She and her mother exchanged an excited glance as the owl took off, leaving them with the highly anticipated letter. Ella glanced over the lilting scrawl briefly, then began reading aloud.
"Dear Miss Cross," she read. "We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry…"
"Scorpius, dear. If you don't wake up, your breakfast will be cold."
The boy in question grumbled dramatically and pulled his pillow over his head. His mother rolled her eyes and moved toward the foot of the bed. Slowly, she reached for his feet. She'd barely made contact when her son shot straight up and jumped out of the bed.
"I'm up! I'm up!"
"Downstairs, Scorpius," she said, and apparated the four floors down to the dining room with a loud crack. Still grumbling to himself, Scorpius shuffled to the door, stopping suddenly upon catching a glimpse of the calendar on his wall. 30 September. His birthday. His eleventh birthday.
With newfound energy, he rushed down the grand stairs of the manor and skidded to a halt in the kitchen where both of his parents sat waiting.
"Figured out the date, did you son?" his father drawled, peering over his Daily Prophet. "Your grandparents sent you a parcel," he added, gesturing to a long, lumpy object in the corner. Scorpius grabbed the package and tore it open, despite his mother's protests in the background that really, he should sit down to breakfast first.
His face fell when he saw the package's contents. A highly-polished cherry handle led to solid gold footrests and a well-shaped tail of bristles. It was a broom, and not just any broom.
"Oh, a Firebolt 5. It's… it's lovely," he announced, trying to sound convincingly like he was pleased with the gift. His mother scoffed and set the plate of sausage and eggs she'd been balancing down on the counter with a clang.
"For Merlin's sake, Draco, why can't your parents accept that Scorpius has no interest in flying?" she said, voice teetering between exasperation and true anger. "Your father explicitly asked what he might like for his birthday, and I made it very clear that a portable chess set or an Impossibly Packable Pack that he could take on his little adventures would be just the ticket."
"Astoria, dear…"
"Mum, it's really fine."
"No, it's really not," she said, her volume growing louder by the moment. "They have a blatant disregard for your preferences, Scorpius. They just can't accept that your interests differ from what they'd like them to be. How could you possibly enjoy such a Muggle pastime like hiking, when they expected you to be raised a good, Muggle-hating Malfoy."
"Astoria, that's enough," Draco said quietly, placing his hands over hers and pulling her into the chair beside him. "We can't change my father. My mother, despite herself, seems not to be able to change much either. But you and I, we raised our boy to move past our families' mistakes and prejudices, and he has… right into the strangest hobby I can imagine, sure, but that's neither here nor there."
Astoria's breathing slowed, and she chuckled a bit at Draco's inability to understand why anyone, Muggle or otherwise, would willingly spend whole days in the woods free of modern comforts. Scorpius inched closer and hugged his mother.
"Thanks mum, but the broom is fine, really. Maybe I'll find out I like flying after all," Scorpius said, shrugging, truly convincing no one, but laying the conversation to rest.
At that moment, a loud screech echoed from the window over the sink, and the little family turned to see a handsome owl waiting there. Breakfast now thoroughly forgotten, Scorpius lunged for the window to receive the long-awaited delivery the owl bore. He tore open the heavy envelope with no regard for the elaborate seal and began scanning the parchment with fervor.
Dear Mister Malfoy…
"Aloud Scorpius! I want to hear!" his mother interrupted, joy returning to her tone.
"Right, right," he replied, and cleared his throat. "Dear Mister Malfoy. We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry…"
Albus Potter was awoken on the morning of 7 January by an immense clatter. Startled, he shot straight up, still wrapped in his bedsheets. In his still-dark bedroom, he could not identify the source of the noise, and struggled to free himself so that he could reach the light by the door.
As he tiptoed across the floor, to avoid waking his sister surely still asleep in the room below, another clatter arose. Now awake, he was able to identify that the commotion was coming from behind the curtain. Carefully, as the occasional doxy still appeared in the old house on Grimmauld Place, he armed himself with a candlestick and pulled back the curtain. A tawny owl greeted him on the other side of the glass, flapping his wings against the window and again sending up the loud noise that had roused him from sleep.
Initially, the boy let out a sigh of relief; No doxies would be fought off that morning. However, when he saw that the owl carried a thick envelope sealed with wax, rather than the tightly rolled scrap of parchment he typically received via owl post, a jolt of anticipation shot up his arms. He wrenched the latch open, allowing the owl into the room.
The owl, it seemed, was not keen on releasing his delivery. Upon entering, it flew to the top of the wardrobe hooting in irritation. Perhaps, Albus thought, it's angry that it kept having to bang its wings on the glass. Quickly though, he rationalized that the bird's anger wasn't possibly his own fault; Someone, after all, had sent the poor thing well before dawn, with no one awake on the receiving end.
Albus dug around in his side table drawer, looking for something to ply the owl with, so that he may retrieve his letter. He found a slightly crushed bad of crisps at the bottom and offered its contents to the bird. Blessedly, the creature relented. It dropped the letter, filled its beak with the snack, and departed back into the London sky.
Albus took a deep breath, and shakily picked up the heavy envelope. He knew he was being silly. He knew exactly what was in that envelope. He'd read the same letter over and over as his cousins and brother had received their own. But that didn't stop his hands quaking as he broke the seal. He carefully unfolded the parchment and began to read.
Dear Mister Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry…
Rose Weasley fumbled with the front door as she tried to balance a basket of eggs over her left arm without tipping any onto the walk. The unusually hot May sun had beat down on her the entire way home from the neighboring farm, where she was helping with late spring planting, and she longed for her blissfully cool, magically air-conditioned bedroom. Finally wrestling the door open, Rose stepped inside.
"Mum, I'm home! Mrs. Gates sent along some eggs for you." She got no answer. "Mum?" She wandered into the kitchen, growing more perplexed by the moment. "Dad? Hugo? Is anyone home?" Looking around in confusion, Rose headed for the back garden. Perhaps her family were out de-gnoming the garden beds.
"Is anyone out here?" she called.
"Surprise!" her parents, brother, and several members of the extended family popped out from behind trees and shrubs, causing Rose to start rather dramatically and send the eggs flying into the air. Four of them came down on her bushy red hair with a dull thud. The rest cracked on the pavement in front of her, leaving quite a mess.
"Oh dear. Rose are you alright?" her mother rushed to her and began picking the eggshell out of her hair.
"She'll be fine Hermione, it's just a bit of egg," Ron said. "Look Rosie, we've got a cake, and you've got loads of presents. All your cousins have sent you one." He pointed excitedly at a large pile of wrapped packages.
Rose smiled weakly, looking around at the expectant faces occupying the garden. All she'd wanted was a nice cool glass of pumpkin juice and a lie down. Her birthday morning had started out rather uneventfully. Her mum had made a nice breakfast, sure, and her dad and brother had led a jovial round of "For She's a Jolly Good Fellow," but she'd quickly bustled out for her day at the farm and hadn't given her birthday another thought.
"It's lovely. It's so nice to see you all. I-I wasn't expecting…"
Her uncle Harry patted her firmly on the shoulder and said, "Weren't expecting a party? It's your eleventh Rosie, or did you forget?"
"Truthfully, I did. A bit, at least. I was just doing other things today, not really thinking about it," she said, shrugging. "But really, I'm so glad to see you all, even if I wasn't expecting it. Just wish I had been expecting it," she mumbled as she picked an eggshell out of her hair. "I might've set the eggs down before coming outside if I had."
As if to punctuate her plight, at that moment she felt something join the eggshells atop her head, and saw an owl land on a branch of an old oak. Reaching up tentatively, she felt wax and a rough parchment square. Quickly, to keep the wax from melting in the heat and making more of a mess in her hair, she plucked the now-slimy envelope off her head.
"Oh Rose," her mother exclaimed, "Your letter's here! I remember Professor McGonagall coming to deliver mine. Oh, mum and dad were so shocked. It's so much nicer to know it's coming, I expect."
Her father clapped his palms together and the whole family eyed her, despite knowing exactly what was coming. She pried open the envelope and removed the letter inside. Clearing her throat so she could be heard by everyone, she began to read as if giving a speech.
"Dear Miss Weasley. We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry…"