- 1 -
11 year olds can be very cruel.
That's the last thing Father said when they parted ways on Platform 9 3/4. Father's grey eyes had looked hauntingly sad and he appeared frightfully pale in the London drizzle, receding into his charcoal suit. Mother, on the other hand, had worn a fashionable long dress and had smiled with her pearly teeth. Don't mind the old man, she had said as she hugged him cheerfully. You'll make loads of friends and Hogwarts will be brilliant!
But Mother's smile blends in with all her other smiles, whereas Father's uncharacteristic sadness seeps into Scorpius's mind, refusing to be banished. Those turbulent grey eyes, the eyes he had failed to inherit, appear over and over again in Scorpius's consciousness during moments of paralyzing emptiness, of which they were many.
He thought of Father when he sat by himself on the Hogwarts Express, listening to the footsteps racing down the corridor and wondering when someone would at last enter his compartment. No one did, so he sat by himself the entire ride and thought about the Manor-how the trees turned gold and orange in the chilly September air, how he liked to take his tea outside with Mother and Father, how Father would grouse and Mother would laugh and how he would giggle along too while licking cake off his fingers. He ached to be home as he watched the unfamiliar landscape fly by, as he listened in vain for footsteps that would never come his way.
He thought of Father when the Sorting Hat enthusiastically shouted Hufflepuff instead of Slytherin and a disappointed hush fell over the Great Hall. As he listened to the echo of his own footsteps and as his skin crawled under the watchful stare of small children, he wondered if Father would be disappointed after all, even though he had said that he wouldn't mind. A knot of anxiety formed at the pit of his stomach and it tangled and twisted and writhed in his body as he seated himself tentatively by another first year. She looked pretty and kind, a model Hufflepuff by Scorpius's reckoning. But she offered him only an uncertain smile before turning back to her new friends on her other side and jumping into their conversation. He tried to listen to what they were saying, tried to work out the words that would allow him to become a part of their world, but then the Great Hall erupted into surprised cheers when the Hat sorted Albus Potter into Slytherin, and he couldn't hear anything at all. He stayed quiet for the rest of dinner, but he continued staring at the girl and her friends with attentive eyes, waiting for a chance that never came. All the while, he tried to remember Mother's smile when she told him it would get better, but he was only able to conjure Father's sad eyes.
He thinks of Father now in the cold Transfigurations classroom, as his arm begins to tire from dangling in the air. He regrets it, of course, because he could have remained his usual silent self, fading quietly to the background, as he had for the past several weeks. But he was so tired of it, you see, and Mother had taught him that if he wanted to break barriers he'd have to be brave. And why not? Offering your desk mate a spare quill was ever so easy.
Now, if only she would take it.
"Well, go on," he tries again, attempting to smile though his face feels frozen. "I've brought extra. Actually, you needn't even return it. I promise it works just fine..." By the end, his voice fades to a pitiful whisper.
Emily doesn't even look at him; she hides behind a thick curtain of brown curls. Nor does she take his proffered extra quill to rescue his arm from its tiresome dangling. Someone fails to hold in a snicker. Someone else turns away—second hand embarrassment and all that. Scorpius understands; he feels his own cheeks light on fire. But he doesn't know what to do about the quill or the silent Emily or the snickering classmates so he stands there awkwardly until Professor McGonagal sweeps into the room and asks him what on earth he's doing. Everyone laughs until she deducts five points from Hufflepuff; then they're glaring instead and Scorpius stuffs the extra quill back into his bag and sits down and avoids eye contact with everyone for the rest class.
No one notices that his light blue eyes look glassier than normal.
No one notices anything about him at all.
*8*8*8*8*8*8*
Dear Father and Mother,
Thank you for your letters and the sweets. I am sorry that it has taken me so long to write back. I have been so busy, you see, and am just now settling in. Hogwarts has been delightful and though I miss you both dreadfully, I have so many friends here to keep me compa
Scorpius stops writing at this point, as he always does. Had he had more of a temper or taste for theatrics, he might have ripped the piece of parchment to shreds. But as it were, he merely takes a deep breath and slips the unfinished letter into his nightstand drawer, where it joins a neat stack of similarly unfinished letters. He resolves to finish writing tomorrow.
It's quite late now. Lying on his bed behind heavy curtains, Scorpius can hear the light snores of Ernie and the occasional teeth grinding of Peter. Jonathan is a quiet sleeper, but Scorpius thinks he can hear his even breathing too. Together, the sounds create a jarring cacophony that jabs unpleasantly at Scorpius's nerves, successfully barring him from slipping into the realm of sleep. His blue eyes stare blindly into the darkness, and despite the presence of three other boys, he feels more alone than he ever did at the Manor.
Quietly, he slips out from under the covers and plods softly out the room.
*8*8*8*8*8*8*
He had heard his housemates chatter about how terrifying the school becomes at night. Older students spend their evenings in the common room gleefully recounting fearful tales of ghosts and boggarts and trap doors and of course, the dreaded Filch and his disgusting cat. The other boys in his room had at various points dared one another other to sneak out during the night, but no one actually has, too frightened by their own imaginations if nothing else.
Scorpius could have told them that the stories were all lies, if anyone had bothered to ask. He would have told them that actually, the halls were empty more often than not and that the only thing that followed you down the sparsely lit stone paths was your own shadow. Even Filch in his old age had given up patrolling past a certain hour, and Mrs. Norris had mellowed throughout the years. On good nights, like this one, she even lets Scorpius hold her in his arms and pet her soft fur.
Scorpius thinks of home as he clings to the furry body of the aging cat. There are no cats at home, but there is Mother, who hugs him when he's sad; and there is Father, who grumbles at him but who takes him on broomstick rides to cheer him up; and there is Grandma Cissa, who occasionally brings him sweets and there is even Cindy the house elf who does little house elf tricks to bring out his smile. If there's one advantage to being an only child, it's that everyone dotes on you. And when you're wealthy on top of that...
But now he's at Hogwarts and the only one he has is Mrs. Norris. And though he quite likes her, her small body somehow isn't sufficient to guard him against the chill and overbearing silence of the endless corridor. As he takes one step after another, something swells within him, then snaps, and a first rebelling tear slips out. A second one tumbles forth, followed by a third, and soon enough, he's sobbing quietly into Mrs. Norris's fur as she mews in protest.
Like that, boy and cat wander through the maze of Hogwarts, Scorpius's avalanche of tears building and his cries growing louder until they echo down the hallway. Scorpius wonders if anyone will catch him crying. He almost hopes someone does, that someone will stop him and finally, finally, ask him what's wrong.
But he knows, deep down, that no one cares at all, so he cries harder.
Another step. Another sob. Then suddenly, Scorpius feels someone's hand on his arm and his heart skips a beat in surprise. He's yanked into a narrow, hidden crevice in the wall and that hand moves to cover his mouth so that he can no longer make noise.
"Shh," whispers what appears to be an invisible person—or so Scorpius hopes, anyway. "Do you want to be caught by Filch?"
With a pounding heart, Scorpius shakes his head furiously, because he doesn't know what else to do, especially since he still can't speak. Whoever it is seems satisfied though. The person removes his hand and Scorpius whips around to face the attacker. With wide eyes and tear-blurred vision, Scorpius watches in shock as the familiar face of James Potter materializes out of thin air, and then his whole body too.
"Invisibility cloak," James whispers with a proud grin, when he spots Scorpius's surprise. "Bloody useful." Then, as after thought, he adds: "By the way, you haven't got a cloak, you know, so everyone can see you. Erm. Crying."
Scorpius frowns but says nothing. James looks somewhat embarrassed, maybe at seeing another boy cry, but Scorpius isn't embarrassed at all—he can cry if he wants. He leaves the tears on his face and stares defiantly at the older student.
"Er. I'm James Potter." James says after the pause drags for a moment too long. "And you're Scorpius Malfoy, aren't you? Can tell from the hair, you know, and I think I saw you in the paper once, and you look a bit like your father, only—Oh dear god, is that his demonic cat you're holding?"
James's sudden screech surprises Scorpius, and Mrs. Norris, too, meows in displeasure, as if she knew what James had said took offense. Scorpius lets out a small sniffle and says quietly, "Mrs. Norris is quite nice. And Filch is probably sleeping, in case you're worried." He hugs Mrs. Norris tighter under James's incredulous stare. "I won't let you bully her. She's my friend."
James looks mildly uncomfortable now and he runs his hand through his red tinted hair. "Oh I—er. Sorry. Didn't mean to offend." Another pause. Then: "So she's your friend then? Haven't got other friends so you have to hang with Mrs. N here? Is that why youv'e been crying?"
As the words tumble out of James's mouth, Scorpius bites his lower lip and glares as hard as he can from his lower vantage point. There is something absolutely dreadful about having your deepest troubles exposed.
But then, James doesn't sound malicious at all—he's adopted a rather gentle tone—and now he's looking at Scorpius with something like pity in his eyes, which does nothing to soothe Scorpius's ire. And yet his heart beats more frantically in his narrow chest because he thinks finally, finally, somebody's noticed.
"I wouldn't mind them," James says softly, when Scorpius doesn't respond. "I mean, first years are so awful and they believe all sorts of rumors or just whatever their parents tell them. They're so easily frightened too. Even Al—my brother Albus, you know, the one in Slytherin—even Al's been having trouble because all the Slytherins are scared of him after reading that silly Daily Prophet article. And really, Hufflepuffs must be the worst of all, because they're so silly they can barely think for themselves and—oh, sorry, I don't mean you. Er. Anyway. I think you're alright, even if you're a Malfoy. Or no. I mean. You're alright."
James finishes rather lamely and he gives Scorpius a sheepish smile. Scorpius doesn't return it. He merely hugs Mrs. Norris closer. But James might or might not have caught sight of his trembling lower lip, because the older boy smiles wider before he reaches into the bag he's been carrying all along and pulls out a slightly smushed pumpkin pastry.
"Here," he says, thrusting it in Scorpius's hand. "I'm no good at talking about these things, I know that. Lily cries all the time and I can't do anything about it, but she usually feels better after she gets a treat. I mean, not that she's like a pet or anything, just that—oh, anyway. Here, for you, I just stole it from the kitchen. That's why I was out, you know. Do try it—it's rather delicious. And you should get back to bed before Filch—well, before you run into a boggart then. I'll see you around."
James speaks so quickly by the end that his words are practically running into each other. His freckled face looks suspiciously red. And as abruptly, as their conversation had begun Then, their conversation, or James's one-sided monologue, it ended with James turning on his heal and stalking towards Gryffindor tower with only a quick wave backwards.
Soon, all that's left in the hidden corner of the wall is Scorpius, holding a pumpkin pastry in his right hand and cradling Mrs. Norris cradled in his left arm. He watches curiously as James Potter disappears under his cloak.
*8*8*8*8*8*8*
Scorpius takes James's advice and heads back to bed. He lays there in the dark, listening to the rhythmic sounds his sleeping roommates make. It's like every other night, only he feels so different. Instead of Father's sad face, he falls asleep replaying his encounter with James Potter over and over again, dreaming of all the things he could have said.
