chapter 2. In the castle.
"Well, we all know where the red-head is going."
Zabini got a smack in the face.
"Jeez, Scorpius! That hurt! Where do you think she's going anyway? Hufflepuff?"
Laughter from the train came back to Scorpius for a moment.
"Actually, Rose has this great theory about our family."
"Al! Shut up!"
"Why! It's a great theory!" Al turned to Scorpio. "You'd think she'd have some really snotty explanation when I asked, 'Why do all the Weasleys have to be in Gryffindor?'"
Lost in the memory, Scorpio grinned. "Because red hair would look atrocious with any other house colors." Sitting next to Scorpio, Zabini raised an eyebrow. "Only you could find that funny mate."
Scorpio rolled his eyes. " Well, that's probably why you're talking to me. I mean, you're a good 5 years older than me, so I have no idea why you're not talking with the rest of the 5th years. I mean, not that I'm complaining, I just think it's weird." Scorpio looked up and down the table. "I mean, I know our table's a bit smaller than, say, the Gryffindor table, but no one else is talking to me anyway. It's like I have the pox or something."
Zabini looked quite serious for a moment, pondering before he spoke the grave truth. " Well, you do chatter like a girl."
He totally had that smack coming, thought Scorpio, as Zabini started wailing about the abuse he was suffering.
It looked like Scorpio was making friends at his table, mused Rose. She was walking towards the cheering Gryffindors when she glanced at the Slytherin table. Naturally, she saw him talking animatedly with a dark haired older boy, and turned around completely before she saw the smack.
James, of course, had given her a big bear hug before she plopped herself between Al and Victorie at the Gryffindor table to watch the sorting end with Zabini, Clara, sorted into Slytherin. As the cheers died down, Professor McGonagall rose to her feet.
I hope, thought Rose with sincere eleven-year-old doubt, that it won't be a long night.
chapter two point oh five. Gryffindor Common Room.
"And then he pulled this outrageous Wronski feint-- Merlin's beard, it was--"
"Yeah, well you haven't heard the dragon story--"
"You're such a liar, you always try to tell that one! I'm telling you, there's no way he could've out-flew a dragon on a broomstick-"
"No, you're wrong! I'm not a liar--"
The voices of many grew louder... And the confusion continues.
chapter two point eight. The first day of classes, the morning of.
It was, thought Al, sleepily, a long night. If Aunt Mionie could see him now, she'd definitely be telling him off with her trademark Look of Disapproval. "Boys and Quidditch," she'd say, "Boys and Quidditch." He had spent most of last night talking about Quidditch with his new dorm mates. The stories-- well, best not to think of them right now, but there were a lot of them from a lot of people, and it took a long time to tell them. And they probably were mostly fake anyway.
Al staggered to breakfast. He realized, just as an owl landed in his bowl of cereal, that it was going to be an even longer day.