I stood on platform nine and three quarters, flanked by my parents. All around us, there were parents and children exchanging sentimental goodbyes. We had more or less said goodbye before arriving. My father knew he was going to be rather tense, surrounded by the people he had gone to school with. His years at Hogwarts had been less than brilliant. Or at least that was the impression I had garnered from the few times he had spoken about his childhood.
In effect, I was embarking on a whole new life. While my parents practised magic at home, my father and I had both hoped I would turn out to be a squib. My father, because he didn't want me to have to live with the stigma of his father's actions, and to a lesser extent, his own. Me, because I had attended Eton from the age of five, and all of the people I knew there, my best friends, were all just normal muggles. To them, I was just Riley (my parents had decided to put my name as Riley for my years at Eton. They had obviously realised that Scorpius was one of the most utterly stupid names they could possibly have come up with. They still insisted on calling me Scorpius at home). A normal boy.
At Hogwarts, I was to be Scorpius, boy with a rather suspect family history.
"I still don't see why I couldn't just stay at Eton."
"I'm sure they'd love it when you started conjouring up fireballs."
"Come on, dad, that was one time."
"And you're going to Hogwarts so that you learn how to control your magic and it accordingly stays just one time."
"You must admit, Draco, it was rather impressive for unconscious use of magic." My mum interjected.
"Apart from his eyebrows being burnt off." Dad responded.
"Admittedly, it needs work, but it's a useful skill."
"Our son will not be perfecting his flame throwing."
"Just because the dragons don't like you." My mother works with dragons. Dragons like her. My father for the UN. It seems the UN has a use for wizards. No-one knows what that use is, but apparently it exists.
"Dragons don't shoot flames out of their eyes."
"Guys! Some normalcy?"
My parents raised their eyebrows. They turned to each other, and my father replied, "You should really get on the train"
As I picked up my trunk and made for the train, my father told me not to shoot flames at someone called Mrs Norris. A somewhat odd instruction, especially since I hadn't set anyone on fire since that initial great balls of fire incident.
When the train began to move, I waved until my parents were out of sight. Then I went to look for an empty compartment, and failing that, a compartment that wasn't filled with people who already knew each other. They must have gone to those schools run by the Ministry for the children of witches and wizards to ensure that once magic started asserting itself, it wasn't in a state school. Eventually, I found a carriage that was empty save for a redheaded girl who was reading a book called Hannibal. My parents had been less than thrilled when they had found me reading it.
Entering the carriage, I introduced myself. It turned out that her name was Rose Weasley. It seemed her family was rather well known in the British wizarding world. I wouldn't know, having lived in Finland whenever I wasn't at Eton. My mother was Finnish, and until then, the only real contact I'd had with girls was with my cousins whenever I saw them over the summer. And that wasn't even in English.
That having been said, she seemed nice enough, if somewhat quirky. She had brought her double bass with her. Clearly she didn't know that the magic floating around at Hogwarts messed up any instrument that hadn't been specially made to withstand the magic in the atmosphere. Otherwise, I would have brought my tuba.
We talked for the rest of the train ride. Her reaction when she had found out I went to Eton had been priceless. For a while it had looked like she was about to have an aneurism.
Once we were in uniform, we continued talking. Rose was horrified to find out that we weren't to be travelling to Hogwarts by boat. It seems that we had both been looking forward to it. Upon arriving at Hogwarts, we made our way over to the deputy principal, Professor Longbottom.
By the time sorting started, I was a bit nervous. When the hat had made it to Macarthur, I was freaking out. Rose reassured me that the suspense would be over soon. But she hadn't expected the number of people of Scottish descent, because after Macarthur came MacCormack, MacIvor, MacKillop and some poor sod whose parents had seen fit to name Richard MacRichards.
When I was finally called, a pronounced hush fell. I just concentrated on not passing out. Walkign to the front of the hall, I put on the hat.
'So. You didn't even want to attend?' asked the hat.
'Not in the slightest. I was happy at Eton.' I thought in response.
'I hear your father's doing don't-ask-and-I-won't-need-to-kill-you-because-you-know work with the UN. Good for him. He didn't have the best time at Hogwarts.'
'He doesn't really talk about his childhood much.'
'I don't blame him. But now to the business at hand…'
"SLYTHERIN!"
Bugger. As I was taking off the hat, it said 'You'll thank me for this some day.'
Rose was the last first year to be sorted. After a brief pause, the hat yelled SLYTHERIN!
That was a surprise. Looking over at the Griffindor table, I saw a group of redheads looking entirely gobsmacked. That must have been Rose's extended family. There was a shocked silence throughout the hall. And if I thought the silence prior to my sorting had been profound, then this was that silence to the nth degree.
Rose walked over to the Slytherin table, sat next to me, leaned against the wall, and then looked to be trying very hard not to cry. I did my best to make sure she didn't burst into tears. Somehow I didn't think that was the first impression she was aiming to make.
Eventually, everyone went back to their dormitories. The boys were separated off with a prefect named Henry, who showed us to our room and laid down the rules.
"Alright guys. No flame throwing in the dormitories. No sharp objects. No Duelling. No kidnapping Mrs Norris. And no girls. Otherwise, welcome to the snakepit."
"They actually expect us to practise flame throwing in the dormitories?" I thought aloud.
"Well no-one's tried it since that incident with Fred and George Weasley twenty three years ago. They tried to burn an effigy of Mrs Norris. The staff were not amused." Answered one of the others.
"Who is this Mrs Norris everyone talks about?" I asked, irritated by the fact that I didn't know who this legendary character was.
"Mrs Norris was the name of the cat belonging to Filch, the caretaker here from the time of my parents. He retired about a decade ago, and now he's a cat breeder apparently. Mrs Norris died about fifteen years ago, and is now a ghost. And a malignant one at that."
I stood there with eyebrows raised for a moment, before muttering 'they don't stand for that crap in the public schools.'
"Too right." Agreed another boy. "The name's Bond… James Bond, by the way."
"I thought that was a joke when they called it out." Said another boy who then introduced himself as Peter Colt.
"Sadly not." Said James. "My father's last name was Bond, and apparently they couldn't help themselves."
"It's not as bad as Scorpius." I interjected.
"True." Agreed one of the two remaining boys. "I'm William Smith, I go by Bill, and this is my brother John."
"There weren't any malignant ghosts at my old school." Said James somewhat whistfully.
"Nor at mine." I agreed. "Where were you?"
"Harrow. Part of a long line of men from my family spanning about a century and a half. Apparently the whole magic thing is some deep dark family secret. Yourself?"
"Eton. They didn't stand for that kind of rubbish there."
"The house next door was haunted." Said Peter. "The neighbours freaked and kept trying to exorcise the 'malignant prescence'. It was the ghost of this nice little old lady. So she moved to our house. Apparently my family were a lot more accommodating."
"Our family was more or less ready to exorcise our 'malignant presences'. Well the relatives at least. Mormons. Normally, they live in some commune in Texas, they were here to spread the good word or some such. They didn't react well to Bill and I levitating each other." Said John.
"I started throwing around fire and all my dad said was 'you've gone and burnt off your eyebrows.'" I said.
"That's stoicism." Was James' reply.
Suddenly a paper aeroplane flew into our room, hovering at eye level until Peter opened it.
"'Will you psychotically energetic little midget people shut up so that the rest of us can sleep? We're a brutal bunch when we're tired.
Kind regards, the seventh years.' They seem rather peeved… and rife with violent tendencies." He remarked as the paper caught fire in his hands. "Oh well. Night all."