Even Unto the Seventh Generation
Chapter Six: Dawn Breaks
A cool breeze ruffled Scorpius's hair as he stood outside the Owlery. He lingered there, listening to the drowsy birds inside.
Sending his letter—and staying out of everyone's way—had been foremost on his mind when he'd reached the dormitory the night before. He had sought out the most secluded spot in the room. The bed in the alcove was far from the fireplace, and because it was next to a large window, it was sure to be cold in the winter. On the other hand, he had reasoned, I can disappear there. Three stone walls surrounded the bed, so when he drew the curtains, he could seal himself away from the world.
But he had to do his duty first. As he watched the sun rise over the mountains, Scorpius remembered how carefully he'd unpacked his father's trunk, laying out his parchment, ink, and quills just the way he liked them. Scorpius tore up half a dozen drafts of his letter before he was satisfied:
Dear Mum and Dad,
The Sorting Hat put me in Ravenclaw. I'll do my best to honor the Malfoy name.
Scorpius
Sometimes, simplicity is the best option.The less he wrote, the better. Scorpius couldn't tell his father about the damage he'd already done. He couldn't write that the Head Girl distrusted him, and he couldn't say that Albus Potter hated him. As tears sprang to his eyes, Scorpius had heard a plaintive mew. Something was batting at his leg, trying to climb his robes. Lysander Scamander's kitten, all alone in a strange place. Thinking his housemate wouldn't appreciate Scorpius touching his pet, he detached the mewling creature and set it down.
It was a persistent little thing, however, and followed him around as he changed out of his robe. Soon after Scorpius had holed himself up in his new bed, the kitten climbed the bed-curtains, curled up above his head, and purred Scorpius to sleep. When Scorpius woke, he was alone again. Shivering, Scorpius had dressed, retrieved his letter from under his pillow, and snuck out of the room. None of the other boys stirred.
After asking various portraits the way to the Owlrey, Scorpius had stepped out of the castle into the dawning light. Usually, things looked better to him in the morning. Today, they didn't. I might as well get this over with, he thought. When he went into the Owlrey, he felt dozens of curious eyes turn to him. Hooo, hooo, cooed the birds. "Who, indeed?" he thought, looking around. Some of the owls were magnificent creatures—the gifts of indulgent parents. Others were scrawny and old. They were the poorer students'. None of them belonged to Scorpius.
"Would one of you carry a letter to Malfoy Manor?" The owls blinked sleepily. Morning was not as popular with them as it was with Scorpius. He held out a hand. "Please?"
Finally, one of the brown school owls flew to Scorpius, landing on his shoulder. It nibbled his hair as he tied the note to its feet. By the time the bird flew off into the sunrise, the rest of the brood had nodded off again. Suddenly, Scorpius realized his knees were shaking because he'd eaten so little the day before. How early could he eat? Breakfast,he thought, turning back to the castle's door, before anyone else is awake.
For once, fortune was kind. When Scorpius reached the Great Hall, it was almost empty. A few students sat at the house tables. Victoria Frobisher, his head-of-house, was the only teacher present. Best of all, on Sundays breakfast was more flexible than during weekdays. When Scorpius took his seat—the same one he'd picked the night before—a plate appeared before him. He ate fast, hoping to withdraw before his classmates trickled in. So far, his only companions were Caleb Keselman, surrounded by sleepy Gryffindor prefects, Artemisia Gaunt and another Slytherin girl, and a handful of older students, none of whom were familiar to him.
The truth was, Scorpius didn't know many children his age. Those that he did, he wished he didn't. For example, he knew his cousins, Blake and Bianca Greengrass-Zabini, well. Damocles Slughorn, with his perpetual squint and endless bluster, had occasionally entered the Malfoy's social circle, as had Patrick Parkinson, who was somehow related to one of his father's childhood . . . acquaintances. There was also Georgiana Goyle and Grace Bulstrode-Boot.
Only Blake and Bianca had visited the manor with any regularity. However, with so few callers, Astoria Malfoy took what support she could get. She loved Aunt Daphne, and Scorpius couldn't begrudge her that, no more than he could begrudge his father his library or the strange fits he sometimes had. Whenever possible, Scorpius spent Aunt Daphne's visits locked in his room, reading what Blake called his "ridiculous, pointless" novels.
If only Mum had taken me to Diagon Alley with her, Scorpius thought, wistfully. If only I'd been able to take part in the annual holiday Pageant, like the other wizards' children. If only I'd been invited to their birthday parties. If only.. . Scorpius sipped his pumpkin juice. He knew that no effort on his mother's part could have healed the breech between the Malfoys and the rest of the wizarding world. They were on their own: Narcissa, Draco, Astoria, and Scorpius. The Malfoys versus the world. The righteous against the wrong-doers.
Someone's hand touched Scorpius's shoulder, startling him.
"I'm not going to bite," Professor Frobisher said. Examining his face, she frowned. "Why, Mr. Malfoy, you look like you've been attacked by an Amazonian Blood Leach!"
Scorpius forced a smile. "That bad?"
"That bad."
"Yeah, I guess so," Scorpius said, echoing the casual phrasing he'd heard from Hal. "I didn't sleep well."
"Is there anything I can do?"
Scorpius replied that he just wanted to finish eating and leave.
"I'm afraid that's not possible. Headmaster Shacklebolt wants us all to be present after breakfast. There is business to attend to. Is there anything else, Mr. Malfoy?"
He thought for a moment. "You . . . you . . ." He hesitated. "You could call me 'Scorpius' instead of 'Mr. Malfoy.'"
Professor Frobisher shook her head. "Against school policy. A fine genie I am turning out to be," she said. "Two out of three wishes gone, and I can't grant either. Shall we try once more?"
Scorpius looked down at his pumpkin juice and hesitated. Then, he decided to ask for one last, small thing.
"I'd really like a cup of—of—coffee," he whispered. He knew it was a pointless wish, of course. Things like coffee were not to be found at Hogwarts.
Surprise flitted across the professor's face. "Coffee?" she echoed. "Aren't you a little young for coffee?"
"Mum thinks so, but I drink it with Dad when she's not at home."
Professor Frobisher looked thoughtful, then her eyes twinkled. "Well, Mr. Malfoy, I am a genie after all. I will grant your three wishes—imperfectly. Come. We'll be back before the assembly."
Professor Frobisher ushered Scorpius into her office and invited him to sit. "In this room," she said, "I can call you whatever I like. You can be Scorpius, and I can—if you wish—be Victoria. Just between us, understood?"
He nodded. As he perched on the edge of his seat, she pulled a brown bag out of her desk drawer.
"My secret stash," Frobisher said. Scorpius noticed that although she used magic to heat the water, she prepared coffee the Muggle way, with grounds and a French press. As it steeped, Scorpius studied the room at the base of Ravenclaw Tower. The professor's desk was heavy, oak, and well-worn, like his father's. A thick blue and bronze carpet covered the floor. The walls were hung with tapestries and carpets embroidered in red and gold.
"They keep out the cold," Frobisher explained. "The breeze from the lake is brutal during the winter."
She pressed a mug into Scorpius's hand and took a seat across from him. He could see his reflection in the liquid. Pale, unremarkable face. A sprinkling of freckles on his nose. Dirty-blond hair that his mum thought might turn brown when he grew up. Dark blue eyes with darker blue circles beneath them. He did look like he'd had the life sucked out of him.
After a silence, Professor Frobisher spoke. "Do you like Quiddich?"
"No, Professor. I don't care for flying."
"Mmm," Professor Frobisher nodded, "When I was a student, I tried out for Keeper, but I turned down the position because it would take too much time from my studies. Your father was a good Seeker, as I recall. An excellent student, too. He had a way with words, as well as a prodigious talent for complicated spellwork. Most original." She looked thoughtful. "Of course, he was several years younger than me. I didn't know him well."
Always my father. Scorpius watched the professor until she reminded him not to let his coffee get cold. He took another gulp.
"I wasn't here for the war," she continued, "I was studying Charms abroad. My parents' idea—and Professor Flitwick's. You can never learn too much."
Another pause. Finally, Professor Frobisher tried a different tactic to draw her student out. "Your grandmother is a hero," she observed, "Without her, defeating Voldemort would have been impossible."
Scorpius nearly dropped his mug.
"Are you surprised to hear me say that, Scorpius?"
"It's just—not many people remember that part of the story."
"I read the news—and the transcripts from the trials. Plus, I was lucky. Being far away may have given me a—different perspective. What will your family think of you being in Ravenclaw?"
Scorpius said he'd find out soon.
"The hat took a long time to decide what house to put you in. A lot of people would like to know what it had to say."
He looked away again. He didn't like the implied question, but was afraid to evade it. Finally, Scorpius murmured that what the Sorting Hat said to him was private.
"Of course it is. I won't press you. But I am worried for you—more than my other students. I worry about their reactions to you. I'm worried that you will feel out of place. And I am worried that you don't want to be here."
At that, Scorpius exclaimed that he had wanted to be in Ravenclaw for as long as he could remember.
"Well, that's one less thing for me to worry about," Professor Frobisher chuckled. "I wonder—will you be my next star pupil, Scorpius? I've had a lot of students over the years, and I can see a certain light in your eyes—when you actually look up, that is. You can learn a lot from people's eyes. If you have your father's brains and a bit of drive, it won't be out of your reach."
"No, Professor. I'm sorry, Professor. I mean, I'd like to. I just don't think I can be."
"Why not?"
"I like theory," he said cautiously, causing her to smile. "I like reading and writing, too. I've memorized entire books, and I think I'll do well on papers." Then, he decided to tell Victoria Frobisher part of the truth. "I just don't think I'm cut out to be a real wizard," he confessed.
Her eyes narrowed. "We'll see, Scorpius. Classes haven't started, so it's too soon to tell. I'll be keeping my eye on you, too." Seeing her charge start to close up again, she quickly added, "Don't worry, I can be objective. I know what it's like to be on the outside looking in."
He relaxed enough to drink some more of his coffee, which he was clutching in both hands. Then, her last words sunk in.
"How can you be an outsider, Professor?" he asked. "You're a teacher and the head of a house."
"Easily. Didn't you guess?" she asked, gesturing at her tapestries. "When I was a student, I was in Gryffindor."
Before Scorpius had time to digest this fact, his teacher told him to finish his coffee. "I have been your genie for as long as I can. Now, we'll go hear Shacklebolt's proclamations. Remember—my door is always open, and in this office you can be 'Scorpius.' Outside, you'll remain 'Mr. Malfoy.'
"After all, I wouldn't want to be accused of favoritism, as some others have been." Scorpius thought he saw the elegant woman wink as she led him away.
Scorpius Malfoy can't even get through one night without causing trouble.Though Albus had woken up late, he'd soon learned from his roommates that Malfoy had snuck out of the room before dawn.
"I was half-awake 'cause Widget was walking on my face," Lysander told them as he pulled on his robe, "I heard Malfoy go out."
In the spirit of investigation, Albus pushed back Malfoy's bed curtains. He wasn't sure what he was looking for. Evidence, of course. But of what? Then he saw Scorpius's pillow.
"If I were you, Lys, I'd watch out for your kitten. Look."
Lysander walked over. "So? His pillow's got fur on it. Cat hair gets everywhere."
"Malfoys aren't known for being kind to animals."
The boy's brown eyes widened behind his glasses. "You don't think he'd hurt Widget, do you?"
"Of course he wouldn't," said Hal, who had just finished just washing up.
"How would you know?" demanded Asclepius.
"Not the type. Not that I like him much right now. Think he's a downright judgmental git, but he wouldn't hurt a fly. Maybe someone's feelings, but that's different."
Albus asked how Hal could know anything about Scorpius Malfoy.
"I just know," he responded, then told the other boys about how the Malfoys had helped him and his dad in Diagon Alley—and how they'd told them all about how the wizarding world worked.
"Malfoys hanging out with Muggles?" exclaimed Albus. "Impossible."
Hal shrugged. "Maybe they were trying to be nice. Though Scorpius did say some strange things."
"Like what?"
"Like some wizards are better than others."
Lysander snorted, "Typical."
Albus furrowed his brow and wondered aloud why the Malfoys would be friendly to the Dursleys.
"Maybe they know about us," Hal suggested.
"Us?" Albus looked at Hal blankly, and the other boy turned red.
"About our dads."
"What are you talking about?" A note of irritation crept into Albus's voice. He was more interested in Malfoy than some stranger's father, whoever he was.
Hal stumbled as he missed one of his pant legs. He didn't say anything else.
"One thing Malfoy got right," Albus mused. "Some wizards are better than others. We'll need to be extra careful who we associate with since the sorting messed everything up."
Lysander agreed. He suggested that Hal stick with him and Albus to make sure he didn't go wrong. That's when the rest of the Ravenclaw boys saw Hal's stubborn side for the first time.
"Thanks for your concern," he said icily, "But I choose my own friends."
By the time Albus, Asclepius, and Lysander had made it downstairs, Hal was already talking with Kiera on one side and Buffy and Siobhan on the other. Roxanne, Claire, and Charlotte formed a tight knot next to them. Lysander and Asclepius were once again bickering.
As Albus took the seat next to Lysander, his eyes wandered to the Gryffidor table. Rose and Louis were sitting with Fred and James, away from the other first years. Louis, as usual, looked languid and faintly amused. He was acting unaware of the glances he was getting from the other girls and boys—even the older ones. For the first time, Albus wondered if his cousin had inherited some of his mother's Veela charm, even if it wasn't supposed to work that way. Rose was pressing her lips together, her hair flattened on one side like she had forgotten to brush it. She looked at Albus coldly.
She's still angry with me, Albus realized. How can I make her understand?
Calliope sat down, so absorbed in her book that she hardly attended to her meal. Then,Malfoy appeared, trailing behind Professor Frobisher. Breakfast was almost over, and Malfoy had missed the entire meal—undoubtedly being berated by their Head of House. She won't like that, Albus thought. Trouble on the first day, and she even missed her brunch. I wonder how many detentions he got . . .
A loss of house points didn't matter to Albus. The sooner Malfoy showed his colors, the better for everyone—especially Hal. He seemed a nice enough bloke, but he was too rigid for his own good. He couldn't even take the most kindly-meant advice. Soon, he'd be sucked into Malfoy's web—as his big, burly bodyguard, no doubt.
DISCLAIMER: The Harry Potter universe and all canon characters belong to J.K. Rowling, not me.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS: Many thanks to my beta, ladyoftheknightley.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Reviews—and especially constructive criticism—are warmly welcomed.