Disclaimer: I am not responsible for creating the world of Harry Potter. I am responsible for only the fanfic stories currently posted under this username, as well as the ones still chilling on my computer.
Extra note for this chapter: you will notice that some of the Sorting Hat's song is in bold. This is because those verses were pulled directly from one of the original HP books. The way this works in my personal headcanon (which is really what this story is, anyways) is that the Sorting Hat occasionally repeats material, or at least portions of material, knowing that years or decades may have passed since it last used particular verses and it's unlikely to be caught out. After all, that's what I would do if I were a magical hat.
Also I was really, really over the extremely tiresome exercise of writing another Sorting Hat song. If I wanted to write bad poetry, I'd get a job at Hallmark.
Welcome to Chapter 4!
Chapter 4: An Unwelcome Guest
Fortunately, the magic of the Sorting and the Welcome Feast was enough to drag Rose out of the dark places her mind had gone. And it was magical – the floating candles in the Great Hall, the ceiling reflecting a star-studded clear night sky, at least one friendly relative at every table (and four at the Gryffindor table, if you included James as "friendly"). Even the constant rustle of black robes all around her felt, somehow, like home. She saw an array of mostly familiar faces at the High Table – tiny Professor Flitwick, bookish Professor Wistorren, fierce Professor Jones – and felt a rush of gratitude that she'd have all the same professors this year; some things did remain the same, after all. Rose found herself smiling at Molly, who had been gazing at her worriedly from the Ravenclaw table, as she sat down.
When she and Al reached the Gryffindor table, they noticed immediately that Scorpius was still mysteriously absent. Rose tried not to dwell on it, though she could tell Al was worried as well – perhaps Mr. Malfoy had been so serious about keeping Scorpius away from them that he'd pulled him out of school?
Before they could ask if anyone else had seen him, the first years tittered in like ducklings following Uncle Neville, who held the Sorting Hat. Moon-faced and petrified, they quailed as the Great Hall quieted and all eyes turned to them, and to the Hat. Then the rip in the brim opened up, and the Hat began to sing:
Ah! Well do I remember back
To Hogwarts' early days,
To the founders four who shared a dream
And the school that they would raise.
Bold Gryffindor, from wild moor,
Fair Ravenclaw, from glen,
Sweet Hufflepuff, from valley broad,
Shrewd Slytherin, from fen.
Each in their right was powerful
Their skill in magic rare
And within each, a yearning deep:
To teach, to guide, to share.
To pass on to young sorcerers
The magic they had learned;
The secrets and the mysteries;
The hard-won skills they'd earned.
Each founder formed a house apart
To teach those they knew best
For each did value different traits
In those that they professed.
By Gryffindor, the brave were prized
As far above the crowd;
For Ravenclaw, the cleverest were
Most suitably endowed;
For Hufflepuff, hard workers were
More worthy of admission;
And power-hungry Slytherin
Loved those of great ambition.
And yet the Founders always knew
That someday they'd be gone;
They imbued me with their wisdom to
Help bring tradition on.
Ten centuries or more have passed
Since I was newly made
Ten centuries or more and yet
My mission doesn't fade.
So slip me snug about your head
And I will tell you true
Where in Hogwarts you belong –
Which House fits best for you?
The Hat stilled and the Hall applauded as one. And, as he had the year before, Uncle Neville held up a long piece of parchment and read the first name.
"Aden, Cyrus."
Al was looking longingly at the platters on the table, which remained stubbornly empty, but he whipped around when the Sorting Hat yelled "Gryffindor," prompting cheers and hollering from up and down the table. Rose joined in with the rest. "Buckling, Ava," a tiny girl with a bouncing brown bob, also came shyly to the Gryffindor table; "Cassowary, Cassandra," very tall and lanky for an eleven-year-old, went to Ravenclaw, and "Hornbeam, Hector," became the first new Slytherin a few names later, prompting loud cheers from the table across the way. The parade of first-years seemed endless, even though there couldn't have been more than fifty of them. Without the benefit of having cousins to wait for, Rose found her attention wandering, though she perked up enough to cheer for any new Gryffindors.
Next to her, Connor's stomach let out a loud growl, prompting giggles among the second-years and a slight glare from Professor Longbottom.
And then, mercifully, once "Zerenkofski, Daniel" had been sorted into Hufflepuff, Headmistress Sprout stood up – although she was so short, it was hard to tell the difference. The top of her pointed hat was barely taller than Professor Sinistra, who was sitting next to her.
"Wonderful, just wonderful," she beamed at them all. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! The Feast, which is prepared by our staff of House Elves who are paid if they so choose, will be on shortly." For some reason, Professor Sprout seemed to look right at Rose as she said this. "I look forward to getting to know each of you during your time here, and I know that each of you will be a credit to your House. But for now, we're all hungry, so let us eat!"
"Bless Sprout, she really does keep that short every year," Fred said, grinning as food filled the dishes, and the chatter and hubbub of the student body filled the air. Rose happily filled her plate with her favorite lamb chops, at least three preparations of potato, and all right, some carrots because she knew Mum would want her to eat some vegetables.
"Do you think we should ask Azalea where Malfoy has gone?" Rose said, not bothering to be quiet; there weren't that many Gryffindor second-years, and Scorpius's absence was conspicuous.
"I'd rather eat Hagrid's rock cakes with boiled slug jelly," Al replied cheerfully. As Azalea Selwyn, a close childhood friend of Scorpius's, had spent most of the last year breaking into dramatic sobs whenever she saw Scorpius with his Gryffindor classmates (which was nearly always), Rose thought this was a fair response.
"Touché," Rose said, and turned to answer a question from Nearly-Headless Nick, who liked to feel like he was keeping up with all the Gryffindor students. As Nick reminisced about some sort of Death Day Party with her parents, Rose became aware of a small frenzy happening across the table, where fellow second-years Annabelle Orion, Willow Sparra, and Katie MacEwan were holding a frantic, whispered conversation.
"What's going on over there?" Rose asked with genuine curiosity when Nick had moved down the table to catch up with Fred and the other sixth years.
"Look up at the Head Table," Katie McEwan whispered back, making a completely unnecessary motion with her head to underscore the point.
"Am I losing it," Annabelle began in a whisper, "Or is that the man whose picture was in our History of Magic textbook with the caption 'One of the Death Eaters who escaped Azkaban'?" By the end of her question her voice had risen at least an octave.
"But if he escaped from Azkaban, I mean, someone would have recognized him, right? He wouldn't just . . . be here. At Hogwarts. Right?" Katie asked, voice shaking slightly. Rose felt a pang of sympathy for her friend. She couldn't imagine how it must feel to be Muggleborn – the excitement of finding out magic was real, followed closely by the terror of learning that people just like you were murdered, or tortured, or targeted only a few years ago by other witches and wizards.
"He's probably from an old family or something," Willow said. "My parents always say anyone from the old pureblood families can get away with anything." Rose wasn't exactly sure how to respond to that, mostly because Willow was right. She made to turn around and see – she hadn't taken note of any unfamiliar figures at the Head Table when she'd come in.
Meanwhile, on her other side, Al was frantically trying to get her attention.
"Rose!" he whispered urgently, plenty loudly enough for Katie, Annabelle, and Willow to hear, "Rose! Is that Lucius Malfoy?"
"Ahhhh," chorused three voices. Rose finally turned and saw the man in question at the High Table. He looked old but well-preserved, and quite severe. His white-blond hair was slicked back from a dramatic widow's peak and reached down past his shoulders. His expression looked pinched, and he toyed with the food on his plate in apparent displeasure. Several of the professors up and down the table were shooting figurative daggers in his direction – Professor Longbottom and Professor Jones chief among them. Headmistress Sprout would not deign to look in his direction. As Rose watched, she met Professor Longbottom's eyes and the two of them shared a dark look. Lucius either didn't notice or didn't care, seeming instead to be in deep conversation with Professor Callister – but his eyes went often towards the Gryffindor table – towards, Rose thought for a moment, Al and herself. But no, she realized. He was probably just looking for his grandson.
Melisenda, who had heretofore been seemingly engrossed in her food and had barely deigned to acknowledge the collective existence of the other Gryffindors, snapped her head up so quickly Rose was worried she might have given herself whiplash. Well, maybe "worried" was a strong word.
"He does look a little like Scorpius," Annabelle said.
"He would," Rose answered quietly, "That's his grandfather."
"Wait," said Katie, "Scorpius's grandfather was also a Death Eater? I thought it was his father."
"It's both," said Al grimly. "Really, it's the whole family."
"But you're best friends!" Katie said in surprise. Everyone looked at her. "I dunno," she continued, "I knew his dad was a Death Eater, but I guess I just kind of figured he was like a fluke? But if it's the whole family . . . Is it . . . is it weird?" Willow and Annabelle shared a glance. It was clear they'd talked about this before. But Katie, being Muggleborn, hadn't grown up with a general background knowledge of the families in wizarding Britain.
"Is what weird?" Al asked.
"It's weird that Scorpius Malfoy is friends with a bunch of losers like you," Melisenda muttered snidely.
"It's weird that we keep having to remind you that you're outnumbered," Annabelle said brightly, and Melisenda went resentfully back to staring at her food.
There was a pause.
"But is it weird?" Katie asked, eyes wide with curiosity. It was a rather rude question, but Katie was so kindhearted and genuine that she got away with that sort of thing.
Al, seemingly deep in thought, was trying to balance a fork upright on his palm. "I think it would be weird if our parents were here at Hogwarts all the time," he said finally. "They kind of hate each other."
"They definitely hate each other," Rose said emphatically, thinking about the other day in Flourish and Blotts.
"Oh yeah, didn't they have a fight in Diagon Alley?" Annabelle asked, "I read about that."
Al nodded, and the fork fell over.
"But when we're at Hogwarts," Rose said with consideration, "It's different. Scorpius is just Scorpius. He's . . . he's a good friend."
"He's a good person," Al said, "And he's been there for us. And," he added, "He can give Rosie a run for her money, which means he's definitely worth keeping around."
Katie and Annabelle laughed, and Willow at least smirked at the expression on Rose's face. Melisenda studiously ignored them, for all appearances trying to eat as quickly as possible so that she could escape the Feast.
"Melisenda Wilkes?" a brisk voice asked from behind them. Rose turned around to see a neat young woman, not much older than the Hogwarts Seventh Years, holding a quill and a sheaf of parchment. Rose didn't think she'd ever seen the woman before; she certainly wasn't one of the professors. Her robes were somehow too formal and pressed; she looked out of place in the barely controlled chaos that was the Great Hall. Down the table, Melisenda nodded slowly. "Lucius Malfoy has asked to see you. I believe he was a friend of your great-uncle."
"Yes, of course," Melisenda said in an obsequious tone almost unrecognizable as her voice. Somehow even the way she stood up was smug, as she patted her robes down and fixed her fringe. She followed the woman towards the High Table without a single backwards glance. The rest of the second-year Gryffindors watched her go.
"What's she got to be so pleased about, I wonder," Annabelle said, shaking her head.
"Meeting someone whose soul is as dark as hers," Willow responded, and Katie giggled uncertainly.
"Are we allowed to make jokes about Death Eaters?" Katie said, sounding as though she were worried Lucius might somehow overhear. "I'm not sure we're allowed to make jokes about Death Eaters."
Rose smiled, but found herself looking around again as though to make sure Scorpius was truly missing. She looked carefully over at the Slytherin table as well, where Azalea Selwyn sat next to the other Slytherin second years . . . but there was no sign of Scorpius even there. She didn't know why she'd thought maybe he would be. Aside from his friendship with Azalea, he'd never shown much interest in the Slytherins. She wondered again what could possibly have caused Scorpius to miss the first night of school, the Welcome Feast, and the Sorting. Especially as his grandfather was here. Perhaps, she thought with increasing horror, his father had been serious about keeping him away from the Potters and the Weasleys. Perhaps he'd been so serious that they'd sent him to another school entirely. But if so, wouldn't he have bothered to write? And if he wasn't here to see Scorpius, then what in Merlin's name had brought Lucius Malfoy here to Hogwarts?
Rose turned it over in her mind, but with the simultaneous distractions of family, friends, and food, it was difficult not to get sidetracked again.
She laughed with the rest at Louis and James as they attempted to transfigure their silverware into swords (very, very tiny swords), and then stuffed herself with treacle tart and lemon drizzle cake when the desserts appeared. When she looked up from her empty plate, she noticed that the remaining desserts on the table had melted away, leaving spotless dishes. Across from her, Bradley Jones was furiously trying to polish off the last of his chocolate cake before it disappeared from his plate. Professor Sprout stood up again.
"As usual," she said in a more business-like tone, "I do have a few start-of-term announcements. None of this should come as a surprise to our older students, nevertheless . . ." she trailed off, looking sternly in the direction of James and Louis in particular. Louis, unabashed, saluted the High Table.
"The forest on Hogwarts grounds is forbidden to all pupils unless you are entering expressly under the instructions of a professor. This includes First Years as well as, ahem, older students as well. This is why it is called The Forbidden Forest. It's in the name. As an expert in Herbology myself, I can tell you that nothing – nothing – in that forest is interesting enough for me to wander in there on my own. Neither should you." Rose was suddenly not quite so sure that Headmistress Sprout didn't know about their foray into the Forbidden Forest last year. She sought Hagrid's eyes, but he was busily embroiled in a side conversation with a mousy man Rose thought might be the Muggle Studies professor.
"Mr. Filch, our caretaker, has begun to train an apprentice. Please give a warm welcome to Mr. Pelfer." There was, at best, tepid applause. Argus Filch was not regarded with fondness by most of the students, having spent a good number of years threatening to string them up by their ankles for various petty offenses such as "tracking mud," or "giggling in the corridor." The man who was apparently Mr. Pelfer came out of a corner near the High Table and waved to the room. He was of indeterminate age, with thinning hair that looked like it might have been sand-colored and oversized boots. Rose forgot about him as soon as he stepped back into his corner.
"Quidditch trials will be held, as usual, in the second week of the Fall term," Headmistress Sprout continued. "As a reminder, first years cannot try out. If you are interested in playing for your House teams, please contact your Captain. Quidditch Captains, if you wouldn't mind waving." At the far end of the Gryffindor table, Kimberly Ashfield waved a hand and smiled stunningly from her seat next to Fred.
"And one last reminder from Professor Longbottom that, this year, both Greenhouses Five and Six are restricted access only." Greenhouse Six had always been restricted. Rose had no idea what was in Greenhouse Five, but she suddenly would have given quite a lot to know. She shot a look at James and Louis, but they looked as mystified as she felt.
"And now, first years, your Prefects will lead you to your Common Rooms." Rose saw Lucy Weasley stand over at the Hufflepuff table as two fifth-year Gryffindors she didn't know well (she thought their names might have been Tor and Leana) corralled the First years at her own table. She and Al followed the rest of the second years out, sparing a glance to see if Melisenda had returned from her visit with Lucius Malfoy yet – she hadn't – or if Scorpius had magically appeared. He hadn't.
Then they were through the halls and up the trick staircase that only led to the right corridor on odd-numbered days and in front of the Fat Lady's portrait. The first years waited in a confused, overstimulated huddle in front of them.
"Password?" said the Fat Lady imperiously.
"Amaryllis Belladonna," said the prefect Rose thought might be named Tor (she should really have known – he was on the Quidditch team and everything). The portrait swung open and Rose and Al clamored in after the first years.
And found Scorpius Malfoy sitting on a couch.
Author's Note: Thank you for reading! Feedback is always appreciated, as are follows and favorites - makes writing feel a little less like shouting into the void, you know? I purposefully timed this so we'd be through the beginning/ set-up and things would be starting to pick up as we got into September/October. It just felt right with the timing of the school year; for some reason, fall is the time I really start to feel the HP nostalgia.
Anyways, thank you for reading!
Love always, bbh