A/N: This is my FIRST EVER attempt at fanfiction! I would love comments and reviews, but please be gentle! I know it's long-ish, but thank you for taking the time to read and I hope you enjoy! There is not much Scorily yet, but I promise it's coming!


Scorpius Malfoy was miserable. It should have been one of the happiest days of the young wizard's life- his first trip to Hogwarts! Yet, he was struggling not to cry as he trudged across Platform 9 and 3/4. His pale gray eyes glimmered with tears and his mother slicked his ice blond hair back into place. He had so been looking forward to attending Hogwarts, that is, up until the conversation he'd had with his father the previous night.

Excitement had been running high all week, the home a flurry of activity. His letter had just arrived 8 days previously, thought he knew it would come. Scorpius had shown magical ability from the astonishing age of two. As his mother told it, she'd been chasing him through the garden when he slipped on an errant piece of gravel and let out a terrible wail. She rushed to kiss his skinned knees and, to her surprise, the flesh began to heal over before her eyes. The surface abrasions knitted and faded, and baby Scorpius let out a tentative giggle, tears still wet on his cheeks. Therefore, it was no shock when his letter arrived, so soon before the new term, with the regular class and shopping lists, et al. Books were delivered, potions ingredients procured, and supplies gathered. His mother's expensive tailor came and fitted him with his own Hogwarts robes. When the wandmaker- one of the finest in the world, his mother said- finally arrived, he was vibrating with excitement.

The wandmaker himself, small and ancient, was quite unremarkable. But he had with him a seemingly bottomless bag that delighted Scorpius. He had made numerous attempts to examine the artifact more closely, but the man had snapped the bag shut with a stern look at his young client. After a series of uncomfortable measurements, the man shouted, "Accio!" with surprising vigor, and a stream of wands flew upwards out of the bag and laid themselves, side by side, of the long dining room table, 30 shiny, ownerless wands in all. Much fun was had waving various wands about and causing all manners of chaos. Something happened when Scorpius reached the eighth wand from the end. Warmth spread from his fingertips to the tips of his toes, and he felt a keening in a place that he couldn't quite place, but he thought was quite near his heart. And although he might have imagined it, he thought the flowers on the mantle seemed a little fresher. Suddenly, a shower of silver and gold sparks erupted from the end, and the wandmaker smiled knowingly.

"Magnolia, with a double core of Unicorn Hair. Eleven and three-quarter inches, and pliant," he explained thoughtfully, "Empathetic and loyal. It will serve you well. A fine wand Mr. Malfoy!" He declared.

His mother beamed and his father nodded quietly from his seat by the hearth. The younger Malfoy remembered that moment of joy wistfully, for after the wandmaker had left and the excitement died down, his father asked him quietly if he might join him in his study for a chat- and what a chat it was.

He sat quietly in the stiff, tall-backed chair by the fire, the tips of his toes barely skimming the elaborate oriental rug. He studied the flowering patterns while his father moved about the imposing mahogany desk where he did most of his business. He never liked this room, with all it's rigidness and grandeur. This was the only room in the mansion that was not under his mother's feminine influence, and much of the furniture had come from the old family estate, where his father had grown up and his grandmother still resided. That sprawling house, which smelled of despair and something bad, frightened Scorpius to no end. Sitting surrounded by artifacts of a bygone era, he had vivid flashbacks of sitting in his grandmother's stuffy parlour room, his mother trying and failing to make polite conversation, and his grandmother stared out the window, muttering to someone he could not see and looking frightened. She was harmless enough, however, and always procured sweets for him when she remembered he was there. He had not been there since he was nine, and he did not wish to go back.

It was with a haunted look in his eyes that Draco Malfoy sat in the opposite, equally stiff chair, and gazed at his only son. They were much alike in appearance, pale and sleek; it was clear that Scorpius would be as handsome and elegant as his father, with time. Only, maybe not quite so gaunt or serious. There was a kind curve to his lips that could have only belonged to his mother, and often, a furrow in his brow that spoke of concern and contemplation. He furrowed his brow then, when he looked inquisitively at his father, waiting for him to speak.

"You already know," Draco started slowly, "That before you were born, our family fought on the wrong side of a terrible war. It is why your grandfather took his own life, and your grandmother spends her days making apologies to the thing air, tortured that she is by the things she's witnessed, and the loss of my father."

Scorpius stared blankly, already having known this. He didn't add out loud that he also knew this was why he sometimes woke with a start to the sound of his father's terrible screams in the middle of the night, when they echoed through cavernous, marble halls and lashed at his bedroom door. Furthermore, he knew this was why witches and wizards skirted them on their rare trips to Diagon Alley, shooting furtive glares their way. It was why the family arrived at their rare Quidditch match outings early, and left late. In the last decade and a half, the name of Malfoy had suffered a meteoric fall from popularity; the couple had decided, long ago, to raise their son in relative seclusion, rather than expose him to the judgement of strangers.

"I have tried," Draco continued, "To protect you. I have done my best. I have surrounded you only with family and close friends. I have shielded you from the hate and venom that lies in wait for you, and now I fear I have done the wrong thing.

"You are sensitive and unassuming, the exact opposite of me at your age," he gave a bitter laugh then, "But I fear now that I deprived you of the thick skin that you will need in the days to come."

Scorpius did not know if he should feel insulted by his father's appraisal, but he wasn't one to ask.

"People hate us," Draco said frankly, "Our noble name, once respected and feared, now conjures revulsion and vitriol. It is a penance that you, my son, are going to pay for the sins of your forefathers. Your life is going to be a constant battle against the prejudices people will have against you from the moment they know your name. You will be figuratively hung and tried for the crimes others have committed before a word ever leaves your lips."

Scorpius stared fearfully at the flames in the belly of the fireplace, tears stinging his eyes. He felt the whole of his excitement crashing down, and the swell of his father's words taking it's place. He was not hardly eleven- had not even learned his first spell- and he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. He knew his family was not well liked, but in a vague sort of way. He had only an inkling of the tragedy of the Second Wizarding War, only bits and pieces about a horrible man, whose name his father still could not say, and the unspeakable things his father was made to do. Now, it seemed, Scorpius would spend the rest of his life, and certainly his time at Hogwarts, atoning for things he knew not. He was utterly crushed.

Draco looked at him sorrowfully, and moved forward then and chucked him under the chin, forcing him to meet his eyes.

"Scorpius Hyperion, I can only offer you advice now. You will surely be in Slytherin; that is unavoidable- though I almost wish it was- and that will catch you no breaks. There will be those seek to corrupt you, whose parents speak lovingly of the old days, of torture and mayhem- those children are not your friends. They have been raised on superiority and prejudice, as I was. I have been down that path. It is a sorry one.

" Keep to yourself, study hard. I can't promise you will ever gain acceptance, but you can at least gain respect, and maybe restore some of the honor of the ancient house of Malfoy."

There were tears running down Scorpius's face.

"Father!" He cried, "Will I not find a single friend?"

He had waited for Hogwarts his whole life. While mother and father loved him, and Grandma and Grandpa Greengrass were positively doting, he had always longed for friends, other children who he could trade chocolate frog cards and race brooms with. His father was telling him her would not find a single one.

Draco sighed gravely.

"I cannot promise you that you will, no. Memories are long, and scars of war heal slowly." He turned away then, unable to face his desolate son.

The steam of the engines hissed, and mothers fussed over their children, with promises of letters and assurances that forgotten books and favorite jumpers would be located, and sent along post haste. Astoria Malfoy leaned down and squeezed her only son tightly, and Scorpius saw his father give a nigh imperceptible nod to a man down the platform. He whipped his head around and saw none other than the famed Auror Potter, surrounded by a large group of redheads, and holding the hand of the smallest one. Everyone knew of him, of course! Other similar exchanges were happening up and down the platform, mothers whispering to fathers and children tugging on sleeves and pointing.

"But father," Scorpius whispered fervently, "Is that the man from the paper, the one in my books, who-"

"Yes," Draco clipped, "Remember what I said. Take care. Be good," and he nodded again, this time at Scorpius, "You should hurry. There won't be any compartments left."

He handed him a decently hefty coinpurse.

"For the trolley."

Scorpius gulped down the last of his tears and moved forward, stepping onto the Scarlet car. He turned to wave a last time. A great whistle sounded and doors slammed shut on all sides, so he moved tentatively towards his future. The car lurched forward and he glanced his mother waving sadly from where he left her. They grew smaller and faded altogether as the engine picked up steam.

The last figure he saw was the red-haired girl, the Auror's daughter, and she met his gaze, for an instant. Scorpius's eyes blurred, and he stared at her billowing red hair until they turned a bend and she disappeared from view. Wiping his eyes on his sleeve, he cautiously stepped into the train car proper, and entered the tide of chaos

At first, nobody paid Scorpius much mind. He was just another tiny first year, winding his way nervously through the din. He was almost relieved; maybe his father's warning had been for naught. This little bubble of hope grew smaller with each slammed compartment door in his face, and was dispelled completely at the fifth full compartment he reached.

He had been trying to sneak through in a rush of movement, thinking perhaps he could slip inside and they would simply not notice him.

"OY! Who the hell are you then?"

A rather stocky boy, about his age, spat in his direction. He seemed to be the king of this court; the other children gave him deferring looks, and eyed poor Scorpius speculatively. The stocky boy puffed his chest out in a show of intimidation.

He tripped over his own name, "Sc-Scorpius M-Malfoy."

The curious glances instantly changed into ones of abject loathing. The stocky one's face turned into an unpleasant shade of puce and he leaned in close to him, so close he could see the flecks of spittle collect on the boy's fleshy lips when he began to spew insults.

"Deatheater scum! Nasty, vile Malfoy's! Everyone knows your family only bought and weaseled their way out of Azkaban. Filth like you deserves proper punishment, that's what my dad said. Shoulda fed your lot to the giant squid. Are you as slimy as you father? That stinking, filthy criminal. You know what my dad told me? My dad said-"

A voice suddenly spoke behind Scorpius in the corridor, mercifully interjecting, "What's the problem here then? I am simply trying to enjoy a nice train ride with my cousins and some buffoon won't stop shouting," his voice was level, but he shot a critical look at the stocky one.

"Is that you then? What's the problem, mate?"

The boy looked dubiously between the two of them. He was about his age- surely a fellow first year- with untidy dark hair. Scorpius couldn't quite place why he looked oddly familiar.

"I AM EDDIE MACMILLAN MY FATHER FOUGHT IN THE WAR AND HIS FATHER IS THAT DEATHEATER SCUM MALFOY," was the answer, "I can't BELIEVE they even let HIS LOT into Hogwarts! Everyone knows THAT family is a bunch of MURDEROUS, Deatheater SCUM."

The boy gave a thoughtful look to Scorpius, "Well he's a wizard, yea? Makes sense."

"My DAD fought in the WAR. And I know SCUM when I see it!"

"Oh yea, mate? Well my dad's bloody Harry Potter and this one seems alright to me."

Eddie Macmillan laughed.

"You're full of it!"

Scorpius looked at the boy again and realized that he was exactly the image of Auror Potter, save a few gray hairs and lines, and- of course- that peculiar scar. Eddie's face fell as he seemed to draw the same conclusion and began to mouth wordless apologies.

The Auror's son looked back at him and his green eyes twinkled conspiratorily.

"Come on then, you can sit with me and my cousins." They shut the door behind them, leaving Macmillan and his gawking acolytes completely nonplussed.

"I'm Albus Potter, by the way," he said as he slid the door shut. "Actually, just Al. I didn't catch- ?"

"Scorpius! Scorpius Malfoy, as you heard. Unfortunately. If they're all like him, I'm gonna have a go of it," he moaned miserably.

"He seems like a blubbering idiot. Galleon says he's a Hufflepuff," he smiled goodnaturedly at Scorpius, and his voice was kind, "Come on Mate, it's crowded in here but we've got room if you don't mind the noise, and maybe owl poop."

Scorpius let out a genuine laugh then and followed Al into the cabin. If he thought the corridor was noisy, he was entirely unprepared for the roar that met him inside the compartment. Students of all ages, and apparently related, all trying to talk at once. And so many shades of red.

"Rose, she's first year, like me." Albus pointed to a small-ish, not unpretty girl with Auburn hair, who was pressed up against the window and trying to read a book. She waved distractedly over the top of her volume, before turning away and shrugging further into the corner.

"Molly, sixth." he pointed to an older girl with frizzy red hair and a rather large chest. "And Lucy, her sister and in fourth," She had darker, frizzy red hair and glasses.

"Dominique, fourth," Al gestured towards an extremely pretty girl, with hair not unlike Scorpius's. She was speaking animatedly to her older cousins, and did not pay them any attention.

"Roxie, third," he nodded to a caramel-skinned girl with elaborate braids, "And Freddie, fifth," he indicated to a boy who was probably Roxie's brother.

"All that's missing is Victoire, who's a prefect, and my brother James, who is actually being a jerk today and I don't know where he's at. Louis, Hugo, and my sister Lily are all too young still."

Scorpius remembered the small red haired girl holding Auror Potter's hand on the platform, and supposed that must be her.

"You have..a lot of cousins," he replied dumbly.

Al laughed,.

"All Weasleys, too, besides me, James, and Lil. Do you have any cousins or siblings?"

"Um, a cousin, Queenie, but she's seven and lives in the United States."

Al shrugged, "More peace and quiet, yea? This lot never leaves me alone." But he said it affectionately.

Scorpius felt a surge of jealousy for the camaraderie they seemed to share. He'd never had a friend, or a cousin or brother he could be annoyed at. He slipped into the seat across from the small one, Rose, and Al thankfully took the seat next to him. Suddenly, the cousins realized he was there, and they all turned towards him en masse.

"Al! Already making friends! Too nice for your own good, you are! He could be a Slytherin! What's your name?" The older boy, Freddie, asked him, not unkindly.

Scorpius sank into the seat, mortified. Now they would all find out who he was, and they would throw him out of the cabin, and he would be stuck wandering the train until they reached Hogwarts.

"This is Scorpius. He's first year like me and Rosie, yea?" Scorpius nodded and he continued, "That chubby kid that was shouting was bothering him, so I said he could sit with us."

He jutted his chin out at Freddie, and there was a look of unmistakable defiance in his eyes.

"That'll be Malfoy then, yea?" Freddie eyed him cautiously, sizing him up.

"Er, yea," he mumbled into his chest, sinking lower into the seat.

He waited for them to rise in a fury, but he seemed to have passed some sort of test, because one by one they turned back to each other and returned to their loud conversations. He breathed a sigh of relief.

"What houses are all you in?" Scorpius asked.

Al just laughed.

"Our lot? Gryffindors, the bunch of us. Well, cept Rosie and me, yet.," looking pale, he lowered his voice and glanced around nervously. "Can you keep a secret?"

"I'm not sure, I've not had a secret before," Scorpius answered honestly.

"Well, you seem okay, but you have to swear you won't say a word to them," Al gestured towards his cousins.

Scorpius nodded eagerly.

"I was worried about being sorted to Slytherin."

Scorpius's stomach dropped. These people were Gryffindors. Of course, Slytherins were there sworn enemies, his father had told his as much. He tried to ignore the reappearing knot of worry in his stomach, and decided to enjoy his few remaining hours of having friend.

"My dad told me, that when he was sorted, he told the Sorting Hat he didn't want to be a Slytherin, and it listened."

Several hours later, Scorpius and Al found themselves standing off to the side in the Great Hall. The rest of the trip had passed without much ado, excepting a loud reunion between Dominique and one of her friends, and a rousing round of exploding snap. Hundreds of students sat at four long tables, one for each house, and the ragged old hat sang a funny song, explaining the virtues of every house: brave and loyal Gryffindor, Clever and Bright Ravenclaw, Cunning and Ambitious Slytherin, and finally, hardworking and friendly Hufflepuff.

The deputy Headmaster, Professor Flitwick, unfurled a long list of names and called out the first one.

"Abercrombie, Alice!"

The hat deliberated for a little over a minute before finally shouting, "HUFFLEPUFF!" The Hufflepuff's cheered as little Alice raced towards their table.

"Aubrey, Bertram!" Was sorted into Slytherin. And then "Baddock, Annie!" was Slytherin "Belby, Stewart!" was Ravenclaw, and "Carpenter, Matthew!" was the first sorted to Gryffindor that night.

The tiny little man continued reading the names off of the list, each of them receiving loud cheers from their respective tables. The further down the list the Professor got, the bigger the knot is Scorpius's chest grew.

"Macmillan, Edward!" Professor Flitwick called, and stout Eddie Macmillan puffed his chest out and strode towards the hat.

Scorpius began to sweat, because he knew there wasn't much separating "Macmillan" and "Malfoy." What would the school do when they knew who he was?" He felt like he was a dead man walking. He was hoping maybe the hat would spend longer with Macmillan so he'd have time to muster some courage, but the hat has barely touched the boys head when it shouted, "HUFFLEPUFF!"

He heard a stifled laugh beside him.

"You owe me a galleon!" Al whispered.

Scorpius smiled back halfheartedly and gathered his nerve.

"Malfoy, Scorpius!"

The hall grew silent and then buzzed, as students whispered to their neighbors and pointed at the pale Malfoy boy. Who knew what kinds of horrible things they were saying about his father and him. He tried to tune them out.

He took what he hoped was a confident stride and approached the Sorting Hat. He picked it up off the small, worn stool, sat down, and plopped it on his head.

"Ah," an ancient, sly voice spoke in his head, "A Malfoy, eh? I haven't seen the likes of you in oh- 30 years? Better be Slytherin, yes?".

"Not Slytherin," he thought urgently, "Anywhere but Slytherin."

"Not Slytherin? It's a time honored family tradition. I have sorted generations of Malfoys, and I've put every single one in Slytherin. Your brethren were all so eager to pick up the mantle. But you think you're different, yes?"

"NOT SLYTHERIN," Scorpius thought more fiercely.

If his father could be wrong about this, he could be wrong about everything. Just because he was a Malfoy, he didn't think it was fair that he should automatically be in Slytherin. The hat was doing what everyone was doing: judging him by his name, and not himself.

"You are bold, boy, and you're right, you know. There's more to you than your name. I can see that, here in your head."

"GRYFFINDOR!" The Sorting hat decided.

Instead of the typical applause, the hat's proclamation was meant with an alarming buzz, as hundreds of students turned to their neighbors in confusion. Not in two hundred, five hundred, or a thousand years had a Malfoy ended up anywhere but Slytherin. No one really knew how to react to a Malfoy in Gryffindor house. Scorpius peered uncertainly at his new housemates, and made his way over.

Realizing their rudeness a little too late, the students of Gryffindor house clapped, albeit perfunctorily. Al's cousin, Freddie, scooted over and made room for him on the bench. He was sitting next to a boy who looked so much like Al, that Scorpius guessed at once must be James. Scorpius smiled nervously at him, but James had an unreadable face and he turned around as "Mervin, Ophelia" stepped up to the hat.

Soon, it was Al's turn, and Scorpius crossed his fingers under the table for his new friend. He needn't have worried, however; much like Macmillan, the hat had barely grazed the top of his unruly black hair when the hat shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"

The cousins all broke out in thunderous, drowning out everyone else. Albus raced to the table, nearly tripping over his own feet, and his brother scooted over to leave him a place on the bench.

Ignoring his brother, Al continued on and took the seat on the other side of Scorpius. The Potter boys exchanged loaded looks, but Scorpius's heart swelled. He did believe he had found a friend.

There was, however, another great shock when Rose, of the red headed Weasley's, was sorted into Ravenclaw. Her family was outraged, naturally, but she blushed and smiled when she walked over to the congenial Ravenclaws, all dressed in blue and looking smug.

It was an upset night for Dynasties all around, it seemed.

The Headmaster, stately Professor McGonagall, stood up and cleared her throat. Despite her cane, she stood proud and tall, and had an intimidating demeanor that made Scorpius think maybe he didn't want to be on her bad side.

"Let us not eat as strangers. Tonight is a night for making new friends, and reuniting with old ones. We gather as one for a new school year, so I say to all of you, welcome and welcome back. Please note that the Forbidden Forest is still, as always, out of bounds, except without a staff escort.

"Weasley's Wizard Wheezes," she eyed the Gryffindor table sternly, "Are STILL banned on premises, and Madam Pince has asked me to warn- er- inform you that she has a list of unreturned library books from last term and will be pursuing all overdue students."

She almost smirked.

"I am also pleased to announce a new addition to our staff, former Gryffindor Quidditch captain, Hogwarts Quidditch cup winner, and former keeper for Puddlemere United, Oliver Wood has joined us as Quidditch coach and flight instructor at Hogwarts."

She looked fondly at a burly sort of man with thick eyebrows and a thatch of salt and pepper hair. He grinned sheepishly and gave a small wave.

"And now, dear students- tuck in!"

All manner of delectable foods suddenly appeared on the table before them, and both Scorpius and Al gave a start and then laughed; both had been expecting it, but nothing quite prepares you for the first time every food your eleven-year-old heart could desire appears out of . thin air in front on you. With matching grins, they dug in and enjoyed the feast.

After everyone was properly satiated and bursting to the gills, the various houses dispersed. They followed a prefect- who so uncannily looked like the pretty Dominique, she could only be the remaining Weasley cousin, Victoire- up several flights of stairs and to a portrait of a large lady dressed in pink. After giving the password, (curmudgeon,) the Gryffindors ambled their way past the cozy common room, and up to their various dormitories to turn in for the night.

Scorpius was pleased to find his bed immediately next to Al's. They shared their dormitory with several other boys and introductions were made sleepily, as everyone changed into pajamas; Theo Jordan, Matthew Carpenter, Alfie Thomas, and Quintinian Fimbultyr.

Again, Scorpius received weary looks from his classmates, but the presence of Al bolstered his confidence. The four-poster beds were warm and inviting, and Scorpius slipped underneath the warm sheets.

In his dreams that night, he was on the Hogwarts Express again, as it started pulling away. The only figures on the platform were his mother, father, and the little red-haired girl. His mother and the girl waved while his dad stared in stoic silence. How would Draco Malfoy react when he discovered his only son was a Gryffindor at heart? Scorpius brow furrowed in his sleep, and he clutched his pillow tight. In his dream, the train started gathering steam, and both his mother and the red-haired girl chased the train around the bend, while his father stood and watched, his features blurred and unreadable. Suddenly,the train launched into the sky like a bird, and they were gone.