Throughout the generations, the Malfoy family noticed that there were certain qualities the men had. Of course, they had blond, almost white, hair, pale skin, and light blue eyes, as genealogy dictates. They were also, as some would say, cursed, with petite body frames, and usually tall, giving them an odd androgynous look they generally detested. However, along with physical qualities, certain attitude attributes were passed down with them. The men born into the Malfoy line were usually conniving; completely unafraid to use any means in the book to achieve what they wanted. They also were born leaders, quick to get to the point, and generally the ringleader within their group of friends. And no matter how hard they tried to repress it, there was a cowardly side to each and every one of them that would come out with full force at exactly the wrong moment.
For young Scorpius Malfoy, now was one of those moments.
The eleven-year-old boy stood on the edge of Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters, trying very hard not to look as scared as he felt. He had never actually been here before, but it felt like he had, after hearing his father's countless tales about his own Hogwarts experience. Taking a few tiny steps back, he tried to keep himself as close to his family as possible, trying to stay with them as much as possible. He looked up at his mother, as it was her first time here as well. That was the problem with having a home schooled mother; you couldn't rely on her for information. His mother caught his glance, and subtly slipped her hand into his, giving Scorpius a reassuring squeeze. The lace at the edge of her dress' sleeve was itchy, but it was familiar. Scorpius didn't let go of her hand; he didn't want to leave his mother just yet.
“Dad?” He asked, turning to his father. “What house do you think I'll be in?” He already knew the answer. Malfoys were always in Slytherin, it was just one of those natural things.
“Probably Slytherin,” His father replied, looking down to his son. “Why are you asking me? I thought you would have known that.”
“But what if they put me in Hufflepuff? Their name reminds me of marshmallows.” Scorpius looked up at his father again, a frantic look in his eyes. “I'm not a marshmallow, dad!” He cried. His mother shot Draco a look that said, 'Do something to comfort him!'
Instead, his father laughed, and the twinkle he would get in his eye showed up promptly. “I remember when I was saying that,” He said, chuckling quietly. “Twenty-five years ago. I remember threatening your grandfather that I would run away and never ever return if I was put in Hufflepuff.” The fact of his father had once scared of the thought of being in Hufflepuff as well was reassuring.
“But the people in that house are all very nice.” His mother Catherine said, a touch icily. Even their founder, Helga was dedicated to benefiting all of wizarding kind. That's more than can be said about Salazar...” She had taken it upon herself to know every last detail about Hogwarts. Because she had never set foot on the campus, she had to rely on books and word of mouth to get by.
“You'll do well in any house you're put into.” His father said calmly. “Even Hufflepuff, if for some inane reason you get placed there. God forbid it happen, though. Just remember you might encounter...lunatics every once in a while.” And as if to make his point, he nodded tersely to the Potter family, the father of whom had acknowledged politely from about twenty feet away.
“I guess, dad...” Scorpius replied, looking at the Potter children. They were a loud, ragtag group that seemed more outgoing than he could handle. One of which looked just like his father, like Scorpius and his father, Draco. He turned back to his parents.
“Look! Here's the train now.” His mother replied, her breath taken away. Scorpius had forgotten that she never saw the train before either. “You should get ready to board.” She murmured as it pulled into the station.
Just at that point, the feeling of fear either due to going to live in a place where he knew no one, or having to leave his parents for nine months, broke loose. He hugged his mother, burying his face in her black, Victorian style dress. He looked to his father, who opened his arms for a hug, as well.
'I'll miss you, Scorpius.” He whispered as his son gripped him tightly. “But you'll do well. You'll make history.” And with that, the two let go of each other. Catherine handed her son his trunk, and gave him a small, sad smile. Scorpius picked up his luggage, and turned to the Hogwarts Express.
“Do well, Scorpius!” His mother called, her face framed in front of the black parasol she had opened. And with that, he boarded the train.
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