Letters

The day after James threw a dragon liver at Robert Nott in Potions, a snowy owl flew into the Great Hall at breakfast and landed in front of him. It clutched a large red envelope in its beak. The entire room went silent. James reached out with trembling fingers and took the envelope. The owl hooted imperiously at him, and took off.

'You'd better open it, James,' whispered his cousin Jacob.

'Yeah, Mum sent us one last year, and we decided not to open it,' chimed in his twin Fred.

'It was horrible,' added Jacob.

'Exploded at the table in front of everyone.' Fred's eyes widened at the now-smoking envelope.

'I'd make a run for it, if I were you,' advised his older cousin, Madeline.

James grabbed the envelope and ran for the entrance. Before he could leave, the envelope burst into flames and his mother's voice rang out.

'James Sirius Potter... what on earth were you thinking, throwing dragon livers at other students...' James cringed. While his mother's voice was magically amplified, it was quiet. That was the voice he feared. If she was yelling, it was over and done with. The deadly quiet voice meant he was a few steps from a serious case of dead. 'I am so disappointed in you, James,' the voice continued. James' shoulders slumped. He hated it when Mum or Dad used that phrase. 'I expected better behavior from you, young man. Your father and I raised you to behave better than that. Just because we're not there, it doesn't mean you can get away with that kind of behavior. We will discuss this when you come home for the holiday next week.' The voice stopped and the letter fell to the floor in a heap of ashes.

Shaken, James turned around to find the entire Hall staring at him. He gulped and went back to the Gryffindor table, dragging his feet. He picked up his schoolbag and went to the dungeons for Potions, without meeting the eyes of his cousins or classmates. Dad probably wouldn't let him go flying during the holiday. Or he'd have to do extra lessons. Mum would make him do chores.

James slid down the wall next to the door and waited for Professor Williams to open the door. He heard footsteps and shrank down, trying to hide in the shadows.

'I got one of those my fourth year,' remarked a voice. James looked up. Victoire sat on the stone floor next to him. 'I was caught trying to sneak back to the tower with Teddy. Dad went spare.' Victoire smiled, 'The Howler had both Mum and Dad. Dad was threatening to strangle Teddy. Mum was shouting in French, no less. I was so embarrassed, I refused to come down for meals for two days.'

'I didn't mean to hit Professor Williams with the dragon liver,' James muttered to his shoes. 'Robert Nott is a git. He was saying stuff about Dad. Mum, too.' James looked up at Victoire. 'I just couldn't let him get away with it.'

'I know, James. I got that a lot my first year, with people saying things about Dad. You can't let them get to you.'

'That's what Dad said the when I wrote home a couple of weeks ago.'

The door to the Potions classroom creaked open. Professor Williams stood in the doorway, like some sort of avenging angel. 'See you at lunch, James,' said Victoire.

'Potter.' Professor Williams was tall, thin, and had a voice that sounded like it came from the depths of Hell.

James scrambled to his feet. 'I'm sorry, sir,' he whispered. 'I didn't mean to hit you with the dragon liver.'

Professor Williams merely stepped aside to let James into the dungeon. James miserably plodded to his desk, and began to set up his cauldron in uncharacteristic silence. Williams sorted through the previous class' homework, while James prepared for class. He looked at James' bowed head. 'I got one of those. My seventh year.'

James looked up at Williams in surprise. Williams wasn't the friendly sort, really, downright stand-offish if it came down to it. He was a good teacher, though and didn't play favorites. 'R-r-really, sir?' James stammered.

Williams allowed a small smile to grace his features. 'Yes. Almost what happened to you, except I tried to use a nonverbal Rictumsempra on my class rival, and accidentally knocked Flitwick off his pile of books.' Williams gazed at the ceiling in reminiscence. 'If you think my voice is deep, you should hear my dad's.' He chuckled quietly. 'Imagine it amplified a hundred times, and you get the general idea.'

James tried not to shiver, but the idea of hearing that voice at that kind of volume was a bit frightening. He could hear the rest of the class making their noisy way down into the dungeons. Williams stopped by James' table on his way to greet the class. 'You didn't get detention because the liver hit me. Although my hair smelled like rancid dragon liver until after dinner, no matter how many times I tried to Scorgify it,' he mused. 'You got it for throwing it in the first place.' James opened his mouth to protest, but Williams held up a hand forestalling him. 'I heard what Nott said. And he will be serving a detention with me the day after yours.' With that, Williams strode purposefully to the door.

*****

Scorpius Malfoy stood nervously with the other first-years. His father's words echoed through his brain like a never-ending tennis match. 'All Malfoys have been Sorted into Slytherin. Anything else brings shame to the family name.'

But Scorpius didn't really want to be in Slytherin. He wasn't really a typical Malfoy to begin with. Muggles fascinated him, for starters. He loved plants and spent his summers hiding in the gardens of his father's estate. His mother took pity on him, and gave him a plot to experiment with. The idea of blood-purity confused him. He didn't understand why it mattered. Harry Potter was a half-blood and look what he had accomplished. Youngest Head of the Auror Department.

'Malfoy, Scorpius!' Professor Longbottom called. Scorpius jumped and slowly walked up to the tall stool. He clambered up on it, and Longbottom dropped the Sorting Hat on his head.

'Not a typical Malfoy, are you?' said a voice in his head. 'You want to be different, even if you haven't quite figured out how. All right, then. Gryffindor!' the Hat shouted.

Scorpius felt the blood drain from his face. The entire Great Hall hushed into a shocked silence that quickly turned into nervous chatter. Scorpius trudged to the Gryffindor table, aware that every single person in the room was openly staring at him. The misfit Malfoy, he thought to himself. He found a seat at the end of the table, and stared at the plate in front of him. He refused to meet anyone's eyes. Not even the sympathetic gaze of one Albus Potter, who sat surrounded by a sea of redheads.

Scorpius picked at his dinner, and followed the tide of students up to the Gryffindor tower. 'The password's -Felix Felicis,' said a willowy blonde girl. Scorpius clambered through the portrait hole and followed the others of his year to their dormitory halfway up the tower. He found the bed with this thing by it, and climbed into it, pulling the curtains of the four-poster closed.

Scorpius stared at the red and gold hangings of his bed, imagining the disappointment on his father's face when he received his letter. He turned on his side, and squeezed his eyes shut. He had heard some other students talking about Slytherin on the train, and knew he wasn't going to fit in there. He had heard whispers about his father and grandfather over the years. But nothing outright. And nothing he could prove.

After a couple of hours, the room grew still as the other boys went to sleep. Scorpius poked a cautious head out from the curtains and quietly found a piece of parchment, a quill, and a bottle of ink from his schoolbag. He didn't want to write the letter, but he thought it would be better for his parents to hear the news from him and not secondhand.

-1 September 2017

Dear Mother and Father,

I don't know how to say this, but I did not get Sorted into Slytherin like you wanted for me.

I got Sorted into Gryffindor.

I hope you can forgive me. I do not know how I will be able to make it up to you, but I will.

Your son,

Scorpius

Scorpius sealed the letter and set it on his night table.

Early the next morning, Scorpius got up and went down to the Owlery. He walked in past Albus Potter and called an owl down. Sighing, he attached the letter and sent the owl on its way.

Every day for a week, Scorpius looked up fearfully for his father's owl in the swarm of owls that delivered mail at breakfast. It didn't come. Not that week, nor the next, or the week after that. After a month, Scorpius stopped waiting for the Howler that never came.

Seven years later, Scorpius looked around his bedroom in Malfoy Manor for the last time. He checked the wardrobe to make sure he hadn't left anything in there. Not even a pair of outgrown shoes. Before he left, the room, he stopped to touch the letter lying on his desk with a forefinger. He could recite the letter from memory, having written it, and rewritten it so many times over the last week.

-Dear Father,

I'm leaving.

I only have one question for you: Why wasn't I good enough for you? You made it clear when you stopped speaking directly to me after I was Sorted into Gryffindor that I was not a proper Malfoy, whatever that means. I waited for seven years for some kind of answer from you.

All I ever wanted was for you to accept me, for who I was, not who you wanted me to be. Would that have been so difficult for you? Mother seemed to manage it just fine.

I hope one day, you can.

Your son,

Scorpius Edmund Malfoy

Scorpius slung his schoolbag over his shoulder, and walked out of the room. Daphne waited at the top of the stairs. She enfolded him in a tight embrace, tears streaming down her face. 'I'll be fine, Mother,' he said.

'I know you will.'

'I left a letter for Father on my desk. You'll see that he gets it?'

'Of course.'

Scorpius made his way down the winding staircase of the mansion. He opened the front door, walked through the garden gate, and Disapparated to Godric's Hollow.