Harry Potter - Title: The Inconveniences of Being a Malfoy (1)

ðHgeocities.com/crystalangel0105//tiobam1.htmgeocities.com/crystalangel0105_/tiobam1.htm.delayedx³WÕJÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÈð1Ì2OKtext/html€8»LÜÌ2ÿÿÿÿb‰.HThu, 27 Sep 2007 22:45:47 GMTºMozilla/4.5 (compatible; HTTrack 3.0x; Windows 98)en, *³WÕJÌ2 Harry Potter - Title: The Inconveniences of Being a Malfoy (1) Title: The Inconveniences of Being a Malfoy
Summary: First year at Hogwarts, Scorpius isn't getting along well, but he'll be damned if he's going to be happy that Albus Severus Potter is suddenly trying to help.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter.

(1)

Shoes (probably new, Scorpius thought darkly, and shiny and lovely, while the shoes on his feet are battered and worn – his grandfather couldn’t bear to go shopping with him, everything they bought had to be second-hand) tapped loudly against the floor and he shrunk back against the corner of the abandoned girl’s bathroom. The sound echoed even louder in the complete quiet - not even Moaning Myrtle bothered him after his torment, respectful of his rampant shame and humiliation.

‘Grandfather would just die if he knew,’ Scorpius thought and cringed as the footsteps grow louder. ‘A Malfoy, having to endure this kind of disgraceful behaviour, we’re better than them-’ but Father always snapped impatiently at Lucius when he went on his long rants, so Scorpius cut his own thoughts off accordingly.

“Back for more?” he snapped when the door opened into the bathroom, hiding whoever it was behind the door from Scorpius’ sight. He cursed himself silently – if they really were back, the words wouldn’t help any, but it wasn't like his mouth ever listened or obeyed his common sense. He was, apparently, cursed with the same Malfoy lack of censorship as Lucius, who doesn't hesitate to say anything on his mind. “Well, come on then, let’s see your manly toughness as you beat on a poor, defenceless first year, you snivelling Gryffindors.”

He started in surprise when he saw one of the Potter boys step into his line of vision instead of his tormentors, a frown on his face. It was the boy in his year, the one with two names taken in tribute from the previous Headmasters. “What are you going on about, Malfoy?” Albus Severus Potter said and held out a hand to help him up.

“Fuck off,” Scorpius said flatly and ignored the hand as he pulled himself up on his own.

The other boy’s eyebrows shot up, but Potter shrugged it off and stepped back politely as Scorpius straightened and brushed unseen dust off of his slightly ragged clothing. (‘We’ve sunken to the level of Weasleys,’ his grandfather groaned in horror the last time Scorpius had seen him, the day Draco Malfoy had taken his son’s hand and led him into the green flames to Floo for the first time.)

He pretended not to look at the younger Potter boy out of the corner of his eye as he waited patiently for Scorpius to finish. He wondered what could have brought the boy here – he’d seen him in classes, laughing and teasing and good naturedly taking teasing of his own. Albus Severus had friends, plenty of them, and loads more of people looking to be a friend of one of the sons of the great Harry Potter.

Unlike, Scorpius thought, not without bitterness, the son of a Malfoy, disgraced and looked down upon not only by the few surviving Death Eater families who still had any influence in society, but by the other side as well. Almost everyone Scorpius has met greeted him with disgust or pity, and sometimes a mixture of both. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy have not left their home in years; when Draco Malfoy walked the streets, his head was held high, but his shoulders hunched slightly with tension, an instinctive attempt to protect himself from the barbed words and looks.

Well, Scorpius didn't need anyone anyway. He didn't need friends, he'd gotten along fine on his own for months now, and he especially didn't need Potter's pity, or whatever he'd come to give him.

Scorpius realized he’d probably exhausted the limited amount of time polite society gave to “freshen up,” and he pulled himself up to his full height – which, as it turned out, was a good inch or two shorter than Potter. He fought the urge to wrinkle his nose in annoyance.

“What is it, Potter?” he asked finally, breaking the silence as the other boy’s green eyes simply continued to stare at him unerringly, making him feel awkward.

Potter shook his head slightly, and gave Scorpius a slight smile – the annoyingly charming one that kept Scorpius from properly hating him, like Lucius’ hardly subtle words and actions were telling him to do. “You missed Charms… it’s your favourite class, isn’t it? Professor Flitwick sent me after you.”

Scorpius couldn’t think of anything to say. “What of it?” he heard himself say and sneered at Potter. “If I want to skip a class, I’ll just do what I want.”

Potter frowned at him again, and suddenly the other boy was in front of him, a finger softly tracing a bruise that Scorpius knew was on his forehead. Personal space, Potter, Scorpius shrieked in his mind, but all Scorpius did was stumble backwards away from him, eyes wide in surprise. “What the hell?” he snarled at Potter, who looked just as surprised as Scorpius, though probably for different reasons.

Potter, he could almost hear Lucius hissing. Blood of a mudblood, blood of that insolent boy. Weasley blood too, disgusting blood traitors-

“Sorry,” Potter said sheepishly, but his face quickly turned serious. “Was it Gryffindors who did that to you?” Scorpius didn’t answer immediately but gave Potter a flat look, which was an answer in itself. Potter sighed.

Scorpius crossed his arms stubbornly and scowled at Potter. “Why do you care anyway?”

Potter shrugged, and said, “You’re not bad, Malfoy.” He paused and then added, “I don’t hate you.”

Never thought you did, Scorpius wanted to snap back, but he held his tongue for once, surprised at the feeling of relief and…happiness that washed over him. He tentatively relaxed his face to stop scowling at the other boy, and was instantly warmed by the brilliant smile he got back.

“Come on then,” Potter said, “Let’s go to the infirmary.”

&&&&

“Mr. Potter,” the familiar voice of the Headmistress cut through their (albeit mostly one-sided) conversation, and Scorpius’ spine automatically became ramrod straight as Minerva McGonagall swept in front of him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Potter do the same. She looked down at the two of them sternly, and Scorpius felt himself shrink slightly under her unwavering gaze.

Mudblood sympathizer, Lucius’ voice echoed disdainfully in his head, Almost as bad as that blundering fool Dumbledore-

“It has come to my attention,” she announced, “that both of you two,” she looked severely at them over the rims of her glasses, “are missing your Charms class. Professor Flitwick was quite alarmed to find that you were not present in his class.”

Potter blanched, and Scorpius glanced at him in bewilderment, wondering why Potter had lied to him about Flitwick sending him to find him. “Sorry, Professor,” Potter mumbled to the floor and carefully didn’t look at him.

Professor McGonagall nodded sharply in reply and then said, “Now carry on; Madam Pomfrey is waiting for you in the infirmary.”

“Wha-?” Potter said blankly. He was staring at McGonagall with wide eyes, his jaw hanging open. Scorpius realized that his own expression probably mirrored Potter’s, and quickly shut his own mouth.

“I have also been informed,” she said, her gaze flickering over to Scorpius, her voice softening and sounding kinder, “that a certain few third year Gryffindors have been shaming the name of Gryffindor. They will be reprimanded. Now go on, boys.”

Scorpius frowned, feeling annoyed – he wouldn’t have reported the boys, the Malfoy reputation might be trashed, but he still had some pride, and it was more than a little chafed at knowing that now those boys would think that he would be such a coward as to tattle - but Potter nodded, and grabbed Scorpius’ hand, ignoring his automatic response to jerk away, and dragged him towards the infirmary.

“But, Mr. Potter,” McGonagall called after them, “if you miss another class again, you will have to face the consequences.”

Potter waved her comment away. Oh, well, it was all well and good for him, Scorpius thought viciously, precious Potter and his precious older brother and his precious father who saved the whole stupid Wizarding world, like they would ever punish them for anything…

“Let go,” Scorpius said, sullenly, tugging on the hand that still grasped his tightly, “I can walk on my own, you know, Potter.”

Potter released him. “Albus,” he said cheerfully. Scorpius turned to him, disbelievingly. It was bad enough that he had to put up with the condescension of his entire house and the other students (except for most of the Hufflepuffs, they were really rather blasé and indifferent when it came to dealing with him or, in fact, any Slytherin, and a select few Ravenclaws who talked to him with a strained sort of politeness), but being seen and heard interacting with Potter, specifically, this Potter, the one that looked so very much like his legendary father the Harry Potter, bringer of all things good and shiny and brilliant and happy and whatnot, in a friendly matter (being on first name basis!) would not help at all.

“No,” Scorpius snapped at him.

“No?” Potter echoed. Scorpius scowled furiously at him again, for the disappointed look on the other boy’s face that was making him slightly regret his hasty denial.

“I’m not going to call you by your first name,” Scorpius muttered.

“Why not?” Potter inquired, curiously, the annoyingly charming smile on his face again.

“I just don’t want to!” Scorpius snapped at him.

“Okay,” Potter said, looking nonplussed.

The two of them fell silent, walking quietly together.

“Call me Al, then,” Potter said.

“No!” That was even worse, if possible.

“Why not? It’s a nickname, not my first name.”

Scorpius felt both enraged and bewildered at Potter’s insistence and was sure that it was echoed on his face. He tried to concentrate on the angry feeling more. “No,” he said again.

“Then call me Albus!”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“No!” Scorpius felt a migraine coming on, and He was supposed to be too young to need the stress potions that his father took almost daily.

“Why not?” Potter demanded.

“I told you, I just don’t want to!” Scorpius hissed at him.

“But I want you to!”

They arrived at the infirmary doors and entered, still bickering. Madam Pomfrey frowned at both of them before shooing Potter out with a sort of exasperated and fond expression, one that Scorpius recognized from the faces of most teachers when they were dealing with either Potter. Bitterness surged in him again, but he felt it seep away at Potter’s sheepish smile.

“See you around,” Potter said to Scorpius as he left.

“Bye, Potter,” Scorpius grunted back, relieved that he was finally leaving.

“Albus,” he repeated, and Scorpius felt the urge to pound his own head into the wall.

“Fine,” Scorpius hissed, “Albus, you insufferable prat. Now go away.”

Potter – Albus, whatever – left the infirmary, a wide grin spreading across his face, looking like he had just conquered China. Scorpius yelped when Madam Pomfrey probed a particularly sensitive bruise and hoped nothing else would come from this little encounter.

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