The Sugar Quill
Author: The Morning Starr (Professors' Bookshelf)  Story: The Sorting of Scorpius Malfoy  Chapter: Default
The distribution of this story is for personal use only. Any other form of distribution is prohibited without the consent of the author.

The Sorting of Scorpius Malfoy


Disclaimer: Only J.K. Rowling could come up with a name like Scorpius, so this is clearly her universe, and I’m just in it for the LOLZ the love of the Malfoys.


The Sorting of Scorpius Malfoy

by The Morning Starr


          In ten minutes, it would be the first of September, and the inhabitants of le Château were fast asleep.  It wasn’t actually a castle, of course.  Le Château was much more like a largish cottage with a few greenhouses on the property and a small shack used for brewing potions.  But to the family that lived there, it was quite like a castle because—as the lady of the house always put it—they were rich in the love they had for one another.


            At midnight a pair of pale grey eyes popped open, and Scorpius Malfoy was awake yet again.  Ordinarily he was a sound sleeper, but tonight was no ordinary night.  Tonight was the night before he went to Hogwarts, and every time he was finally able to drift off to sleep, he would dream of what the next day had in store for him and any hopes of getting some decent rest would vanish with each passing hour.


            The anxiety had been building over the past week, ever since his parents had taken him to Diagon Alley for his school things.  Hogwarts had been little more than a dream until a few weeks ago.  His maman had taught at Beauxbatons Academy of Magic for years and wanted him to go there, but in the end his father prevailed, and an owl was sent to Hogwarts.  Scorpius had been simultaneously thrilled and terrified.  Hogwarts… he was actually going…           


            He woke again at half-past two.  What if no one liked him?  What if he didn’t make any friends?  He wasn’t blind.  He could see that his parents had lots of friends when they lived in France, but after they had moved to England to be closer to his ailing grandmother, social calls came to an abrupt halt.  At first he thought they were just too focused on his grandmother’s health to be bothered with parties and visits, but in the three years since her recovery the socializing had never started again, save for their holidays in France and the occasional afternoon with the Zabinis.


            What if the same thing happened to him?  What if, for some reason, he was easily likeable in France, but couldn’t make friends in England?  Maybe he was better off at Beauxbatons. 


            But there was something about Hogwarts that captured his imagination.  Perhaps it was the simple fact that he had never been there, or maybe it was just because his father had gone there.  Scorpius yearned to see where his father had grown up, where he played Seeker on his House team, where he had been made prefect and Head Boy.  Would Scorpius be able to accomplish those things too?


            At four o’clock he sat up in his plush bed, thinking about the four Hogwarts Houses.  He had read about them over the past weeks and knew that most of his father’s family had been in Slytherin, but he didn’t know whether he was the kind of pupil Salazar Slytherin would have sought.  Scorpius felt far from cunning, unless his successful plot to get his father to buy him the latest racing broom counted, and his only ambition at the moment was to make a friend or two so that he wouldn’t spend the next seven years of his life wishing he had gone to Beauxbatons.  But would he fit in with another House, say Hufflepuff or Gryffindor?  He didn’t exactly feel that he was particularly hardworking or brave, really.  He’d learned a lot at an early age, though, thanks to his parents.  Maybe he was smart enough for Ravenclaw?  Blue was his favorite color…


            At ten after six he realized that any further attempts at sleep were futile.  He washed up, selected his lucky robes from the wardrobe, and made for the kitchen, where he hoped Biddle, the house-elf, would make him some fresh croissants.  After that, he would take his Peregrine 900 for one last spin around the grounds before saying goodbye to it until the Christmas holiday.  It was woefully unfair that first-years were not allowed their own broomsticks.




            “Be sure to write home at least once a week.”


            “And stay out of trouble.”


            “Be confident.  Your maman was a teacher and you have been instructed in most of the basics already.”


            Which means there is no reason not to excel academically.


            “Send word with Havelock tonight after the Welcoming Feast.”


            “We’ll want to know how the Sorting went.”


            “If you’ve forgotten anything, we’ll…”


            Scorpius stopped listening while his parents continued to ramble.  He didn’t mean to be disrespectful, but he was entranced by the great red steam engine and the swarms of kids and families running around the platform.  He wanted desperately to run around with all the other kids and wondered if next year he would be one of the many who were greeted by their schoolmates with hugs and excited stories of summer holidays.


            “…don’t forget to write to your grandparents on occasion,” his maman was saying when his attention meandered its way back to his parents.  “They may not admit it, but they hate being in Malfoy Manor all by themselves.” 


            She winked at him and ruffled his pale hair.  Scorpius tried to duck out of her reach and made to neaten it again before his father had a chance to comment disapprovingly, but no such comment came.  In fact, Draco was staring off into the distance.  Apparently he recognized someone, because he nodded as though in greeting and then turned back to Scorpius.  Eager to see if it was the Zabinis, Scorpius looked in the direction of his father’s nod, but all he could see was a big family and lots of red hair before the steam blocked his view again.


            Confused, Scorpius turned back to his maman, who was still going on about all the things he should remember to do and say, how proper enunciation could mean the difference between a needle and a Nogtail, and how meticulous attention to detail is a potion master’s best trait.  Scorpius nodded mindlessly; his thoughts consumed by the faraway look in his father’s eyes.


            Lucette,” Draco finally said, coming out of his trance-like state, “Scorpius should probably board the train before it departs.”


            He smiled at his wife, but there was a note of finality in his voice, and with a last (seemingly endless) hug from his maman and an encouraging nod from his father, Scorpius climbed aboard the Hogwarts Express and began the daunting task of choosing a compartment.




            “Do you mind?  Everywhere else is full.”


            Scorpius jumped at the voice; he hadn’t even heard the compartment door slide open.  He had managed to find an empty compartment straight away and had been lost in thought about Sorting and Houses and friends again since the moment he sat down.


            A girl and a slightly familiar-looking boy stood in the doorway.  The boy was about Scorpius’s height and weight, but other than that looked almost like his opposite, with dark, messy hair and bright green eyes.  The girl was a few inches taller, with curly red hair and freckles.  She was already in her Hogwarts robes.


            Scorpius nodded and the two filed in, each carrying an owl, and sat on the bench across from him.


            “Rose Weasley,” the girl said, extending her hand.


            Scorpius took her hand, surprised at the force with which she shook it.  Scorpius,” he said, and then as an afterthought, “Scorpius Malfoy.”


            He was ready for them to laugh; Blair Zabini teased him mercilessly about his name.  But neither of them seemed interested in teasing him.


            “You needn’t be so polite,” he told them, “I know my name is… ridiculous.”


            At this, the dark-haired boy did chuckle, but it was not mean-spirited.


            “No worries, mate,” he said, “mine is quite the mouthful as well.”  He too extended his hand.  Albus. Severus. Potter.  But you can call me Al.”


            Potter.  That’s why he looked so familiar.  Now that the connection had been made, Scorpius realized that he looked just like the pictures of Harry Potter he’d seen in history books and on the Chocolate Frog Cards.


            “I think our dads knew each other at school, Scorpius,” Rose said.


            Scorpius was uncertain whether to be comforted or worried by this.  His father rarely mentioned his schoolmates, and Scorpius gathered that perhaps he didn’t quite approve of them.  What if Scorpius was expected to avoid these two and didn’t know it?  He briefly considered taking out a book and pretending to read it in order to avoid further conversation, but his desire to make friends prevailed.  Besides, he was curious to know more about his father’s school days.


            “Oh, were your parents in Slytherin, too?” he asked Rose, completely aware that Al Potter’s father had been in Gryffindor.  But when he asked, he noticed Al blanch ever so slightly.


            “Oh no,” Rose said, “both mine and Al’s parents were in Gryffindor, but my dad seemed to recognize your family on the platform.”


            So that’s whom his father had seen on the platform.  Harry Potter.  It made sense in a way.  Who wouldn’t recognize Harry Potter?  And yet, his father had never mentioned knowing him at school.  Scorpius made a mental note to ask about this in a letter to his father.  Well, to be on the safe side, he’d ask his maman instead.


            “So your family was in Slytherin, then?” Rose went on.  “I’ve read about the four Houses, of course, and while I expect that I’d be a shoo-in for Ravenclaw, my dad seems convinced I’ll be in Gryffindor just like him.  Do you expect you’ll be in Slytherin?  Obviously, no one can really know ahead of time, but it does seem that sometimes families tend to be Sorted into the same Houses.”


            “I doubt I’ll be in Slytherin,” Scorpius said quietly.


            “Well, my uncle says all four Houses are perfectly good,” Rose continued, “and not to make judgments about Slytherins, because the rumors that all dark wizards are from Slytherin only got out of control during Voldemort’s years because Voldemort himself happened to be in Slytherin.  Anyway, when one considers the entire history of the House—dating back to the Founders, that is—then one can see how ridiculous it is to condemn an entire House for a few bad apples during—say—a thirty-year period or so.  That sort of thinking just entirely glosses over all of the positive contributions by Slytherins to wizarding society, particularly advances in medical magic and potion-making.”  She said this all very fast, and occasionally she’d glance uneasily at Al, who looked as though he’d heard all of this before, and it was clearly not his favorite topic.


             Scorpius, however, perked up a bit at her last statement.  His father was a Potions Master and had already taught him a number of simple potions using plants from his maman’s greenhouses.  And of course, he had been instructed in basic history, arithmancy, herbology and magical theory.  His heart raced.  Perhaps he’d have a chance at Slytherin after all.


            He was about to chime in with his own knowledge of the traditional House traits, when the compartment door slid open to reveal a haughty-looking blond boy and a few followers trying to peer into the compartment over his shoulder.


            “I told you he was on the train,” the blond was saying.  “If that’s not Harry Potter’s son, then I’m a bleeding unicorn.”


            Rose and Al stood up immediately.  Al had his wand drawn, and Rose looked especially fierce.  Scorpius stood up as well, for fear that she might turn on him if he didn’t.  He wasn’t keen on taking her on with that look in her eye.


            “What?  Come to stare, have you?”  Rose said.  She was taller than the intruder boy and he seemed to wince under her stare.  Scorpius didn’t blame him.


            “I’m surprised you’re not taking tickets at the door,” the boy said.  “My dad says the Potters are notorious attention-seekers.”


            “Well, your dad’s probably just jealous because he’s not important enough to be paid attention to.”  Scorpius was surprised to hear his own voice.  Everyone in the compartment turned towards him, and already he was beginning to regret saying anything.


            The boy curled his lip.  “And who are you?”


            Scorpius hesitated to answer.  His maman would be furious if he got into trouble before even reaching the school, but Rose answered for him.


            “His name is Scorpius Malfoy, not that it’s any—”


            Malfoy!”  The boy snorted with laughter.  “Boys, you’re probably not familiar with the Malfoys,” he said to his cronies.  He spoke with a tone that was not unlike the old Rita Skeeter articles about Scorpius’s grandparents.  “They joined Voldemort back in his time, but couldn’t handle the Death Eater lifestyle and came crawling back to the Ministry begging for leniency and forgiveness.  Then they moved abroad when they finally realized no one wanted them here.  They’d betrayed the Death Eaters, but the Ministry didn’t trust them either, so they had no choice but to leave.”


            Scorpius opened his mouth to say something, but his voice didn’t seem to work.  His deepest fear had just been realized, and now he was sure that his new acquaintances would want nothing more to do with him.


            “Hmmm,” Al began, his glance shifting from the intruder to Scorpius.  From the look on Al’s face, he wasn’t about to say anything nice.  Scorpius expected the worst, but instead Al said, “I was just thinking it’s too bad you don’t realize that no one wants you here and that you have no choice but to leave.”  He took a step towards the door, wand firmly in hand.


            “Let’s go,” the boy said to his followers, “he’s not nearly as interesting as his father anyway.”


            The boy stormed off, the other kids following reluctantly and trying to get one last look at the three kids in the compartment before they lost the chance.


            Scorpius and Al looked sheepishly at one another, as if unsure what to say.  Rose, who didn’t seem to ever have that problem, was the first to speak.


            “Thanks for standing up for us, Scorpius,” she said as she sat back down.  “We knew Al would get more attention than his brother ever did, because—you know—he looks more like his dad and all, but we weren’t quite expecting that.


            “No worries.  And, erm…” his voice seemed to fail him again, “thanks to you, too.  My family... they’re not bad wizards.  They just wanted to be left alone.”  He felt ashamed.  He should be fiercely defending his family, explaining how his maman is from France, and that they owned a respected apothecary, and that they just wanted what was best for him, but a small part of him knew that this boy was probably just saying what everyone already thought about the Malfoys.  Perhaps making friends was going to be more of a challenge than he had imagined.


            “My mum says that one shouldn’t have preconceived notions about others just because of their family,” said Rose.  “After all, that kind of thinking is what led to the persecution of Muggle-borns under Voldemort in the first place.  So we mustn’t let our prejudices determine how we treat others, whether they are Muggle-born or of the oldest wizarding families.”  She was talking very fast again, and Al smiled at Scorpius as if to assure him that, yes, she was like this all the time.


            They continued to talk throughout the journey, and Scorpius found that he quite enjoyed talking to Rose, who seemed to know about as much or more of the basics as he did.  Plus, she seemed fascinated by the fact that his maman had been a Herbology teacher and by the fact that his parents were known for their quality potions and ingredients.  Al, though much quieter than his cousin, was also very knowledgeable about loads of counter curses even if most were far too advanced for him.  He was also quite the authority on Quidditch, and Scorpius nearly fainted when he learned that Al’s mum had been a professional Quidditch player.  Rose too followed Quidditch, but not nearly as intensely as the two boys.


            As the day wore on, the subjects kept changing, and between Scorpius’s excitement at having someone his age to actually talk to and Rose’s inability to speak in less than a paragraph at a time, the chatter was practically endless.  Throughout the day a few kids here and there would linger outside the compartment door and try to sneak a look at Al, and every now and again they’d get an actual visitor, including Al’s older brother and Blair Zabini, a tiny girl with honey-colored skin, impossibly-spiraled hair, and hazel eyes that sometimes looked green but mostly looked yellow. 


            And finally, in the middle of an animated discussion about whether the Holyhead Harpies would—or should—ever hire wizards, they arrived.






            A mousy-looking girl with ringlet curls bounced off to a cheering Hufflepuff table.  It seemed that with every shout from the Sorting Hat, Scorpius could feel his heart beating faster and faster.  He was certain that he was trembling and that everyone around him could see it.  His mind was racing.  What House would he be in?  What House did he want to be in?  Al had told him quietly as they walked to the boats that his dad told him the Sorting Hat would consider what House he wanted to be in, and Scorpius was suddenly faced with more possible outcomes than he was ready for.  He always thought that he would be put into the House that his personality matched; he hadn’t any idea that he could have a say in it.


            Of course his first thought was of Slytherin.  He couldn’t wait to write home and tell his Father that he was in his House.  But then the taunting figure of the nameless blond boy invaded his thoughts, and he wondered if being in Slytherin would just encourage others like him.  And then there were Rose and Al.  They were probably both heading for Gryffindor, although Al seemed less sure of it.  He definitely would like to be in the same House as them.  Not only did he enjoy their company, but he also thought that Rose was definitely someone he’d want sticking up for him.


            “RAVENCLAW!” the Hat shouted, and “Lynch, Artemesia,” joined her House.


            Malfoy, Scorpius.”


            Scorpius felt his heart drop.  He hadn’t really given much thought to the fact that he’d be the first of his acquaintances to be Sorted.  He swallowed hard and hoped his heart would stop thumping so loudly.  Someone was bound to hear it.


            Funny, the closer he stepped towards the stool and the Hat, the less oxygen there seemed to be.  Still, he willed himself onward and eventually managed to sit on the stool.  He did all of this without being the least bit aware of his surroundings until he heard a PLOP, and the Sorting Hat had blocked his view.


            “Interesting,” said a small voice in Scorpius’s ear.  “Intelligent, yes, and eager to prove yourself… also brave and fiercely loyal.  You could do well in any of the four, but the question is, which House will be best for you?”


            And Scorpius thought of his father.  He’d sat in this very same spot years ago, with the very same Hat on his head.  His father hadn’t been an evil wizard, and Scorpius would show them that Malfoys were just as good as anyone else.  But before he’d had a chance to tell the Hat which House he’d prefer, he heard it shout, “SLYTHERIN!”


            Taking a deep breath, Scorpius placed the Sorting Hat on the stool and joined the rest of the Slytherins.  Rose and Al smiled at him from their place in the line of remaining first years.  Once he took his seat and shook hands with those closest to him, he crossed all of his fingers in hope that Al, at least, joined him at the table.


            A few more students trotted off happily to their tables, and it was Al’s turn.  The Great Hall got so quiet one could hear a cat stretching until a redheaded boy from the Gryffindor table shouted, “All right Al!” earning him a dirty look from a prefect and sending his Housemates into giggles.  Still, all eyes were on Al as he walked to the stool.  His resemblance to his famous father was just that remarkable.


            The Sorting Hat was placed on Al’s head, and Scorpius crossed his fingers so tightly he was certain they’d snap.  The hat seemed to be taking longer than usual.  When it finally shouted, “GRYFFINDOR,” Scorpius sighed and uncrossed his sore fingers.  If Al was in Gryffindor, Rose was certainly headed there as well.


            But not right away.  There were several in line before Weasley, but Scorpius paid little attention until, “Smith, Zephaniah,” was called, and the haughty blond boy made his way to the stool.  He panicked.  What if Zephaniah Smith was in his House?  How would he ever share a dormitory with a boy who’d said such horrible things about his parents?


            “HUFFLEPUFF!” the Hat yelled out, and Scorpius let out the breath he’d been holding in.  At least the day wasn’t a total loss.


            As suspected, Rose also became a Gryffindor, and she waved to Scorpius as she sat down.  When the Sorting Hat was placed on Blair Zabini’s head, her ridiculous spirals kept it up instead of falling over her eyes as it had for nearly everyone else.  Scorpius had to stifle a snigger, which was just as well.  Blair joined him at the Slytherin table and gave the other kids such a look that they scooted over enough to let her sit down right next to Scorpius.


            The rest of the evening went by in a blur.  They ate, they were escorted to their Houses and dormitories, and Scorpius dutifully sent a letter to his parents with Havelock.  Only upon climbing into bed did he realize his exhaustion.  His mind wandered for a bit.  As they’d left the Welcoming Feast, Al and Rose asked him to meet them outside the Great Hall as soon as they all got their time tables, and he’d agreed.  Blair talked his ear off on the way to their House, and asked him if he’d help in Potions, as it was certain to be her worst subject.  He’d agreed to that as well.  And as he looked forward to spending time with his new friends the next day, even thoughts of Zephaniah Smith couldn’t bring him down.  He was determined to prove that he and his family weren’t the cowards that Smith had accused them of being, and if he could prove that to Albus Potter and Rose Weasley, then he knew he could prove that to everyone.


            In a few hours, it would be the second of September, but Scorpius Malfoy wasn’t thinking about that, because he was sound asleep.





Author’s Notes: It’s been a long time since I’ve written any fic, but I couldn’t let the newest Malfoy getting away without having me write about him.  I would like to thank J.K. Rowling for mentioning little Scorpius in the Epilogue, and for his ridiculous name.  *loves* I would also like to thank Ashwinder and Starbuckx, for their early comments and Ara Kane for still being an awesome SQ Beta Reader after all these years.




Write a review! PLEASE NOTE: The purpose of reviewing a story or piece of art at the Sugar Quill is to provide comments that will be useful to the author/artist. We encourage you to put a bit of thought into your review before posting. Please be thoughtful and considerate, even if you have legitimate criticism of a story or artwork. (You may click here to read other reviews of this work).
* = Required fields
*Sugar Quill Forums username:
*Sugar Quill Forums password:
If you do not have a Sugar Quill Forums username, please register. Bear in mind that it may take up to 72 hours for your account to be approved. Thank you for your patience!
The Sugar Quill was created by Zsenya and Arabella. For questions, please send us an Owl!

-- Powered by SQ3 : Coded by David : Design by James --