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Chapter 4 Edit

Scorpius

"Scorpius, it's going to be fine," my mother told me for the six-hundreth-and-sixty-seventh time.

"Yes, mother, I am fine. I'm not a child."

I ran through the barrier between Platform 9 and 10 and came into Platform 9-and-3-quarters. Women, men, and children scurried to the train, trying to get on before it took off.

"Holy crap," I muttered.

"Dad, what if I'm put in Slytherin?" a boy's voice said.

I felt as if a dagger had pierced my chest. My parents had always told me being put in Slytherin was an honour, and many great wizards had been put there. But what if they were lying?

A red-haired girl ran past me. A Weasley, perhaps. My mum had always had a grudge against them, but Dad never said a word against them.

"Scorp?"

My little sister Eurydice appeared at my elbow. She was tiny and petite, with short dirty blonde hair and brownish-blue eyes.

"Are you alright?" she asked, pulling her arms around my waist.

"Yes. Eurie, could you please leave me alone?" I asked my little sister.

Eurydice ran to my father the second I finished my sentence and hugged him tightly. Father looked at her with surprise and smiled at her.

"Mum?" I said, feeling the hairs on my neck tingle.

"Yes, sweetheart?" she said.

"I heard somebody saying they wanted to be put in any house other than Slytherin... and... is Slytherin really a bad thing?"

"Scorpius, Slytherin is a good house. True, they have produced several dark wizards, but it is a good house. Only clever and cunning people get to be in the house."

I nodded, but I still wasn't sure. Dark wizards? I didn't feel so good anymore.

"And, Scorp?" my mother said.

"Y-yes?"

"Don't get involved with any dirty mudbloods, will you?"


"Excuse me... could we please sit here? Train's almost full."

I lifted my head up and saw four people. Two girls and two boys.

"Yeah... er, sure."

They all sat down. The red-haired girl from before sat down next to me. "Hi, I'm Rose," she said, a big smile on her face.

"Uh... hi. Scorpius."

The other girl smiled too. Her hair was a dark, chocolate brown and her complexion was slightly tan. "Emily Cornerstone."

One of the boys-blond like me-held out his hand, as if he was expecting me to shake it. "I'm Jason. Emily's my twin."

The other boy didn't look at me. He just stared out the window and muttered something that sounded like, "Albus".

Emily started fiddling with her clothes. For just a few minutes, her sleeve was pushed up so I could see a circular scar on her arm.

"Uh, what is that?" Rose asked, looking at her arm.

"Oh, that?" she stared at the scar and shrugged. "No idea. It's been there since I was born."

"You mean... it's a birthmark?" I asked.

"Yeah, it's a birthmark. I've got the same thing," Jason said, holding up his arm and revealing a mark, identical to Emily's.

"Oh. That's cool," I said. "So... do you have any magical blood?"

"Yeah. Both my parents were wizards," Albus said.

"His dad's Harry Potter," Rose blurted.

"Rose!" Albus yelled, hitting her on the arm.

"Hey, I needed to get that out of my mind. And we're cousins. If you're not saying anything, I'm saying it for you."

My eyes widened. "You have got to be kidding me."

"Uh, who is Harry Potter, and why are you so shocked?"

"You have no idea?" Rose said.

"Honestly, are you mad?" I asked.

"Really. I have no idea." she said.

"Me too. Hey, our parents don't have any wizarding blood. How are we supposed to know this Harry Potter bloke?" Jason said.

My mind flashed back to what my mother had said. "Don't get involved with any dirty mudbloods, will you?"

Well, mother was almost always right. How was she not right? She was my mother.

"And I forgot. Why am I sitting in a compartment with mudbloods?"

Rose and Albus reacted like I expected them to. Rose clapped her hands to her mouth, while Albus fixed me with a look of murderous rage. Emily and Jason just looked puzzled and confused.

"Em? Jay? Why don't we sit somewhere else?" Albus asked.

They all got up and out of the compartment. While heading out, Rose gave me a kick on the leg.

I couldn't help but feel as if I'd done something wrong. Maybe mother wasn't always right...

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