Harry Potter First Impression

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First Impression

The first time that I saw Albus Severus Potter I was sitting at the Slytherin table after a mouldy piece of headwear had told all of Hogwarts that I belonged there. The separation of Houses had never seemed like a prudent idea to me, and I had no preference for any of them. However, I knew that Grandpa Lu wanted me to be a Slytherin, so I anticipated receiving a large gift from him for Christmas as a form of congratulations for providing him with what he desired.

The Houses seemed to matter to the Potter boy, though. When he sat down on the stool in front of the Great Hall and a fat professor aptly named Longbottom put the Sorting Hat on his head of messy black hair, I caught a glimpse of the green eyes that resided behind Potter's black-rimmed glasses before the Hat slipped over them, and they looked terrified. The Hat deliberated longer with him than it had with any other student so far before finally deciding on Slytherin. He sat at the end of our table away from everybody and barely touched his food.

Even though we slept in the same dorm, I didn't speak to him for a few days. More accurately, _he_ didn't speak to _me_, or anyone else. He hid behind his bed curtains when he wasn't forced to go to class.

None of us knew for certain what was causing him to behave strangely. I speculated that he might be upset about not getting Sorted into Gryffindor like the rest of his unreasonably huge family, but I didn't bother to ask him if that was true. After all, it had nothing to do with me, so why should I care? The pesky thing was that I _did _care. Out of curiosity; not concern, mind you. Definitely not concern.

In spite of my vague interest, I refrained from investigating. He ignored everyone, including me, ergo I didn't seek him out either. The first time that we inadvertently wound up sitting beside each other was during our first Charms course.

The teacher was female and had taken over the position after some dueling dwarf had retired. In my humble opinion, she wore entirely too many cosmetics. They covered her features instead of accentuating them in the complimentary fashion Grandma Cissy's tended to do.

The clown-ish instructor's directions were to make a feather float. I couldn't see the point in this, but I took out my wand, swished it, and drawled disinterestedly, "_Wingardium Leviosa_." I wasn't surprised when the quill levitated. I've always been good at magic.

The brunet beside me fidgeted anxiously as he fumbled to retrieve his wand. I prayed that he wouldn't set anything on fire because my robes were new.

Finally finding his wand, the boy held it with more poise than I would have thought possible considering how jittery he had been a second ago. The wooden stick moved and the feather shot so high up into the air that it almost touched the ceiling.

The professor looked up at the object and gasped in surprise before turning to regard the boy that had charmed it. After studying him for a moment the shock faded from her face. "Ah, you're a Potter," she said as if that explained away his magical achievement, making it something that people should expect instead of admire. That was unfair. I wasn't going to trouble myself with objecting aloud since both the student and the professor meant nothing to me, but I still found it unjust. "I didn't hear you say anything. Did you cast that spell nonverbally?"

"Yes, I'm sorry." Potter bit his bottom lip, a gesture of nervousness that my family deems plebian. It didn't look terrible when he did it. "Was I not supposed to? I won't do it again."

"No, no, it's very advanced magic for someone of your age," bolstered the woman with too much face paint. "Of course, what else can we expect from someone whose father could do a Patronus Charm at fifteen? Five points to Slytherin."

Our classmates looked happy, but the green-eyed boy didn't. I wanted to reassure him even though I'd been told countless times by my grandfather that my compassion (mild as it was) for strangers was a weakness. "I didn't think it was impressive." Did that come out right? "I mean, it shot up several feet when it was only supposed to be a few inches, so you obviously cast the spell stronger than you meant to, which isn't something to be gushing over." No, this definitely wasn't sounding reassuring at all if his hurt expression was anything to go by. What could I say to salvage this horrendous attempt at comfort? "I don't like being compared to my dad just because I look like him either."

I hadn't intended to reveal something that personal, however, he was smiling now. I had apparently succeeding in lifting his spirit. I just hoped that he'd forget about it by tomorrow, thereby being unable to use it against me later. When the bell rang I exited the classroom quickly, concluding that if he couldn't see me he would forget the embarrassing tidbit faster.

"Wait, Scor!" I stopped. I don't know why I stopped. No one had ever called me such a ridiculous nickname, or any nickname, before. Hence, I had no reason to assume that I was being addressed.

The fidgety genius caught up to my unmoving form and offered me his hand and a smile. "I'm Albus Severus Potter. You can call me Al."

Dad had warned me that anyone related to the Weasleys might dislike me due to my background. If that occurred, I was supposed to be polite to them despite their petty behaviour, proving the superiourity of my upbringing. I hadn't been schooled in how to react to a friendly introduction from one of them. I decided that the courteous method could still be employed.

"Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy. You can call me Scorpius." I shook his hand. His palm was warm and his thin, dexterous fingers were clearly made to carefully handle detailed work. It was an artist's or an inventor's hand, but certainly not an athlete's, which contradicted what I'd heard about the Weasleys and the Potters, almost all of whom were famed for playing on the Gryffindor team in their school days. I can't imagine why anyone would do so, for I've never had much interest in Quidditch.

"Are you sure that I can't call you Scor? Your name is like mine; it's such a mouthful to say. Going by the first syllable is much easier." I'd started strolling again and he fell in step beside me whilst he chattered. Our strides matched perfectly. The unfamiliarity of such a synchronised motion made me slightly uncomfortable, yet it was somehow nice as well. I had never experienced anything that was awkward and nice simultaneously until then. I wondered if other activities produced a similar sensation.

"My full name isn't like yours. It's two syllables longer." It struck me as necessary to point that out. "And, no, you can't. Everyone calls me Scorpius."

"Do you like being called Scorpius?" He was genuinely curious. Most people assumed that I despised my name, and they were correct, but it was refreshing that he wasn't presumptuous.

"It's what everyone else has always called me," I reiterated. I wasn't about to admit how much I disliked the ludicrous label I'd been given. This _Al_ already had something to blackmail me with, and I wasn't about to add another item to the list.

"I'm not everyone else. I'm your friend; I could call you something different."

I froze in place and stared at him, incredulous. "My _friend_? You don't know anything about me."

"Sure, I do," he disagreed cheerfully. "You're a first year Slytherin. You're an only child. You're good at magic." These traits were obvious to anyone, so they did not count. "You don't like being compared to your relatives." I had unintentionally conveyed that; it didn't count either. "You come across as condescending, but you don't do it to actually be condescending. Your fingernails are manicured. You smell like clean linen and wine. You walk at the same pace as me. You don't have a nickname," he paused and added with a small, shy grin, "yet."

All right, perhaps he did know a thing or two because he had bizarre powers of insight. According to my family, both Dumbledore and Snape (Every resident in the wizarding world knew who The Boy Who Lived had named his offspring after.) had been unnervingly observant. Improbable as it seemed, Al must have inherited that characteristic somehow.

"Right. Well..." I cast around for a way to respond to such an unexpected declaration. "I don't know anything about you."

"Oh, that's easily fixed." He put a companionable arm around my shoulders as if we'd known one another for years rather than minutes. No one at Malfoy Manor was physically affectionate, and I stiffened automatically. He removed his arm and appeared as fretful as he had during the Charms lesson. "I'm sorry."

I contemplated the option of telling him that he ought to be. When I looked at his eyes, which were a startlingly bright emerald colour up close, I noted that he sincerely regretted discomforting me. This caused me to elect to reply instead, "It's fine. Just-" I waved my hand nonspecifically and commenced ambling down the corridor again, "-talk."

Keeping pace with me a second time, he readily and easily complied. "I like ketchup, but I hate raw tomatoes. Autumn is my favourite season. My cousins say that I'm weird for not liking summer best. Actually, most people in my family think that I'm odd. Lily tells me that I am 'cause I say her music causes headaches and not happiness, and James tells me that I am 'cause I think Quidditch is boring. I wish that James would spend more time with me.

"I think Dad cooks better than Mum, but Grandma cooks best of all. It's my fault that Grandma stopped making Weasley sweaters; I'm allergic to wool and she didn't want to make them for everyone but me, or use another fabric. Out of all of my aunts, Hermione is my favourite. I don't have a favourite uncle, but I think Uncle Percy or Uncle Ron might be my _least_ favourite.

"I love to watch documentaries on a Muggle tely, but never in a cinema because crowds and strangers make me nervous. Lots of things make me nervous, like -"

"Hang on." I held up my hand and he ceased speaking immediately. I liked that. "You shouldn't tell me that. You shouldn't hand your weaknesses out to people." My familial instructions screamed at me to allow him to divulge the information, but I had an annoying thing commonly referred to as a 'conscience' that wouldn't permit me to do it.

"But you're my friend." His face was so open and honest. For someone of such remarkable intelligence and arcane prowess, he was incredibly naive. I knew that my kin would want me to regard the innocence as pathetic, but I couldn't. "I trust you."

My body was immobile again. No one had ever said anything like that to me. It made me warm, light, and dizzy. I was angry that somebody I had just met could affect me so strongly, and my vexation caused me to ask derisively, "Do you trust everyone that you meet that doesn't have a nickname?"

"No," he answered, not offended in the least. "It's something about your eyes that lets me know I can trust you."

"I have the same grey eyes as most people with Black or Malfoy lineage." I did not add that the pureblood lines in question could not be trusted by the general population, however, it was implied.

When Al shook his head the torchlight glinted off of his messy ebony hair. Why did the dark locks seem to shine? More significantly, why was I noticing to begin with? "I've seen pictures of your family in the Daily Prophet. The emotion in their eyes isn't the same as yours. You don't have Malfoy eyes; you have Scor eyes." He corrected himself, "Scorpius eyes."

"It's okay; you can call me Scor." I couldn't comprehend what had prompted me to make that decision. I simply felt compelled to be generous after he spoke about my eyes in such a manner.

His face lit up over what_ I_ had told him. I liked that, too. "Great! You know, I'm going to give my kids easy, single syllable names so they won't have to go through the fuss of figuring out a nickname. I kind-of like Gem. What about you?"

I had thought about what to christen my offspring before, but I didn't expect to be asked until I was married. Al seemed to continuously utter the unpredictable. "Dad's name, Draco, means dragon, and mine means scorpion. I figure that I'm obligated to name my kid Alligator or Cobra or something."

"That wouldn't be too awful," Al amicably responded. When I glanced at him askance he laughed and elabourated, "Alli and Coby aren't bad nicknames."

He was right. I had a feeling that I was going to have to get used to my friend - using that term felt peculiar, but not in a negative way - being right frequently. That could become irritating. Looking at his surprisingly luminous verdant orbs once more, I surmised that his insightfulness wouldn't annoy me overly much.

I was glad that he would be one of the people sleeping in a dungeon with me for the next seven years.


End file.

Harry Potter, Friendship, Romance