Character Bios: Scorpius
This week's bio:
Title: Scorpius
Rating: G
Genre: General
A/N: Many thanks to my beta
shina_laris . This was actually the very first bio written and it was posted up and then taken down to be betaed, so I apologize if you have already read it.
I have heard kids say I was born with a silver wand in my hand, but I was not. Instead I, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy, was born in a dilapidated manor, with my grandma for a midwife and my dad down at the town bar getting drunk. The family has enough of the old money left that we can buy near top quality clothing and other items, but our house is turning into a hovel and things that are not visible to the public are kept to the bare essentials. When Hermione Weasley got the House Elf Payment Act passed through the Wizengamot, we turned out all of our house elves, much to Mother's distress. I have always had enough to eat, but the shoes hidden beneath my high-class robes are old and scuffed and half-a-size too small.
Everything in my life depended on whether it would make the Malfoy heritage proud, or if it would lead it to utter ruin. Our image was everything.
Grandfather refused to realize how little money we had left. Father claimed that we were fine, as long as the Weasleys never found out they have more than we do. Though she spent most of her time in her bedroom or at Aunt Daphne's house, when Mother discussed the situation, it was only to complain that she needed more clothing and jewellery. And, down in the kitchen, Grandma and I did our best to ignore them all. We cooked up feasts fit for kings, or at least the middle class, from things we could find in the habitually empty cupboards. One Christmas we went out into the woods near the manor, which had once belonged to us, but had been sold to some creditors. We hid in the bushes, and Grandma told me to cover my eyes. I peeked and watched her as she aimed her wand at a large buck and murmured a spell. I had never heard it before. The green light and the feeling that accompanied it made me shudder.
Mother, Father, and Grandfather praised Grandma on finding such a superb animal. She nodded humbly and ate her home grown peas. I abstained from the meat as well. I had seen her shudder physically when she cast the spell, and just thinking about that moment made me lose my appetite. We never had any big game like that again, but Grandma learned how to set magical snares that would allow you to catch, kill, and skin an animal without ever touching it. So, sometimes we had hares or Blast-Ended Skrewts for dinner, both of which were remarkably good in stew.
But Grandma had not been out of bed for weeks. The last few days, we had not had much to eat. I cooked what I could from what we had in the kitchen and garden, but Grandma never taught me how to work the trapping spells, and I was not good enough in the kitchen to make anything from the leftovers. Personally, I could care less, but Mother stormed off to Aunt Daphne's yesterday, and Father and Grandfather both groused about the house. Grandma did not tell them how sick she was, so they came in and complained to her about not getting out of bed. Their words upset me terribly, and I tried to defend Grandma, but she merely placed her hand on my arm and shook her head.
As her illness worsened, she started talking more and more in small signals. When she did speak aloud, it was a soft, wheezing sound that was quickly followed up by harsh, rasping coughs. I had been keeping her propped up in bed and giving her Pepper-Up with lemon and honey, which she always made for me when I was sick. It was not helping. Her voice was getting weaker and weaker, as were her motions. I had not been around sick people very often in my seven years, and I did not know what one does when someone is sick. Grandma was the one who nursed all of us to health, feeding us teas and potions and casting healing spells on us. The spells I stumblingly read from books in the library did nothing to help her. She said nothing would.
She told me stories, sometimes, around the coughs. Stories about the war, stories I had never heard before. Tom Riddle and Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore were people I had heard about before. But the way she talked about them was different from how Grandfather discussed them. Her Riddle was evil, a terrible force that forced her and my father to do despicable things to keep Grandfather safe. Harry Potter, instead of being an idiotic teenager, was a young boy faced with battling a man far stronger than himself, a boy who succeeded. The wisest man of the age was what she called Albus Dumbledore, a man who had offered to save Father's life even as he faced death. She let me ask her questions, because in these stories I learned things I had never before considered. This was a taboo topic in my life. No one had ever talked to me about Harry Potter or the war before. Grandfather would at times boast about it and Mother would complain about how horrid it had been, but Grandma always sidestepped the issue and Father turned green at the mere mention of it.
In the middle of a story about how she told the Dark Lord that Potter was dead, her eyes drifted closed for a moment and her voice trailed off. I figured she had merely fallen asleep as she had taken to doing, so I reached over and shook her gently, but she did not wake. Her skin was growing cooler to the touch and she still refused to wake. It took me an hour to realize she had left this world, and another hour to gather my wits back together and go find another adult. My best friend, my confidant, my substitute mother was gone, and I was numb at the realization.
Other Bios: Teddy - Victoire - Fred - Dominique - Molly - Lucy - Roxanne - James - Albus Severus
Title: Scorpius
Rating: G
Genre: General
A/N: Many thanks to my beta
shina_laris . This was actually the very first bio written and it was posted up and then taken down to be betaed, so I apologize if you have already read it.
I have heard kids say I was born with a silver wand in my hand, but I was not. Instead I, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy, was born in a dilapidated manor, with my grandma for a midwife and my dad down at the town bar getting drunk. The family has enough of the old money left that we can buy near top quality clothing and other items, but our house is turning into a hovel and things that are not visible to the public are kept to the bare essentials. When Hermione Weasley got the House Elf Payment Act passed through the Wizengamot, we turned out all of our house elves, much to Mother's distress. I have always had enough to eat, but the shoes hidden beneath my high-class robes are old and scuffed and half-a-size too small.
Everything in my life depended on whether it would make the Malfoy heritage proud, or if it would lead it to utter ruin. Our image was everything.
Grandfather refused to realize how little money we had left. Father claimed that we were fine, as long as the Weasleys never found out they have more than we do. Though she spent most of her time in her bedroom or at Aunt Daphne's house, when Mother discussed the situation, it was only to complain that she needed more clothing and jewellery. And, down in the kitchen, Grandma and I did our best to ignore them all. We cooked up feasts fit for kings, or at least the middle class, from things we could find in the habitually empty cupboards. One Christmas we went out into the woods near the manor, which had once belonged to us, but had been sold to some creditors. We hid in the bushes, and Grandma told me to cover my eyes. I peeked and watched her as she aimed her wand at a large buck and murmured a spell. I had never heard it before. The green light and the feeling that accompanied it made me shudder.
Mother, Father, and Grandfather praised Grandma on finding such a superb animal. She nodded humbly and ate her home grown peas. I abstained from the meat as well. I had seen her shudder physically when she cast the spell, and just thinking about that moment made me lose my appetite. We never had any big game like that again, but Grandma learned how to set magical snares that would allow you to catch, kill, and skin an animal without ever touching it. So, sometimes we had hares or Blast-Ended Skrewts for dinner, both of which were remarkably good in stew.
But Grandma had not been out of bed for weeks. The last few days, we had not had much to eat. I cooked what I could from what we had in the kitchen and garden, but Grandma never taught me how to work the trapping spells, and I was not good enough in the kitchen to make anything from the leftovers. Personally, I could care less, but Mother stormed off to Aunt Daphne's yesterday, and Father and Grandfather both groused about the house. Grandma did not tell them how sick she was, so they came in and complained to her about not getting out of bed. Their words upset me terribly, and I tried to defend Grandma, but she merely placed her hand on my arm and shook her head.
As her illness worsened, she started talking more and more in small signals. When she did speak aloud, it was a soft, wheezing sound that was quickly followed up by harsh, rasping coughs. I had been keeping her propped up in bed and giving her Pepper-Up with lemon and honey, which she always made for me when I was sick. It was not helping. Her voice was getting weaker and weaker, as were her motions. I had not been around sick people very often in my seven years, and I did not know what one does when someone is sick. Grandma was the one who nursed all of us to health, feeding us teas and potions and casting healing spells on us. The spells I stumblingly read from books in the library did nothing to help her. She said nothing would.
She told me stories, sometimes, around the coughs. Stories about the war, stories I had never heard before. Tom Riddle and Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore were people I had heard about before. But the way she talked about them was different from how Grandfather discussed them. Her Riddle was evil, a terrible force that forced her and my father to do despicable things to keep Grandfather safe. Harry Potter, instead of being an idiotic teenager, was a young boy faced with battling a man far stronger than himself, a boy who succeeded. The wisest man of the age was what she called Albus Dumbledore, a man who had offered to save Father's life even as he faced death. She let me ask her questions, because in these stories I learned things I had never before considered. This was a taboo topic in my life. No one had ever talked to me about Harry Potter or the war before. Grandfather would at times boast about it and Mother would complain about how horrid it had been, but Grandma always sidestepped the issue and Father turned green at the mere mention of it.
In the middle of a story about how she told the Dark Lord that Potter was dead, her eyes drifted closed for a moment and her voice trailed off. I figured she had merely fallen asleep as she had taken to doing, so I reached over and shook her gently, but she did not wake. Her skin was growing cooler to the touch and she still refused to wake. It took me an hour to realize she had left this world, and another hour to gather my wits back together and go find another adult. My best friend, my confidant, my substitute mother was gone, and I was numb at the realization.
Other Bios: Teddy - Victoire - Fred - Dominique - Molly - Lucy - Roxanne - James - Albus Severus