The Other Malfoy
Chapter One: Humble Beginnings
December 22, 1981 11:47 PM Paris, France
A woman shrouded in a black cloak ran down the deserted street at breakneck speed. She looked back a few times, while clutching a bundle to her chest. After a
few minutes, she looked reassured, and slowed down to a measly pace. Tired, hungry, and alone, the woman searched for a place to rest. It wasn't easy; the
streets of Paris at this time, and in this area, were ruthless. She found a bench, thankfully, paint peeling, and a few wooden splinters in the seat. She sat on the
edge and set the bundle beside her, careful not to let it touch the broken wood. She peeled a few layers of cloth away from the top of the bundle to reveal a
cherubic face of a sleeping baby girl. The woman tossed her head back, closed her eyes, and groaned. What am I going to do? She thought. 'No muzzers in my show,'
Javier had said so on ze first day. It was deeficult enough to hide my growing tummy under ze layers of costumes, but to dance with a child in my arms? Unheard of! She
recalled, painfully and unwillingly, the face of the man who had done this to her. His manic eyes and rough actions, not unlike the pictures she saw in the Muggle
newspapers. He had been drunk and was yelling; something about killing … a death … hers? No. He had spared her. Something about a James and coming to
France. Can-Can girls and Croissants. She shook her head, trying to shake those thoughts out. But she knew better; they would haunt her, always. He had left her
there, in the alley, bleeding and sobbing. If she hadn't been found, moments later, she was certain she would have been dead. She would have preferred it, too.
Much more favorable than finding out, only weeks later, that she was with child. Sighing, she tried to sleep, but loud, blundering footsteps kept her from doing so.
She looked to her left and saw an outline of three men, swaying with intoxication, talking loudly and laughing raucously. They slurred in French, but she had no
trouble understanding them.
"Where did you get it, Jean? Tell … Tell … Us …"
"Where do you think I got it from, idiot? From my father! I stole … He likes to show it to his little friends … Makes Mama shine it everyday … The Bastard …"
"Let's see it! Is it loaded?"
"Of course it is! Where shall I try?"
"There! That shiny rubbish bin by the broken bench … That one …"
The woman looked up in horror and shook her head, as if to stop them, but it was all in vain.
The last thing she heard was a gunshot.