A/N - so this story cropped up, finally. It is a series of shorter stories with a central theme. The Malfoys are lucky in most respects, but not all.

Chapter 1

The water of the Seine moved like a slowly undulating black snake, reflecting the lights on its dark surface, hiding whatever lurked underneath. Scorpius stared down on its surface, thinking of all the things hiding in the rivers bottom, centuries of lost treasure and sunk secrets. There were always bodies in the Seine, a place for hiding the unlucky or unscrupulous. Rivers had always been an easy way of disposing of a body, if one must.

The night was dark and cold, moonless, but with the amount of lights in the city these days, such things didn't matter anymore. True darkness was hard to find in a city, where the muggles went around the business unknowing of the dangers that lurked in the shadows.

The Malfoys ran the city, or the wizarding parts of the city. Paris had been theirs since Voldemort's spectacular rise. That is what everyone called it. The man himself hadn't been quite right since the killing of Harry Potter at Hogwarts, that place of ruin and legend. Voldemort was still the most powerful wizard to living memory, but he spent his days in solitude, raving and raging, trying to find protection for his immortality. Sanity was what he should be aiming for, but the man could not be reasoned with, leaving the running of the world to the strong and powerful.

The Malfoys had chosen France when the world was divided, seeking to establish their rule and escape the mad machinations of their leader. Others could suffer his random displeasure. They had France, and they were the undisputed rulers.

The resistance still existed; vain attempts to wretch power away, whispering in the ears of the weak and disaffected, but they rarely achieved more than a skirmish. Hunted, they ran like rats, but for some incomprehensible reason, they refused to surrender, to fade away and accept that the new order was here to stay.

His long blond hair fluttered slightly in the wind as he opened the window, letting in the city air. Pale eyes scanned the quiet streets below, watching for the trouble that had been brewing in the resistance's hidden lairs around the city. Their actions were desperate and at times vicious, aimed to terrorize and disrupt.

Scorpius was born in this very house and now his role was to enforce the rules of the new order. They ensured nothing upset the smooth running of the city and that the resistance was eliminated whenever they were come across—executed anyone who stepped out of line, or in any way threatened the family or its enterprises.

He heard Draco approaching, hearing the footsteps on the soft carpet down the hall, approaching to appear in his typical dark suit and meticulously cut hair. Draco was particularly reviled by the resistance. It was him that had had to do most of the work to track down and eliminate the remnants of the enemy after the war. A necessary act, he had called it. Necessary for the peace and stability they now enjoyed and thrived by.

Hogwarts was never rebuilt, wizarding education now served entirely by Beau Baton and Durmstrang, the lenient attitudes of Hogwarts not tolerated in this new world.

"We have uncovered a cell," Draco said, heading to the bar to pour himself a fire whiskey. "We move against it tonight." Draco's face was cold and expressionless. The war and the time after had made Draco hard; Lucius said so. Growing up, it was often Lucius that Scorpius would turn to when he needed advice or understanding. Draco had little patience for either, and there was no leeway in the Malfoy family for weakness. Probably why the relationship between Scorpius' parents never survived. Draco was indifferent about its failure as he was about most things, other than securing their powerbase and enterprise. Some say he enjoyed the killing too much, other say it was the death of Narcissa that had made him so hard, but Scorpius wasn't sure. There seemed to be other ghosts there, ghosts Draco never talked about. One had to be careful how one handled Draco.

"When are we moving against them?"

"Eminently. Prepare."

Turning back to the twinkling lights of the city, Scorpius closed the window, shutting away the noise and turned back to his father who stood with his back to him. "How many are there?"

"I'm not entirely sure. Intelligence suggests there are ten."

"Anything of note to worry about?"

"Nothing. They are not particularly skills, nor powerful. It will just be a matter of lancing the wound."

Scorpius had plans that evening, a dinner party at one of the French aristocrat's house. The term had evolved over time, to refer to the old families that supported Voldemort's regime—clearing away the scum was more like it. Entertainment always had to take a back seat to protection of the realm. It was his true duty and one he embraced. A bit of the fear and wariness that surrounded his father were true for him as well, and he loved being watched and feared, people seeking his approval and good graces.

Making his way across the hall to his quarters, he undressed and put on his hunting robes. Dark robes with protective spells sewn into the very material, meant to dissipate energy bursts. They couldn't take the direct hit of an Aveda Kedarva, but they served some protection from lesser curses, particularly from the weaker talents they typically encountered, and the resistance typically made up of lesser wizards, tainted with impure blood and poor schooling.

He pulled on his boots and holstered his wand at the side of his hip. Black boots were pulled on last, making him a vision in black, except the soft, blond hair, which he rarely tied back.

The car was waiting outside, ready to take them through the streets of Paris. The vehicle was sleek and crept down the streets like a predator. No one got in the way of their vehicles. Scorpius sat in a vehicle with Draco, while their enforcers were in the vehicle behind.

They had been searching for this cell for a while and Scorpius was pleased to finally wipe it out, stopping it from unsettling the city and interfering with them. Hopefully this was the last dinner party interrupted by these vermin.

The car stopped down a dark alley and they silently got out. The enforcers surrounded the building, applying the charms that kept anymore from disapparating out. They were ready to go in, and there was no indication that their presence had been observed.

A fizzing noise hit the shields, making it glow green for a moment.

"I guess the rats know the cats are here," Draco said, staring up at the building with narrowed eyes. "Take them," he yelled to the enforcers nearby. They stormed through the shields and ran toward the entrances. Draco followed, stepping over the felled body of one of the enforcers, turning to Scorpius. "They are playing rough. Beware."

Scorpius nodded and continued up the stairs after his father, until they reached a landing where hexes flew from above. The enforcers fired back and Draco stepped out, firing a killing curse. A body fell down the staircase well, but more curses soon followed, with further coming from down the hall to their left.

"You take that one," Draco directed, sending Scorpius after whoever was firing at them from over left. Turning around, his robes flaring, Scorpius crossed the hall to a bay that gave him a better vantage point. Curses hit around him, but he kept his focus on the target: the man firing curses at him from down the hall. Stepping out, Scorpius blocked a curse, sending its energy ricocheting into the wall.

The man disappeared into the room and Scorpius followed, finding him behind the protrusion of a fireplace, sending more curses Scorpius' way. Again, he deflected, firing back as the man tried to withdraw. Draco fired low, getting the man in his legs and he fell screaming to the ground. Crossing the space, Scorpius kicked him in the head and the man whipped back, rolling over onto his stomach, searching for his wand.

He was dressed like a vagrant and had blood pouring from his nose. These people felt it was their right to tear down everything they had built. What right did they have? They were a blight on the wizarding world and every one of the needed to be wiped out. Scorpius put his foot down on the man's neck wanting to snap it underneath his boot, but a searing pain shot through his shoulder.

The voice of a woman's sectumsempra echoed off the walls in the room that otherwise had no furniture. Heat and pain scorched through him, and he felt the stickiness of his own blood inside his robes. The robes had protected him from some of the curse, but not all.

Scorpius swore as he whipped around, seeking the person that had injured him. He saw her, dressed in a cardigan and skirt, holding her want in her hand. She was pale with golden hair, by the look of her, seemingly unfit to produce such a destructive curse. But she had; she had injured him. For all he knew, it was a serious injury and he suffer complications from it. Rage surged through him, dulling the pain. This would not be borne.

The girl faltered, taking a step back before firing something that was much too easy to deflect. When his back was turned, she could fire a grave and harmful charm, but to his face, she couldn't muster the same force. He shot a burning hex, getting her in the leg and she screamed, but stayed upright.

She limped away from him as fast as she could, but there was no use. She tried to disapparate, but the charm kept her from escaping. "Tsk, tsk, tsk," Scorpius said and the shock and disappointment was clear on her face. Trying again, she fired something, but she was no match for his skill. A reductor whipped her wand out of her hard and she was now defenceless.

Turning awkwardly, she hobbled to the door behind them, but Scorpius locked it with a charm. She tugged frantically on the handle, but it wouldn't give.

"Nowhere to run," he said and she turned to him, her face glossy with tears. Her golden hair was curled around a barrette at the side of her head and her eyes were green, large and glassy with tears. Pink, plump lips trembled. She was actually quite pretty and young, a sharp chin on a heart-shaped face. He'd never seen her which meant she was probably a mudblood someone had trained. He wished they wouldn't do that. She would probably have lived quite a long life in the muggle world, but someone had through it a good idea to bring her in where she didn't belong. And this was the result. They tended to be quite pretty, these mudbloods, as if they were meant to seduce. "Taken on a bit more than you can chew. You should have known it was foolhardy to take on your superiors," he spat.

Silently, she pressed her back to the door, watching him with her large, fearful eyes. Standing wide, he brought his hands together, his wand held low. "Fatal mistake, in fact," he continued, his voice calm.

Again, she didn't say anything, just watched him as he reached up and placed his gloved hand over the throat, feeling her muscles, windpipe and ligaments underneath. She knew the game was up. Her lips parted slightly, ragged breath escaping through her teeth. Bringing his wand up, he put it under her chin. She raised that pointed chin, staring him in the eyes, her pride refusing to see her cower before him. "Aveda Kedarva," he said softly, watching as her eyes grew wide with shock then unfocused. She slumped to the ground when he let go of her throat.

She was quite pretty, he conceded, for a minute surveying her crumpled form, but they wouldn't be leaving anyone alive tonight. It was a shame to kill beauty, but she'd hitched her wagon to this; it would never have ended any other way.