The Scorpius Malfoy Septology
Book One: Scorpius Malfoy and the Blood Warriors
Snuffy Livingston
-- -- -- -- --
Foreword: I've been working on this story upwards of three months now, but this is the first time I've posted it anywhere on the Internet. The first thirty-or-so pages I have already written have gone under strenuous editing since I began it, to something almost meeting my insane standards.
I am putting this story of FFN for several reasons, primarily because I'd like to get more outside opinions before I post it on the website I've registered for it (scorpiusmalfoy dot inkvein dot net; it should be ready in a few more weeks if all goes well). That said, please don't hesitate to leave your feedback. In fact, I encourage it.
Thank you, and without further ado, chapter one.
-- -- -- -- --
The crowd that emerged from the shadowed entrance of Lord Randal's Theatre on the West End was small; most of the others from that night's showing of Richard III were still inside, demanding their money back. Their lovely gowns and robes seemed out of place on the otherwise grubby, dirty streets, and, indeed, so did their harsh whispers and expressions of disgust.
Gabrielle Malfoy and her son, Scorpius, were among the last to leave. She was wrapped in a long fur coat, he in a thick cloak, and even the strange, pale glow they seemed to emanate did nothing to hide their displeasure.
"Well, that was a phenomenal waste of time," Scorpius said sourly. "No wonder Father didn't want to come. We just wasted two-and-a-half hours of our lives!"
"It could have been worse," replied his mother reasonably, her sweet soprano voice slanted with a French accent.
"Could have been worse? How? Mother, Annabelle Devonshire's performance as Lady Anne was the biggest disappointment since the Crucifixion!"
Her bell-like laugh echoed off the high walls on the other side of the street, and as her son helped her into the floating hansom carriage waiting for them at the curb, the heels of her Italian shoes clicked on the cobblestone. "Oh, mon petit," she said as she climbed inside, "we ruined you with Sir Walter Nottingham's performance in L'école des femmes -- now you expect nothing less!"
Scorpius smirked as his mother vanished into the carriage. He climbed up next to her, and once he closed the door behind him, she rapped twice on the front wall, causing it to jerk forward and start off at breakneck speed down the street.
"Mother, any layman could tell you that the acting was shameful, the direction was horrifying, and the prop-master must have been drunk," said Scorpius. "William Shakespeare is rolling over in his grave."
She smiled and fondly rested a velvety hand on his shoulder. Gabrielle Malfoy was a beautiful woman, short in stature but with strikingly white-blonde hair that fell in neat, pin-straight tresses to her waist. Not unlike his mother, Scorpius was petite, slender and very blond, though his pointed chin and aristocratic nose were doubtlessly traits acquired from his father. Despite their physical differences, however, they both seemed to radiate a certain glow, which became all the more apparent in the shadows of their hansom carriage.
"We need to take you down to the Champs aux Sorcières tomorrow to get started on your school shopping," said his mother distractedly after a few seconds of silence. "A stitch in time, as they say..."
"The Champs aux Sorcières?" Scorpius repeated, an eyebrow raised incredulously. "Really, Mother, I thought it was certain that I would be attending Hogwarts now, or has that changed yet again?"
She gave a pretty sigh, as if she'd just been informed that the garden party had been cancelled due to inclement weather.
"I admit," she said, "your father has been most steadfast in his preference to send you there. But I still think your education would be better at Beauxbatons, if only because you'd be taught in your mother tongue."
"God, not this argument again," Scorpius mumbled, slouching back against his seat.
"Well, darling, if you merely had an opinion--"
"If I had an opinion, our household would become ground zero for the next Great War," he interrupted pointedly. "Besides, it makes little difference to me. Both schools have excellent reputations and alumni."
"So very unbiased," his mother said. "That sort of impartiality will get you into trouble these days, chéri."
Before he even had the chance to reply, the carriage came to a sudden, grinding halt, sending both of them toppling forward. Gabrielle managed to catch her son with an arm across his chest before he hit the front wall.
"What the devil is going on?" he demanded as he regained his posture.
"It's far too early for us to be home already--" his mother began.
"Department of the Magical Interior! Get out of the carriage!"
His mother's blue eyes went wide. "Department of the Magical--?"
"Get out of the carriage!!" repeated the voice, louder and with more force.
Scorpius leaned across his mother's lap and pulled back the curtain drawn tight across the window of the carriage door, only to find a very large and hairy man on the other side pointing his wand directly at them.
"Good Lord," he said under his breath.
"I'm summoning your father," she whispered, shoving a hand into her coat to pull out her wand, which she gave a subtle flick out of the man's line of vision.
"Get out of that carriage or I will be forced to stun you both!" he barked.
Scorpius looked anxiously to his mother. "Do you suppose this could be about--?"
"Je n'ai aucune idée, mon enfant," she replied. "Faisons comme il veut pour le moment."
Her response had Scorpius worried. She only used full French (while in England, at least) when she was very distressed. He swallowed and opened the door a few feet, peering out.
"What's this about?" he asked, the confidence in his voice betraying his desire to slam the door in his face and charm the carriage to take off again.
"Step out of the carriage slowly," said the man, his wand still trained directly between Scorpius's eyes, "and no one will be harmed."
"What seems to be the problem, officer?" she asked in a shaking voice.
"Gabrielle Malfoy?" he asked sharply, his wand unmoving.
"I, uh-- yes, but--"
"The Department of the Magical Interior has reason to believe that you and your son--" (he nodded shortly at Scorpius) "--have been avoiding registration with the Sentient Nonhuman Magical Creatures Board and as you know--"
"Oh, for the love of God, man!" Scorpius began.
"--all creatures such as yourself are to be registered, lest they face jailtime in Azkaban for insubordination."
"To hell with the Sentient Nonhuman Magical Creatures Board," Scorpius snapped. "You have been doing all but stalk us, and every time we tell you the same thing: my mother is only one-fourth Veela, and myself only one-eighth. You can't possibly want us to register as 'nonhuman'! We're no more nonhuman than you!"
"Step out of the carriage," repeated the man, his firm tone leaving no room for argument.
Scorpius was more than willing to fight this tooth and nail, but his mother's gentle hand on his back made him think twice.
"Please, chéri," she said pleadingly, "we don't want to cause any trouble."
But Scorpius did want to cause trouble. This wasn't the first time that the Department of the Magical Interior had harassed them about getting registered with the board -- at first, they hadn't done it on principal, since both his parents had lived through the Great War and knew that nonhuman registration was barely a step above the Muggle-Born registration -- but when they came knocking, his father had been forced to use his power as a diplomat to send them off.
When they climbed off the carriage and onto the street, they found themselves standing on what appeared to be a long and lonely dirt road. Off in the distance, the rolling hills twinkled with the light from what Scorpius could only assume was Caben, a small wizarding village midway between the West End and his home. When he looked to either side of the carriage, he saw three other men besides the one with the wand pointed at his face, two of them short and one of them tall and wiry.
"Your wand, madam," said the tall one, striding over to her and holding out his hand expectantly.
"You aren't going to take my mother's wand!" Scorpius said, outraged, stepping in front of her.
In the half-light of the waning moon, Scorpius could see the man's face contort into a scowl. "You're a precocious one, aren't you?" he snarled. "I'll be taking your wand, too."
"I haven't got a wand, you slack-jawed Neanderthal," he snapped back. "I'm underage. Clearly, you're as observant as you are polite."
"Scorpius, please," his mother begged softly, pushing past him, her wand in hand. "I'm sorry; my son is quite intelligent, but his manners are fleeting."
"You don't have to apologise to these great lummoxes, mother," said Scorpius firmly. "If anyone should be apologising, it ought to be them, for stopping us in the middle of God-only-knows-where and herding us like animals!"
Suddenly from behind them, there was a sharp cracking noise. Relief spread outwards from his stomach, and he turned to see his father, six feet of blond hair and seething anger, storming over to them.
"Father!"
"Oh, Draco, thank God--"
"Step away from my family this instant!" he barked. "You have harassed us long enough, and if you do not leave immediately, I will be placing a call to your supervisor at the Department of the Magical Interior."
"We're merely following orders, Mr. Malfoy," said the first man with a frown that made him look as if he'd just swallowed something very unpleasant.
"Orders! Orders, indeed," he seethed, "you of all people should know that the parameters set out by the Board of Sentient Nonhuman Magical Creatures only include those who are full-blooded nonhumans. My wife and child hardly fall under that category!"
A cool wind rushed past them all, sending his father's cloak whipping and swaying in the breeze as he made it to his wife's side. Gabrielle fell against him, burying her face in his shoulder, and though he put a hand around her waist, his icy stare never left the other men.
"Not according to the newest addendum to those parameters," said the tall one with a rather sadistic smirk. Out from the inner pocket of his robe he produced a long, hickory wand, which he gave a casual flick. A parchment appeared out of thin air, long and tattered and yellow. His father bared his teeth and snatched it from where it was hovering a few feet from his face, reading it over quickly.
"As you can see," the first man said, not without a hint of smugness in his voice, "this extends the definition of nonhuman to anyone with one-sixteenth nonhuman and non-wizarding blood, which includes your wife and son."
Scorpius watched as his father crushed the parchment in one hand. It promptly disappeared, leaving nothing but a tightly clutched fist.
"This is absurd," his father hissed. "Are they not protected by the French government? Need I remind you that my wife is an attaché who should certainly be given some sort of immunity to this preposterous ruling--"
"Protocol is protocol," he said dismissively, rounding his beady eyes on Gabrielle. "Now, your pretty little self will be coming with me--"
Scorpius watched as his father stepped in front of her, a dangerous glint in his eyes.
"So help me," he growled, "if you lay one finger on my wife, it will be the last thing you'll ever do."
His mother had shrunken away behind her husband's shoulder, and the man had stopped his approach -- Scorpius didn't realise why until he saw his father's wand out and pressed into the man's gut. There was a very long and tense pause in which no one moved or spoke.
Finally, his mother whispered, "S'il te plaît, mon chèr, faisons ce qu'ils disent ; j'ai peur--"
"Don't be afraid, my love -- it would be wasted on these incompetent fools. Scorpius,viens ici."
Smirking defiantly, Scorpius started forward and held onto his father's arm.
"Gentlemen, it's been a pleasure," he said in a voice that reminded Scorpius of chocolate-coated arsenic, "but I'm afraid that I will be visiting your department head before you take my family in for registration, as is outlined in my rights in Section C, paragraph IX of the Board's directive. I'll be on my way, and you will be hearing from me soon."
With that, Scorpius felt the familiar tug of Apparation and they disappeared with a crack.