A/N: No matter how much I'd like it to be, nothing you recognise from the HP universe is mine.
Chapter Four
Scorpius
"Father," Scorpius said, striding into the older man's office rather more confidently than he felt.
Draco Malfoy sat at his desk, his immaculately tailored robes hung over the back of the grandly upholstered chair he occupied. The elder Malfoy held up one hand as his son entered, scratching out a letter in impossibly elegant calligraphy. Scorpius rocked on his heels, breathing through his nose as he waited for Draco to finish. His gaze wandered around the room, barely taking in the lavish furnishings and roaring fire in the hearth before his father finished the letter he was writing with a flourish, and turned his gaze to his son. He regarded Scorpius thoughtfully as he stroked the eagle-feather quill in his hands.
"What can I help you with?" Draco asked. He sat back in the high-backed chair, his quill twirling deftly between his slender fingers. He nodded towards a second chair upholstered in a green velvet with intricate mahogany carvings up its spindle. Scorpius' fingers traced one incredibly life-like miniature carving of a snake, but he did not sit. Instead, he took a deep breath, bracing himself.
"Father," Scorpius said again, internally wincing at the formal tone in his own voice, but he'd long ago given up the notion of having a warm and fuzzy relationship with the elder Malfoy. "You have no right to meddle in my personal affairs."
Draco lifted one eyebrow and sighed, his features taking on quite a haughty aristocratic air that Scorpius knew he could never quite imitate, despite the striking similarities in their features. "You're speaking of the evening I've arranged for you with Miss Moreau, I presume?"
Scorpius flushed deeply, already hating the fact that he was having this conversation. "I am perfectly able to set up my own dates, thanks."
"Which is why you haven't been on one in nearly two years?"
"I'm not interested in dating," Scorpius replied, stubbornly shoving his hands into his robe pockets and staring at his brogue shoes rather than meeting his father's piercing gaze.
"No," Draco said, standing up, pouring himself a dark liquid from the crystal tumbler on his desk, "And that's precisely the issue. When your mother passed, I promised her I would everything in my power to provide and care for you, and this includes making sure you settle down and someday create a family of your own. If it were up to you, you'd spend the rest of your days with the company of only your books."
Scorpius winced, meeting his father's eyes. "Please don't play the guilt card, talking about mum." he said.
Draco brushed over this comment as if it had never been made. "She's quite pretty." he said, his light eyes following his son as he paced the room.
"I don't care if she's a bloody veela, I won't be seeing her." Scorpius raised one eyebrow in a poor imitation of the Malfoy heir he was. His father sighed and his gaze returned to his work, as if he were bored by his son's ridiculous notions.
"Whether or not you like it, Scorpius," he said, brushing a non-existent bit of lint off of his robes, "you are a Malfoy, and it is your duty to provide an heir and continue the bloodline. Though blood itself is not regarded as important as it was in my day, Eloise Moreau is from a good family, has a respectable career, and would make you a most agreeable match."
Scorpius bristled, drawing himself up to his full height, just slightly above his father's, something he was eternally shocked by. "I won't be forced into an arranged marriage." he said.
"Of course not," Draco replied, sitting back down at his desk as though he knew the matter was finished. "One date is all I'm asking for."
Somehow Scorpius didn't think that would be turn out to be true.
Scorpius Malfoy was tired, sore, and in a foul mood. He hadn't eaten all day save from his one paltry slice of toast at breakfast, and he'd been deciphering the most elementary and boring runes for a colleague's presentation for the last three hours. To top it off, his absolute wanker of a boss had taken a half day for a "personal appointment" that Scorpius guessed was meeting a friend down the local pub and drinking away the afternoon while listening to the Quidditch. All in all, it had been a pretty shit day.
Checking his wristwatch and deciding half five was near enough the end of the day, he gathered his satchel and flicked his wand at the lanterns hanging from the low ceiling so that they flickered out. He performed the necessary locking charms quickly, and closed the creaky, rusted door behind him and wandered down the overgrown path that would dump him out onto the cobbled streets of rainy muggle London. His nose caught a whiff of a nearby chippy shop, and Scorpius paused for a second, breathing in the salty, delicious smell before turning down a back alley and apparating back to his flat.
Scorpius coulf tell Al was already home from the sounds coming from the direction of the kitchen. There was an old radio playing songs that reminded Scorp of being at Albus' nan's house, and his best mate's tenor chimed in every few lines, off-key and slightly warbling. Scorpius dropped his coat and bag in the hall without hanging either (something he knew his father would've have his head for), and entered the kitchen to find his friend stirring milk into a cup of tea as he sang along to Celestina Warbeck.
Scorpius shook his head as Albus indicated the teapot, and instead headed to the pantry to grab himself a butterbeer, popping the cork with his wand and taking a large gulp of the warming liquid.
"Rough day?" Al asked, sipping his mug of English Breakfast and peering at his friend over the rim.
"You have no idea."
The boys were silent for a moment, Scorpius glaring into his bottle even as the taste of it warmed his insides. He caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of the darkening window, noting that his usually unruly mop of white-blond hair was sticking up more than usual, as if he'd been running his hands through it.
"You all right, mate?" Al asked, setting down his tea.
Scorpius sighed, taking another swig of butterbeer and running his hands through his hair again. "My dad's trying to play matchmaker again," he said with a slight snarl.
Albus laughed. "Is that all? My mum mentions daughters of various friends of the family every time I go home. It's just a parent thing." Seemingly confident that his best mate was worried over nothing, Albus picked up his mug again and made his way into the living room, kicking off his shoes as he did so and flinging himself upon the couch.
Scorpius followed, kicking Al's shoes towards the door and loosening the tie he still wore. He came to sit on the opposite couch, sinking into the plush leather cushions. "You don't understand, mate," he said with a groan, "This is more than just setting me up on a date. He's trying to find me a match. He was going on about finding a nice girl from a respectable family."
Al's eyes widened. "But your dad's renounced all that blood-purity bollocks," he countered.
"Just because it's not necessarily about blood purity doesn't mean he doesn't expect me to carry on the Malfoy name."
"Bloody hell," Al exclaimed, sinking back into his couch. "He can't expect you to marry, we're only twenty-three!"
"Our parents got married when they were our age," Scorpius said miserably.
"Bloody hell," Al repeated with emphasis, finishing his tea with a gulp. Then, suddenly, he brightened. "At least this means you won't have to pine after my cousin anymore."
"I do not pine-" Scorpius began, but was abruptly cut off.
"Sure you don't. And I'm half-kneazle."
Scorpius threw the nearest book at his flatmate's head, which Al easily dodged.
"So who's old Draco set you up with, anyway?" Albus asked, going to the kitchen to fetch himself a butterbeer.
"Her name's Eloise... Eloise Moreau?" he asked, and the sound of Al's footsteps immediately paused. Scorpius turned to find his friend standing stock still, his eyes wide. "She's French," he added, unhelpfully.
Albus seemed to come out of his fog and slowly uncorked the butterbeer, taking a long swig while Scorpius studied him.
"You know her?" the blond finally asked.
Albus came to sit on the couch again, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously.
"She's - er, a friend of the family. That is - her older sister's best mates with my cousin Dominique, and, well - our paths may have crossed a couple of summers ago in Paris..." he trailed off.
"You fucked my future wife," Scorpius said, grinning despite himself. "I can't believe you."
"I didn't know she might be your future wife!" Albus exclaimed, his green eyes wide. "How was I to know?" Scorpius just laughed incredulously, burying his head in his hands and groaning.
"You're such a slag, Al" he said, choking on his laughter.
"Well, look on the bright side," Albus said, wringing his hands, his dark hair sticking on end. "You can tell your dad she's not the untarnished lady he believes, and then you're off the hook with marrying her."
"There are very few respectable families left that would allow their daughter to marry a Malfoy after the Second Wizarding War," Scorpius sighed, straightening and wiping the grin off of his face. "He's had to resort to a French girl as it is, if you think he'll let a thing like this get in the way of carrying on the Malfoy line, then you're sorely mistaken."
There was a beat as they both contemplated this. The clock that hung above the mantel ticked unhelpfully, magnifying the silence.
"Merlin," Al breathed, uncharacteristically sombre, "I'm sorry I shagged your wife, mate."
Al summoned Scorpius another butterbeer, and he took a massive swig. "S'okay," he replied.
Scorpius tugged at his shirt collar and tried valiantly to focus on the conversation at hand. Eloise was rambling on about something having to do with her job as an Unspeakable, waving her hands wildly as Scorpius found French girls were wont to do. He nodded aimlessly at whatever she was saying, and tried focusing on one of her light blue eyes, then on the other. There was a speck of grey in one of them, and Scorpius found himself instantly distracted. He was staring at the speck, wondering if it was a natural discoloration or if she'd perhaps gotten a bit of makeup in her eye, when he realized she'd stopped speaking and was looking at him expectantly.
"Erm - sorry?" he asked, knowing he must look an absolute idiot. There was a beat where Eloise looked distinctly unimpressed, but she recovered quickly with a smile.
"I was just saying that this restaurant has a lovely atmosphere, don't you agree?" she repeated with her light French accent.
"Oh," Scorpius said dumbly, glancing around at the dimly lit restaurant with several young but stuffy-looking patrons lounging around on the plush chairs, looking as if they were drinking away their trust funds. Scorpius was pretty sure all of the waiters in the place were named things like Templeton and Wadworth. His father had chosen the place "Yes. Very nice." he lied.
Their waiter came to the table with the food they'd ordered, and there were several long minutes where neither said anything. Scorpius was just about to speak out of desperation about something, anything, when Eloise pushed set down her fork and took a large sip of the elderwine Scorpius' father had pre-ordered them a bottle of.
"So, our parents want us to marry," she said, as casually as if she were speaking of the weather. Scorpius immediately choked on the bit of steak he had been chewing.
She waited for him to recover, smirking at him slightly above her crystal glass. "So it would seem," he finally managed to say.
She sighed heavily, closing her eyes so that her long lashes brushed her fair cheeks. She really was rather pretty, Scorpius realized suddenly. Though blondes weren't usually his thing - it felt just a tad too Malfoy for his tastes.
"What are we going to do about it, then?" She asked, looking up at him with big blue eyes.
"What can we do?" Scorpius laughed bitterly, "If I know my father, the arrangements had been made long before we actually sat down to dinner tonight."
"Mon Pere is the same," she laughed. "Only concerned with finding me an advantageous marriage." Then her eyes narrowed, glittering with mischief, and Scorpius somehow found himself leaning in towards her conspiratorially.
"If we get married, they'll get off our backs," she said, quirking one eyebrow. "That way, we can carry on with our lives without their constant interference."
Scorpius sat back, shell-shocked. Was she really suggesting what he thought? "So it would be..."
"A marriage in name only, yes." She said, sipping her wine again.
He blinked slowly, once, twice.
"Think about it," she offered.
Before he could say another word, however, the waiter hurried up to their table, a thin letter in his proffered hand.
"Master Malfoy," he said in a clipped tone. "My apologies. A most urgent correspondence from your father."
Scorpius took the letter, frowning. It must be important if his father were to risk his son's first date with the woman he meant for him to marry. His hands trembled as he opened the letter, and all blood drained from his face as he read the correspondence.
"I'm sorry - I have to get home." he said, standing from the table and walking away from Eloise without a single glance behind.
Gregory Goyle wasn't an extravagant man by any stretch of the imagination, but he was a wizard who enjoyed his creature comforts. Though that Granger girl has outlawed the keeping of house elves as indentured servants many years prior, Gregory could still afford to employ one rather loyal elf whose lineage had been connected to the Goyle family for centuries, and was more than happy to work for the elvish minimum wage in Britain. It was for this reason that the bachelor Goyle was able to enjoy a home-cooked meal by a roaring fire when he returned home from work every night.
This particular night in late September, however, the hearth was cold and ashy with the remnants of the previous night's flames, and there was no familiar sound of pots and pans clinking from the kitchen. Goyle waited patiently for a good fifteen minutes or so, busying himself by changing out of his work uniform into something a bit more comfortable, before deciding to investigate the hold up.
"Tansy?" he called into the kitchen, expecting various apologies from the little elf. He was met with a troubling silence.
"Tansy?" he tried again, a note of concern creeping into his voice as he pushed open the door to the kitchen.
Goyle never saw the wand pointed at his temple, but before the blackness consumed him, he heard the steady, quiet words:
"Nox Aeterna."