Chapter Six

The Imprint of an Enemy

They were greeted at the platform by Harry and Ginny, both sporting large grins and eagerly handing out hugs and kisses. Rose, before there could be any sort of awkward exchange, grabbed Malfoy's hand and escorted him forcefully up towards her aunt and uncle.

"You must be Scorpius." Harry smiled warmly, helping him load his trunk and owl cage onto the trolley. "It's nice to finally meet you."

"You too." Scorpius replied as they shook hands. "I've heard a great deal about you."

"Then you should know already exactly how abysmal he is at Charades..." Ginny had appeared and looped her arm through her husband's. "I'm Ginny Potter." She exclaimed, extending her own arm towards Scorpius. He took it enthusiastically, smiling at her wit.

"I have to admit, I'm no great actor either..." He replied.

"Er...hello?" Rose interrupted, feeling a bit left out. "I'm Rose."

"Really?" Ginny gasped sarcastically. Harry rolled his eyes at Scorpius who smiled back. After enveloping Rose in a hug, Ginny led them towards the barrier at the end of the platform.

"So..." Rose began, pushing her trolley after her aunt. "Where are Mum and Dad?"

"They were unable to come to meet you..." Harry replied, grabbing the front of Lily's trolley before it smashed into an innocent Muggle. "...due to the fact both sets of your grandparents have arrived and are happily complaining about the state of their guestrooms."

"Oh..." Rose smiled knowingly. "I take it we're at Grimauld Place, then."

"Yes..." Harry grimaced. "I won that particular argument, although Molly is still insisting on cooking; she's driving Kreacher batty."

"Poor Kreacher..." Rose fiddled with the straps holding her bag to her trolley. She was suddenly very aware she wasn't letting Scorpius in on the conversation. "My grandmother is a psychopath..." She explained, turning to meet his gaze.

It was then that she realised how close they were.

She found herself gazing helplessly into his seemingly endless grey eyes. She could see her own face reflected in his pupils and she hastily shut her mouth, suddenly aware that it was hanging open.

"This way kids!" Ginny yelled over the general noise of the bustling station, dragging Rose out of her dazed dream.

"Better go..." Scorpius muttered, seemingly slightly dazed also.

"Yeah..." Together, they made their way out of the platform.

For what must have been the fortieth time, Molly Weasley batted Kreacher's hand out of the way. He hadn't said anything about it. Yet. But, as the frustration built up inside his little, elfin body, he very nearly screamed. But screaming would make Master unhappy and, although Master wasn't here, word would no doubt get round and Kreacher would find himself having to apologise to the overweight, bossy woman currently invading his kitchen: something he didn't want to do.

Instead, he manoeuvred himself to the left slightly, calculatingly pushing himself out of batting range while, at the same time, peeling the carrots. The overweight, bossy woman with greying hair that had once flamed bright red continued to give a running commentary to her son, Master's friend.

"We may not be at the Burrow, Ronald Weasley..." She barked, her voice painfully loud for the close range of Kreacher's bat-like ears. "...but that doesn't mean I'm going to let you all pussyfoot round me like I'm some sort of invalid!"

"Kreacher is more than capable, Mum." Ron replied, hovering nervously in the doorway. "Come and sit down in the living room. Celestina Warbeck's on the wireless..."

"I gave birth to you, Ronald Weasley!" The scary woman barked. "Do you not think I know you well enough to not know when you're trying to sweet-talk me!" With an unnecessary clang, she banged a pan down onto the countertop, spraying Kreacher with its contents. Upon seeing the look on the house-elf's face, Ron hastily grabbed a tea towel from the sink and wiped Kreacher's face with it, accidentally cramming it inside Kreacher's mouth as he did so.

"Mum..." He moaned. "...you're just making everything twenty times more complicated. Go and sit down with Dad in the living room!"

"She won't come..." Came the slightly nervous voice of Arthur Weasley as he sat hunched over The Daily Prophet, engulfed in an armchair twice his size. "...you know what she's like."

"What on Earth..." Hermione, her hair tousled and with bits of twig stuck in it, had appeared in the back door, a gnome struggling in one hand. "...is going on in here?" She slowly took in the situation, stopping to stare at her husband with his hand shoving a dirty tea towel into Kreacher's mouth.

"I am trying to cook soup for when the children arrive..." Mrs Weasley began, shooting her husband and son dirty looks. "...but these two seem to have a problem with that..."

"Kreacher had it all under control..." Ron explained, removing his hand from Kreacher's mouth with an apologetic shrug. "...until she stormed in here, yelling at us all." As his mother was about to protest, Hermione caught her arm, with the hand that wasn't brandishing the struggling gnome, and steered her towards the back door.

"Now Molly..." she said. "...I'm having a bit of trouble getting rid of these gnomes. I was wondering if you could help me out..." And, as the back door shut behind them, Mrs Weasley was gone from the kitchen.

"Sorry about that, mate." Ron said to Kreacher, folding the tea towel up and putting it back on the pile of dirty washing. "She's a bit..." He pulled a face. Kreacher blinked.

"Now that the mad woman is gone..." He squeaked. "...I will resume making the soup for Master's children and nieces and nephews..." Ron smiled and patted the elf on the head.

"Thanks, Kreacher."

"Anytime, Master's Red Friend, Spawn of the Mad Woman." And, as if he hadn't said anything, Kreacher continued to stir the soup, grinning privately to himself into the delicious smelling brew.

Often, Draco Malfoy wondered what life would have been like if he'd had a different name. Ron Weasley, or Harry Potter. Would he have been the same person, or was his life mapped out ahead of him, based on what he had been christened? If he changed his name now, would he become someone else? Or would he remain marked, a dirty smudge on a white piece of parchment, a drop of blood in a goblet of water? Because, that was what he was, a marked man. Marked by the past, by memories and dreams, all now screaming at him, identifying him as the culprit of all the wrongs in his life. Marked by his name, the two words: Draco Malfoy. Simple, yet condemning. A death warrant of words.

Malfoy. A curse on the bearer of such a name. A clear 'x' on their pathways of fate. Marked forever. And that was how he had lived his life. Forever Marked. Forever remembered. Forever blamed.

He was the only one left to blame. And for that, he was glad.

He opened his eyes.

The water lapped a few feet away, slowly coaxing the dead leaves away from the safety of the bank, towards the ripples in the centre where the leaves were tossed and swirled in the icy blackness, before being pulled down and drowning, resting in the watery cemetery at the sandy depths. Like Astoria. Like his Astoria.

She was dead as soon as she'd met him. He knew that now. She had fallen in love with a marked man. Married him. Assumed his name. And through that, marked herself. She was dead as soon as he laid eyes on her, as soon as they shared that lingering glance in the reflection of the shop window. She was dead as soon as his marked lips had touched her, as soon as he allowed himself to be foolish enough to contaminate her with something of his own. A child. Something so wonderful, yet so dangerous. Something to live for, something to die for.

Astoria had loved the boy. As had he, before he realised what it was. Before she had died. Astoria loved the boy in a different way, though. She had loved him more than life itself. He'd seen it in the way she laughed when the boy fiddled with her hair, or in the way her eyes filled with tears of joy as she threw him in the air and caught him again. Gently, though. Always gentle around the boy.

Then there was the day that life had caught up with him. He had always felt during those precious few years with Astoria, that life was waiting, biding its time. And he had been right. Love had killed his wife. As she had spent the last few days of her life, choking down bitter medicines, it had not been the poison of the water, or the freezing temperatures that had killed her. It had been love. Her love for the boy. The boy that was half him, half marked. A Malfoy by blood.

And that, thought Malfoy, was what it all boiled down to.

"They're here!"

It was Victoire that noticed them first. She'd been straightening out the photographs on top of the piano in the dining room as she was dusting, under the close scrutiny of her grandmother, and had glanced casually through the net curtains. In a line, towing large trunks on wheels, were seven adolescent figures, escorted by a woman with flaming red hair and a man with messy black hair and round glasses bringing up the rear.

"Where?" Victoire found herself jostled by the considerable weight of her grandmother as she struggled to see out of the window. "There they are! My, doesn't Albus look tall...James needs new robes, they're several inches too short...and that must be his girlfriend. She's a bit funny-looking, isn't she?"

"She looks very pretty to me, Grandma."

"Mmm...Lily's hair looks nice, although it does need cutting. There's Hugo. What can he have in that trunk?"

"Drugs." Victoire grinned and then, seeing the look on her grandmother's face, patted her on the shoulder patronisingly. "It was a joke, Grandma."

"Oh." Mrs Weasley frowned and turned back to the window. "Well I don't get it. And there's Rose. Doesn't she look lovely? Wait a minute...who's that young man?"

Victoire followed her grandmother's gaze out of the window, towards a tall, blonde haired young man fiddling with the catch on his trunk.

"I don't know..." She murmured, looking him up and down. "...but he's cute."

"Miss Victoire Weasley!" Mrs Weasley exclaimed. "May I remind you of a certain Mr Teddy Lupin!"

"What?" Victoire asked. "It's not like I'm cheating on him or anything. I just said he's cute..."

"Youth today..." Mrs Weasley muttered, before rushing downstairs to greet her grandchildren.

They were piling through the door as she arrived on the landing, panting from the exertion, Victoire's feet hammering on the stairs closely behind her.

"Hello, my lovelies!" She exclaimed, nearly falling down the last flight of stairs. "Merry Christmas!"

James steadied her on her feet and she engulfed him in a hug that very nearly cut off his air supply. Rose waved at Victoire, who was trying to budge past her grandmother on the stairway.

"Hey, Victoire!"

"Hey, Rose!" Victoire nodded to Scorpius. "Who's your friend?"

"This is Malfoy." Rose said, as he raised a hand in greeting.

"Hi." He said.

"Hi, yourself." Victoire grinned back. Rose cursed her cousin's DNA being part Fleur Delacore who was herself in turn, part Veela.

"Let's move..." She whispered to Malfoy, who was still staring a Victoire, looking slightly dazed. With a very persuasive tug of his hand, she led him out of the crowded hallway and into the living room.

It was then that she was ambushed by her mother.

"Rosie!" Kisses and hugs seemed to erupt around her and she shut her eyes against the torrent. "...and this must be Scorpius." Before she could stop her, Hermione had cupped Scorpius' face with her hand and planted a kiss on both of his cheeks. "Merry Christmas, Scorpius." She exclaimed once she had released him, beaming.

"Let the man breathe, Hermione." Her Dad had materialised next to her, extending a jumper-clad arm around her shoulders. Rose didn't think she'd ever been more pleased to see him.

"Dad!" She reached up and kissed him on the cheek, squeezing him slightly as she hugged him. He smelt musky, of Butterbeer, wool and home.

"This is Malfoy..." She said. And that was when, for Ronald Weasley, time seemed to stop.

Standing in front of him, was Draco Malfoy. He was there, in the pallor of the boy's skin, in the boy's skinny build, in the arch of his cheekbones and the structure of his face, giving him a slightly fragile, noble look. Yet, at the same time, there was no Malfoy. The boy's eyes were a warm grey his mouth and nose slightly lopsided in an expression of permanent amusement. He was not Malfoy yet, in many ways he was.

"Good to have you here." Ron said, extending an arm and shaking the boy's hand. The boy smiled properly and Malfoy was gone, banished to the very corners of Ron's memory. Ron smiled too and released the boy's hand, letting his own fall to his side. His fingers felt warm. "There's soup in the kitchen."

"Sounds good." Rose said. His Rose. He glanced towards Scorpius and saw that he too had been looking at his daughter. He didn't blame him. While not particularly neat, his daughter was a beauty: something both rejoiced in and feared by fathers.

Still smiling, although a little sadly, Ron ushered them all into the kitchen. He was losing his daughter. To a Malfoy.

A/N – First of all, sorry for the long gap in updates; I've been in Belgium. Also, it's set at Christmas and, having just broken up for the Summer Holidays, I'm not really in a particularly Xmassy mood. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Flames, criticism etc. is always appreciated.

You may have noticed I've found out how to put lines in. I like the lines.

Thanks for reading. Reviews are great.

Ellen