2017 - First Year at Hogwarts, Winter…
Albus rubbed his head, already feeling a bump where the book had hit him. In front of him stood Malfoy, fuming, his hair in disarray and his cheeks flushed from running.
"Can you explain?!" he exclaimed, pointing at the book Potter now held in his hand.
"It's a book," Albus replied innocently, recognizing his own copy of How to Tame a Demiguise.
Scorpius snatched the book from his hands, and Albus thought he might get hit with it again, but Malfoy opened it and showed him the pages filled with handwritten notes.
"It's your book and your handwriting! The whole thing is packed with comments in every chapter. Let me quote: 'The Demiguise is a proud animal, but also a glutton. Regularly bringing it treats, along with a compliment, ensures its loyalty and attention. A Demiguise will always return to the one who flatters it and showers it with sweets.' And here, you've listed the candies and pastries that I like!"
Albus watched him impassively, and Scorpius stamped his foot in frustration. "When you gave me chocolate pastries, you told me you thought my hair looked shiny. I always thought it was strange you'd compliment me every time you handed me a treat!"
Albus stifled a grin, trying not to fan the flames, but he could feel laughter pressing against his ribs. Malfoy opened another page.
"And this! 'The Demiguise may react instinctively if approached too abruptly. A pat on the head can prevent a bite.' That's exactly what you did! At the start of the year, you sat beside me without a word during the first Potions class and patted my head!"
Albus shrugged, unable to hold back his smile.
"I looked for How to Tame a Malfoyat Flourish & Blotts," he chuckled, "but they were out of stock."
Scorpius froze, his mouth agape in shock.
"You don't even deny it… You used this book about Demiguise—fortune-telling monkeys!—to become my friend, and you don't even deny it. You're the worst kind of Slytherin, a real manipulator!"
Albus calmly got up from his bed, cutting off Scorpius's tirade.
"Speaking of Slytherins, that book was in my desk. Why do you have it?"
Scorpius blinked, momentarily speechless, then shook his head, cheeks red.
"That's not the point!"
"But it's mine."
"You're…" Scorpius began, "you're really…" He couldn't finish his sentence and burst into laughter.
Albus smiled, pleased to see him lose control, which was rare.
The moment was brief. The laughter faded, and Malfoy pointed a finger at him.
"I am not a wild animal!"
"Don't go snooping in my desk," Albus replied, moving around him to leave the room.
He paused and wrapped his arms around Scorpius, resting his forehead against his neck.
"What are you doing?" Scorpius exclaimed, his whole body tensing.
"It makes me happy… that you'd say we're friends."
Scorpius relaxed and blushed, realizing he'd let something slip. He waited for Potter to end his display of affection, but it lasted a bit too long for his liking.
"When you're done with the hugging, maybe we could go to dinner," he said stiffly.
Albus laughed against his back and finally let go, heading out of the Slytherin dorm, Malfoy trailing close behind.
1997 - Malfoy Manor
Scabior left him in the small parlor, just outside the door to the grand reception hall, used for major gatherings. Scorpius had never dined there. In his time, the grand salon with its table for twelve guests was preferred—lavish, yes, but more intimate.
He took a deep breath and reached for the large door, but a house-elf with a hooked nose grabbed the hem of his trousers.
"Forgive me, Young Master," the elf said, bowing. Malfoy saw one of its ears had been cut off. "Billow shouldn't have touched you, but you must wait until someone comes for you. Billow doesn't want the Young Master to be punished."
Scorpius's throat tightened as he observed the little creature, disheveled and looking at him with reverence.
"Thank you for your concern, Billow," Scorpius replied with a smile.
The elf seemed terrified and shook his head frantically.
"Oh no! The Young Master must not say that in front of the Dark Lord. The Young Master must be careful when speaking to lesser beings."
Scorpius's heart pounded in his chest, and he wanted to protest, but he held back. He nodded slightly, which seemed to calm the little elf.
He heard footsteps approaching, and he stopped breathing, his eyes locked on the handle as it finally lowered.
The door opened. A wave of warmth and an odd smell of burnt grease swept over his face, and a dark-eyed man with olive-toned skin appeared. Thick black hair framed a face darkened by stubble. His square jaw and high cheekbones gave him an exotic look, resembling a man from Eastern Europe. A scar ran across his left cheek.
Scorpius's eyes dropped to his clothing and lingered on the black cloak. A Death Eater, of course.
The man's face twisted slightly, and Scorpius realized it was a smile.
"Welcome," he said with a Slavic accent. "My name is Antonin Dolohov."
Scorpius inclined his head slightly in courtesy.
"You're not giving me your name?" he said with a small laugh. "No matter. Come, you're expected.
He entered the grand hall, and Scorpius followed.
For a moment, he didn't recognize the place. The chandeliers under the grand colonnades were unlit, and almost the entire room was shrouded in darkness. Only one fireplace was lit, and the large green velvet curtains were drawn, blocking out the moon and stars. The smell grew stronger, and Scorpius resisted the urge to cover his nose with his sleeve.
He saw the long table set up by the fireplace, large enough for about twenty guests, and all the seats seemed occupied. He quickly glanced at the guests, trying to recognize faces from portraits or photos, but Dolohov led him to the head of the table, towards the seat of honor.
A hissing sound caught his attention, and an enormous snake slithered to his right. Scorpius recoiled, instinctively reaching for his wand.
"Don't be afraid, my child," a soft voice hissed.
And Scorpius laid eyes on the face he dreaded most. Voldemort was seated at the head of the table, his skin pale and purple, his features more reptilian than human, and his eyes dark. A morbid atmosphere emanated from him like a dark and sickening aura, a sense that life froze at his touch, as if under a Dementor's breath.
"Nagini will only harm you if I ask her to." He extended his hand towards him. "Come closer."
In that moment, Scorpius froze, then felt Dolohov's hand gently push him forward. He avoided meeting anyone's gaze, keeping his head slightly bowed.
Voldemort stood and studied him intently. With his wand, he pushed back the strands of blond hair falling over Scorpius's eyes, scrutinizing his features. Under this chilling touch, Scorpius wondered if he didn't actually prefer Greyback's habit of sniffing him. He felt the tip of the wand press under his chin, forcing him to lift his head. Voldemort's eyes were lifeless, like those of a shark.
"Do you know who I am?" he asked in a drawling voice, his lips curling.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
A laugh rippled through the crowd. Scorpius wondered if he'd made a mistake in addressing him, but Voldemort seemed pleased.
"Your Majesty? I'm accustomed to being called Master or My Lord." He smiled, and the wand left the boy's skin. "Your Majestysuits me. Is that how they address me where you come from?"
Scorpius swallowed painfully, uncertain of what to say. Boldly, he decided to test Dumbledore's magic.
He tried to reply, "Where I come from, you don't exist," but his throat froze, his voice vanished, and his lips couldn't form the words. His hands flew to his neck in sudden fear that his breath might also be cut off. Unnecessary panic—only his voice was gone.
"Ahh, so it's true, Dumbledore cast a spell on you to prevent you from speaking."
Voldemort came closer, his serpent slithering lovingly around one of his legs. He moved so close to Scorpius that the boy had to tilt his head back to look up at him, and Voldemort's breath grazed his cheek. He raised a hand with horrifically long nails, sliding his fingers from Scorpius's jaw to his hair, holding his head back to study him.
"Will you tell me your name?" he asked in a sickly sweet voice.
"Scorpius."
Voldemort pulled his hair a bit harder.
"Your surname?" he breathed, threateningly.
Scorpius tried to speak his family name, but again the icy paralysis took hold, and he struggled to make a sound. Nothing came.
"Raaah," Voldemort spat, shoving him back so forcefully that Scorpius nearly lost his balance. "How can I be sure?" he exclaimed angrily.
"My Lord," said a gentle voice, and Scorpius turned to see his grandmother, younger, sadder, looking at him tenderly before turning her gaze back to Voldemort. "He is the spitting image of my son and husband. I believe I can vouch for his lineage."
"You are right, Narcissa. This child is surely a Malfoy, but is he a pureblood? Nothing proves that."
"Master," interjected a beautiful woman with dark hair and a wild gait, hissing more than speaking, "there's no question! The Malfoy family has always upheld pureblood values."
"But what of the Blacks, Bellatrix?" countered a white-haired man with his hair pulled back and tied at his neck. "This boy has Black blood in him. What about Sirius, Andromeda, and that traitor Regulus?"
"You dare, Yaxley?" sneered Bellatrix. "Who do you think you are? Would you suggest we haven't been loyal to our Master? Don't you dare tarnish the Black family name. Unlike you, I spent all these years waiting for him."
Seated at the table, a man began to laugh, and Scorpius recognized him as the grandfather of his friend Dorian Nott, from a portrait at his friend's home.
"But who would want to marry a Malfoy today?" he sneered. "That family is in decline!"
Narcissa straightened up and answered the man with dignity.
"The fact that my husband is imprisoned in Azkaban does not give you the right to insult him in his own home, Nott!"
"My dear Narcissa," said a man with a thick nose and hard features, a cruel smile on his lips, "you'd better think about finding another husband before the years drive away any potential suitors. The Malfoys are finished!"
Laughter spread through the gathering, and Scorpius tasted the bile rising in his throat. These vultures were squabbling over the glory of the Malfoys, over his grandfather's manor, and his wife's hand. The lady stood alone and dignified amidst this pack, arrogant and fierce, and Scorpius felt his anger ignite. He slammed his fist on the table hard enough to bruise his knuckles.
"No one will covet the Malfoy fortune," he said, head held high, chin raised, his posture stoic. "Let me remind you, gentlemen, that you are guests inmy home!"
He realized the entire room had gone still, a mix of surprise… and terror.
That was when he felt a hand slide down his back, moving up to his neck to turn his face. His eyes met Voldemort's empty, black eyes.
Oh, Dumbledore, he thought, you should have made me mute !
"Do you regret hosting me in your home, Scorpius?" Voldemort whispered, his lips almost brushing his cheek.
Scorpius struggled not to flinch.
"The Malfoys' hospitality for your Lordship knows no bounds," he assured, his voice steady.
"But if it pleases me that all these men are also here?" the Master pressed, gripping him a bit tighter.
"I will abide by your will, Your Majesty. But I take no responsibility for the life of any man who insults me in my own home."
"Does that apply to me as well?"
Scorpius sensed the threat, but he was tempted to play along. Wasn't this the moment to tame the Demiguise? With gentleness and flattery.
"Aren't you more than a mere man, Your Majesty?" Scorpius asked innocently, armed with his most charming smile.
Voldemort made a sound resembling a stifled laugh.
"Clever little thing," he murmured, seemingly intrigued as his smile grew wider. "I don't quite know what to make of you."
At that moment, Scorpius wondered if he hadn't created an even crueler threat…
"Master," interrupted a man in a long black coat, and Voldemort released the boy. "I must return to… you know where. You wished to speak to me about urgent matters during dinner."
"Ah, Severus, you're here! We do need to talk, but first, let me introduce you to the impetuous and reckless Scorpius Malfoy. He will require your talents." Voldemort turned to Scorpius. "Severus is a master of Legilimency. I'm sure he can break Dumbledore's spell. Now, I leave you all to feast," he announced to the assembly. "Come, Severus."
Scorpius observed the Hogwarts professor for a long moment as he studied him in return, until he disappeared up the stairs.
A hand settled on his shoulder, and he found himself face-to-face with his grandmother.
"Come sit down," she murmured, leading him to the table and offering him a seat by the fire, at her side. Bellatrix took a seat to his left but simply ignored him.
Suddenly, delicious dishes appeared on the table, as if the house-elves had gone unnoticed.
The Death Eaters murmured approvingly and began filling their plates.
"Wait, all of you!" barked a burly, blond-haired man. He turned to Scorpius. "Do we have the master of the house's permission to eat?" he mocked. His remark was met with muted laughter.
Scorpius assessed him calmly and replied in a clear voice:
"The Dark Lord told you to feast—shall I remind him to repeat himself?"
To his surprise, Antonin Dolohov laughed, seeming to enjoy the retort. He nudged Yaxley, who smiled. The Death Eater who had spoken gave him a dark look before serving himself begrudgingly from the dish in front of him, and the other guests followed suit.
Narcissa scooped a spoonful of beans and bacon, filling the boy's plate.
"I don't know whether to consider your behavior as genius or sheer folly," she murmured, pouring him a glass of wine.
Scorpius smiled.
"I've never known how to answer that question… and neither have you."
She met his gaze and returned his smile.
The food looked delicious, and Scorpius's stomach was empty, but he couldn't swallow a bite. He sensed that smell of burnt grease again, even stronger and more unbearable. Finally, he turned to the fireplace to see what was causing the stench. And he understood as he looked at the flames. There was a body in the fire—a small corpse being roasted and reduced to ashes.
Nausea hit him, and he found himself praying: Not a child, please, not a child!
"It's revolting, I know," said Bellatrix, following his gaze. "But Nagini doesn't like the taste of goblins. We can't bury them all in the garden. You'll get used to it."
Scorpius had no intention of doing so.
End of Chapter 5
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