The First Lie - Part II
Following on from this.
It's gen, and 1625 words. And for those who are interested in that sort of thing, my take on the Malfoy marriage is inspired by Suzanne Vega's Soap And Water.
Draco was unbuttoning the dark coat he'd worn to the station, finally able to relax now that he was back home.
“You should not have been so hard on him.” Mariet slumped down on the outside bench and kicked off her shoes.
“He'll deal with worse once they realise he's a Malfoy.”
Mariet grimaced, and lit a dark thin cigarette with her wand. “I know. Poor boy. I wish there was some way to spare him that.” She sighed and smoke curled up in the cold air.
“It's a filthy habit,” Draco said. “I do wish you wouldn't.” He took a seat on an iron chair by the little table where they sometimes ate breakfast, when the weather was good.
Mariet put her bare feet against his thigh and Draco pressed his fingers against the arch of one foot, making her shiver. “Was that Potter, the one you nodded to?”
“Indeed. The saviour himself.” There was just a trace of bitterness in his voice. It had faded with the years.
“You should invite them here someday. You do work with the man after all, and now our children will be at school together.”
In answer Draco pulled a face. “I see enough of him in the department. Besides, it would be a disaster. I doubt he'd even accept.”
Mariet shrugged. “Well, invite someone. I'm going out of my mind here in London. Dreary city.” She curled her toes, inched her feet higher. She liked the slow ticklish stroke of Draco's fingers against her skin.
“We could take advantage of the house being quiet and empty and child-free,” he said, stroking higher up, just ghosting his fingers over her ankle.
“As if Scorpius makes any noise. The boy lives in the library.”
“I know, it's shocking. If he gets sorted into Ravenclaw I shall have to disown him.” He said it with a smile though, and Mariet stubbed out the little bidi and pulled her feet from Draco's lap.
“You English and your loyalties.” A flick of her wand and the ashtray was gone, the last traces of smoke vanished. “Come. Inside then.” She smiled slyly. “We have an empty house to take advantage of, ja?”
--
“What's that you got?” Albus pointed to the gift sitting next to Scorpius - it was wrapped with burgundy paper and was about the size of a small book.
“Ah, my ma packed it, chocolates and stuff.” Scorpius caught the way his new friend's eyes lit up. “Here, We can share it if you like.” He tore the wrapping free and lifted the lid. Inside were several black sticks and a variety of small chocolates individually wrapped in gold foil. He passed one of the sticks to Albus who eyed it with evident intrigue.
“What's this then?” Albus nibbled the one end cautiously and then grimaced.
“Liquorice witches,” Scorpius said, frowning.
Albus dangled the stick and then looked up at Scorpius. “I think you got conned. This isn't what liquorice is supposed to taste like. My parents buy me liquorice wands all the time and really they're not horrid like this.”
There was a moment of silence before Scorpius snatched the liquorice stick back and shoved it into the box. He could feel his ears flaming. “'S not horrid,” he muttered as he stared down at the box, but Albus was already at the compartment door, peering down the narrow passage.
“James - he's my brother - he says there's this witch with a tea trolley and she had all kinds of really great things, like cauldron cakes and stuff and my dad gave me money for the train so I can buy us some stuff and you don't have to worry.” He glanced back at Scorpius. “Your parents probably just made a mistake - packed the wrong thing or something. There she is! James was right, if you can believe it.” His voice faded as he ran up to the tea trolley.
Scorpius looked down at the shredded paper and tried to close it back around his gift box. He could feel his eyes burning. It was spoiled, his gift wasn't perfect any more, and that Albus boy had called his mother's gift to him a mistake. He wished he hadn't opened it here in front of him, hadn't offered to share. He shoved the box into his trunk and hunched his shoulders.
--
If father had told him they were going to have to ride in boats to the castle, Scorpius doubted that he would have eaten quite as much. James had returned with an armful of sweets - chocolate frogs, blood pops, cauldron cakes and an endless assortment of strange and wonderful confections - and together they'd made a sizeable dent in the spoils.
The boat lurched over the wavelets and Scorpius gripped the side tighter, his knuckles white in the chill air. His stomach seemed to be lodged in his throat and he didn't talk, just nodded at Albus's excited chatter.
Everything was loud here, and Scorpius wished he was back home in the London house. When it was dark his mother would stand outside with her tea and her bidi and stare at the few stars that could still be seen, smoke trailing from the rolled cigarette between her fingers. Father would watch her through the windows and Scorpius would watch them both over the top of his book. Mother would love it here - the sky was a river of stars, more than he'd ever seen before. They reflected back at him from the ink-black lake.
“Almost there!” Albus said, and the boat rocked as he jumped in his enthusiasm. Scorpius swallowed past the lump in his throat and nodded. The castle was a dark turreted outline against the indigo sky.
The boats docked, and a small man waited for them, led them into a Hall with a ceiling of sky. Scorpius had barely time to marvel at it before he realised that the small wizard - Professor Flitwick - was calling out their names - in alphabetical order. His insides twisted as the last of the G's were called, didn't dare look up at Albus's face.
“Malfoy, Scorpius!”
He shuffled up to the chair, where Professor Flitwick held a battered hat. Still with his head bowed, he took his seat, and felt the soft weight as the hat was placed on his head.
I can see you have your father's magical skill. Hmmm. Bookish boy, aren't you. Unusual for a Malfoy, that...perhaps Ravenclaw?
Scorpius grinned in agreement. Because knowledge is power, he thought.
Ah. “Slytherin!”
There was the slightest patter of applause. It died down even before the professor had whipped the hat from his head.
He was whisked toward his table, where a tall boy led him to his place, and then everyone's attention was already on the next Sorting.
“Potter, Albus-Severus!”
The boy was barely in the seat, the hat just touching his ears when it yelled “Hufflepuff!”
“What?” said Albus, far too loudly in the silent hall, and then the students broke into applause, the loudest cheers coming from the table under the yellow and black flag with its badger crest.
Scorpius frowned - his father hadn't even mentioned Hufflepuff - perhaps it was a new house? The student next to him, a sloe-eyed boy whose hair was a little too long and just touched his collar, leaned close to him and whispered. “Well, I didn't see that one coming. A Potter in Hufflepuff, that's going to be one for the books. He must be a desperate little toe-rag.”
“Desperate?” Scorpius didn't want to show his ignorance but he couldn't help being curious.
“Yeah, always wanting to fit in, blend in with the crowd. You know the type.” The boy sneered. It was a very good sneer, and Scorpius guessed that he'd practised it for a long time before coming to Hogwarts.
Albus had been rather eager to share his sweets with a complete stranger, Scorpius mused. Perhaps the boy was right. He turned slightly on his bench and held out his hand. “Scor-” he began.
“Yeah, Malfoy, we saw. Don't think that means we're all going to hang on your every word.” He didn't shake and Scorpius deftly smoothed a strand of his pale hair behind one ear. “Augustin Imago.” the boy said, as if he had taken pity on Scorpius's faltered handshake, then turned his attention back to the sorting hat. “Oh look, a Zabini. Bet you a galleon he's going to Slytherin. His sister's here.” Augustin nodded further up the table to where a girl with charcoal skin and almond eyes was sitting. Her hair was cropped close to her skull and she surveyed the students around her with a calm, somewhat predatory gaze.
“Slytherin!” the hat announced, and a small boy with the same colouring slipped down from the sorting chair and strolled to the table with a self-satisfied smile.
He was the last student to be sorted and the headmistress gave a short speech, half of which Scorpius missed. The night passed in a yawning rush, and when Scorpius finally followed the prefects towards the Slytherin dorm, he was bleary-eyed and so tired that he stumbled on the stairs and almost sent the other two first years tumbling one after the other.
Not a particularly wonderful start to the year, especially as from then on Zabini and Imago did their level best to ignore him. They talked softly, and he knew he'd heard his surname whispered once. Scorpius dug through his trunk, looking for his box, and tried not to think about his new housemates.
In the darkness of the dormitory, in a strange bed, Scorpius sucked on a salty liquorice witch and wished he was back home.
--
It's gen, and 1625 words. And for those who are interested in that sort of thing, my take on the Malfoy marriage is inspired by Suzanne Vega's Soap And Water.
Draco was unbuttoning the dark coat he'd worn to the station, finally able to relax now that he was back home.
“You should not have been so hard on him.” Mariet slumped down on the outside bench and kicked off her shoes.
“He'll deal with worse once they realise he's a Malfoy.”
Mariet grimaced, and lit a dark thin cigarette with her wand. “I know. Poor boy. I wish there was some way to spare him that.” She sighed and smoke curled up in the cold air.
“It's a filthy habit,” Draco said. “I do wish you wouldn't.” He took a seat on an iron chair by the little table where they sometimes ate breakfast, when the weather was good.
Mariet put her bare feet against his thigh and Draco pressed his fingers against the arch of one foot, making her shiver. “Was that Potter, the one you nodded to?”
“Indeed. The saviour himself.” There was just a trace of bitterness in his voice. It had faded with the years.
“You should invite them here someday. You do work with the man after all, and now our children will be at school together.”
In answer Draco pulled a face. “I see enough of him in the department. Besides, it would be a disaster. I doubt he'd even accept.”
Mariet shrugged. “Well, invite someone. I'm going out of my mind here in London. Dreary city.” She curled her toes, inched her feet higher. She liked the slow ticklish stroke of Draco's fingers against her skin.
“We could take advantage of the house being quiet and empty and child-free,” he said, stroking higher up, just ghosting his fingers over her ankle.
“As if Scorpius makes any noise. The boy lives in the library.”
“I know, it's shocking. If he gets sorted into Ravenclaw I shall have to disown him.” He said it with a smile though, and Mariet stubbed out the little bidi and pulled her feet from Draco's lap.
“You English and your loyalties.” A flick of her wand and the ashtray was gone, the last traces of smoke vanished. “Come. Inside then.” She smiled slyly. “We have an empty house to take advantage of, ja?”
--
“What's that you got?” Albus pointed to the gift sitting next to Scorpius - it was wrapped with burgundy paper and was about the size of a small book.
“Ah, my ma packed it, chocolates and stuff.” Scorpius caught the way his new friend's eyes lit up. “Here, We can share it if you like.” He tore the wrapping free and lifted the lid. Inside were several black sticks and a variety of small chocolates individually wrapped in gold foil. He passed one of the sticks to Albus who eyed it with evident intrigue.
“What's this then?” Albus nibbled the one end cautiously and then grimaced.
“Liquorice witches,” Scorpius said, frowning.
Albus dangled the stick and then looked up at Scorpius. “I think you got conned. This isn't what liquorice is supposed to taste like. My parents buy me liquorice wands all the time and really they're not horrid like this.”
There was a moment of silence before Scorpius snatched the liquorice stick back and shoved it into the box. He could feel his ears flaming. “'S not horrid,” he muttered as he stared down at the box, but Albus was already at the compartment door, peering down the narrow passage.
“James - he's my brother - he says there's this witch with a tea trolley and she had all kinds of really great things, like cauldron cakes and stuff and my dad gave me money for the train so I can buy us some stuff and you don't have to worry.” He glanced back at Scorpius. “Your parents probably just made a mistake - packed the wrong thing or something. There she is! James was right, if you can believe it.” His voice faded as he ran up to the tea trolley.
Scorpius looked down at the shredded paper and tried to close it back around his gift box. He could feel his eyes burning. It was spoiled, his gift wasn't perfect any more, and that Albus boy had called his mother's gift to him a mistake. He wished he hadn't opened it here in front of him, hadn't offered to share. He shoved the box into his trunk and hunched his shoulders.
--
If father had told him they were going to have to ride in boats to the castle, Scorpius doubted that he would have eaten quite as much. James had returned with an armful of sweets - chocolate frogs, blood pops, cauldron cakes and an endless assortment of strange and wonderful confections - and together they'd made a sizeable dent in the spoils.
The boat lurched over the wavelets and Scorpius gripped the side tighter, his knuckles white in the chill air. His stomach seemed to be lodged in his throat and he didn't talk, just nodded at Albus's excited chatter.
Everything was loud here, and Scorpius wished he was back home in the London house. When it was dark his mother would stand outside with her tea and her bidi and stare at the few stars that could still be seen, smoke trailing from the rolled cigarette between her fingers. Father would watch her through the windows and Scorpius would watch them both over the top of his book. Mother would love it here - the sky was a river of stars, more than he'd ever seen before. They reflected back at him from the ink-black lake.
“Almost there!” Albus said, and the boat rocked as he jumped in his enthusiasm. Scorpius swallowed past the lump in his throat and nodded. The castle was a dark turreted outline against the indigo sky.
The boats docked, and a small man waited for them, led them into a Hall with a ceiling of sky. Scorpius had barely time to marvel at it before he realised that the small wizard - Professor Flitwick - was calling out their names - in alphabetical order. His insides twisted as the last of the G's were called, didn't dare look up at Albus's face.
“Malfoy, Scorpius!”
He shuffled up to the chair, where Professor Flitwick held a battered hat. Still with his head bowed, he took his seat, and felt the soft weight as the hat was placed on his head.
I can see you have your father's magical skill. Hmmm. Bookish boy, aren't you. Unusual for a Malfoy, that...perhaps Ravenclaw?
Scorpius grinned in agreement. Because knowledge is power, he thought.
Ah. “Slytherin!”
There was the slightest patter of applause. It died down even before the professor had whipped the hat from his head.
He was whisked toward his table, where a tall boy led him to his place, and then everyone's attention was already on the next Sorting.
“Potter, Albus-Severus!”
The boy was barely in the seat, the hat just touching his ears when it yelled “Hufflepuff!”
“What?” said Albus, far too loudly in the silent hall, and then the students broke into applause, the loudest cheers coming from the table under the yellow and black flag with its badger crest.
Scorpius frowned - his father hadn't even mentioned Hufflepuff - perhaps it was a new house? The student next to him, a sloe-eyed boy whose hair was a little too long and just touched his collar, leaned close to him and whispered. “Well, I didn't see that one coming. A Potter in Hufflepuff, that's going to be one for the books. He must be a desperate little toe-rag.”
“Desperate?” Scorpius didn't want to show his ignorance but he couldn't help being curious.
“Yeah, always wanting to fit in, blend in with the crowd. You know the type.” The boy sneered. It was a very good sneer, and Scorpius guessed that he'd practised it for a long time before coming to Hogwarts.
Albus had been rather eager to share his sweets with a complete stranger, Scorpius mused. Perhaps the boy was right. He turned slightly on his bench and held out his hand. “Scor-” he began.
“Yeah, Malfoy, we saw. Don't think that means we're all going to hang on your every word.” He didn't shake and Scorpius deftly smoothed a strand of his pale hair behind one ear. “Augustin Imago.” the boy said, as if he had taken pity on Scorpius's faltered handshake, then turned his attention back to the sorting hat. “Oh look, a Zabini. Bet you a galleon he's going to Slytherin. His sister's here.” Augustin nodded further up the table to where a girl with charcoal skin and almond eyes was sitting. Her hair was cropped close to her skull and she surveyed the students around her with a calm, somewhat predatory gaze.
“Slytherin!” the hat announced, and a small boy with the same colouring slipped down from the sorting chair and strolled to the table with a self-satisfied smile.
He was the last student to be sorted and the headmistress gave a short speech, half of which Scorpius missed. The night passed in a yawning rush, and when Scorpius finally followed the prefects towards the Slytherin dorm, he was bleary-eyed and so tired that he stumbled on the stairs and almost sent the other two first years tumbling one after the other.
Not a particularly wonderful start to the year, especially as from then on Zabini and Imago did their level best to ignore him. They talked softly, and he knew he'd heard his surname whispered once. Scorpius dug through his trunk, looking for his box, and tried not to think about his new housemates.
In the darkness of the dormitory, in a strange bed, Scorpius sucked on a salty liquorice witch and wished he was back home.
--