N/A : Hi everyone!! This is my first shot at writing a fan-fiction. R&R. Let me know if I'm doing OK, or simply making a blunder of things.
Disclaimer : ...zzzzzzzzzzz...snort...zzz...I am J. K. Rowling...zzzzzzzzzzz...snore...zzzzzzzzzzz...I am J. K. Rowlingzzzzzzzz...snore (louder)...zzzzzzzzz...I...huh?...zzzzz...OUCH!! Hey, who pinched me?!!?
Chapter 1 :
Scorpius Malfoy stood just outside the newest Quidditch shop in Diagon Alley, Cauditch. Mentally, he calculated and weighed, the attributes of the latest merchandises' available to the quidditch loving wizarding world, the Nimbus Hunter. Cocking his head slightly to the side, he read the description on the display card at the base of the stand,
Designed for non-other than Joseph Wood, seeker of Puddlemere United, as a tribute to his 4-year standing record of winning the Quidditch World Cup for his team, the Nimbus Hunter is the fastest and most agile broom to date. Wood is also known for having won the past 4 Quidditch World Cup games with the four shortest game times in the history of Quidditch.
Only 5 brooms of this model have been made. One is naturally in possession of Joseph Wood. Another is on display In the Department of Magical Games and Sports. The remaining three models have been put up for sale.
Scorpius dusted a minuscule piece of dirt off the sleeve of his elf-made robes before turning to saunter inside the shop to collect his model of the Nimbus Hunter. Just as he neared the doorway, someone breezed by him, preceding him into the shop. Momentarily stunned by this, Scorpius hesitated at the doorway for a moment, before making his own way into the store, speculating what type of death wishing fool had brushed by him, and which nice little hex to use to teach the broad a lesson.
It was a witch, he was sure of that.
No Wizard would be caught dead with that mane of untamed, red hair, if you could even call it that. Sneering in disgust, Scorpius reflected that it had looked more like a bunch of phoenix feathers held together with a leather band than hair on a head.
Perhaps the witch was demented he mused.
Well in that case, he would, being the generous person that he was, make sure that she was provided with a nice, well-monitored room at St. Mungo's. After he was through with her, she'd need a room at St. Mungo's whether she was demented or not. Smirking slightly at the thought, he rounded the counter.
After a quick nod at the shopkeeper, he perused further into the shop in search of the witch he had dubbed, "feather-head". Just as he was about to turn a corner of shelves showcasing extremely expensive snitches, he was nearly knocked off his feet, as, for the second time in his life, someone breezed by him and stood peering into the glass shelves.
Cursing viciously under his breath, Scorpius turned to a towards the the unsuspecting person who had nearly trampled him with a calm expression on his face, that threw most people into frantic search for cover. Recognition, arched his brow, as he drawled inaudibly, "Feather-head." Then smirking he added, "Or rather dead feather-head."
She had reached into the glass case, and Scorpius watched in horrified anticipation as she neatly extracted a ridiculously expensive platinum snitch from the bed of snitches. Was she swiping it?
He watched her walk by, neatly stepping out of her path so as not to be run over a third time. Then, he followed her through a shorter path to the counter, timing his speed so that he reached it before she did. Nonchalantly, he stood with one arm on the counter, a few paces away from where he predicted she would pass by.
To his surprise, she walked straight up to the counter, and deposited the snitch into the hands of the shopkeeper's assistant. Smiling, rather flirtatiously he thought, at the young brat, she instructed him to pack it. The shopkeeper had by this time, approached him and was annoyingly twittering away, while packing his broom. Scorpius was, however watching the witch in disgusted fascination.
The "feathers" on her head was actually hair; tied back with what he presumed was a strip of dragon-hide. Though he couldn't tell how it was cut, he observed the way it fell onto her back, in large vivacious whorls. The glaring red of her hair was capitalised by several gold streaks, which added to its resemblance to phoenix feathers.
She seemed pre-occupied with her purchase, so Scorpius let his gaze wander lower. Her hair ended just above her waist, and as his gaze travelled appreciatively over her backside, he raised his brows in surprise.
He let his gaze drift slowly up. Slowly, he took in what promised to be luscious curves hidden beneath robes that clung lovingly to each curve on her slender form.
Not bad. Not bad at all.
For a demented witch, she was rather hot.
Suddenly, she turned around and looked him straight in the eye. Sapphire blue orbs stared intently into ice grey stones. Her face was fine boned and rather pleasant, he noted. But it was her lips that held his gaze. Lush bow-shaped curves, painted a glossy peach colour. She was quite attractive. Surprised though he was, Scorpius hid it expertly. He was after all, a Malfoy.
Holding her gaze intently, he quirked his eyebrow at her. Smirking he let his gaze drop, in a once over. His brow climbed higher in his forehead as he waited for a reaction from her. Waiting for the usual signs of female frustration or embarrassment - flustering, blushing, twitching or glaring.
Impertinently, she gave him a once over, before she smirked and sauntered off, swaying her hips, provocatively. His jaw nearly dropped open as he watched her leave.
Lily Potter, smiled to herself as she exited Cauditch and stepped into the busy throng of wizards and witches hustling about, doing their last minute shopping, before the school semester began.
She felt euphoric.
She recalled what had gone on in the shop, with glee as she made her way towards Gringotts, where she was supposed to meet her brother, so they could head home after their last minute shopping was done. She hadn't noticed Scorpius Malfoy, until he had stalked up behind her in the snitch section. Though she hadn't let on that she had noticed him, Lily had tensed up the moment he had come up behind her. For four years, since she had started at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scorpius Malfoy had made himself the bane of her existence. As she was the first in her family to be sorted into the Slytherin House, Lily Potter had been terrified and disappointed. Her first day was ruined by jeers from her house mates, at how a Potter had landed herself in Slytherin.
At the earliest holiday, she had gone home in tears, pleading with her parents to put her in a different school. But neither of them had relented. For hours, they sat her down and explained to her how being a Slytherin was not as bad as she thought.
Finally she had given up trying to sway her parents. Chin high and nose in the air she had returned to school after the vacation. But her hopes of freezing out the taunts were soon disillusioned. Scorpius Malfoy and his gang had taken it upon themselves to making her life miserable. The taunts and jeers were ceaseless and more often than not she found herself the brunt of ill-humoured jokes. At first, her brothers had done all they could to protect her. Hexing her tormentors in the hallways and on the grounds. But Lily soon realised that it was, landing them in detention more often than not, and the situation was gradually worsening.
The Slytherins' had taken to cornering her in the common room.
By the end of second year, Lily had had enough. Her mother's temper was beginning to show in her. Her eyes would flash as she observed fellow house mates, calculating and speculating their thoughts. Blocking hexes became second-nature to her.
By third year, she didn't even say the blocking spells aloud, simply muttered them under her breath and flicked her wand effortlessly.
In fourth year, she began retaliating.
Hugo, her cousin, stood faithfully by her side as long as he could to ward off Slytherin bullies, and taught her quite a few nasty hexes. But they were in different houses, and that limited the time he could spend at her side. So that left, Lily to fend for herself.
Sighing, Lily sat down on a bench in front of Gringotts. The wind whipped her hair about her face. She had been seated for about 10 minutes when, she felt a tug on her hair just before it came loose from the band. Albus Severus Potter dropped a kiss on his little sister's head, before ruffling up her hair.
"Hey there Red. You done with your shopping," he asked smilingly.
Lily stood up and grinned, "Yup! All set."
"Alright then. Lets go grab some munchies and head off home before mum has a heart attack," he said as he wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders.
Across the street, Scorpius Malfoy watched his rival and silent foe, Albus Severus Potter wrap his arm around the red-head from Cuditch. To his surprise, he felt oddly annoyed that Albus was holding her like that.
She must be his latest toy, he deduced.
The Hogwarts rumour mill, pinned the elder Potter son of being the playboy and the younger one as a more serious and conservative. In fact, the only time Scorpius had ever seen Albus loose his cool, was when his sister was being harassed within his radar. Scorpius frowned as he tried to draw up an image of the youngest of the Potter brood. She was a slip of a thing. She had acquired the Weasley gene in more ways than one. Her hair was a glaring red, unlike her brothers' dark black. She must have realised the repulsive colour of her hair, because she wore it braided all the time. Scrawny and temperamental to boot, the chit had her mother's reputed temper. She'd acquired a nasty glare of the years and an equally nasty taste in spells. Besides himself, there were only a few Slytherins, who had been left unscathed by her imaginative hexes.
He abruptly refocused his thoughts to the present. Who was the red-head? She looked familiar somehow, but he couldn't place her. Did she go to Hogwarts? And what was she doing with Potter? As he watched her walk away, Scorpius noted with wry amusement, that with her hair down, she looked more appealing than ever. The streaked red locks cascaded down her back like molten lava. Then he frowned.
Red hair had never appealed to him, so why was he acting the besotted poet?
The next second he dismissed it with a shrug.
A good shag aught to take care of any stray hormonal flare-ups.
Red-heads were always a bloody nuisance, be they alluring chits that trampled down everything in their paths or scrawny kids with well-practised wand-arms.