This is just a teaser, to see if anyone is interested in seeing Luc grow up in the Marauder's Era - he wouldn't be so tortured, of course, but there would still be the same conflict between ambition, pragmatism and pride (from a different point of view) This way, I can bring more Snape into it, explore his motives as well (shameless bribery, I know) Let me know if you think I should continue.

It's not mine - after all the work I put into it it's not mine...

The Bastard


A cloaked and shrouded figure made its way through shadows and moonlight up the grand avenue towards the manor house. Although it moved silently, it didn't seem to be overly bothered with escaping detection - the many warning charms and alarms set around the perimeter of the estate ensured no one entered the grounds unnoticed, or even unapproved. Their intrusion would have been noted and followed from the moment they set foot on Malfoy land.

No one was there to greet the intruder when they came to the front porch - but he had been expecting that, and silently bent down to place his burden in front of the door where it could not fail to be noticed. Then, without a backwards look, he gathered his cloak, drew himself up, and walked back into the shadows down the drive.

The next morning, a house elf, opening the door, came face to face with a bundle of cloth on the front doorstep. With a surprised exclamation, she picked it up, almost dropping it when it let out a loud, outraged wail.

The noise drew Brough, the family butler, whose intimidating presence and immense dignity had served the Malfoy for nearly a century. Taking the bundle from the terrified maid, he held it gingerly while he unwrapped the cloth. Much more controlled than the house elf, he didn't even blink when he uncovered a squalling baby, less than a day old, but already, by the slight roaring in Brough's ears, showing signs of power.

Murmuring reassurances to infants was beneath Brough's dignity, but the Master had left strict orders that he was not to be disturbed by anything or anyone; and the baby's wailing was shattering the fragile peace of the morning. Feeling slightly ridiculous, Brough turned the full power of his gaze on the house elf, sending her for milk, before turning back to the child.

The psychic pressure on his eardrums was increasing, so he shifted his grip and started, awkwardly, to croon softly to it, all the while swearing desperately in his mind. Taking the child outside seemed the only way to avoid waking up the entire household, so he quickly carried it out into the garden.

The crying intensified, if that was possible, and Brough entertained a brief fantasy of infanticide (really, it wouldn't take much.) until the baby opened its eyes, cloudy and unfocused as they were, and he saw them for the first time. They were silver. Malfoy silver.


That day had seen one of the most furious scenes in a marriage notorious, at least among the staff at the Manor, for emotional scenes and tantrums. Lady Laetitia Malfoy, an ice queen with a vicious temper, did not take kindly to the news that her husband wished to raise his bastard son as his own, alongside his own six month old, legitimate son and heir.

The staff noted that she had not objected to his affair with a seventeen- year old girl, or even to the fact that he had a bastard - but to the thought of raising his bastard with his heir, as a brother.

Lord Marcus Malfoy, who had an equally vicious but much colder temper, had insisted that the boy was his flesh and blood, and therefore he would be raised as a Malfoy, and not by the type of muggle-loving peasants who adopted children from the orphanage.

This was not sentiment - it was pride, sheer pride that would not allow a Malfoy (even a bastard) to be raised by canaille.

While the staff made themselves scarce, gathering at points where they could hear the fierce argument properly, Brough held the baby, who, unaware of the furor it had created, was blissfully sleeping in a haze of contented hunger and warmth. Assigned by fate to the role of nurse, for the baby would not tolerate anyone else holding him, he was unaware of the picture he created - the immensely dignified and distinguished butler caught and twisted around the new baby's finger.

The staff, watching with covert amusement, had no doubt that the baby would cause them all untold trouble in the future, and were all gleefully looking forward to it. None of them had any doubts that the Master's will would prevail - the Malfoy were many things, but they were not the type to let their children be raised anywhere other than in the family cradle.

They might kill off unwanted bastard children, but they would not let them be raised by strangers, or worse, muggle-lovers.

And that being said, the nurse prepared a new cradle in the nursery and had already introduced young Master Lucius to his new younger brother, who had yet to be named.


Finally, after riding roughshod over his wife's objections and slapping her out of hysterics, the Master came to see his new son. Awake by now, the baby went quite willingly to his father, blinking owlishly at the source of the power that had bought him out of sleep.

The bond of blood was strong here, thought Marcus, as strong as it had been with Lucius - the inborn power of the Malfoy, the ardeur, had reacted with a soul deep vibration, a recognition felt by both of them. There was no doubt the child was his.

Apparating with him out into the grounds, into the Grove, the very heart of the Malfoy estate, he walked into the centre, felt as he always did the deep thrum of the power that lay within the earth and culminated under his feet in a great intersection of ley lines, and held his face up to the sun.

Holding the child up to the sky, he said, "By my blood and the blood of my ancestors, I acknowledge and claim this child as my own; under all the laws of the gods and of men, he is my son. And his name is." here he looked deep into his son's eyes, searching for the soul, for his name, "His name is Lucien. Lucien Brandon."