Bloodline
A/N: So, this story is a result of boredom over Christmas vacation. I've always been a fan of Rose/Scorpius and decided to write a fic about it. It takes place primarily during their sixth and seventh years. Not only did I want to write about their relationship, but I thought it'd be really intriguing to explore the "Second Generation" world. So, on that note, off we go!
Disclaimer: As much as I'd love to be the owner of a multi-billion dollar series, I am not JK Rowling. All material belongs to that Queen of Creativity.
Prologue
-7th Year-
Ron Weasley was a happy man come Christmas time. It was that one moment of the year when he was actually permitted to set aside his Auror work at the Ministry (not that he didn't occasionally slack off the rest of the year), invite his vast family, including the Potters, over for dinner, and settle down with a nice bowl of pudding brought especcially for him by Grandma Molly and a game of exploding snap. Yes, Christmas really was the season to be jolly.
The kids were busy decorating the halls and saircases of their twising home at the center of Diagon Alley (overseen, of course, by Hermione, who made certain they didn't swipe their wands out and get the job done too quickly). Grandpa Weasley was badgering Grandpa Granger on the principle of the bycicle while the two Grandma's gave themselves bustles through the rooms complaining on on their children never bothered to clean. Percy was coaching Hugo, Molly, and Lucy on their decorations while Uncle Charlie conjured moving figures of dragons for Hugo, who watched with bated breath but pretended he did not care simply because he was 15 and much too "mature" for such things.
There was a bang at the door; Bill's family was the first to arrive; the shrill tones of Fleur's French drifted in through the front hall, announcing the newcommers.
"'Ow many times must I tell you, Beell, Louis cannot fly in dees weather - "
"Please, Fleur, he just had to sit through an afternoon of your mother, he deserved it."
"But 'is asthma - "
"- was perfectly fine, now, I'm begging you, relax."
They were greeted by the family of five, ladden with gifts and leftovers from their lunch in Paris that day. Dominque, 15, tried to help 11-year-old Louis with his jacket and mittens but he shrugged her off. Victoire laughed in her sing-song voice, no doubt sensing another arugment between her siblings; she was currently a reporter for the Daily Prophet and was still wearing her nametag on the collar of her sweeping lavender robes. Hermione watched them set their brooms against the closet. "Don't tell me you flew over the Channel."
Bill smiled, the creases of his scarred face crinkling. "Just from London; we took the Floo from Paris to the Leaky Cauldron. I bought them all new brooms for Christmas and they wanted to try them out."
Fleur sniffed in dissatisfaction. "As eef they were worth the money; Quiddeetch ees such a drain on our time and financees."
"Tell that to James," Hugo called proudly from the spiral staircase as he strung dancing gingerbread men on the railings; they giggled at him with their tiny gingerbread mouths. James, their cousin, had recently been accepted into the Chudley Channons, the Weasley family's favorite Quidditch team. He was, however, fighting a losing battle; not even the prodigy James Sirius Potter could turn their luck around.
Ron peered into the living room. "Where's Rose?"
Hermione wrenched away from the cookbook Grandma Weasley had shoved in her face. "Went to King's Cross, remember? She's picking up her friend at the sation; he's staying for the holidays."
"Her boyfried," Hugo snickered; Dominuqe and Louis joined him on the stairs to giggle.
Ron frowned, his Christmas peace stirred slightly. "Boyfriend? Just who is this fellow?"
The Warlocks 5's new Holiday Hit started up on the radio; excited, the kids raced into the living room. An irritated Hermione rolled her eyes. "Ron, I'm sure he's perfectly fine. Just keep your distance and don't breathe down their necks, you do remember how your mother - " Noticing Mrs. Weasley's steady eye on her and the cookbook, she clammed up.
He turned around towards the kids. "What d'you know of him, huh? What are you laughing about?!"
"Lily, if you shove that cartoon in my face one more time, I swear - "
"But Al, if you turn it upside down and spin it, it tells you your future!"
"Yeah, well, that'll be pretty short in a few seconds if you don't shut up!"
"You're such a stupid prat!"
"Lily, Albus, be nice."
"Dad!"
The Potters stumbled into the kitchen; the kids were still dizzy-faced from side-along apparition. James sported his new Chudley Cannons practice robes, the regular braggert he was; Lily insisted on carrying The Quibbler under her arm, obsessed as she was in that kind of thing, while Albus was trying to brush her away. Ginny and Harry seemed utterly exhausted.
"Long day, Harry?" Ron grinned, completely over the boyfriend incident by now.
His best friend pushed ran a tired hand over his face. "Just put me down on the couch with a glass of firewhiskey and I'm set for the night."
Ginny pried Lily's wand away and forced the two apart, only to be attacked by her parents in a monster of a hug. Ron chuckled, safe, from the sidelines.
"Is someone wondering where George could possibly be?" called a voice from the doorway. "Because, is it just me, or do I hear the sounds of distant sobbing?"
The kids rushed to greet Uncle George, Aunt Angelina and their twin cousins Fred and Roxanne (15). "It appears we're the cool relatives again, Angeline," George said as he dug out various objects from one of his custom Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes shopping bags, causing quite the commotion.
"That much is obvious," Angelina replied beside him.
The troupe retired to the living room, just barely resisting the smells of the fabulous dinner waiting for them on the table. They sank into armchairs and sofas and discussions on everything from politics to Quidditch to rumors that were circling around Hogwarts at the moment. The Warlock 5 cranked away in the background ("The things they're listening to these days," scoffed Grandma Weasley, launching into another lecture) while the candles on the snow-crested tree glistend with the hope of a new year. The adults rememberd the darker Christmases of past, and they shivered at the unspoken: Fred's death, George's missing ear, the early years of The Order, and the ever-taboo name of Voldemort. The kids, though, the kids . . . they did not have the ability to feel it, and continued chattered on.
Grandma Weasley, Ginny, and Hermione were just about to serve drinks when, finally, a tuft of turquoise hair and a pair of determined eyes greeted them as their latest member made his way into the house; he still wore his lime-green St. Mungo's robes, clashing terribly with his hair. He was currently in the position of Trainee Healer in the Creature-Induced Injuries wing of the wizard hospital.
"TEDDY!" The children shrieked, throwning their arms around him, each scrambling to tell them the newest developments in their lives. Ted Lupin was a busy man; injuries in the wizarding world were, unfortunately, constant, and he was kept continually on his feet and did not have much time to visit his friends.
Ginny nudged George. "Who's the favorite now, George?"
Victoire drifted out of her rapid bilingual conversation with her parents to kiss Ted on the cheek; they beamed at each other.
"How come you never smile at me like that anymore?" George asked Angeline. She slapped his arm briskly and told him to shut up.
"Looks like the gang's all here!" Boomed Ron happily, completey and absolutely content. The sight of his family before him completed his vision of a perfect Christmas. How could anything, anything at all, possibly ruin this for him?
The door closed; Rose's voice, lilted with its usual sarcasm, made its way into the living room. "Did I miss anything?"
His "favorite daughter" stepped through the doorway, bright blue eyes gleaming mischieviously beneath her ever-curly chestnut hair. Ron's chest swelled with fatherly pride. How he loved his brilliant daughter, his accomplished Ravenclaw, his dear little Rosie was was currently pulling, but the hand . . .
His Christmas came, in one swift leap, crashing down. He and Hermione jumped to their feet within the moment. There, in their own home, wrapped around a Weasley waist was a very, very Malfoy arm.
Something in the air seemed to explode; Ron, Hermione, and Grandpa Weasley were on their feet, and Harry and Ginny immediately sat up. Al stood between him, perhaps as a barrier, he didn't know. "What do you think you're going about?!" roared Ron, his wand hand ready, even though young Malfoy was just a kid. "Rose! Explain!"
Her voice, usually so keen to explain things in such great detail, seemed to catch in her throat. Grandpa Weasleys looked ready to lash out at something; the muscles in his neck taughtened visibly.
Hermione put a hand to her forehead, as if in a migrain. "We can try to work this out, Ron, we can."
He pointed a finger threateningly at the traitor. "You! Boy! What the bloody hell are you here for? Answer me!"
The boy stood tall but did not say a word. He glanced down at Rose for a word of advice, anything, to rescue him from her raging father. She sighed. "Dad, please be mature about this - "
"Don't tell me to be mature, young lady!" he bellowed in a rage. "Don't you dare!"
Hermione tried to force his arm down, pulled his wand away. "Rose, we've told you about his family – Ron, for goodness' sake, be still! – and we've told you how they feel about us. Why are you bringing him here?"
Grandpa Weasley was shaking his head in the corner. "And here I was thinking she was a smart girl . . ."
Rose stared out at them all, open mouthed, obviously at a loss. "I . . ."
"Told you they'd act like this," Lily called from her spot by the fireplace, outspoken as ever.
Quietly, but with a look of stern determination on his face, Malfoy reached down and took her hand in his, refusing still to speak. Ron snorted. He had a lot more willpower than his father, at any rate. He took a breath in an attempt to calm himself. "Rose. This boy is leaving. Immediately. We don't need another tragedy in this family."
Her ginger eyebrows shot up in shock. "I don't know what to say, Dad. I . . ." She seemd to tighten her grip on the intruder's hand. "I care about him."
Hermione lost her hold on Ron's arm. She fell down into her seat, surprised and perhaps a little sickened. Ron, on the other hand, refused to back down. "Out, Rose. Now."
She narrowed her eyes, and before she stormed out, Ron was reminded of her childhood days when she was turned down for something; she would wrinkle her nose, stamp her feet, and wail. Grown up now, she instead let out a shriek of anger as she dragged Scorpius Malfoy after her. Just as he was leaving, the newcommer opened his mouth and spoke his first sentence in their household: a rather long string of profanity.
The door slammed.
They were gone.
Ron and Harry exchanged glances. "See he's still exactly like his father," he muttered.
Nothing could bode well from this.
One thing was for sure, Ron knew: Scorpius would never touch his one and only daughter ever again.
A/N: So, at this point, their relationship is emminent; in the next few chapters we're gonna flash back to 6th year and go on from there. Thanks for reading!!