The Fearsome Name of Riddle

Sports Injury

A cold chill ran through the rafters, dancing with the thick layer of dust that had built up in the attic of Malfoy manor. Something about the footprints he left in dust felt forbidden to Lucius as he knelt in front of a box, a few feet away from the hatch to the rest of his house. The box was cardboard. Almost like a muggle shoe box. The lid was closed. He couldn't bring himself to open it. The idea of looking at her face after all these years made him face how much of a coward he had been. She would be young in these pictures. Even now, as his son waited for his father to fulfil his promise in helping him piece together the mystery of a forgotten relative, he had chosen the box with photographs of a woman he never knew. He wouldn't recognise her. It would hurt much less that way. 

With a deep breath, Lucius decided to test his theory. Carefully, his fingers touched the cardboard lid and he listened to the brush of it lifting against the box of the same material. It escaped against his ears as his heart began to race, the fear of it more damning than the act. 

The second he saw her face, that young smile with a fresh cut around her eye where a scar had been left in her eyebrow, his heart ached.  

She was standing with her quidditch team, dead centre with her broom. Her hair was braided from her face, a messy French plait that had a windswept look. Her smile was sort of strained which was hard to see in the picture but she was angry about something. It was probably the cut on her face. 

"Father?" Draco's voice jolted him away from the image as he climbed the ladder silently, "did you find them?" 

Lucius stammered through a yes as he stuffed the photograph back into the box with the others. 

"Father," Draco said again, this time his voice much softer as he watched his father hastily put the lid back on the box as if he'd just been caught with something he shouldn't have. 

"Not now Draco," Lucius heard his wife call up the ladder. She protected him even now, even after all he'd put her through. He could promise to be a better man if the aurors would give him the chance, but he would rather just be one. 

#####

Sixth Year

Hot spring sun beat down on Victoria Malfoy's face as she sat high in the quidditch stadium, the back of her broom draped in her robes. A forest green split in two at the back with a silver lining that glinted in the light. She looked good in her uniform. She knew it. And so did everyone in the stands. Her near white hair flitted in the light wind as she scanned the pitch for that tiny golden ball. 

"I know the castle is big but I never seem to see you off the pitch." Fleamont Potter and his incessant need for conversation turned her head as he glided in front of her. She found that as they got older, she found him more irritating. "You're not avoiding me, are you?"

"As if I think of you enough," Victoria chuckled, barely glancing at him as he tried to force himself into her view. 

"You never change Malfoy," Fleamont sighed, shifting his weight on the seat of his broom, "and people say the high born have manners."

"I know all my manners," Victoria smirked as Obsidian caught her eye. He was sitting a little lower than they were and a couple of metres away. "Just like I know when not to use them."

"Do I not deserve your manners?" Fleamont asked with a charming smile as he leaned towards her. “Am I not as pureblooded as you are?”

Victoria laughed as her eyes flicked back to Obsidian for a moment. Just the right moment. A bludger had been hit directly at them by the only person in the direction it had come from. Victoria took a sharp drive to try and avoid getting knocked from the sky but the shards from Fleamont's shattering broom caught her in the face. Wooden splinters ripped into her skin as she squeezed her eyes shut. In a flinch, Victoria tugged her broom to the side. She barrow rolled through the air. Luckily, she steadied and managed to stay in the air though the same couldn't be said for Fleamont. 

Victoria could still hear the shouting of the crowd but the hot blood flooding her eyes made it hard to focus on anything else. She tried to wipe her face to get a bearing but she bled faster than she could remove it. 

"Victoria!" A voice called above the others, shrieking as loud as the woman could make it, trying to get her attention. "Come here!" 

The Slytherin Seeker leaned in the direction of the voice, recognising it to be Walburga Black. When she was close enough the older student grabbed her sleeve and guided her to hover alongside the stands. 

"You should come off." Walburga's shrill voice told her as she mopped up the blood with a handkerchief. "Step into the stand, I'll take you to the hospital wing." 

"I'll be fine," Victoria snapped as Walburga pulled at her face, Eileen Prince peering around her shoulder, "just patch it up." 

"You won't be able to see." Eileen stepped around Walburga to get a better look at the deep gash over her eye. It had missed the eyeball and only clipped the lid as it ran from just above Victoria's eyebrow to underneath her eye. "Let the matron fix it up before you get a scar." 

"Both teams down a seeker!" The commentator sounded through the speakers in the usual grainy voice. "This game just turned into a battle of the quaffle for the chasers!" 

"Seal it." Victoria told her, now able to open her right eye about half way. "Now!" 

Eileen flinched and drew her wand. She grimaced as she brought it to Victoria's face, terrified she'd get it wrong. The tip of the wood traced along the cut, pulling either side of the skin back together, leaving an angry, jagged red line down Victoria's face. 

"I'm no heeler." Eileen winced at the sight of it, knowing that Victoria would be angry no matter what she said now. "That will scar." 

"I'll be fine," Victoria said, gripping the handle of her broom tight and zipping away from the stands with a sharp gust of wind. 

"Victoria Malfoy back on the broom!" The commentator yelled with excitement. "Incredible perseverance from the Slytherin Seeker! A sure win for them now." 

Victoria sped around the pitch, the wind stinging the cut on her face, chasing after that tiny golden ball with all the rage getting attacked with a bludger had given her. She had a fear that going that fast would rip open the cut but if she had bled for this game, they would win it. 

"Malfoy is not slowing down." The commentator yelled from his place behind the scoreboard. "Gryffindor looking a little disheartened at the moment, you've gotta keep pushing guys! Avery with a quaffle but McGonagall is right behind him, can she take it from him? Oh! A great dodge to that kick, not very sportsmanlike of the Slytherin's chaser. But Minnie is back and that quaffle is hers! Back down the pitch for Gryffindor."

"You are exhilarating to listen to," Victoria chimed as she flew to the side of the stand, "but I think I'm quite ready to touch back down on the floor." 

"That is quite the gash." He wore a Ravenclaw quidditch jumper and he kept the microphone close to his mouth every time he spoke. "Do you have something for me sweetheart?" 

Victoria smirked and let the golden snitch hover from her palm to the tips of her fingers. 

"Victoria Malfoy has caught the golden snitch!" The commentator yelled into the microphone.

"Slytherin wins!"