Obsidian (Harry Potter Fan Fiction, Sequel to the Lazuli Trilogy)

One - Scorpius

A loud, gut wrenching roar seemed to rip the air in half as it screeched out around the valley. I ducked instinctively behind a rock and covered my ears with my hands, swearing loudly to myself. Bloody dragons; I could never see what my uncle Charlie saw in them anyway.

Once the roar ceased a wave of heat rushed around, and I heard the shouts of my colleagues as they tried to get the beast under control. The voices were indistinguishable as they barked orders at one another and shot spells at the dragon over the din it was making. Fools, I thought with a scoff, didn't they know they were only angering the beast further?

I crept towards the cliff face the convict had escaped up, and rubbed my hands on my jacket. I took a deep breath and found my footing, hauling myself up the sharp cliff. I left the others to handle the dragon, whilst I went after Dolohov, a Death Eater who had managed to evade capture until now. 19 years is a long time to be on the run, but luckily for Dolohov he'd be finding a permanent residence soon, since I'd reserved a cell in Azkaban just for him.

"Scor, what are you doing?" I heard somebody shout beneath me. I looked down to see my Uncle Harry - the head of the Auror office and my boss - waving his arms at me. "I'm not letting him get away!" I called back, continuing to climb. Uncle Harry shook his head and cupped his hands over his mouth so I could hear him over the dragon's roar. Just where had Dolohov found a dragon anyway?

"Scor, you're a newly qualified Auror. You've no idea what men like Dolohov are capable of!"

I let out an arrogant snort and let go of the cliff with one hand. "Relax, Uncle Harry. Dolohov's the same age as Grandpa - I doubt he could beat me in a fight."

"Scorpius Hyperion, your mother will kill me!" Uncle Harry screamed back. I rolled my eyes - my mother probably would be angry, but she'd soon get over it when she saw my photo on the front page of the Daily Prophet. Scorpius Malfoy, dark wizard catcher.

I definitely liked the sound of that.

Ignoring Uncle Harry's orders, I continued to climb until I was near the top. I hauled my weight over the side, my wand already drawn in case Dolohov wanted to launch a surprise attack. Let him try, I thought eagerly to myself.

I'd always yearned for danger; even as a child my mother said I was always jumping off of brooms and picking fights with kids that were twice my size. To me, cuts and bruises were badges of honour to be proud of, each scar a symbol of something you've overcome in your life. I think I got that from my father, who had never made any secret of his deepest scar; the mark on his arm that forever marked him out as a follower of Voldemort.

My father never spoke about his life when he was my age much - it didn't take a genius to know that he was ashamed. I'd heard stories about the Death Eater's my entire life from my mother and everybody else, and I knew that Dad was a good, brave man. But deep down I'd always wondered if there was something darker about him; something that had driven him to become a follower in the first place.

There was a roar from below, and I heard one of the men cry out in pain. Praying that it wasn't Uncle Harry or Marcel - my best friend - I continued after Dolohov, who had made a break for the trees.

I moved quickly and quietly through, my Camo-Cloak changing itself instantly to match the surroundings. The Camo-Cloak was a Weasley's Wizard Wheezes product, and a good one at that. Uncle Harry had found them so useful in fact that he'd persuaded Cedric - Marcel's father and the Minister of Magic - to buy an exclusivity contract on them. Uncle Fred and Uncle George hadn't minded the potential loss of business anyway; the Ministry paid them handsomely for their sacrifice, and they were willing to do anything to bring the last of Voldemort's followers down.