The Bloodstone Monarchy

MaliaÕs song: BabyÕs Got a Temper by Prodigy

Chapter 1-

    Malia took a sip of tea and gave a small shudder. She hated tea of all kinds, the only way she could abide it was by mixing it with heaping spoonfuls of sugar.

    She was sitting across from a tall french window shading her eyes from the glare of the August morning sun. The strangest eyes, cast downwards: one cloudy blue like a darkening sky, the other a deep green sparkling like emerald. She soon gave up, her hand resting on the clean mahogany dining table. A lock of her dark red hair fell below her earlobe and she deftly swept it back and began to twirl her spoon between her fingers with increasing speed.

    She heard a shout of frustration across the long table telling her father had arrived for breakfast.

    Malia looked up to see her father dictating to several jumpy looking reporters.

    The voice of Cornelius Fudge echoed through the immense alabaster dining hall.

    "No, I did not let act 358 of dragon's blood exportation pass, and furthermore..."

     As you can probably guess Malia's father is the Minister of Magic. She chose however to use her mother's maiden name Catley, as Fudge was an incredibly stupid last name. Malia had hated it ever since she could remember.

    Malia had a burning urge to smash her chair against the table instead she rose silently and the House Elves cleared her dishes. She hadn't been in a very good mood when she had christened the House Elves Wanker and Thing one.

    Just as she was exiting the room her father spoke. He was was still signing papers, almost completely hidden by the small crowd of buzzing reporters. His hurried, professional voice was heard amid the hushed whispers.

    "Malia's first year at Hogwart's, wouldn't have her go anywhere else you know."

    This seemed to be directed at the reporters who pricked up their ears, eager for news.

    "But you did have me go somewhere else", Malia said her voice sly but cheery. "In that hellhole correctional facility for four miserable years, you haven't forgotten have you father?"

    Cornelius gave her a reprimanding look.

    "How could I forget?"

    Malia had been attending Cumberland correctional facility for young witches and wizards, but now she was going to Hogwarts and would be sorted into fifth year. Her father continued,

    "Yes, you will take the train to school and at some point I will be apparating to see your Sorting."

    "Yes father" Malia replied obediently. She hadn't expected to attend Hogwarts, but her father had pulled strings with the school committee therefore she was transferred.

    Suddenly a stocky obnoxious looking wizard stuck his hand out, stopping her from leaving.

    "Malia , do you have a few words concerning Hogwarts?"

    Malia was amazed by this clod's daring. Her vicious glare was quickly replaced by a sickly sweet smile.

    "I think Hogwarts is a really great school-"

    "That's nice," the reporter mumbled, not even bothering to write down her little quote. Malia would give him something to write down.

    "-For muggle-loving little fu-"

    Bang! The heavy wooden door of Malia's bedroom was slammed shut by the hand of her seething father. The moment Malia had expressed her feelings about Hogwarts the room froze. A second later it was a flurry of reporters writing down her comment, asking questions and even snapping a few pictures. Somehow her father managed to find her amidst the pulsating group of reporters and march her through the North wing of the manor.

    Now Fudge was pacing back and forth and raving on and on about values and appearances.

    "Why Malia? Why do you insist on misbehaving for the public?"         

    Fudge was looking pleadingly at his daughter, he had dealt with this kind of thing a few times too many. She, however, looked completely serene and even a little bored. She was lying on her magnificent four poster rosewood bed, examining her nails. Malia sighed lightly,

    "Honestly, father it wasn't all that bad..."

    Fudge exploded at this statement.

    "Since when are you an expert on honesty! You sounded like a bloody Dark witch!"

    Looking quite tired after his brash verbalism, Cornelius Fudge slumped down into a nearby red satin upholstered chair. Malia looked at him reprovingly.

    "You know what they say, there's no such thing as bad publicity..."         

    Apparently Fudge's anger had not subsided.

    "Yes well, I suppose they haven't met you."

    Malia felt the sting of this insult, but all she showed for it was a scowl.     

    As he looked at his pocket watch, Fudge jumped up from his seat and began to speak very quickly.

    "Malia I don't have time to argue with you, I have affairs to attend to." His voice took on a tone of severity as he turned Malia's head to look at him. "Just promise me you will stay out of trouble at Hogwarts."

    "Well..." she said idly.

    "Promise me!" his voice seemed to be getting higher.

    " Yes father, I promise!" Malia wrenched free of her father's grip.         

    Cornelius straightened his robes and cleared his throat.

    "All right then, I will be back later this afternoon to take you to Diagon Alley for your school supplies."

    On his way out he stopped in the doorway as if there was an invisible barrier.

    "Let's just hope you don't get sorted into Hufflepuff eh?"

    Apparently her father thought this was funny so Malia gave a "Ha" and a weak smile.

    Fudge walked briskly out of the room and Malia's smile evaporated as if it were never there. The all too familiar dark rage was crashing around inside her like a wrathful sea. Her uncontrollable temper had gotten her in to trouble countless times. It wasn't that she couldn't control it, she just didn't like to. Supressing her anger was like being stabbed and then twisting the blade, futile.

    Malia pulled her new trunk out from under her bed and stood up to admire it. She really did want do go to Hogwarts despite what she imparted to the press.

    As she turned around to fetch something from her desk she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her unmarked porcelain skin never seemed to tan, but this never bothered her. What did irritate her were her mismatched eyes. Matching the colors of her clothes with eye color was unattainable and this resulted with her never looking quite right. Her soft champagne colored robes floated with the light breeze that came through her open window. She removed several pins from her hair letting the crimson locks fall to the small of her back. She noticed her hair was looking rather dull. She considered using a dazzling spell to make it shine, but remembered she didn't have a wand. In her previous school they only allowed wands during classes, and besides, it probably wouldn't have worked. Correctional facilities don't exactly have top notch education, no matter how much they cost.

    "Bugger." Malia muttered half heartedly. At the moment fears of rejection were flooding her mind. Staring into the mirror, she noticed her thin frame was shaking. This made her angry all over again. At least the anger was better than fear.    

    Voices approaching her room shook Malia from her thoughts.             

    Instinctively she spun around wildly, searching for a hiding place. Running out of time she dove onto her four poster and drew the ruby red velvet hangings, leaving only a space the width of her finger to look through. Oh this hiding place is great, maybe next time I can hide behind a broomstick.

    Moments later two people burst into the room talking in inaudible voices.

    The first was a young woman dressed from head to toe in powder blue robes. Malia cursed herself for ever liking that color. She would have been pretty if it weren't for her her platinum blond dye-job and Wizard Mart robes. Malia got the distinct impression this woman was trying hard to look important.

    Malia recognized the second person immediately as the obnoxious reporter she met at breakfast. He was a squat drip of a man with a simpering face and mild pattern baldness. His tweed diarrhea brown robes completed his tedious ensemble.

    Not only is he dull, she thought, but he's probably the cause of dullness in others.

    The man spoke in an ordinary voice,

    "I can't believe this is the only room that isn't locked in this funeral home."

    A random thought entered Malia's mind as they so often did. Oh God! What if they've come in here to snog?

    She began to search the ground for something she might be able to blind herself with, or at least block her ears.

    The woman began tapping her heel impatiently and vented her exasperation.

    "Morty why did you bring me here?"

    Morty didn't seem to notice her. Instead he was circling the room slowly lightly touching some of Malia's possessions in an attempt to look casual. But not even that could mask his nervousness and eagerness to tell this woman everything. Morty put on a big clownish grin.

    "Not until you say the magic word."

    "Casiartus!"

    The woman commanded, her wand pointed at Morty. Seconds later his ears were being stretched painfully.

    "All right Cynthia, I'll tell, lemme go!"

    Morty's ears snapped back into place. He spoke slowly as he was rubbing his ears.

    "Ok, for the last few few months I've been looking for that perfect story, something to get me on the first page of the Prophet, y' know?"

     At this point Cynthia began tapping her foot again, but Morty didn't acknowledge this. He wasn't very good at picking up signs, Malia thought. He continued on with his diatribe.

    "So anyway, I dig around the archives, read up on it, ask some Ministry officials, oh that was difficult-"

    Morty seemed to be cut off by the woman Cynthia.

    "Morty you'd better cut to the chase, I need to get to the Gilderoy Lockhart press conference you little time-moocher!"

    Malia snickered inwardly. Maybe this Cynthia isn't so bad, she thought. She told Morty off, hold on a mo, she's going to a Gilderoy Lockhart thingy, she is a complete idiot.

    When Malia resumed her spying a hurt looking Morty pulled out the oldest looking piece of parchment she had ever seen.

    "Here,"

    Morty thrusted the piece of parchment at Cynthia. She snatched the parchment from his outstretched hand and threw him a nasty look. Cynthia read the parchment slowly and then read it a second time, during this time Morty was becoming very restless, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

    Cynthia sat down at Malia's writing desk placing the parchment on the smooth surface.

    "Well?" Morty said rather hopefully. "Isn't it amazing!?"

    Cynthia didn't look amazed at all, in fact she was looking very irritated.

    "Morty how do you expect me to believe you-" Cynthia gave a cold "Ha" when she said you. "-Of all people, could find the Bloodstone Prophecy?"

    This last sentence knocked Malia breathless and her mind was racing. No way! She thought. This must be a joke or something, how the hell could he... I mean the Prophecy... is that even real?!

    Malia remembered her Father telling her about the prophecy. She could hear his matter of fact voice in the back of her mind.

    "Hundreds of years ago the most powerful druids in all of old Britan shared a vision from the future. In this vision they saw the war to end all wars. The war between good and evil. There were also four weapons divided among both sides. So these druids wrote down this vision and called it the Bloodstone Prophecy. It is said to uncover these four weapons so they may be used to wage war. Of course the Prophecy has never been found by any wizard, dark or good, so it is now regarded as a myth. Now Malia, unhand my tie so I may go to the Ministry ball!"

    Monty was pleading to Cynthia.

    "It's the truth, I swear! I did authenticity spells, I got it checked professionally, of course I had to obliterate his memory, but it still counts!"     

    Cynthia took one suspicious glance at Morty then brandished her wand at him.

    "Crucio!"

    Morty squealed as he was hit in the chest with the curse. Cynthia took a step closer to him.

    "Is what you just showed me the actual Bloodstone Prophecy?"             

    Morty's eyes were bulging and a vein was showing on his temple.         

    "Yes!" He replied.

    "You're not making up a pitiful lie?" Cynthia said suspiciously.

    "No!" Morty screamed while writhing in pain.

    Malia tried to pull her gaze away from the horrific scene, but found herself transfixed and unable to move. She felt it, she was a part of this whether she liked it or not.

    Cynthia retracted the curse and Morty fell to his hands and knees, gasping for air. His eyes were wide with astonishment as he spoke,

    "That was Dark magic!" He breathed.

    Cynthia looked dazed and she had a blissful smile on her face.             

    "Hmmmm," She replied.

    Cynthia snapped herself out of her trance.

    "Morty where did you find it?"

    Morty looked like he wanted to keep this bit of information to himself.

    "Let's just say I found it in the country." He said this and winked at Cynthia who looked every bit as bewildered as before. There was a long silence. Cynthia took a step towards Morty's chair.

    "Morty, forgive me for saying this, but you bring me up here, show me the biggest mystery since, ..since Harry Potter and just sit there and do nothing. What the hell is going on?"

    Morty's face suggested he was desperately trying to keep the upper-hand in this situation.

    "After long consideration, I've decided to let you in on this," He said quickly. "We'll probably sell the prophecy for millions and millions of Galleons I'll wager, and you will get forty percent of profits, but that will be plenty."

    "Stingy bastard." Cynthia muttered under her breath.

    Morty shot her a look of his own in an attempt to look menacing, but it ended up looking rather pitiful.

    "And there must be some kind of payment,"

    "Payment!?" Cynthia cried out in indignation.

    "Yes payment." Morty replied.

    Cynthia didn't protest any further which was probably a good idea since she would have been fighting a losing battle. Morty, however sneaky and vile, let her in on this, she was probably going to become filthy rich and she owed it all to him.

    "Sooo" Morty began, "the thing is... if we sell this and it isn't done meticulously we could end up getting a ton of publicity, I know that sounds like a good thing but it isn't... I can't afford to be recognized from where I got the Prophecy, so I was thinking you may have the pleasure of selling the Prophecy, meeting with prospective buyers, et cetera...

    Cynthia was enraged, "Morty, what the fuck!"

    Morty suddenly jumped and turned to face the door.

    "Shut up for a second! I hear something."

    Sure enough there were masculine voices traveling towards the room opening and closing doors on their way.

    "I'm telling you I heard something, and we were supposed to be watching this hallway."

    Those must be the guards, Malia thought.

    A phenomenal idea entered Malia's mind she just hoped she could pull it off. Malia withdrew from her hiding place and straightened up. Noiselessly she strolled over to the writing desk and picked up the piece of parchment. Morty and Cynthia were still huddled at the door speaking in frantic whispers.

    "We're trapped!"

    "What should we do?" Morty asked.

    Cynthia replied by hitting him on the arm and saying, "This is all your fault!"

    "Ow!" Morty exclaimed then "The Prophecy!"

    The two turned around and Cynthia gasped in surprise.

    Malia felt a rush of feverish excitement as she held up the parchment.

    "Sorry," she said. "I can't let you keep this, your plan is too crap worthy to work and you'll probably screw up anyway. Goodbye."

    With that Malia let out an ear piercing scream. Just before the guards burst in Malia put on a theatrical swoon.

    "Miss Fudge, are you all right?"

    Malia cringed at the mention of that name, but quickly remembered she was supposed to be distraught.

    "No" she whimpered. "Two complete strangers come into my room and there were no guards! Oh, they could be hired assassins!"

    Morty and Cynthia were looking ashen faced and speechless. Malia draped an arm over her eyes as the guards were leaving.

    "There my be a price over my head!" She peeked between her fingers expectantly, and seeing that the guards had left she sighed deeply, contemplating what she had just done. She lay down on her bed and started giggling furiously.

    Her cat Lucifer appeared seemingly from nowhere. He was a tabby, striped black and gray. She never told anyone her cat's name for the simple reason that it was enchanted. Lucifer was the equivalent of a journal, except much more secure. Whenever she uttered his name she could say anything and it could be recorded inside him. She could also review anything she had said in past months.

    Lucifer was purring softly and staring back at Malia with an expression that couldn't be deciphered. Malia sat up.

    "Lucifer," she said, and began recounting the morning's events.