It was a hot day, burning near 102 degrees, and Harry was feeling relieved to have been born with magic as he set a cooling charm over the sitting room in Grimmuald place. He had thrown open the windows at six that morning, the air in the house had gone so stifling and thick. The glass had fogged, and every cooling charm he set about the house seemed to be wearing off faster than he could replace it. He wondered if it was the house; Hermione had told him once that magic sometimes had trouble sticking to places that had been touched with dark spells, and he definitely felt a malicious curl to the air when he walked through sometimes. His pajama shirt was damp with sweat, and he pressed a cold bottle of butterbeer against his neck to chase out the flush that was rising in his skin.

He was made so lethargic from the sweltering heat in his sitting room that he was almost lulled to sleep by it, but the muffled roar of the floo startled him awake, and he stared at the flames in his fireplace with dread. The room already felt five degrees hotter, and even seeing Ginny flickering in front of him wasn't enough to make up for it. She wasn't bothered by his lack of a smile, and she looked him over slowly before asking, her voice sounding far away, "I tried the fireplace at home first, and you didn't answer, so I figured you'd be here. I hope you've opened the windows, I heard on the radio it was absolutely scorching over there."

"Mmm." Harry said, because his tongue felt too thick and heavy to say anything else. He moved the bottle a fraction higher on his neck so that it touched the underside of his jaw, and he felt his stubble moisten as the condensation sank against it.

Ginnys smile faded slowly, and Harry saw her hand move in the flames to push her hair out of her eyes. He sat up, recognizing the nervous way she swiped her bangs aside. She didn't seem to want to look at him, and he waited a moment, feeling his body beginning to wake up fully, before she said with a sigh, "I've just got a letter from McGonagall."

"Don't tell me the boys have already gotten themselves expelled? They've only been in school a month." Harry said, and was rewarded with a soft upturn of her lips as she glanced at him again.

"Just be happy it's not about James this time—she said he's excelling at Transfiguration, and he's been helping some of the younger years get the hang of it as well." She informed him, and Harry felt his chest swell with pride, until her smile disappeared and she sighed, "It's Albus that's gotten into trouble. It's odd, but she said he's been getting into fights with another student."

"Is he at least winning them?" Harry asked, and she looked sharply at him again, so he put his hands up in surrender and said, "Sorry, that was bad taste. I'm sure it's nothing we can't work out. I'll write him to see what's going on and—why are you shaking your head?"

"McGonagall asked to see us. Apparently, she wants to discuss the issue with us in person."

"Should I step back? Are you coming through the fireplace?"

"Well, no, see, I can't leave. I'm training our new reserve Keeper. I know technically it's my month, if they weren't in school, but…"

Her eyes traveled hopefully up his face, and Harry couldn't help but sigh, dreading what he was about to do, "I'll go talk to her, then. You stay in Romania, I'll update you when it's all sorted."

"Thanks, Harry." Ginny said in relief, "She expects one of us in her office in half an hour, shes opened up the fireplace so you can floo right in. I'll return the favor, I swear! Ah—that's the team manager yelling for us, I've got to go. Tell Albus I miss him!"

"I will. Bye, Gin." Harry said, though he wasn't sure she heard him, having dusked out of the fireplace so quickly. Now he was just left staring at a pile of embers, heat waves visibly rising off them. Well, at least he didn't have a reason to stay in the overheated house any longer. He moved upstairs quickly, deciding it would be best to take a quick, cold shower before he popped into McGonagall's office.

He took ten minutes to figure out whether it was appropriate to meet his old head of house in a pair of jeans and a jumper, and for a moment he missed being married to Ginny if only because at least then he could ask her what to wear—not that she really knew either, but having someone at least tell him he didn't look a complete idiot always had its benefits. He scribbled a quick letter to Molly Weasley to tell her that he would probably be late to pick Lily Luna up from the burrow, and then grabbed a handful of floo powder and felt the floor give way as he was sent through the floo network. He was rather proud that he didn't trip out of the fireplace as he was deposited in McGonagalls office, as he hadn't flooed anywhere in ages. He remembered that she had added a rug on the hearth from his last visit there, where his arrival had been less than graceful.

He was so relieved to have not made an idiot of himself that he almost forgot why he was there, and looked up to find his son sitting in a chair that was much too large for him in front of McGonagalls desk. He wasn't the only boy there; a blond boy sat beside him in a chair of the same size, and was, staring at the floor with his head bowed so that Harry couldn't see his face. He was a touch smaller than Albus, from what he could see of him, and the crest on his robe showed that he was a Hufflepuff. He was about to ask the boys name, but found that his breath suddenly caught in his throat. The boy glanced up and recognition was immediate; he was looking at a nearly exact copy of Draco Malfoy, save for the square jaw and soft blue eyes of the child, who was idly kicking his legs, expensive shoes sliding in and out of sight.

He took a moment to let the image soak in, and for a moment he almost convinced himself that Malfoy had somehow reversed his age, but shook the idea away quickly. He couldn't stop staring at the boy, and couldn't help wondering how much the boy took after his father, considering Albus was so much like Harry that they practically spoke in tandem half the time. Well, he couldn't be that similar to his father; he was a Hufflepuff, after all. The thought had him snickering quietly, though he had enough decency to pretend he was merely amused by something on McGonagalls desk.

"Something funny, Potter?"

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin, feeling warm breath tickle his neck, and he whipped around, drawing his wand automatically in defense before he recognized that Draco Malfoy was standing behind him with a nasty smirk. He felt his face warm, and snapped, feeling foolish, "Merlin, Malfoy, warn a bloke before you sneak up on him like that!"

Malfoy merely raised a delicate eyebrow in response, and answered casually, his smug expression infuriating,, "I would have thought that, being an auror, you'd be better trained, Potter. Shall I tell your supervisor that your observational skills are just as abysmal as they were when we were in school?"

"I can observe plenty. For example, watch this," Harry said, and cleared his throat, stepping back and pretending to look Malfoy over. He made a show of pretending to study him, then nodded and said, "Ah, yes, just as I suspected. Based on the way you're standing, I dare say you have a stick stuck in your ass."

Albus giggled quietly in his seat, and Harry smirked. Malfoys cheeks went pink, and he opened his mouth to retort, but lost the opportunity when a voice sounded from the doorway, loud and demanding attention, "I do hope this is friendly banter, boys."

Harry didn't have to turn to know McGonagall had walked in on them, and he sheepishly backed away towards his son as she nodded at their silence and strode into the room, eyes just as hard as they had been when he was eleven. They never failed to make him want to obey her, and they seemed to have the same effect on Malfoy, who retreated to stand beside his son when she peered over her spectacles at him. Once they were settled, she leveled them both with a look, and wordlessly transfigured two seats out of paperweights, which Harry and Draco both moved to be beside their children, as far apart from one another as they could manage. Harry pretended he didn't notice her look of disapproval. She stared a moment longer, seemed to accept that he wasn't going to acknowledge the look she'd given him, and said instead to the two of them, "I think we rather need to discuss some behavioral issues between your sons, wouldn't you agree?"

"Potters son, you mean." Malfoy muttered defensively, and put a hand on his son's arm. Harry looked sharply up, ready to defend Albus, but McGonagall beat him to speaking.

"I will send you out of the room if you can't behave like an adult, Mister Malfoy."

Harry snorted into his chest before he could stop himself, and sharp eyes snapped towards him. He sat up quickly, aware he'd been caught, and made a show of coughing into his fist, hoping she would believe he had just had a fit and that it was coincidental. Her lips thinned, and she asked darkly, "Would you like a draught from Madame Pomphrey for that cough, Potter, or do you think you can get it under control?"

"I'm fine." Harry said quickly, aware he had been caught, "It was just a tickle in my throat."

"See that you keep it managed." She said, and then her eyes flicked, miraculously, it felt, towards Malfoy before she asked, "I hope the two of you can act your age for the rest of this meeting. Now, I'm not here to scold you, I'm here to discuss the problems with your children. You both know why you're here, do you not?"

"Err, no." Harry admitted, flushing a little when Malfoy rolled his eyes as if to say 'typical'. Harry had made a face at him before he could stop himself.

"Potter, what did I say?" McGonagall warned waspishly, her eyes cold and hard like steel. He sank in his seat, his lips pressed together so that he didn't do anything else that he shouldn't. "We are here because your boys can't seem to keep from fighting in the halls and during meal times, and it's so closely mirrored to your own bantering that I can't help wondering if past experiences are responsible."

"With all due respect, ma'am, Scorpius has sent me letters on three different occasions detailing the poor treatment that Potter's boy has subjected him to. It hardly seems fair to be disciplining my kid for this." Malfoy interjected arrogantly, pointed chin raised in the air defiantly. It looked so sharp Harry would bet ten galleons his wife cut herself on it every time she tried to kiss him.

"You would pick a pretentious name like that." He couldn't help scoffing.

"Hmm, and it seems we know where your kid gets it from. Bullying a child, Potter? And he thinks his kid is innocent! Clearly the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

Harry bristled at that, cheeks going red as his hands curled into fists, and he defended quickly, ignoring that Malfoy had been right about Harry unwittingly making a remark about his son, "Look, regardless of what you think, there is no way my son is responsible for any of this." He knew he should stop, but he wasn't about to let Malfoy make it out like Harry was was the one at fault—or Albus for that matter—so he didn't dare look at McGonagall and added quickly, "If anything, your kid is the bully here; after all, like father, like son."

McGonagall sighed loudly and spoke over whatever Malfoy had opened his mouth to say with a stern, "Mister Potter, please refrain from picking another fight, or I will have to request you leave the office."

Harry closed his mouth and nodded, subdued by the fact that he had at least gotten the last word. Malfoy had him acting like a child again, but he couldn't deny, as much as he wanted to, that he had put himself in the position to be scolded, so he said impatiently, "It is Malfoy's son, though, right? He's the one starting all of this?"

There was silence.

Immediately, Harry felt his stomach clench. McGonagall was staring at him with such pity that it nearly wasn't a surprise when she said slowly, "From what I've seen, and from what I've heard from other professors, it seems that the antagonizing has been primarily from Albus."

"But Al wouldn't-"

Her voice was softer, sympathetic, even, when she leaned forward in her chair and said, "Mister Potter, I've had sixteen different incidents reported where your son has been accused of harassing Scorpius Malfoy. There are only four where Scorpius is said to be at blame."

"But-surely it's not so bad we needed to be brought in? I mean, Malfoy and I fought all the time in school, and we were never dragged to the office to talk to our parents."

Harry expected Malfoy to say something biting like 'That's because some of us didn't have parents, Potty', but the remark never came and he was resolved to listen to McGonagall instead say, "I wasn't Headmistress back then, and this goes beyond just a schoolboy rivalry."

"What's Albus done, then?" Harry asked, certain there was a mistake. Albus was not a bully. He didn't raise him that way.

McGonagall looked surprised by the question, and then said thoughtfully, studying Albus, who had sunk low in his seat, "Perhaps you should ask him, and see what sort of explanation he has for you."

Harry's breath caught. He didn't want to hear it from her, much less from his own kids mouth, least of all if it was true. But he relented, and asked slowly, praying for a misunderstanding, "Albus?"

He was hoping for some kind of protest, or for Albus to tell him that he wasn't guilty and that Malfoys kid was as sneaky and underhanded as Malfoy himself, but his son instead looked at his lap with a subdued, red-cheeked expression. Harrys stomach fell immediately in on itself, and there was a long moment of silence before Albus mumbled reluctantly, "Uncle Ron said that we should beat him in our classes, but he's such a know-it-all that it's hard, and he's really annoying about it. He won't stop correcting me in potions, and he keeps rubbing it in that he's doing better than me in defense against the dark arts, so I guess I've hexed him a few times. Nothing permanent, though."

"That's not all, Mister Potter." McGonagall cut across sternly. "Why don't you tell your father what happened just this afternoon, then? There is more to this than just fighting over grades."

Albus thinned his lips and shook his head embarrassedly in answer to her request, and Harry felt so nauseous that the edges of his vision swam. Albus sent a nervous look towards the blond pair on their left. McGonagall nodded when he didn't say anything for several minutes, and finally elected to pick up the slack, her voice crisp as parchment, "Very well, then. Albus seems to be under the impression that it is okay to taunt Scorpius for being sorted into Hufflepuff, which, I can assure you, is the opposite of something to be ashamed of. He and his friends have taken to following Mister Malfoy between classes to harass him about the sorting hats decision, and to prod at sore subjects, like his fathers alleged past as a death eater. He-"

"It's not alleged! His father WAS a death eater." Harry huffed before he realized he had spoken, furious that Malfoy was suddenly being painted as innocent.

"I was pardoned, Potter." Malfoy sneered with narrowed eyes, which only drove Harry's anger to a new high.

"Thanks to me you were!"

"Oh, of course you would believe that! I wasn't charged because I didn't join them willingly-it had nothing to do with your 'selfless' testimony you gigantic prick!"

"What would you know about pricks, Malfoy? You've barely even got one!" Harry screamed across the room, feeling his face burn in anger.

"Oh, that's mature, Potter, hope you didn't strain your only brain cell to think up that one."

McGonagall cleared her throat, and then sat in silence as they both remembered themselves and sat back down in embarrassment. Harry didn't remembered standing up out of his chair at all. They both met her eyes apologetically and she asked waspishly, "Are you quite finished?"

They sulkily lapsed into silence. Her eyes narrowed and there wasn't a sound for several long minutes aside from the ticking of the miniature clock on her desk and she said, her voice lowering again, shaking in anger, "Mister Malfoy was not a death eater by choice, and, even if he had been, it has no business being used as a reason to target his son. You understand that, don't you, Potter?"

Harry wasn't sure which one of them she was talking to, and apparently Albus didn't either, because they both reluctantly nodded. Harry knew she was right—had known it even before he had started arguing with Malfoy—and didn't want to see the disappointment in hr eyes, so instead he chanced a look at Malfoy, only to find that he was fuming beside his son, refusing to face them. McGonagall then said, with a strange look toward Scorpius, her expression uncomfortable, "There has also been an issue regarding the sexuality of Mister Malfoy, and Albus's exploitation of that."

"Malfoys son is gay?" Harry asked with wide eyes, and didn't mean to be so surprised, it was just that he couldn't help wondering how Draco was taking it.

"No, she is saying that I'm gay, and your son won't quit throwing it in my kids face." Draco snorted derisively, before Harry could complete the mental scenario he had been drafting in his head.

"Shut up, Malfoy, I'm only asking because -" Harry realized very suddenly that he was serious and said in a way that was much more skeptical than he meant it to be, "You're bent?"

Draco groaned and tipped his head towards the ceiling in answer, and Scorpius stifled a laugh into his hand when Harry looked around in confusion, wondering when their conversation had taken such a turn.

"But you're married to a girl!" He insisted in confusion. Malfoy almost seemed to wince.

"I'm widowed, Potter." Malfoy said patiently, and Harry pretended not to notice the practiced dry tone in his voice, or the way Scorpius immediately grabbed his hand, has face morphing from amusement to concern. Draco waved him off and passed a gentle smile in his direction that seemed to set the boy at least partially at ease.

The silence felt painful this time.

"I didn't know that. I'm sorry, Malfoy." Harry said when the mood passed, and he was surprised that he said it so sincerely. He knew that Astoria and Draco had been close; he had seen them together in the paper when they first married, and again when they had their son. She was the only person that Harry had ever seen make Malfoy smile like that.

"She was a good girl." McGonagall said gently, with a meaningful look, and Draco nodded with a stiff swallow as she continued, "It seems you two can be civil. It's a shame we have to talk about death in order to achieve it. Now, since we all know the peace won't last long, I think you need to each take your sons aside and speak to them, privately, to try and resolve whatever conflict it is that they have, and I will see what you come up with for a punishment."

"We're deciding their punishments?" Harry asked in surprise, once again caught off guard.

"They will have detentions, of course, but I think it would be wise if they understood why, and a parent often does a better job at rearing understanding than a proffessor does. I would like you to determine the length the detentions should go on, and I will decide if it seems reasonable. Now, I will come back in ten minutes, and I expect you to have all apologized to one another by then."

"All of us?" Albus asked in surprise, and Harry was surprised he spoke. He sensed a set-up.

McGonagall smirked as she turned around, and said purposefully, "Children follow their parents examples. I want your fathers to set a good one, so, yes, they will apologize to one another as well."