A/N

This is written in honour of all across Britain today that have lost something close to them, whether it be a family business, the home they were born in, or even the pride in their country.

I hope they can rebuild their lives, and find every single idiot responsible for what has happened.

Chapter Four: Rivulets and Rings

When will this fairytale get easy,

And when will this doubt disappear from my head?

Please somebody help me,

Somebody help me.

Somebody say when the fight is over,

My heart is all burned

And nothing can ease the pain.

I'm falling into something I'm scared

- Sunrise Avenue: Somebody Help Me

Staring out of the window, Draco watched as the patrons of Diagon Alley flocked about their business, umbrella charms cast over practically the whole street as the rain plummeted down from the sky. With a sigh, he turned away, ignoring the pattering sounds of the rain as it merged with the sounds of the shower turned to full blast. The night had been an interesting one, for definite. Draco had woken halfway through the night to find himself acting as some sort of tree to Potter. Koala Potter, as he thought of him now, remembering how tightly the man had clutched at him in his sleep. Grimacing at the memory, Draco downed the remainder of his coffee, his eyes falling suddenly upon a framed photo of a smiling blonde boy. The child was clutching at a small smoke coloured kitten, a look of pure delight on his face. Draco sighed.

Scorpius shrieked happily as the kitten pounced upon his lap, and he looked up at Draco, his face splitting into a wide grin. As the kitten clawed frantically at the toddler's coat toggles, Draco knelt down, prising it gently from his front. As it glared at him, the boy stuck his lower lip out, disappointed. Seeing the look, Draco smiled, and placed the cat into the cage beside them. His son looked at him, astounded, as Draco passed the shopkeeper a handful of galleons and knuts. As if unbelieving, Scorpius gingerly picked up the cage, and Draco grabbed his other hand, dashing from the store eagerly.

"Asteria!" He called, and his wife appeared from the corner, a camera poised in her hands in preparation.

"Hold him, Scorpius." She commanded, and the boy threw the cage's door open, seizing the cat in euphoria. As it was manhandled, it grabbed at his hood in a bid to escape, but the boy was too quick for it, nuzzling its head with his cheek. The cat relaxed as Asteria snapped a photo quickly, and Draco shoved the kitten quickly back into its cage before it made its next bid for freedom.

"Thank you Daddy!" Scorpius yelped happily, cradling the basket in his arms. As the cat crouched low, not yet sure of how to use its feet, Asteria grabbed hold of her son and husband, before quickly disapparating from the street. As they reappeared moments later in their sitting room, the cat yowled loudly in confusion, disorientated even more than it had been before.

"What will you name it, Scorpius?" Draco asked his son, crouching down in front of him to vanish the cage from the room. Scorpius looked at his father with wide, staring eyes, not sure what to say on the spot.

"Smoke?" He muttered, and Draco felt his heart go out to his son. So much pressure handed down merely from the idea of being a Malfoy. Ruffling the boy's hair, he smiled.

"Perfect, son!" He reached for his wand, and engraved the name into the cat's collar, and his son smiled, gripping his father suddenly about the middle, the cat forgotten. Smiling, Draco hugged him back. Life was perfect.

"Malfoy, where are your fresh towels?" A voice broke him from his memories, and Draco rolled his eyes. Typical Potter, forgetting the fact that his wand could quite easily conjure basic amenities. On the bright side, the man had stopped insisting on using his first name, and Draco turned to the bathroom, intending on dragging a towel out from the cupboard beside it and throwing it through the door without looking.

That plan was interrupted however, as he turned to see Potter's torso hanging out of the bathroom door, the wooden frame hiding anything lower. Flushing madly, Draco tore his gaze from the brunette to anything else, his eye sight finally landing upon a pile of roughly folded laundry near the cupboard. Seizing a fluffy white towel from the top of the pile, he threw it at Potter who caught in smugly in his practiced seeker's hands. Droplets of water ran down the man's chest, leaving glistening tracks of water lines streaked over his skin. Dropping his gaze, Draco glared at the floor.

"Given up trying to be a wizard, Potter? You could have just conjured the damn towel." He scowled once more at the brunette, and he grinned easily at him, ruffling his own hair in mock guilt.

"A bit out of practice, it seems." He turned back to the bathroom, shutting the door to behind him, and Draco glared at the door, uttering all oaths he could think of.

"Pox ridden prat. I hope he realises how much this is going to drive me to the mental asylum." He slammed into the bedroom, muttering about the "insufferable prat infiltrating his ideal lifestyle."

Harry sat on the tiled floor of Draco's grimly decorated bathroom, fingering a scar lining the side of his hand thoughtfully. He had half dressed himself; loose linen trousers punched up around his feet, and he clutched a shirt in his hand, patting absentmindedly at the pattern. Why was he still here? He had promised himself to simply turn up, realise that it was a mistake, and leave again. He hadn't intended to even knock on the door, hadn't intended to so much as step across the threshold.

Pausing, he heard Draco banging about in the bedroom next door, and Harry sighed, wondering what had happened to end up in his old enemy's bathroom at age thirty. He twisted his fingers absently around where his wedding ring once settled, and a flashback dimmed his vision lazily.

A poorly aimed mantle piece ornament flew past Harry's head, and he ducked, spelling a shield charm around himself as another, better aimed photo frame narrowly missed his forehead.

"Ginny! Calm down! Please, you're scaring James!" He yelped as she brandished her wand angrily, an incendio spell landing at his feet. Jumping back, he cast a spell at the floor to put out the minor fire that had blossomed there. The redhead glared at him, and shook her head, her face clashing brilliantly with her hair. She was about to cast something else as he cowered, but was distracted by a plump hand pulled at her skirt. Glancing down, her expression softened at her son as he stared up at her, clearly confused.

"Mummy, why are you fighting?" He asked with a lisp, and Ginny looked back at Harry, who had now lowered his shield charm, coming forward to kneel beside his son.

James Potter looked so much like Harry that it split his heart apart to gaze at him. Tousling the boy's hair, he sighed, noting that the only difference between his son, and his six year old self was the missing lightning bolt scar.

"We're not fighting anymore, Jamie." He muttered, and he glanced up at his now calm wife. She looked down at the pair, shaking her head.

"No more, Harry. I can't do this anymore." She looked beaten, and something landed on the floor as she turned to the kitchen. James followed her, dragging behind him a toy broomstick, clearly hoping for flying lessons in the garden. As his son left the room, Harry looked down at the floor to see a thin circlet of white gold resting upon the rug.