Two days after the unsuccessful assassination attempt, Scorpius returns home to Steyning for a few days, officially for "family leave," which in the highest ranks of magical politics is code for psychological recuperation.

Not that he actually does much recuperating. Scorpius ends up spending most of his time downing jasmine oil like gin and sleeping for twelve hours at a time, tendencies which do not go unnoticed by his father.

Draco Malfoy is 45 these days, though the only sign of it is in his temperament. Whereas most working fathers his age are preoccupied with their own adult children, their flourishing careers, their communities, Scorpius's father behaves as though these things are pleasant distractions from some far greater matter. Like many in his generation, his stare is a thousand yards long, and everything he is and does is in the shadow of the War that nearly killed him and everyone around him before he even left school.

In the quiet moments, when they sit together in companionable silence in the lounge after dinner, Scorpius watches him as he sips his red wine and watches the fire, and Scorpius thinks about things. He thinks about his father's absolute steadfastness in not discussing the War, about how he's changed since Mother died—

And, obviously but somehow still to Scorpius's private shame, he thinks a lot about Harry, or to be more specific, he thinks about Harry thinking about Father.

Scorpius wonders what it is about his father that drew – draws – Harry to him. There's a lot to like about his father, but there's also quite a lot to not like. Is it his dignity, his breeding? His poise?

"Only if you insist," Scorpius answers.

Father looks up from the fire, pauses, then frowns. "Scorpius," he chides, "you know I hate it when you answer questions I haven't asked yet."

Scorpius forces himself to backtrack. "Sorry. Jasmine oil makes everything unfocused."

Father tsk-tsk-tsk's him. "Are you ever going to stop drinking that awful draught?"

Scorpius pauses, then says, "Only if you insist," a second time just in case.

"At least we're all caught up now," Father says.

"The real conundrum is if you ever would have asked it if I hadn't answered it first," Scorpius says.

"You've tried explaining temporal recursion to me before, Scorpius. Let's just both assume I won't understand. And I'm perfectly serious; you really should stop drinking so much of that. I don't like what it does to you."

"I cope as I need to cope."

"You've been coping two flasks a day long before the assassination attempt, Scorpius," Father says flatly.

Maybe it's his wit that Harry likes so much. His father has always been very witty, often to a fault.

"Besides, I doubt it could be that traumatizing if you knew it would fail."

"Have you spoken to Minister Potter since he took office?"

Father frowns at him over his sip of wine. "What did I just say about this jumping forward in the conversation, Scorpius?"

"I'm not jumping forward, I'm changing the topic. Have you spoken to Minister Potter since he became Minister?"

There's a half-second of hesitation. "No," he says. Then, "Of course not. Why would I have done?"

"He came to Mother's funeral."

"Because he's a good person and you're his son's partner, not because he had any desire to see me, I assure you," Father says. "Why are we talking about Harry Potter? Are you trying hide some growing addiction to jasmine oil from me?"

"He talks about you a lot," Scorpius answers neutrally. "And you can't be addicted to jasmine oil."

"I'm sure it's in your head."

"It's really not."

Scorpius has already Seen multiple versions of this conversation well in advance, but with the heavy fog of jasmine oil slowing his mind, he can't remember any of them. His Eye only works in fits and starts, random bursts of Sight, and right now all that's available to him is the fact that his father is hiding something from him.

"I can't go a day without hearing him talk about how much I look like you," Scorpius says. "Just last night, he called me Draco."

"Last night?" Father echoes, frowning. "You were here last night, what were you doing talking to Harry Potter?"

"Unofficial Divining?" Scorpius answers glibly, knowing that his father won't believe him.

"Harry Potter would never allow for an unofficial Divining with the Grand Seer in the middle of the night," Father returns, hints of an old anger flaring up behind his eyes. "He's not that underhanded."

Scorpius laughs, despite his better judgment. He sinks back further into the armchair, drawing his knees up to his chest and letting his head drop back against the overstuffed satin.

There's a moment of silence in which Scorpius finds the only thing to be heard is the soft crackling of the fireplace.

"Scorpius," his father says, more slowly, "what were you doing with Harry Potter last night?"

"Not an official Divining."

Scorpius counts the seconds until his father works it out. If he works it out quickly, Scorpius will know that he had something on which to base such a bold assumption; if it takes too long, Scorpius will know that there was not.

"Yes," Scorpius answers.

"Are you – oh, my God."

Father stands up so quickly that his wine glass topples out of his hand, but the spell catches the wine before it falls and keeps it pressed to the bottom of the glass. He turns his back so Scorpius can't see his face, but that's fine. Scorpius doesn't need to see his face.

"Yes, we are. And if you're keen to know why, it's because I'm in love with him, and he can't have you."

His back is still to Scorpius, but Scorpius can see his shoulders shake, see the subtle clench of his fist at his side.

Then he storms from the room without warning, leaving the spelled wine glass to roll feebly back and forth on the floor.

Scorpius hates himself for this, but not nearly so much as he hates himself for everything else.