Author's note: Given the reaction I got for Ron attacking Scorpius, I feel that it's only fair to warn you that Draco does torture his son in the second part of this chapter. Feel free to skip it if it irks you.

-----------------

Rosie stared out the window, watching the scenery change as they drove further and further away from the heart of London. To say that she wasn't scared would be a lie. No matter what Scorpius said, his father could be fearsome at the best of times, and the resolve to walk away and be independent might deteriorate and scatter like dust. Though it pained her to admit it, the possibility of that happening was strong.

Thankfully, no one mentioned the Room of Requirement incident. Her mother prattled on endlessly, talking about grades and now that O.W.L.S. were over, it was not too early to consider studying for N.E.W.T.S. And yes, she knew that Hugo wanted to play Quidditch professionally, but what if that fell through? It would be best if he studied for a more stable career, like cousin Teddy, who was working abroad in Germany. And wouldn't it be wonderful to live in Germany, with all its history!

As per tradition, no one really paid attention to her ramblings. Her mother launched herself into an animated one-sided conversation about Bavarian wizard-lore, leaving the other inhabitants of the car in relative silence. It crossed Rosie's mind to be grateful that her mother wasn't a professor, otherwise they might never hear the end of it.

However, despite the voice in her head that told her that Scorpius would be lucky to be alive come fall, her main concern at the moment was her father, hands gripping the steering wheel. Usually he joked around, told her mother to breathe every once in a while, interrogated Hugo on every little detail on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. But he remained silent.

She almost wished that he had tried to go after Scorpius or his father. At the very least send a howler or yell at her when she got off the train. But the quiet was more telling of how much trouble she was in. A yelling, a grounding, something- meant that they could forgive and forget. Move on. What if he made good of his threat to take her out of Hogwarts? What if Scorpius' father locked him away and Rosie would never see him again?

No. They would come back to one another. Besides, what could possibly happen in two months?

---------------------

Scorpius had been half-mad with panic when his father left him in his study. When he got over his initial shock, he had stormed after his father in a way he hadn't done since he was a child. Screaming his throat raw, planning to make good on his promises to Rosie and stand-up to his father once and for all.

"I won't go to Albania! I won't marry Viedemal! I love Rosie Weasley!"

"You think that is what the world is about, boy?" Draco returned, chest constricting in controlled anger. "Love is a pathetic, foolish emotion. More likely to get you killed then benefit you!"

"Just like Mum then!" Scorpius balled his hands into fists. "That's the price she paid for being married to you! A nice hex in the chest! You let it happen, you murderous bastard!"

With that, Scorpius felt his body lift up an slam into the wall behind him. A painting fell to the ground, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Picking himself up, he took in his father's image, clutching his wand, eyes flashing danger.

"You will mind me and the memory of your mother," he hissed. "I did not raise you to disobey me."

Scorpius approached his father and spat. "Fuck you," he gritted out. A smack rang out a split-second later, causing Scorpius' head to spin. The sting pulsed through his cheek.

"Is that the best you got?" Scorpius cried. More and more, the pain that his father gave him settled into his stomach as pure hatred. "Throwing me against a wall and a slap on the face? You're losing your touch, old man!"

Scorpius let out a scream as pain ripped though him, causing him to collapse on the ground, fire sweeping over his limbs and into his belly. He twisted in agony, writhing helplessly until his father released Scorpius from the curse's grip.

Getting up, Scorpius staggered to his father. Every thread in him begged for rest, but he resisted. No. His father could not take him down with one torture curse.

One flick of Draco's wrist and Scorpius fell again, arching his back and clawing at the ground in fever. The scream, even in his head, seemed to shatter the walls. No. His very being. Somewhere, a malevolent hiss erupted in the room, seeming to split in two and rake over his body. Such pain, as he had never felt before, seemed to go on forever, even after the curse lifted.

Barely able to lift his head, he looked up at his father, who merely stood over him as if he hadn't just tortured his own son repeatedly. Scorpius felt his heart skip pathetically, as if it might never recover from such an awful blow.

"If I have to drag you to Albania in a casket, then so be it," Draco snarled. He turned sharply, leaving Scorpius on the floor.

-------------------

Much later (how late, Scorpius wasn't sure) he found himself waking up in his bed. He tried to roll over, but even his eyes felt stiff and misused.

"Ah! Master Scorpius is awake. Mipsy was most worried for Master Scorpius."

If it wouldn't have hurt him so much, Scorpius would have smiled. Mipsy, one of the few house-elves who wanted to stay after the new anti-slavery laws, had been with the family since Scorpius was a toddler. Mipsy was probably the one lovable thing in all of Malfoy Manor.

"Master Draco would be most aggrieved with Mipsy if he knew that Mipsy takes his potions," she said. She took Scorpius' jaw in her hand and tipped the contents of a small vial in his mouth. "But Mipsy hates seeing her young master in such pain."

The relief was almost immediate, the pain dissipating into a dull ache. He let out a sigh, feeling the sharp

twinge in his head die down. "Thank you, Mipsy," he said, easing himself up.

"Oh no, Master Scorpius!" Mipsy cried. "Master Scorpius is much too weak to be roaming about. Master must lay back and rest. Masters have a long journey tomorrow!"

"I can't stay here," Scorpius said. He staggered a bit as the room tilted. "I can't go to Albania, Mipsy. One day, my father will understand." The floor seemed to disagree with him however, as he saw the wall threaten to spin off its foundations.

Mipsy gave him a gentle push backwards, causing him to fall onto the bed again.

"Young master is not so well. Master's potion has not taken full effect yet. Master Scorpius must remain in bed until he can walk."

Scorpius wanted to protest, but knew it was useless. There was no point in rushing. No point in causing himself more injury. He rolled his head to the side, biting off the wave of nausea. The clock read 3am. There was so little time.

"Mipsy, how long will it take the potion to finish?"

"Only an hour, sir. Only an hour. But it is useless, sir. Master Draco put up wards and spells. Master knows that master Scorpius will try to leave. Mipsy tried, sir, to find a hole in the barrier for young master." She revealed her reddened hands. "Mipsy tried, but they are strong."

Scorpius placed a hand on Mipsy's shoulder. "Thank you Mipsy. But if you can help it, please don't hurt yourself because of me. Understand?"

"Yes sir." Mipsy replied. "Mipsy knows how much it displeases Master Scorpius."

Knowing that there was too little time and that he was too weak to try to break through his father's wards, Scorpius resigned himself to a restless sleep. In the morning, he'd try his escape.

---------------------

Albus was a big, fat coward. Openly admitting it to himself, he felt a lot better. He and his father said nothing at the station or in the car and the moment they got home, he ran up to his room and locked the door, hiding in his closet like a muggle child frightened by a ghost.

Almost sixteen and ready to mess his pants over a little discipline. How utterly pathetic. He couldn't hide forever. Oh well he thought. I've got all summer.

Watching his son sprint up the stairs, Harry snorted in amusement. Whatever was in Albus' head was probably loads worse than anything that Harry might intend for him.

"Oh honestly, Harry," Ginny sighed. "You'd think by now he'd know better. How long are you going to let him stew?"

He went into the kitchen, turning on the kettle to make himself some tea. "As long as it amuses me, I guess," he laughed. "It won't hurt him to let him sweat it out a bit."

"Harry-" Ginny said, crossing her arms. "Talk to your son before he starves himself and goes completely nutters."

"Too late," James retorted, sauntering into the kitchen. Throwing open a cupboard, he grabbed a package and opened it. He shoved a digestive into his mouth. "He's already a Slytherin. That'd turn anyone 'round the bend."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Hush, you." With a flick of her wand, the package of digestives flew out of James' hands and back into the cupboard. It slammed shut. "You'll ruin your supper."

"Will not!" he said, giving the cupboard door a yank. The handle transfigured itself into a hand and smacked James on the wrist, wagging a finger at him before transfiguring back. "Hey!"

"Go unpack," Ginny instructed, giving James a push out the door. "Honestly," she muttered once he was out of earshot. "Those little sods will make me go grey before I'm 50."

Harry was a wise enough man not to mention the fact that she already had streaks of white in her hair. He thought it made her unbearably attractive, but still. As many near-death experiences as he had, he knew when to keep his mouth shut.

For the next two days, Harry let Albus rot in his room, awaiting punishment. It was getting excessive, really. But he was happy to note that food was missing from the icebox, so that meant that Albus was eating. And there were no bad smells coming from the room, so that meant that Albus was using the lavatory (thank Merlin).

To be honest, Harry hadn't planned on a punishment at all. Considering all that happened, he didn't think that Albus' behavior warranted anything stronger than a mild lecture and a bit of hair-ruffling. Like Harry, Albus' worst punishments were always self-inflicted. Guilt, anticipation and time seemed to be more efficient forms of discipline than any lecture, physical labor or corporal punishment. Albus had a talent for doing himself in, this particular time was a fine example of case in point.

At this point, Harry was more bothered by the fact that Albus had avoided him at Hogwarts and now in his own house. Of course he wanted his children to tell the truth when he asked them for information, but Ron had been notably upset and Albus (according to Rose) had promised not to tell anybody, especially the adults, until they were ready. Besides, if Albus had told Ron about the Room of Requirement, that meant for sure that Rose and Scorpius would be caught, rather than just suspected.

Harry might not have liked being lied to so blatantly, but he could understand his son's need to protect his friends. He would have done the same thing at that age. In fact, he had done worse.

Stop that. Harry slapped himself mentally. I'm passed that.

He figured one more night wouldn't hurt, but after hearing some stomping around upstairs (teenage theatrics) during supper (which Albus had not attended) Ginny threw down her napkin and threatened to send an owl to have the ministry to put Harry on dementor duty if he didn't go talk to his son this instant.

Harry sighed, pushing himself away from the table. And she'd do it. He thought bitterly, remembering the last time he was put on dementor duty back during his training days. As humorous as it had been at the time to watch his very pregnant wife trying to put on stockings, it had not been appropriate to point and laugh. Certainly bad form to take photographs and pass them around.

He climbed the stairs finding that Albus was back in his room. He tested the knob. Locked.

Harry rolled his eyes. Really now. You'd think he was some reeking troll rather than a father by the way Albus acted. "Al," he called, knocking on the door. "It's Dad. Open up."

A loud over-acted snore came from the other side. Harry drew his wand. He wasn't believing the innocent act for a second. Hell, he invented it.

"Alohomora."

He opened the door slowly, noting that Albus was on his stomach, laying much too still for someone who was supposed to be, for all intents and purposes, sleeping.

Harry stood over his son, contemplating the best way to go about this. Bucket of cold water? No. Too messy. A telling off? No. He won't be able to keep a straight face.

Tilting his head to the side, Harry nibbled on the tip of his wand. Without warning he came to a conclusion.

He sat on Albus.

Albus let out a surprised huff of breath, he didn't have time to think before his father flipped up the bottom of the blanket and gave him five sharp smacks on the rump.

Harry twisted his torso to look at his flabbergasted son.

"There. You've been officially punished. Now come down to supper and stop acting like a prat."

Harry ran a rough hand through Albus' hair before getting off his back and leaving.

Giving his bum a quick rub, Albus followed.