George's head was whirling with questions after he'd apparated into a spot near to his back yard. He jogged lightly towards the house, wondering whether a joking line of questioning would work with Perce, or if he was suddenly going to have to be some kind of enforcer, like Bill would be: demanding answers without an option of refusal. He wasn't sure frankly that Percy would respond to bullying, either.
Percy, come to think of it, had seen his share of bulling when he was a kid, though not if Charlie was around. Other kids could be merciless, and their years at the local day school that had educated them before Hogwarts hadn't been kind to a bloke who'd been weak at Quidditch and far to brainy for his own good. Still, Percy had learned to combat the bullying, how to not respond when backed into a corner. No, that sort of attack wasn't going to work at all.
He spotted his wife first as he came in through the kitchen; Michelle's face was unreadable. "He's sitting on the patio out back, George." And she reached up and kissed him.
George went, as she indicated, to the back deck area; Percy's back was to him, standing and staring out over the yard into the woods, looking quite solitary and still.
"Hey, Perce."
His brother turned to him. There were dark circles under his eyes, which had a haunted quality to them. His hair was receding at what seemed to be a more accelerated rate, and he was thin, far, far to thin, even for Percy. His mouth twitched slightly, and his pale face was gaunt.
To hell with every other option.
George came forward and engulfed his brother in a hug.
Percy was startled for a second, and then returned the embrace rather awkwardly; he'd never dealt well with shows of affection. George frankly didn't care. He swallowed his fear and found his voice. "Oh, Perce, what the hell have you been doing?" He shook himself a little, and stepped back. "And whatever it is, stop."
Percy gave a dry little laugh, though he seemed shaky; George led him over to a chair and sat beside him; Michelle had left a pitcher of iced tea and he poured them both glasses; George was disturbed to see Percy's hand shake a bit as he lifted his. "Stop isn't really an option right now, George. I'm, frankly, in it too deep."
"In what?" George asked, pained. "Percy, please...talk to me."
Percy looked at him for a good number of seconds before responding. "Alright, George. I trust you. I have to, actually; it's in your best interest that I keep going."
"Rubbish." George said at once. "Nothing is in my best interest that lets you do this to yourself."
Percy sighed long, and drummed his fingers on the table, looking down at the weathered wood as if it would display his inner most thoughts. Finally he looked back up at George. "You can't tell anyone else, if I let you know. You won't want to, in fact. But I'd rather somebody did know, in case...well, in case things aren't working out so well in the end."
George felt a sick tremble inside at those words, but he gave his brother a slow nod. "Alright, Perce. You have my promise."
Percy took another sip of tea, and let his story begin.
"About a year ago, Shacklebolt took me in to his confidence about the situation in Eastern Europe. You know some of that; we spoke about my concerns a while ago. But the Minister was looking to set up a spy over there; he's not sure that we aren't being used, as it were, by both sides in this mess. He had his ideas about who he wanted..." Percy paused. "And I convinced him otherwise. I put myself forward."
"Percy..." George started, but he came up short as Percy held up his hand.
"Please, George, let me get this all out." He set his shoulders and went on. "For the past year, I've been masquerading is a squib named Ivan Presliezevic, thanks to ample doses of polyjuice. It's taken me away from home more and more frequently, from a few days a month to three days a week lately. That's why I look like shite, frankly, the repeated use of the polyjuice is just brutal. I have to say it is effective...and of course, it's no stretch for me to play a sniveling coward."
George snorted in anger, but let Percy keep going.
"It's getting worse over there. And there are things going on that I can't quite reach. George, there is something about that contract they gave you...I'm pretty sure Filipowski was manipulated into giving it to you, and equally sure that he was manipulated into extending out the deadline and changing the celebration. I just can't for the life of me figure out why." Percy held up his hand once more. "Look, I know how good your work is, it's not that I'm surprised you go the contract. But remember where I come from, George; that I was at the ministry in the Voldemort days. I can smell deceit a mile away, and this whole situation stinks."
George swallowed his insulted pride, and considered what Percy was saying. "I can't think of any way in which my having that contract could be of import, Perce. My products are failsafe; they cannot be used to hurt anyone. How could their existence be used to foment any kind of discord?"
"Eastern Europe is fragile, George; an amalgam of nations put together in a hodge-podge, some of which have a history of enmity that goes back thousands of years. Warring factions composed not only of wizards but of hundreds of magical beings far beyond what we even know here, that have been held together for a short time in a peaceful union. Each of which expects representation in that celebration."
"And I've included that, Perce...I'm not a complete dunce at history. What I have planned can bring joy to millions." George insisted earnestly.
"Yes...if you deliver it." Percy paused importantly. "The only thing I can think of that would result in disaster, is that after all the years of buildup, you fail. If you don't fulfill that contract, and if Filipowski is left holding the bag on a shell of a ceremony...it would redefine chaos, George. All those factions at each other again, each blaming the other. Leaving the region ripe for another Voldemort; another Wizard with more ego than sense. Chaos breeds evil."
"But Percy, if somebody is setting me up to fail, why on earth would they extend my deadline?" George asked, frowning as he considered everything Percy was telling him.
A fist slammed on the table. "I don't know, George, and it's making me crazy. I see it, I smell it, but it's just beyond my reach...like there's something in the background hidden that will derail everything." Percy huffed, and then looked with pained eyes to George. "And Amos Diggory is involved somehow."
"And that doesn't surprise me." George admitted. "I hardly need to explain to you that I don't trust him."
"Nor I. Not since I saw what he did to CJ that day." Percy shuddered. "Still, it's all so nebulous." Here Percy paused. "And something disturbing happened a few weeks ago, George. My persona, if you will, is the sort of dunce that the darker wizards use when needed and ignore when not, not unlike wormtail, I suppose..."
"You are nothing like wormtail!"
"...anyway, I've been hearing that this new dark lord has a right hand man, but I've never known who that was. Until this week, George. This week I learned who is most deeply involved in fomenting this revolt." Percy's eyes were dark pools of worry. "George, it's Lucius Malfoy."
A sudden chill seemed to fall over them, despite the warmth of the summer day.
"Malfoy. I see." George paused in thought. "He didn't recognize you, I hope?"
"Under polyjuice? I'm not incompetent, George." Percy bristled a bit, and George grasped his forearm.
"I know you're not, Perce. But it's hard to not be yourself, even when you look like somebody else. Remember the story Ron told us, about running in to Dad on the elevator while he was under polyjuice, and how hard it was for him to keep in character? All our lives we grew up with Lucius Malfoy as being against everything that our family stands for. It took a medical miracle with Alf to make me accept Draco, no matter how unlike his father he has become. It wouldn't surprise me if you had, when he surprised you, made some show of shock to the man; that's all I'm saying."
Percy calmed down at George's words. "I may have gaped...but that's well within the idiocy of what I portray, I can assure you. He has no clue I'm a Weasley."
George sincerely hoped so. Malfoy had had little use for their family even in his best days, and now he was, according to Draco, completely embittered at how much he had lost versus what the Weasleys had gained: respect, power, and prestige. If he even for a moment suspected he had Percy at his disposal, it would not go well with his brother.
That realization sunk in hard, and George frowned with worry, gazing over at his brother, who seemed to have aged so much these past weeks. "Why, Percy? Why did you do this? Please tell me this doesn't go back to Fred?" He remembered Penny's accusations acutely. "Tell me you don't still feel guilty, that you don't think I still hate you, that this isn't why you've thrown yourself into this mess?"
Percy's eyes softened. "That isn't it, George, and it hasn't been for a while. I know you've forgiven me..."
"...there wasn't anything to forgive!"
"...but there's more to it than that. I've never forgiven myself, George." Percy finished.
"For Fred?" George asked, gently.
"For abandoning the family to begin with." Percy blinked and looked away. "I refused to believe Dad about the ministry, I refused to believe I could be taken in, I stayed away because I was afraid to go back, and it wasn't until the end, until the last second, that I gathered up the courage to face you all. If I'm honest, I feared facing the family more than I feared death eaters." Percy cleared his throat. "Watching Fred die was bad enough, but having it happen knowing I had wasted all those years, years I could never get back with him, years of pranks he would have pulled on me and jokes he would have made...that gutted me, George. I could make up for lost time with everyone else, but there'd never be a chance with Fred now."
George was silent in response. He wouldn't deny Percy's feelings; he knew he could tell Percy a thousand times over that none of it mattered anymore, and that wouldn't help, because it mattered to Percy. He could insist angrily that the answer to not having been there fifteen years ago wasn't throwing himself into a crazy war and getting himself killed now, but that wouldn't help either, because Percy was, as noted, in too deep, and didn't need more guilt on his head.
"Alright." George said quietly. "I don't like it, but alright."
Percy blinked up at him in surprise. "What do you mean, alright?" He asked slowly.
"I mean I have your back on this. I mean that I will defend your choices to the family, even if I can't explain to them what they are. You have no idea how worried everyone has been, Perce, and they're expecting me, for some ungodly reason, to put a stop to it. But I won't. I will back you up. On two conditions." George paused. "First, you have to tell Penny something, Perce. She's sick with worry, and she is the mother of your children. I understand if you can't tell her everything, but tell her what you can."
Percy gave a slight nod, giving in to the request without argument. "And the second condition?"
George met his eye with an unblinking gaze. "I buried one brother too young. I don't want to lose another, Percy."
"Not even me, eh?" Percy joked awkwardly.
"Don't!" George hissed. "I mean it, Perce. I can't lose you too. I just...can't. Maybe you don't understand what you mean to this family, but don't count yourself as negligible. You're not. You never were."
Percy seemed robbed of speech for several moments; some of the lines of worry seemed to have faded from his face. "Thanks, George. I'd like to think that I knew that, but maybe I needed to hear it anyway."
"Then I'm sorry I never said it before." George thought for a moment. "Do you need anything? Peruvian darkness powder? Extendible ears? Something?"
Percy did laugh at that. "I've been stocking up at the store for a while, George. Heck, the ministry is your best customer, incognito."
"More fools they. There's a 10 bulk discount for corporate customers." George quipped, and after a moment, they both started laughing.
Alf and CJ came around the back door then, CJ jogging ahead of Alf and the stroller, a package in his hands. "Ice cream for Miss Shell. We couldn't spell it to stay cold." CJ paused at the door. "Good to see you, Uncle Percy." He said, before bounding inside.
Alf had picked up Freddo out of his confines, holding him as he came up to the patio. "Hey, Freddo... look, it's Uncle Percy!"
Percy's eyes were wide. "I hadn't realized how long it had been since I saw him. You're a big boy, Freddo."
"Big Boy!" Freddo agreed with a grin. And without prompting he reached out to Percy, who took him with some surprise. "You stay?" Freddo asked, reaching up for Percy's glasses.
Percy laughed again, a sound that relieved George to no end, even as he removed his specs from harms way. "Not tonight, I'm afraid, but I will see you soon, big guy, I promise."
Freddo frowned in thought. "Promise?" He said, pushing his lower lip out.
Percy looked at Freddo for a moment, and then over at George, with meaning.
"I promise."
WWWWWWW
George watched as CJ half stumbled on the trail that lead towards their campsite, somewhere in a hilly, woodsy section of the western part of Massachusetts. He reached over to steady him, even as they both stifled yawns. Alf, somehow, was much more active, and seemed almost impervious to the time change.
Hermione had arranged for them to arrive at the Salem ministry, and there George received a rental car, a map, and a functioning cell phone (though he still had nightmares about his older one). By the time all formalities were finished, it was nearly 3pm Eastern Daylight Time, or in other words 9pm for him. It had been a two hour drive after that towards something called Greenfield and a specific camping ground, where Jimmy had come down to meet them excitedly.
Now they were hiking towards the area where, Jimmy had informed him, "Tony and I have already set up tents...we knew you'd be ruddy tired with your, um, jet lag!" George had been grateful to know that there would be little set up work involved, that Tony was already setting up for dinner, but he was amused at the same time. It wasn't like he'd never been camping before.
Alf scampered up ahead of them, chatting a mile a minute with Jimmy, without so much as pausing for breath, while George and CJ brought up the rear. CJ still adjusted the heavy rucksack periodically (normally they'd have spelled the things to be feather-light), and he had to be very careful of his footing.
"Did Alf take a pepper-up potion before we left Godric's Hollow?" CJ grumbled.
Alf turned and looked CJ with a wicked grin. "You're out of shape, CJ. Maybe you should think about becoming a beater instead of a chaser."
"Oi!" George protested. "Beaters are not necessarily out of shape!"
Alf just rolled eyes at him.
Jimmy gave a chuckle. "It's a hell of a climb, I know. A lot of other campgrounds have gone more refined..." Jimmy actually shuddered, "...but what Tony and I say is, that's not really camping, right? This place is totally rustic, great little creek to fish in, able to be totally isolated from other campers, lost of top notch hiking."
"I hope..." George pulled himself up a steep incline, extending a hand to CJ. "That we're not intruding too much." Clearly this seemed to be a father-son ritual.
"Not at all." Jimmy immediately replied. "We used to go with a couple of other families, but they've dropped off over the years. This is great...keep us from getting on each other's nerves."
Finally at the top of the small mountain George felt they'd climbed, they could look a head to a clearing and see a pair of tents about thirty feet away, protected at the edge of a grove of trees. Off to one side was a circle of stones, and Tony was tending to a brisk fire.
Alf sprinted forward, rucksack and all; CJ slid his off his back and moved to carry it slung on one shoulder, following at a purposely languid pace. "Left tent is for you boys!" Jimmy called out.
George had come up beside him. "I can't believe how much Tony has grown!" He mused. The young boy who he'd first seen as a bespeckled miniature of his father seemed to have been swallowed up by a young man with a ready smile and a confident aura.
"Yeah, I can't believe he's going to be off to college in another year. And I can't believe he has a girlfriend." Jimmy shook his head. "Actually dating one of the prettiest girls in school…my son…go figure! When I was in high-school I think the queen bee thought my name was 'dweeb'!"
"You might not want to repeat that story to your wife." George quipped, as he followed Jimmy to the tent to put his own bag down.
Jimmy looked a little worried. "I know Shell said you were a bit of a camper as a boy, but I'm not sure how different that would have been for you lot."
George rolled his eyes at him. "Jimmy, if anything I am more prepared than most for a life without electricity!"
Then George threw open the tent flap, ducking lightly.
And he stood completely still for several seconds.
It was perfectly serviceable tent, about 8 by 10 and with a 6 foot peak, with two cots on either side of it, each with a sleeping bag. And it was about as foreign to George as flying on an airplane would have been.
Where was the kitchen? The bunk-beds? The running water? The LOO?
A memory came back to him, of the time they'd taken Harry to the Quidditch Cup, an event which had included taking up space in a muggle campground. He'd forgotten much of that night, if pressed, what he'd remembered is the panic at the end of the evening, and it being the first time his father had ever demonstrated that he actually trusted the twins with something more than demolition. "Look after the kids!" he'd implored, not with a fear that they wouldn't, but with a certainty that they would. George's next memory would have been about Ludo Bagman, who had taken a bet with Fred and George, one which involved all of their savings, and one which they had won. Ludo had paid them with leprechaun gold, gold that had disappeared into nothingness. That had sparked a year on blackmail campaign as he and his brother feared losing the very start of the dream they'd barely begun to have.
Funny how things turn out.
Anyway, what had been forgotten by bigger events came back now, full stop: the sight of Harry, standing in the opening of the tent his father had borrowed, with his mouth half open in shock. He and Fred had, as always, been more than willing to tease him.
"Smells of ruddy cats, eh, Harry." Fred chipped in.
"May even be a cat or two left in the folds." George called in. "But it could smell worse."
"Like your breath, if you keep your mouth open like that!" Fred finished, and they'd both gone to swipe at Harry's head.
Harry had made just one comment under his breath, as he'd stared about with amazement: "I love magic!"
For the first time George really digested that statement: Harry was stunned, not because of the smell or the heinous decoration of the accommodations, but because muggle tents weren't like that.
Oi.
He felt something at his side, and looked over to see CJ standing beside him, with an equally stunned look on his face.
"Oh. Yours too." CJ blinked just once.
George put his bag down on one of the cots, and turned back around. Across the campground, beside the fire, Alf had been keeping an eye out on them both. He took one look at their faces, and his own spread with a wide and wicked grin, as his eyes twinkled. "Wait till I walk you over towards the loo!" He promised.
CJ looked up at George, with an explanation. "Tony told us there are facilities about a 500 yards from here, has a couple of showers and a toilet. On the other side of the grounds."
George shook his head in disbelief. "Dad would be beside himself with giddiness." He muttered.
Alf laughed out loud as he began to roast a hot dog. Tony was telling him something that had him in stitches. CJ sighed. "He's going to be insufferable all week, isn't he?" He groaned.
"Not if we don't let him." George winked, and CJ gave him a wide smile.
WWWWWWW
Amos Diggory sat in a dark, half hidden little pub in the outskirts of the new section of Dubrovnik, the area not frequented by tourists and mostly unknown to the world. Here, in this place, wizards of questionable leanings came and went, business was conducted quietly, bad drinking songs were sung in a variety of dialects. Amos had a taste for both the breaded veal dish that was the hallmark of the cook, and for people watching among the seediest of the seedy. Here, in this group he felt normal. Here, he felt sane.
"Presliezevic!" He called out, eying the mealy, arse-kissing squib who was often skulking about the place. "Let me buy you a beer, mate!"
"Ah, Diggory!" The man in question stooped slightly, in half a bow that showed he acknowledged Amos as his wizard-better. "Vot you do to honor me!"
Diggory chuckled. He wasn't sure why this bloke amused him, but he did. Perhaps it had to do with his stupidity and his weak command of English; though Ivan loved to listen to Amos talk, Amos felt entirely confident that he wasn't smart enough to understand half of what was being said. "How's the truffles going?"
Ivan lit up. "Vell, very very vell. What I find it mountains, is good, yes? Many, many truffles I find…is hard vork, but for me, is good…vat I can do though I am a low man, not like Diggory. You, Diggory…you vork hard?"
"Indeed I do, Ivan…indeed I do!" Amos was off, then, discussing at first generally the stories he had from his main job, as an advisor to the Filipowski government, and then just enough of a hint or two to indicate that he knew men who were far, far more powerful than the properly elected minister.
"Is good, you vork vell here…here in our home, is many weak wizards vill not take charge. And now ve have many sorts we not have before. Vot I say is, why need so many peoples? Ve was just fine, our peoples only here."
"Precisely!" Diggory, who in fact could care less what happened in Croatia as long as it worked towards his own goals of revenge, knew how to play to those of nationalistic fervor. And however dumb the squib was, he had an abundance of patriotism. "You will not have to wait long, I wage, to get your country back."
Of course, if the latest evil wizard Malfoy had thrown himself in with was as much of a nutter as always, squibs like Presliezevic probably wouldn't live very long in their new country. Amazing how they could never see it coming.
And speaking of Malfoy…
"You, there…" A cane tapped at Ivan's chair, rather hard. "Go get me a bottle of wine…I don't care if the proprietor tells you he doesn't have any. And a plate of charcutterie…that would be cold cuts to you, you simpering moron…and if you are a good boy, I might let you have our scraps."
Ivan stiffened perhaps a bit, but he never missed a beat as he bowed low. "Vot you vish, I vill do for you, Mister Malfoy…" And he slinked away.
Amos watched with a shrug as the younger man scurried away. "Subtle as always, Lucius. How's your plans?"
"Our plans." The elder Malfoy smirked. "Because I believe I will make us both quite happy with the recent turn of events."
"How so?" Diggory watched Malfoy carefully.
"Your boy is, as I well remember, under a certain vow. And that vow will require him to perform a certain act before his 16th birthday."
"As you well know, since you helped me garner my son's cooperation when he proved less than willing to be bound freely." Amos drained the last of his beer. "Boy's taking too bloody long to get it done. It's worrying me."
"Well, don't let it." Malfoy leaned forward. "You want that boy to wait until the last possible moment before deadline, if you want to really destroy George Weasley."
Diggory blinked, and then licked his lips. "Malfoy…you're sure? I don't want him dead, mind…I want him alive and suffering to see what I've wrought on him…a payback for what he wrought on me."
Lucious's eyes were cold, and his smile thin. "I am sure. That contract we arranged for him to get…he's investing a lot of money in it. And since you have, as I requested, persuaded Filipowski to put off the celebration, well, let's just say that when your boy goes to destroy that store, it's going to take every last hope and dream of the Weasley clan…because whether they realize it or not, George has become their patriarch." Malfoy's smile disappeared. "I wish my own progeny had a tenth of the leadership that Weasley has demonstrated. Well, they are pureblood, much to my disgust with what they've done with their talents."
Amos looked at Malfoy with curiosity now. Not that he didn't appreciate the help…how exactly George Weasley was destroyed was immaterial to him. But Malfoy had always seemed to find him more amusing in his pursuits…suddenly it was like it was his pursuit too. "Why do you care, suddenly?"
Lucius slammed the top of his cane down on the table, and his eyes narrowed. "Bloody embarrassment to wizards everywhere, those Weasleys. Arthur and his hundred offspring and grand offspring. They shouldn't by all that is right have anything; they should still be groveling for every scrap of food they eat. Instead, they have everything, everything that used to be MINE! Weasleys…I hate them all."
Ivan tripped as he neared the table, spilling the bottle of wine. Without warning Malfoy rose, and slashed at the prone squib repeatedly with his cane. Nobody moved to intercede, and he only stopped when he was tired. Presliezevic crawled away, whimpering and cringing, and apologizing; the proprietor brought over another bottle of wine.
Clearly in a much better mood, Malfoy nudged over some of the spilled food towards the squib. "Go on, boy, take your scraps. And thank you for providing some amusement for me, after all!"
WWWWWWW
Draco Malfoy watched his young son, now just seven years old, as he scampered over the Hogwarts grounds, chasing after a group of large, lopping puppies, three month old wolfhounds in Hagrid's care. Minerva McGonagall stood beside him.
"Thank you for allowing us to stay here over the summer, Professor." He said, not taking his eyes from the laughing, bright eyed boy.
"I only wish there were other children for Scorpius to play with." McGonagall gave a little glance over at her potions professor. "Are you sure this is what is best for him?"
"Quite sure." Draco's lips went in to a thin line.
Two weeks ago, he had come home to Scorpius crying and his father flailing at his son with his cane. Narcissa had decided to pretend to ignore the situation, as she had always done, and Pansy had already been passed out drunk. Draco had acted immediately, stupefying his father and then instructing the house elf to escort his child to his bedroom. Then he'd wheeled on his father, and blasted him verbally, barely containing his need to throttle him with his bare hands, and magic be damned.
His old man had been increasingly absent from Malfoy Manor, on some no doubt nefarious purpose in Eastern Europe. Draco had frankly been delighted to see him as little as possible. However, during those times that he was back, he was showing himself to be more like the old Lucius, the one who's wrath Draco had felt on more than one occasion, the one who felt himself to be empowered by the rise of the dark lord.
For a while after Voldemort's fall, Lucius had been almost conciliatory towards Draco, as he hoped to continue to bend Draco to his own view of life. Well, it wasn't going to happen anymore; Draco had been quite sure of it. He had his father's DNA, but that was the only connection they would have any longer.
But the conversation they'd had that day had frankly chilled him.
"I won't have it, father. You nearly destroyed everything about this family, and it took everything I had, not to mention a bloody favor from Harry Potter, to prevent us from losing even this house. It's all in my name, and I don't care if it kills you, you will follow my rules. That includes that you are to never, ever strike Scorpius again!" Draco had kept his wand out and a watchful eye on his father.
"Draco, my son…" Lucius attempted to be conniving. "Perhaps I acted rashly, but Scorpius was talking about the Weasleys as if they were our friends, and you know, my boy, that we are better than that."
"Better??" Draco had nearly laughed. "Father, perhaps you haven't noticed, but they now have all the power and even the money, not, that I suspect, they ever cared for either."
"But that may change." Lucius's voice became a caress. "I am working with a group in the Balkans…I swear to you, the wizard there will restore us to our former glory!"
Draco did laugh then, much to Lucius's confusion. "Father, forgive me…but you are OUT OF YOUR MIND! I remember Voldemort, and I don't remember his presence resulting in our glory. What I remember is you groveling at his feet and letting him torture you, me, and mother, and THANKING him for it. Tell me, father, do you imagine Arthur Weasley ever did that? Can you imagine George Weasley doing it now? Father, we were never as good as the Weasleys, even when they were poor and we were rich. Do you still really not understand that?"
The end result of that conversation had been a violent duel, as Lucius had exploded in rage. Draco, however, was a formidable dueler, and though they had nearly destroyed the main room, neither had been hurt. Lucius left the house, supposedly for good.
But his mother had scolded him for not being a better son. Well, he knew Narcissa by now…his mother loved him, but not as much as she loved and worshiped his father. And his wife…well, whatever Pansy had been was pretty much destroyed by fire-whiskey now. He knew that as long as he lived in this house, he'd never be able to keep Scorpius safe.
He'd moved the boy to London, and spent some time seeking better quarters. But he feared ever being fully free of Lucius. Until, of all people, Harry Potter had suggested he talk to McGonagall about staying here full time. She'd agreed, and today they had finally settled in.
"This is the best place for Scorpius." Draco said, firmly. "My father is unable to reach him here. Let him do what he will; he is not my concern any longer."