Potter is as frustrating and as fruitless a job as Malfoy ever was – the elder or the younger – more so, even. Bashing his head very hard against a brick wall would be, in Davies's opinion, a far better and more productive was to spend his days than tracking someone who was either sitting at his desk, doing his job in the most insipid way possible or protected by all the wards available to the man who brought down the reign of pure evil. The moment Potter leaves the public eye at the end of the day, he disappears. And no-one is sympathetic. Despite Potter's complete and uncharacteristic incompetence, no-one suspects anything. No-one is willing to see what Davies sees; the plain view that Narcissa Malfoy has put before him.

It is so fucking obvious.

But Potter keeps his head down and himself to himself, determined that nothing about him rouses any degree of suspicion.

But Davies knows.

He is certain.

Harry Potter is aiding Draco Malfoy.

There is just no proof.

Yet.

"Morning," says Potter, passing him with a bright, casual grin. He has reverted entirely back to his old self, from before the Malfoy incident, and everyone else is enjoying the change.

Davies finds it infuriating.

There is no reason the Malfoy case should've had such an ill-effect on him. It was basic, in the beginning, and Potter just fell apart. No-one else could see it. No-one else would see it.

They are all blinded by the light of the Golden Boy.

Not him.

Not him.

Davies watches Potter, bent over the most enormous pile of paperwork; coffee at his side.

He sits there all day, watching. Potter doesn't even get up to have lunch. He barely moves until it's time to go home, and by the time Davies follows him, thirty seconds behind, he's already gone. Already untraceable.

So goddamn protected, him and everyone in his orbit.

But challenge only makes the chase sweeter.

The same five episodes of Eastenders have played on a persistent loop for the last two days. The Nesquik cereal is almost gone; the box lodged between James and Draco on the sofa. Scorpius is engaged in fierce battle against a small tin of spaghetti hoops, armed with a tin opener and no idea how to use it. Albus is a useless man-at-arms, without a single clue what's going on or how to help. Mr Malfoy didn't get dressed today or yesterday, just staying on the sofa in his pyjamas. He was still asleep when Mum and Dad left, and he and Scorp nearly burned they house down making toast.

James is the only one enjoying the weirdness. He'd watch TV and eat dry cereal straight out the box his whole life if allowed to. He's not usually allowed to. But Mr Malfoy doesn't care. He doesn't seem to care about much. Two days ago and before, it's like he cared about everything way too much. And now he's just… stopped.

"Hey, Scorp?"

Scorpius glances up from the bent can, a scowl set hard on his face.

Albus signs, What's the matter with your dad?

Nothing, he signs back with abrupt fingers and a glare. He's fine.

Albus looks back towards the living room, dimly lit by the TV, curtains still drawn even though it's two o'clock in the afternoon. I don't think he's fine…

Well, you don't know anything. He's fine.

"Scorp—"

Stop talking about it and help me.

"Well, I don't know how to use it either. Does it have to be spaghetti hoops?"

Yes.

"Why?"

Because it just does, okay? The Nesquik's nearly gone and you can't just live on chocolate cereal. That's the rules!

Since when do you care so much about rules?

The scowl gets tighter and Scorpius looks away, ignoring him.

Albus sighs, snatching the tin and the opener from him. "You're doing it wrong," he mutters. "You've gotta make it click, else it won't—" He can't make it click. He tries harder, gripping it like a nut cracker. "It won't—" He growls at it in the hopes that threatening it will help. It doesn't. Albus throws it down in disgust. "Does it have to be spaghetti hoops?"

Yes.

Get your dad to do it, then.

No.

Why not?

Cos… Cos I don't want to.

Why? What's wrong with him?

Nothing! Scorpius punctuates this with a shove that's surprising both in its strength and that it happened at all.

Albus trips backwards. "Hey!"

I said stop talking about it!

"Yeah, but—"

And you keep talking about it!

"Scorpius!"

Shut up!

Scorpius makes to shove him again but this time Albus anticipates the attack and shoves him first.

A scuffle ensues.

"Wow," says a lazy voice from the doorway. "Didn't know you had it in you, Scorp."

They break apart, breathless and disheveled, to see James watching them with obvious amusement.

"I think," he says, "this is what Mum calls 'cabin fever'."

"Shut up," Albus tells him, not really meaning it at all. "Help us with this."

At two years older, James is at least two-hundred-percent more likely to be able to work the tin opener.

He gives it a go and works the lid off with infuriating ease.

Scorpius springs for it, grabbing the small tin in both hands and tipping the contents into the bowl that's been ready for an hour. He climbs up onto a chair to reach the microwave and shoves the bowl in, setting it what's definitely either too much or too little time. Albus isn't sure which.

"Hey." A hand on his jumper sleeve and James tugs him away, lowering his head to Albus's. His eyes – the same green as their dad's – are bright. "I nearly saw it," he says, grinning and gleeful.

"Saw what?" Albus keeps one eye on Scorp, whose nose is pressed to the microwave door.

"The mark. Mr Malfoy's arm."

A thrill sparks straight through Albus's whole body, making him shudder. "The Death Eater one?"

"Yeah."

"What'd it look like?"

"I dunno. Didn't get a proper look, did I?" James leans back, hanging onto the doorframe. Albus peers with him. On the telly, Nana Moon's meeting the Queen for the fourth time in two days, and Mr Malfoy's transfixed as though it's the first; a hot mess on one end of the sofa. "Reckon it wouldn't take much to see it properly though," James muses. "Reckon I can do it by the time Dad gets home."

"He'll be mad," Albus points out.

"Who? Dad or Mr Malfoy?"

"Both. And Scorp."

"Nah," says James, though he doesn't sound certain. "Anyways, they won't know. I'll be super sneaky. He keeps falling asleep. I'll do it then."

"D'you have to?"

"Aren't you curious?"

"Ye-eah…" But it doesn't quite feel worth it.

Then again, it doesn't quite not feel worth it either.

Behind them, the microwave pings.

Scorpius wobbles on his stool, but his face is set hard in determination and he claims back the bowl without incident, wrapping it quickly in a tea-towel before he burns himself.

Albus and James scooch out the way as Scorpius hurtles past; the contents steaming through the towel. They watch him approach Draco, trying to get his dad's attention with two hands occupied. It takes a long time. Draco looks to be asleep. But eventually he notices.

"What's this?" they hear him ask. Scorpius pushes the bowl insistently at Draco. Eat it, he seems to be saying. No-one can live on chocolate cereal.

"I heard Mum and Dad talking in their room last night when I was doing my teeth," says James softly, still watching the Malfoys. "They said he's depressed."

"What's depressed?"

"I think it means sad. But bigger."

"What's he sad about?"

James shrugs. "I'm not sure. They said something about family. And money, I think. And then they mentioned someone called Theo, but I'd finished my teeth by then, so I didn't hear anymore. Apparently him and Scorp are going to be here a bit longer than they thought."

Albus's stomach gives an excited flip. "Yeah? Then why's he sad? That's a good thing."

"I think it's for sad reasons."

"D'you think Scorp knows anything?"

"I don't think so. You know what grownups are like."

Albus sighs. He certainly does know what grownups are like. "They never tell us anything."

"Exactly," says James. "And I dunno how good Scorp is at listening."

"D'you think we should tell him?"

"Probably not. I don't think we're supposed to talk about it."

Albus rolls his eyes. "That's stupid."

What's stupid? Scorpius signs, joining them in the doorway, bowless.

Everything, Albus signs back emphatically. Everything is very stupid.

Scorpius nods sagely. Very true.

How's your dad?

Scorpius glances back at Draco, who seems more interested in stirring his spaghetti hoops than eating them. I don't know.

"Hey, Scorp?"

Scorpius gives James his fullest attention. He's still not a thousand percent certain of this change in Albus's brother, but at least he's less suspicious of it now. Albus told him not to look a gift Hippogriff in the beak when he'd asked why James had suddenly turned so much nicer, and it looks like he's taking that advice.

"D'you know who Theo is?"

Scorpius's whole face lights up and he nods eagerly, signing so fast Albus can hardly keep up. He's my godfather and Daddy's best friend and he used to come round all the time, like all the time, but we haven't seen him in ages since we left Diagon Alley and I miss him why?

James heard Mum and Dad mention someone called Theo.

Someone to do with us?

Yeah.

Scorpius sucks his lip, looking thoughtful. I bet, he signs slowly, if he was here, Daddy'd cheer up. He's always happy when Theo's comes.

"Where is he? Do you think we could find him?"

James looks skeptical. "And what? Go on an adventure? You know what Mum and Dad're like. They never let us go out the front door let alone—"

"No, dummy. But if we know where he is, we can write, can't we? And tell him to come here." Albus looks to Scorp. "D'you have it? His address?"

Scorpius shakes his head slowly, but he's thinking hard. But I've been there before, he signs. I bet I could find it if we started at the Leaky Cauldron.

What's that? asks Albus.

It's where Daddy and me used to live when we lived in London. It's a pub.

Albus looks deeply impressed. I didn't know that.

"What?" James demands, and Albus translates for him. His expression of awe mirrors Albus's. "Cool! Did you get to drink Butterbeer for breakfast? That's what I'd do if I lived in a pub."

Yeah, once, Scorpius signs enthusiastically. It was about the second morning we were there and Daddy slept practically all day, so Theo looked after me and we had chips and Butterbeer for breakfast and it was the best thing ever.

He sounds awesome, signs Albus whilst James whistles his approval.

Scorpius grins. Yeah pretty much. Actually, I'm surprised we haven't seen him. Daddy usually tells him everything before he tells anyone else. He's usually the first one there.

Maybe they fell out? says Albus.

No… But Scorpius doesn't look certain at all. In fact, he looks downright worried. I think I'd've known.

"Well, it's not like your dad tells you everything," says James when Albus fills him in.

Albus could punch him. He might've if Scorpius hadn't turned on him first.

What's that supposed to mean?

"Hey, Scorp—"

It's like Scorpius has forgotten James doesn't understand him.

What does that mean! What hasn't he told me? What do you know? You don't know anything about anything!

James backs away, hands raised; his eyes – wide with shock – flick to Albus for explanation.

Albus translates.

He wishes he hadn't.

"It's not my fault," James snarls, shoving Scorpius back with double strength, "that your dad's been lying to you. Don't take it out on me!"

Now it's Scorpius's turn to look wildly to Albus.

Albus dearly wishes he wasn't there at all.

What's he talking about, Al?

Ignore him. He's being a prat.

"What're you saying about me?"

"Nothing, just shut up and go away."

Yeah. Scorpius makes a very rude gesture that James most certainly does understand.

James jumps on him.

Albus flails between dragging his brother off Scorp, pulling Scorp out from underneath James, and going to get help.

He opts for the third.

"Mr Malfoy." He's dead asleep, the bowl of spaghetti hoops full between one leg and the arm of the sofa. The opening title of Eastenders wails through Albus's head. He shakes Draco's shoulder. "Mr Malfoy!"

James is yelling, and if Scorpius had a voice, he would be too.

Draco is stirring too slowly.

And then he hears it.

Above Eastenders.

"—Death Eater."

Draco hears it too. He startles awake as though from a nightmare, and he and Albus are dashing to the tangle James and Scorpius, but the punch lands before they can reach them.

James howls, reeling back. His hand is at his face. Blood is spilling through his fingers. More blood than Albus has ever seen before.

He freezes. Feels like he's going to throw up. Or faint. Or both.

He does neither.

Just stands there like a lemon.

James is still yelling. He doesn't stop yelling. He sounds like Lily. Except there are words. Ten types of swearing, each one that would normally land him in seclusion in their room, plus his new favourite, Death Eater Death Eater!

With the whole fury of an army, Scorpius goes for him. He's crying, hot and furious and ever-silent.

"Enough!" Draco reacts in time, grabbing for Scorpius around the middle and wrenches him away from James with a fury to match his son's. It's like Scorpius doesn't even notice he's there. Until Draco shakes him with a snarl and pushes him away towards the stairs. "Get upstairs!"

Scorpius falls back, panting and sobbing through his teeth; chest heaving, hands still clenched into fists.

Draco advances. "I said, go!"

Scorpius wheels and runs.

Albus flinches when the door slams above them.

"Come here."

Draco's voice has changed completely, from shouty anger to calm and gentle. He holds out a hand to James, who takes it with the one that isn't clutching his nose. He lets Mr Malfoy guide him blindly into the living room, to sit down on sofa; his feet next to a puddle of spilled spaghetti hoops.

"Let me see."

Albus forces himself to look too as James's hand drops away from his face. His tummy swirls again, but Mr Malfoy says, "It's not too bad."

"Is it broken?" Albus asks.

"No. It isn't broken."

"Feels broken," James mumbles.

"Facial injuries always feel bigger than they really are, I promise."

"My whole face feels broken."

"Your whole face looks broken," Albus can't help chiming in.

"You're fine," Mr Malfoy assures him, shooting Albus a look. "Or, at least, you will be. Keep your head up and pinch the bridge. Do your parents keep ointments on hand?"

"I know where the plasters are," says Albus.

"I don't think a plaster will do much good." Draco rises with an order to James to keep his head up. "Show me where your parents keep their potions ingredients."

"I dunno if they have any," says Albus, trotting after him as Draco strides to the kitchen; tying his hair back as he goes. "Mum always gets potions and stuff from Gran."

Draco hums his disapproval and starts rifling through cabinets, wand ready in one hand.

"Is Scorp in trouble?"

"Yes," says Draco.

"It wasn't his fault."

Mr Malfoy glances down, face rigid. "He wasn't cursed," he says. "He acted of his own volition."

"Yeah, but—"

"I don't care what your brother said. Scorpius knows better than that."

"But, Mr Malfoy—"

"No," says Draco firmly. He pauses in his task to face Albus, and his expression softens a little. "I am glad Scorp has a friend like you to defend him. Truly. But it does not excuse him."

Albus fidgets, trying to work out how to say what he needs to say as Draco starts preparing ingredients carefully on the chopping board by the kettle; a small saucepan simmering at his side. He hates the thought of Scorpius being in trouble when Scorpius is the least trouble person he knows, and he it was definitely James's fault in the first place, and he'd've definitely punched anyone in the face who said that stuff about his dad.

Albus sucks his lip hard.

Draco adds the ingredients gradually, the tip of his wand glowing bright as a magical thread weaves through the swirling concoction; murmuring a soft spell in time with the ripples.

Albus stands high on his tiptoes to peer into the saucepan, mesmerized. "Whatcha making?"

"Some play on an ointment that's good for bruises," says Draco. "Though ideally you'd make it the twenty-seventh day of the month and let it sit for a week. But needs must."

"Needs must what?"

"It's just an expression."

"Oh." Albus peers even closer and sniffs, then draws back with a wince. "It smells like vinegar."

"Pretty much," says Draco. He gives it one last stir clockwise, then turns off the gas and very carefully tips the solution into a Pyrex jug.

"You gonna make him drink it?"

Draco laughs. "No. It just needs to solidify a little, then we can apply it. Ideally, the bleeding will've stopped before we do so."

"It was a lot of blood," says Albus tentatively. "I was sure it was broken."

"Noses are always very dramatic. Luckily, they're one of the easiest parts of the body to heal. I think I must've broken mine at least ten times."

Albus's eyes go wide. "Wow. Is that from Quidditch? Dad said you played, when you were at Hogwarts. Quidditch is really dangerous. I think that's why Mum likes it. She breaks stuff all the time. Not just her nose."

"Yes," says Mr Malfoy, with a smile that looks somehow different than before. "That's right. Quidditch."

"D'you still play? We're not allowed to play in our garden in case someone sees us cos there're so many Muggles around, but we play all the time at The Burrow – that's where our grandparents live, by the way – and there's a ton more space there than here."

"I know, I was there just a couple of days ago, remember? As for Quidditch… I haven't played in years. Really, I've barely flown since school. I' not sure I even remember how."

"You should try," Albus insists, hoping that cheering Draco up will help Scorp in the long run. "Dad said you were really good. You should play against Mum sometime. She's really good too."

"I know she is," says Mr Malfoy with a laugh, "and I'm sure I'd be completely out matched." He touches the back of his hand to the jug and considers it for a moment. "Do you have any handkerchiefs here?"

"Hanker—?"

"Or anything I can use to apply this to your brother."

"We're got cotton-wool balls in the bathroom cabinet?"

"Would you mind fetching them for me, please?"

Albus nods and pelts off upstairs.

The bathroom is between his parents' room, and his and James's. Albus slows down a little, listening for signs of Scorpius. There's snuffling coming from the other side of their door, and Albus's heart twists. Scorpius crying is pretty much the worst thing ever and it's so super unfair, Albus hates it. He grits his teeth, resolving to fix it. Or at least try to.

Draco is knelt by James again, and his wand is carefully tracing the shape of James's nose; all the dried blood vanishing on sight. At least James has stopped wailing.

"Thank you," says Draco, taking the long bag of cotton-wool and dipping one in the jug of potion. "Keep very still," he orders James. "This will hurt, but not for long and then you'll feel better. Try not to wince."

James rolls his eyes, not believing him.

Mr Malfoy very gently dabs at the rising bruise on James's face, and the area surrounding it just in case.

James catches Albus's eye, and gives a little shrug as though to say, 'Dunno what all the fuss was about', and then it's like his whole body seizes up in shock and he cries out, jerking back away from Draco and the potion-soaked swab.

"Breathe," Draco tells him. "Count down from five, and the pain will be gone before you reach one. Five, Four—"

James squeezes his eyes shut and mumbles the numbers, tears rolling down his face

It's true – by the time he hits two, he looks like none of it ever happened, Scorp's attack or the potion or any of it.

Draco sits back on his heels and smiles. "Better?"

James gives a hesitant nod, not entirely sure how that can be true.

"Good. Now, who wants to give me an explanation as to what happened?"

James reddens instantly and presses his mouth determinedly shut. Probably for the first time in his life.

Albus, on the other hand, is ready to spill everything. Only problem being, there is too much to say and only one word will come out at a time and that just isn't enough.

Draco's eyebrows raise in patient expectation.

"So we were talking about you, cos you've been pretty sad lately," says Albus, just going for it. "And I overheard Mum and Dad say something about someone called Theo and then I asked Scorp who that was and he said that he's your best friend and how you're happier when he's here, so we were talking about going to find him, and Scorp said it was weird than he hasn't been around at all lately, and then James wondered if it's cos you fell out cos when you fall out you don't speak to someone and Scorp said no cos he'd've known about that, and then James who's an idiot said you don't tell him everything and Scorp said like what and James said… James said…" Albus grimaces. He'd hoped the momentum would carry him the whole way. He has failed himself. "And then Scorp punched him."

He hopes Mr Malfoy won't notice the big fat gap in his story.

Mr Malfoy does notice.

"What did James say?"

"He said… he said…"

"Well, you are, aren't you?" James busts out. "Or were. Same thing. And Scorp doesn't know, right? Right?"

Draco looks between them, visibly regretting he'd ever asked.

"Death Eater?"

Time slows down. Or maybe Mr Malfoy just goes really still and neither Albus nor James dare move either.

And then he just gets up and walks away, upstairs.

Albus thumps his brother on the arm. "Idiot."

"Scorp?"

Scorpius hugs his knees tighter, keeping his hands clamped to his ears.

It isn't enough to keep cacophony of Death Eater Death Eater out of his head.

It's a lie, he keeps telling himself. James is the liar, not his dad. It's a lie. A lie.

Death Eater.

Death Eater.

It can't be true. It isn't. Grandfather was one thing – that was different – but his dad is the best, goodest person in the whole world. Always. It isn't true. James is a liar. And Scorpius is glad he punched him.

Except now his dad's angry.

Really angry.

Like—

Like that one time.

Where did you learn that word?

Speak! Use your words!

It had taken so long to stop hurting from that time.

Draco'd been the angriest Scorpius had ever seen him.

Because Death Eater.

Scorpius burrows harder into his knees. He can't breathe.

A soft knock at the door. "Scorpius, are you there? Knock once for yes and twice for no."

Not looking up, Scorpius taps twice on the wall.

"Ah," says Draco. "That's a shame." And there's a flump that means he's sitting on the floor on the other side of the door. "Because there's something I want to show you."

Scorpius raises his head just the littlest bit. His whole face feels hot and humid; his jersey soggy from snot and tears.

"It's… important, Scorp."

That word – important – makes Scorpius draw back in on himself.

"Please?"

Picking himself up on legs that feel like water, Scorpius goes for the door-handle.

His dad looks up at him from the floor with a faltering smile and signs, Hi.

Hi.

"That looks nasty." Draco nods to Scorpius's left hand. He hadn't realised how much it hurt until he thinks about it now, sees the bruise across the knuckles. Punching people is painful. "I can fix that," his dad promises, and opens his hands to him. Come here.

Scorpius doesn't approach. What d'you want to show me? In case his dad thinks he's just going to forget.

"Ah. Two things." Then Draco pushes up the sleeve of his right arm 'til it's past his elbow.

Scorpius sees it immediately – like his dad's skin's been patched up like a coat, and the patch is super nearly just like his real skin but different enough that it's obvious, pinched around the outside with two distinct places that look sort of like teeth-marks?

What's that, Daddy?

Draco tugs his sleeve down again, and takes take both of Scorpius's hands in both of his own, squeezing almost but not quite to the point of pain. "You don't hit," he says. "Not ever. Do you understand me? Not for any reason in the whole world. You do not hit."

Scorpius's hands were occupied so he has to choose between nodding and shaking his head. He doesn't do either. Even when his dad's expression shifts from hopeful to disappointed.

"Scorpius Hyperion, tell me you understand."

Scorpius tugs his hands free to sign, Is that what that is? He pointed to Draco's arm. Did you get hit?

Yes, Scorp.

Why? Did you say something mean to someone?

No. And even if I had, that doesn't make what happened right.

So what happened?

His dad gets a look on his face that is as close to cross without being cross as it's possible to get. Scorpius doesn't retract the question. His dad should know better than to think he wouldn't ask questions.

I… I broke something. And the owner was upset. They thought that breaking me would make up for me breaking their possession.

Did it?

"No of course not," Draco snaps. Breaking things never solves anything. It just upsets people and then it goes round and round and round. It's more important to try and fix things.

Even stuff people say?

Yes, Draco signs slowly, though Scorpius can see he's very obviously making it up as he goes along. You need to be able to communicate without hurting people.

But James doesn't understand me and he wouldn't shut up and I needed him to shut up.

His dad's fingers comb through his hair. "You can't control other people, Scorp. Only yourself."

Scorpius huffs but, against his will, it sort of makes sense.

Then his dad says, "I…know what he said to you. Why you were upset."

Scorpius goes rigid. He'd nearly forgotten. He doesn't want to remember.

But his dad's already pushing back his other sleeve, and Scorpius can see the tremor running through him, can hear his dad's breath getting shaky like he's scared, but doing it anyway.

And Scorpius can't look away.

Even when it's there.

Right in front of him.

On his dad's arm.

The Dark Mark.

Scorpius shakes his head so hard he gets dizzy. No.

"Please look at me, Scorpius."

No.

He flinches at a touch to his cheek.

No!

And suddenly he's pushing himself up and his left hand hurts and he's running, downstairs and through the living room, not even hearing Albus calling after him, through the kitchen and outside into the garden.

It's too small.

The fence traps him.

Scorpius wants to scream.

He opens his mouth to do so.

And nothing comes out.

Nothing ever comes out.

For the first time since Theo taught him to speak with his fingers, Scorpius feels trapped in his own body.

He can't breathe.

The place where his words once were is stopped up so badly it's like a stone in his throat.

It's stupid.

He knew how to do it once. He remembers. It'd been as easy as breathing.

And now he can do neither.

The grass is frozen beneath his bare toes; mist thick in the air and on his tongue.

Scorpius shivers and looks around.

There's no way out and he doesn't want to go back inside.

He doesn't want to look at his dad's who's a Death Eater and didn't tell him.

Or Albus and James who knew his dad's a Death Eater and didn't tell him.

Everyone knew except him.

No-one ever tells him anything but he thought his dad and Albus were different.

Everyone is the same.

He wants to go home.

The realisation hits him hard, and he falls heavy to the grass; the cold seeping immediately through his trousers and t-shirt.

At least at home he knows what to expect.

At least at home he can escape and hide.

Can't do that here, with everyone on top of each other and nowhere to run.

Trapped.

And silent.

Scorpius wants to scream.

Can feel it balling up hot and hard, and bigger and bigger and—

There is no sound because there is never any sound, but still it comes out.

Whatever it is.

It shoots, tingling, from the tips of his fingers and scorches the grass – the freezing, damp grass – and leaves behind a burn-mark like someone set it on fire.

Him.

He did that.

Scorpius stares at it; the tears and the hurt all but forgotten.

His fingers tingle, like the residual magic is still dripping from them. He closes a fist and it fizzles in his palm. Through his blood. Prickling across the surface of his skin like pins and needles except more alive. More purposeful.

Through his tears, Scorpius smiles.

"Scorp—"

He turns.

They're standing inside the backdoor, his dad and Albus and James. They're all watching him nervously. Like he's going to do something.

He'd been going to, though he'd had no idea what. It hadn't mattered.

Now it doesn't matter at all.

Even with Draco sleeve still pushed back, and the ugly picture still staring at him from his pale arm.

Scorpius looks it in the eye, then looks his dad in the eye.

Draco looks like he has a lot to say and doesn't know how to say any of it.

Scorpius calls him over with a big sweep of an arm. Come here! Come see what I did!

Draco approaches a little hesitantly. His feet are bare too, but he doesn't seem to notice. He reaches for Scorpius but doesn't quite touch, like he's not sure if he's allowed to or not.

Scorpius catches his dad's fingers and pulls him the rest of the way, pointing excitedly at the evidence of his magic. His first.

Look at what I did!

Draco looks, not understanding straight away. "You did that, Scorp?"

Yeah! I didn't mean to. I wasn't trying. But I could feel everything getting bigger and bigger inside of me and then it just exploded and then I did magic. I did magic! Look at the magic! He examines his palm, willing it to come back. It doesn't.

"It'll be a while before you can control it enough to someone it on purpose," says Draco slowly. He doesn't seem pleased. Not nearly as pleased as Scorpius thought he would. At Miss Winters's, kids are always talking about their first magics or the first magics of their siblings or cousins, and how it's a big deal and a big celebration. Definitely a happy time. Definitely an important time. Especially since nearly everyone worries about what if they're a squib.

Scorpius has never had any such worries. He's a Malfoy. Malfoys are always magical. He knew his magic would come through eventually, and he didn't much mind when it decided to. But he had sometimes fantasized about the moment and how pleased his dad would be and the big celebration they'd have because that, apparently, was what people did, and there would probably definitely be cake.

Draco doesn't even look pleased.

He just looks shocked. Like he wasn't expecting it. Like he didn't want it.

Scorpius can feel his own anger building again, and that makes him even madder because everything had been bad and then he felt better and that was good, and now he feels even worse, and it keeps being for stupid reasons and it's not fair.

He rips away from Draco, wheeling to face him and sign furiously, Why don't you care?

Draco stares at him, perplexed and devastated. Not understanding even a little bit.

Scorpius gits his teeth, glaring up at his dad with hot eyes.

Why don't you care? he signs again. I did magic! Why aren't you pleased? You should be pleased!

"I—" Draco bites his lip, staring down at the burn on the ground, working through all the stuff in his head almost visibly. "I-I—"

Everyone else's parents are happy when it happens! Scorpius can't stop his fingers flying. Why can't you be like everyone else? Why can't you be normal for just once? Why do you have to be sad about this and why do you have to be a Death Eater and why do we have to keep running away and why does everything keep changing and why will nothing go right and why can't everything be normal!

Finally, his dad signs, I'm trying, Scorp.

Try harder!

"What do you want me to do?" Draco's voice is suddenly loud in the stillness, though he sounds more desperate that angry.

It stalls Scorpius. He wasn't expecting to be asked. He doesn't know.

I can't control everything, as much as I want to. As much as I try to. I know, right now, it feels like I can't control anything. And I'm sorry. I'm doing my best. Even if it doesn't feel like that. I'm trying to get us to normal, Scorp, I promise I am. It's just… much harder than it should be.

Why?

Draco falters. I don't know.

That's not good enough, Daddy.

No. It isn't. I know that.

Why've you got to be a Death Eater?

"I'm not a Death Eater, Scorp."

Yeah, cos you've got that on your arm.

That's from a long time ago. I didn't want it then and I don't want it now. I tried to get rid of it but it wouldn't go away. Now I just pretend it isn't there.

But it is.

I know.

And everyone knew but me and that's not fair!

Draco casts an eye back to the Potter brothers. "Yes," he says. "I'm not exactly sure how that happened."

Why'd Grandfather go to Azkaban and not you?

Pain flashes across his dad's face, and Scorpius almost but not quite regrets the question.

I was a child when I was initiated. I was threatened. Your grandfather acted of his own volition. I didn't want to be part of it. He did. He's… He's not a good person, Scorp.

But you are?

I'm trying to be.

Doesn't he try too? Scorpius thinks about his grandfather. He's seemed alright most of the time. He seemed like he was trying. He doesn't think his dad and grandfather are very much alike, but it's difficult to exactly know why. And it feels like they're becoming more and more similar sometimes.

Sometimes he tries, Draco signs. And that makes it easy to forgive him when he doesn't try at all. And he doesn't try very often, so when he does it feels much bigger than it should.

What does that mean?

It means… His dad thinks about this very carefully for a very long while, just as he always does when he's trying to say something important. It means, you know how when I get angry at you it feels really big, like it's the end of the world and I'm never going to stop being angry, even if it's just a little thing?

Scorpius nods slowly.

Well, your grandfather is the opposite. When he's nice, it feels like a really big and important. And it's easy to let that small bit of niceness overcome all the… less nice bits.

Because he's not nice very much.

Exactly.

So you're the opposite?

"I think so," says Draco. "I hope so."

Even though you were both Death Eaters?

Even though.

Is that why you're sad that I can do magic? Because you're opposite?

For some reason this makes Draco laugh, and Scorpius has no idea why.

"No," he says, smoothing back Scorpius's damp hair. "I am thrilled you're magical. Of course I am!"

Then what?

"Well, it's just…" Draco rubs at a place on the back of his neck. "I suppose I'm just sorry it happened because you were upset. I'm sorry that your magic felt the need to come out now."

What does that mean?

Well, first magic is usually triggered by something traumatic. If a person feels helpless or they're in danger, their magic sparks and helps them. I know someone whose magic took so long, one of their family members pushed them out the window to trigger it. Lucky they weren't a squib!

Scorpius's eyes widen. Now he's really glad his magic showed up.

And Theo's came about when he was skating one winter and the ice cracked underneath him. He might've died if his magic hadn't saved him. I know someone else who was separated from their parents, and their magic showed them the way back. Really it can be anything. But it's rarely something very pleasant.

What was yours?

"Mine…" Draco's throat flickers in a swallow. "It was, ah… I was a little older than you. Eight. I think. I had a tutor. He was… not very nice."

Like Grandfather?

"Different to Grandfather. He seemed…nice, and then suddenly he wasn't. It caught me off guard and triggered my magic. Actually, for a long time, it wouldn't stop being triggered. Anything set it off. I had to take a potion for a while until I could control it by myself. That happens sometimes. But not very often. I'm sure it won't happen to you." His dad reaches out and ruffles Scorpius's hair with a grin. "I think you're going to be just fine."

Scorpius leans against his dad until Draco's arm slides around his shoulders. Then he signs, Al was a hundred percent sure his was going to come first cos he's older. Does this mean I'm going to be a better wizard than him?

Draco laughs. "It isn't a competition, Scorp."

But it is. It absolutely is. And Scorpius is pretty sure he's winning.

Mindless boredom is preferable than overwhelming stress, but only just, as far as Harry Potter is concerned.

The pile of paperwork sitting beside him on his desk does not seem to diminish in the slightest, no matter how diligently he works through it. This is definitely the most passive form of retribution for his dismal performance over the last month, and Harry knows he's got absolutely no right to complain at all. He doesn't. He makes the most of the time and opportunity for sitting. Even though his brain is literally turning to mush with every passing second. He reminds himself that he's lucky he's still got a job to be bored by when, rightfully, he should've been fired by now. He would've fired him.

But it's three o'clock in the afternoon, he's been here since eight in the morning, and the stack of files has grown.

It's going to take weeks to get through this.

Weeks of soul-crushing drudgery.

He'll be lucky if he's done by the New Year.

Distraction probably doesn't help.

I'll find out, he'd promised Nott three days ago yesterday. I'll let you know.

And has he?

Has he fuck.

Not for lack of trying though.

Draco is, if nothing else, remarkably talented at Avoiding The Issue, and Theo Nott is – apparently – An Issue. Whenever Harry's tried to nudge in Theo's direction, Draco reddens and disappears to go make tea, regardless of how fresh their currents cups are, and it's impossible to tell if that means, 'yes go ahead', or 'no don't you dare', and every interaction Harry's had with Nott is just as encrypted in strangeness. It's impossible to get a decent handle on either of them.

He's nearly just gone ahead and done it, then Nott can come over and they can sort out whatever it is they need to sort out – which is very obviously something – but Draco's been in such bad shape since the pseudo-arrest, Harry's loathe to pile anymore onto his plate, and what if Nott really can't be trusted, and then he's invited him into his home and given him his address and let him around the kids and aah!

Harry taps the end of his quill against his teeth until he catches a coworker glaring at him.

Then he grabs a clean sheet of parchment, scrawls his address and stuffs it into an envelope before he chickens out. He's not stupid enough to owl it now, though. Not at work. Not even in the Ministry, with Davies very obviously watching his every move. That man really is losing his touch. He has about as much subtlety as a herd of rampaging centaurs. Probably less. No doubt set upon him by Narcissa-fucking-Malfoy.

The only safe place is home.

Thank Merlin for those wards. Not even Davies would dare try and cross them.

At the end of the day, Harry passes him on his way out and flashes his best, most charming grin. "Have a good one."

"You too, Potter," says Davies between his teeth.

Twenty-Six Olive Road, Newham

That's all it says.

Pansy tries to see. "What's that?" but Theo snatches it instinctively back with an unconvincing, "Oh…nothing." Then, when she is suitable unplacated, "Just something about a cousin. The one in Germany. He's coming to visit. Wants to meet up."

Pansy arcs an eyebrow. "All that in five words. Wow." But respects his privacy enough not to ask again.

Theo doesn't want to consult her. This is something he knows he needs to work out for himself, and he knows – too – that his friends will have a helluva lot to say if given the opportunity. There's already too much in his head to have any room for them.

He needs to work this out for himself.

Is this really where Draco is?

Is this really where he's been hiding all this time?

In Newham?

That's so fucking close.

He could walk there.

He could walk there right now and knock on the fucking door and there he'd be.

As easy as that.

Theo's heart races so fast he can't keep up.

Shit.

And he folds the address back up and stuffs it into a pocket.

There's no rush.

He needs to think this through.

Can't pretend there's not a possibility of this being a trap.

Those Aurors are tricky bastards.

That's what Blaise would say, though not in so many words. He'd make Theo let him check it out first, make sure it's safe. Could be waiting days. Weeks. Longer than he could bear. That would be worse than a trap.

He needs to work this out for himself.

He's waited this long.

What's a little longer?

A/N: As always, thank you for reviewing! It's always appreciated!