Wander Forth the Sons

Hermione Granger hadn't set foot in Malfoy Manor for years. She had tried, once, in the early days of her work in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, when Draco Malfoy had been trying to clear up the family name and make it something respectable again, and that occasionally included throwing fundraisers for causes she didn't find entirely despicable.

He'd been turning over a fresh leaf, she'd thought. And she had a responsibility as a notable member of the Ministry to show her support for such causes, and even send a message that old enemies like him could be forgiven, welcomed and encouraged when they chose to fight the good fight. So she'd gone to a party, dressed up and dragged Ron with her, and he hadn't grumbled because he'd known this was going to be harder for her than him. Instead of grumbling and sulking, he'd done his impression of the protective shadow, a looming presence to ward off anything that would upset her, and be the arm she could lean on if she needed it.

Of course, he couldn't ward off the past. She'd made it an hour in the hustling bustle of the dining hall, but then the initial introductions and basic obligations were over, and she didn't have etiquette and formalities to distract her. She'd thought she was doing well, until she'd taken a look at a picture of some distant Malfoy ancestor on the wall and thought, Oh, I remember staring at that while Bellatrix Lestrange cast the Cruciatus on me. Because the pain had been more bearable if she could focus on something but the pain.

Ten years later, it this time brought it back. She hadn't even known she'd faltered, but Ron had been by her side in a flash. Perhaps she'd explained, perhaps she'd not; she didn't remember asking to leave, but he'd taken her without bothering to apologise to anyone and the night air had been like a soothing breeze on the scars of the past.

The scars did not disappear, though. She'd been glad they'd left Rose and Hugo at Ron's parents for the night, because even if they'd been back before nine, it had been an evening to spend huddled up with her husband, trying to keep her breathing even and her heart from thudding its way out of her chest. A time to be a survivor of a war which never quite ended, not a time to be a parent responsible for her children's future.

She'd never been back to Malfoy Manor. That had become more justifiable as time went on and Draco Malfoy's dabble with philanthropy faded as his marriage failed and his business ventures became more and more international. The one perk of being so famous was that when she declined to be the office's representative in any future events, nobody pushed the issue. They knew enough to guess at the reason.

There'd been a wondering, though, when she'd learnt of her daughter's relationship with Scorpius Malfoy, if she was going to have to face the past again. The son had borne little love for the father, at least, and left home, and that made it unlikely there were going to be any awkward in-laws sort of dinners. Ron had told her to not fuss, that it was a bridge they'd cross if it happened, and anyway, Scorpius seemed a sensible sort of lad and thought his father was an arse, so they all had something in common.

Of all the ways Hermione had imagined going back to Malfoy Manor, this was not it.

Harry rattled the closed gates, and gritted his teeth. 'He's still in isolation? The stubborn bugger.' She was happy to let him take the lead, because he'd always been more forgiving of the Malfoys. Since the war, Harry didn't hold grudges.

But he did, apparently, break and enter when necessary. A swish of the wand sent the gates creaking open despite all magical defences, and he shrugged. 'Auror authority. It opens doors. Literally.' They walked up the drive past gardens that had been allowed to grow wild, towards a house where most windows were shuttered or showed dusty, abandoned rooms. 'He's been odd the past couple of years.'

'You'd know better than I.'

'Not really.' Harry winced. 'Al was always private about his friendship with Scorpius. I tried to make it clear he was just as welcome as anyone else, but they never spent time together outside of Hogwarts. So it's not like I saw Draco like you saw the Kirkes or the Doyles because of Rosie's friendships.'

Hermione's lips thinned. 'I don't know how I'm going to begin to help her through this.'

'I know. I thought our children wouldn't have to deal with these sorts of things.'

'There are times I remember that I was, despite it all, really lucky in the war.' He gave her a curious look, and she shrugged. 'I didn't lose you. Or Ron. There was Fred, and there was helping Lavender with her recovery. People I cried for and grieved for but nothing like this.'

'I struggle to imagine it,' Harry conceded. Then they were at the doors to the Manor, and he took a deep breath. '…what Draco's about to go through, though, I can imagine.'

They'd thought they'd lost their children. Being wrong, the reprieve from a parent's worst nightmare, had been a miracle when she'd thought they'd used all of those up. The idea of that miracle being taken away had kept her up at night.

Harry slammed his fist on the door before she could over-think this, and didn't wait before calling. 'Draco! It's Harry. We need to talk.'

'Words to put fear in his heart,' Hermione murmured.

'He'll forget everything I've said.' More hammering. 'Draco!'

After a moment, the door swung open to reveal a House Elf, and Hermione had to fight back the instinctive objections rising in her. She knew of all of the blacklisting the unions had placed against the Malfoy family. They still used the old ways when it came to House Elves; the sackcloth this one wore was evidence enough, and no doubt this was a creature who hadn't been encouraged to embrace the rights available to it.

'If you follow me, Sir, Madam, Master Draco will see you.' Rigby gave a stiff, formal little bow, and Hermione found herself clasping her hands behind her back in a bid for iron control as they followed the House Elf through the dusty, gloomy halls of the manor where Voldemort had once held court, and where she'd once been imprisoned and tortured.

They did not go into the dining hall, much to her relief. Most of the manor was covered in dust sheets, even the portraits, but Rigby led them to the one wing of the house which looked occupied. He reached a solid wooden door he knocked on once before opening, and ushered them in. He himself stayed out.

The fire in the study was crackling away despite that it was only noon, Draco Malfoy stood before it. One hand rested on the mantelpiece as he gazed into the flames, and had this been any other day, Hermione would have cynically assumed he was trying to paint himself as lord of the manor for his visitors.

Harry kept his expression schooled as he stepped in. 'Draco.'

Draco turned, one eyebrow quirked with vague disinterest - but something in his gaze froze. They could not have good poker faces in a time like this. 'What's happened?'

'I'm sorry,' said Harry. 'Scorpius is dead.'

Draco's hand dropped. 'What?'

'They were captured by the Council of Thorns in Syria,' said Hermione. Facts were needed, or so she felt; facts might not bring comfort but they could bring certainty, and that was essential. 'The Council were doing a ritual there to create a new plague, and it included a Veil, and -'

'They killed him,' interrupted Harry. She cast him a confused glance but he didn't look at her, and she knew the signal to stay silent and trust his lead for now. 'Rose, Albus, Matthias Doyle and Selena Rourke - they got out, but your son didn't. I'm so, so sorry.'

For a moment, Draco stared through them, his pale grey eyes unseeing. Then he drew a sharp breath. 'Do we have a body this time?'

'It wasn't recovered,' said Harry. 'But he's gone. This is certain. I'm sorry.'

'It was certain last time -'

'This was witnessed.'

Draco took another moment, looking between them as if seeking some indication of deception - then he turned his back, stared into the fire. 'You may go.'

Harry stepped forward. 'Draco -'

'Leave!'

Hermione put a hand on Harry's arm. 'We're here if you need us, Draco. Please believe that.' But he didn't answer, so she tugged on Harry's sleeve, led him into the corridor where Rigby guided them back outside without ceremony. Harry's expression was set, a deep frown on his face the moment they were out of the room, but she waited until they were trooping down the driveway before she pressed the point.

'You didn't explain about the Veil -'

'I did him a kindness,' said Harry sharply. 'I wasted a lot of pain and hope on wondering if falling through a Veil meant Sirius was really dead. He'll learn the truth eventually; I didn't lie. But he needed the facts down. He needed to understand, or he'll wonder. Or, so I thought.'

'What?'

'Draco's a better liar than he used to be.' Harry didn't look back as he stalked down the drive, filled with a new agitation she didn't understand. 'But I'm better at seeing a bluff. He pretended very well, but I know what I saw. He wasn't surprised. He already knew Scorpius was dead.'

Hermione's heart tightened. 'Lillian?'

'He'd have said, wouldn't he. But he didn't. Which means he wasn't officially supposed to know yet.'

'And what does that mean?'

Harry let out a deep breath as they crossed the threshold beyond Malfoy Manor's grounds, passed through the gates that swung shut behind them with a clank. He glared at them for a moment, and she knew that look, knew he was chewing over evidence and facts and theories and coming up with nothing either definitive, nor that he liked. 'I don't know,' he admitted at last. 'But nothing good.'


Two days, and the papers wasted no time in declaring Scorpius Malfoy a hero once the facts had leaked. His father had grumbled about Gabriel Doyle using his links in the media to shape the narrative, but he hadn't seemed too bothered and Albus really couldn't bring himself to care.

Heroics or villainy were of no concern to him. Scorpius was dead. He'd been betrayed. These were the only things he could think of.

His mother had brought him home and he'd locked himself in his room, the room he'd shared for months with Scorpius. His friend's trunk was still there, tucked in a corner, filled with schoolbooks and other odds and ends he'd not seen fit to bring with him on holiday. Albus would have tried to block it from his vision, but his room was laden with reminders. Photographs, mementos of Quidditch matches, junk they'd wasted money and time on together. The bedroom was like a shrine to their friendship. And even if it hadn't been, he didn't need pictures to know there was a hole in him.

A will hadn't occurred until he received the letter by owl on the first morning. Scorpius, it turned out, had solicitors. His presence was requested the next day at their offices. There was no indication of anyone else's attendance required.

He'd wondered if leaving the house would help. Walking around the gardens didn't. Nor wandering Godric's Hollow. But going into Diagon Alley proved just as pointless, and it included being stared at by the public who knew him now not just as Harry Potter's son, and had renewed reason to gawp. Every breath he took, every step he took, was a pounding reminder of everything lost and gone and wrong.

The solicitors' office was small but well-furnished, and Albus suspected they were expensive and exclusive and probably far, far away from any legal office which Draco Malfoy might have used. He was recognised by the receptionist and immediately guided to a tidy, wood-panelled room where a severe-looking wizard named Abraham Vance.

There had been little ceremony and even fewer platitudes, which suited Albus fine. Vance sat him down, made an offer of refreshments which was refused, and got down to business. Scorpius had engaged his services by letter during the Hogwarts crisis, he'd explained, after his seventeenth birthday - the moment he had any assets of any value which unequivocally belonged to him. A will had been drafted before the previous Christmas, very short and to the point.

I hereby bequeath all of my worldly belongings and wealth to Albus Severus Potter, to do with as he sees fit.

It had been more complicated after Kythos, with Albus presumed dead, too. Now it was simple. Vance didn't belabour the point, just gave him a key to a Gringotts vault and had him sign some paperwork. Then he'd been free to go.

Albus shook the man's hand. Left the office. And went home. Explained what had happened in casual chat with Lily, because Lily was the only one acting halfway normal around him. He knew it was a contrived normalcy. But he indulged the illusion, tucked away the papers, and went back to his room. His room, with all of Scorpius' things in it, with all of Albus' old life in it. Photographs of their triumphs laughing down at him, mementos of the good times and the bad - innocent times, all from Hogwarts before everything had gone to hell, when it had just been the two of them against the universe. Everywhere.

He didn't destroy them. But he took them down, every picture, every memento, everything in the room he could possibly tie to Scorpius through the slightest thread of memory, and put it away in Scorpius' old trunk, locked it tight. The room was bare then, and that suited Albus fine, because it made it easier for him to pull his travel bag out from under the bed, throw it open, and start packing.

It didn't take long. Then he hefted Scorpius' trunk and lugged it up to the attic.

Rummaging around up there, to his absolute lack of surprise, got attention. All he was doing was seeking a quiet corner where he could tuck the trunk away, but soon a head popped up the steps behind him. 'Al?'

'I'm just putting things away, Dad.'

But there was a tense silence from his father. 'I passed your room on the way up. You've packed?'

Albus grimaced, shoved the trunk against the wall, and didn't look over. 'Scorpius' things are in here, whatever he didn't bring on holiday. I don't know if Rose will want it. It's here if she does. But it's out of the way in case everyone just wants to forget.'

'Nobody's going to forget, Al.' Harry ducked up into the dusty attic. 'And we're not asking you to.'

'Good,' said Albus, turning to him at last. 'Because I can't.'

Harry winced. 'This is going to take time -'

'I need a jacket. Something sturdy. I lost most of my stuff in Kythos.' It was a strange, petulant whim that had him looking away from his father, going to rummage through the other trunks, boxes, tarp-covered piles of belongings his parents had tucked away to be forgotten up here.

His father watched him, nonplussed. 'Er, the old wardrobe, your right…' Albus opened it, welcomed with a rack of old clothes that only by magical charms had resisted becoming moth-eaten beyond use. 'Anything you want -'

A soft leather bomber jacket caught his eye, and Albus pulled it off the rack. 'I don't recognise this.'

'It belonged to Sirius.' Harry paused. 'You can have that, if you like. But - packing?'

The jacket was a bit small for him, but then, most things were. Albus' expression was set as he turned back to his father. 'I'm leaving.'

His father frowned, but didn't look surprised. 'You don't need to get away. We're here, we understand -'

Albus stalked past him, tromped down the stairs. 'You really don't.'

'I know what it's like to lose people, Al. You know I do. And I know it's difficult, it's even harder when the Veil - I know it makes for uncertainty -'

'There's no uncertainty. I understand entirely. Scorpius is dead. The Veil kills. You made that clear to me when you told me the stories about Sirius.' Wearing the jacket felt all the more right, a tether to those lost, so Albus kept it on when he got to his room, instead of tossing it into the bag. That, he zipped shut and slung over his shoulder, and turned to find his father in the door. 'I need to be not here, Dad.'

'Running away won't help.' Harry folded his arms across his chest. 'Stay, Al. Stay here with people who love you, who care for you, who can help you.'

Finally, something stabbed into him and broke the dull numbness. Of all things, it was his father's adamantly calm understanding, and Albus' shoulders squared. 'I can't stay! Everywhere I go here, everything I see here, all I can know and think is that my best friend is dead and that there is nothing, nothing I can do to affect anything!'

'What will you be able to affect anywhere else -'

'I don't know! But I'll be somewhere else, not - not surrounded by this life which is -' He threw his hands in the air. 'Everything about my life has been constructed for me by other people, by their expectations. Except for Scorpius. And now I've lost him. I need to be somewhere else, somewhere I can figure out what the hell I am!'

Harry stepped forward, jaw tight, and planted his hands on his shoulders. 'You're my son. You're a good guy who stood by his friends and, yes, stood against evil -'

'And got my friend killed!'

'No. No.' Harry's hold tightened. 'The Council did that.'

The Council did that because Eva Saida told them where to find us. And Eva Saida knew where to find us because I was such a good guy that I trusted her. He shoved off his father's hands. 'You don't understand. You might think you know what it's like to lose somebody, but who the hell did you lose?' Harry flinched and Albus' heart surged, guilt and exultation at hurting his father, and finally he understood why Scorpius had lashed out at others when he was in pain.

'A guy who ran a competition with you?' he continued, voice by now the bellow he never used, because he knew how his shout could make people flinch and normally he despised that. 'A godfather you'd known for a couple of years? You didn't lose Uncle Ron, or Aunt Hermione! Scorpius was my best friend! He was like a brother to me! You cannot understand that!'

'I can,' said a soft voice from the doorway, and Albus cringed into silence as he saw his mother stood there. But her gaze was soft, understanding, and she looked from her son to her husband. 'Harry. Let him go.'

His father was looking like every word had been a punch, and his hands dropped from Albus, limp, stunned. Albus hesitated, but then Ginny was approaching him, and she wrapped her arms around him in a hug which almost found the earth-shattering grief lying behind the anger under the numbness.

'I lost a brother,' she whispered to him. 'I understand. I understand needing to get away from everything. But please don't do it because you think there's nothing for you here.' She pulled back enough to look him in the eye, hands coming up to cup his face, and he almost faltered again. 'Maybe we're not what you need now. But we love you, Albus. However far you go, however long you're gone, you can walk back through this door any day and we will love you just as much, and give you everything you need.'

He closed his eyes, clutched his mother's wrists, and for a moment let himself sink into her comfort. 'I failed,' he croaked. 'I put stupid ideals I didn't understand before my friends' safety. And that's why he died. And even if it's not, this is - it's too raw, it's too close, it's too much like an old life that doesn't exist any more and I don't fit in it, but I don't even know what shape I am…'

'You don't have to run,' Ginny said gently. 'But we won't stop you. And we're always here if you need us.'

Albus carefully tugged her hands down, not wanting to push her away but knowing he'd break if he let her stay so close. He stepped to one side. 'I'll write.' His voice was hoarse.

'We would like to be sure you're all right,' Ginny agreed. 'And I think you should see Rose before you go.'

Rose. Shit. But they weren't stopping him, and he knew, deep down, that they were right. So he hugged his mother again, and then even his father, Harry looking much less at peace with the whole thing.

'You'll let me know if you need anything,' he said in a grumbling voice.

'Scorpius left me everything.' Albus' jaw clenched. 'Of all the problems I have in the world, money, at least, isn't one of them.'

'That's no what I meant,' said Harry.

But there was no answer Albus could give. And so, as they weren't stopping him, he left.


'It was all very well to say "Drink me," but the wise little Alice was not going to do that in a hurry. "No, I'll look first," she said, "and see whether it's marked "poison" or not -' Hugo squinted at the pages. 'Okay, I promised I wasn't going to do this, but that is the dumbest method I ever heard of figuring out if a bottle marked "Drink Me" is poisoned. Like, who the hell labels a bottle that but also puts a warning on it for if it's poisoned…'

They were lying in the sun in the front garden, and Rose let her brother's voice waft over her as she stared at the peerless blue sky. It was sweet of him, she knew, to offer to read to her. She'd done it for him in Hogwarts and she knew he was repaying the favour, trying to distract her when she didn't have the energy or focus to keep her own mind anywhere but darkness.

Two days, and she'd been walking around in a daze. What was she supposed to be feeling? Everything was mechanical. She'd eaten when food was in front of her, slept when the hour was late, got up at dawn because who needed rest? She'd failed to read. Failed to engage in conversation. This was the only measure Hugo had found which kept her occupied, and even if she was struggling to focus on Alice in Wonderland, they'd done fine enough the day before, starting with For Whom the Bells Toll before he'd judiciously decided to steer away from literature with so many ruminations on love and death.

It had hurt in a way which stuck in her throat, but she swallowed it down because she didn't know what else to do. At least discomfort was a feeling. Better than blank numbness. She hadn't even cried yet. It was like the part of her that knew how to cry had been thrown into the Veil with him…

Hugo stopped talking, not because she wasn't listening, but because there was a crunch of footsteps at the gate. 'Al.'

Rose sat up. They'd not seen each other since leaving Matt's father's warehouse, hadn't yet talked. He looked about as bad as she felt, his brow cut from an injury she'd not noticed him take in the fights. It had not been properly seen to and was swollen, giving him a perpetual squint.

'Hey.' He didn't step through the gate, and as she got to her feet she saw the beat-up jacket she didn't recognise, the travel bag slung over his shoulder. 'Can I - I need to speak to Rose.'

Hugo took one look between them and did an amazing vanishing trick, leaving her to stumble towards him. She pushed her hair over her shoulder - she'd put it in a tight braid when she'd first got back, because fussing over her looks was the last thing she was capable of - and looked him up and down. 'What's going on?'

'It was the will-reading today.' He was almost looking through her, his voice a low, sullen tone she'd never heard from him before. Every bright spark in his eyes, every strength in his posture, every confidence in his voice was gone. It was like someone had hollowed out the life in him and left just a husk walking around.

Was she any better?

'He left me everything. The will was from Hogwarts; I reckon he knew he might die and wanted to make sure his Dad didn't get everything. But it was before you and him were a thing - and it was just money…'

She lifted a hand. 'You don't need to explain.' But her gaze flickered to the bag on his shoulder. 'You do need to explain that.'

The corners of his eyes creased. 'I can't stay, Rose. I can't - he's gone. And it's my fault.'

'I don't see how -'

'Lisa. Eva.' And now the hurt was there, a hurt so fierce she had to wonder if even she could understand the depths of his pain - because he had loss compounded by loss compounded by betrayal. 'You warned me, you all warned me, but I didn't see. I wanted to believe in her, I wanted to be the hero who could save her so I ignored all of the warning signs. And you all listened to me because I'm Albus the righteous and I was wrong. I believed in her against all sense because I wanted to be a hero for her, and she betrayed us. She gave our location up to the Council, and that is why Scorpius is dead.'

Rose clutched at the gate. Finally something was creeping through the numb haze, and she'd expected it to be grief or anger. It wasn't. It was an empty weakness that tugged at her knees, and she had to hang on or she suspected her legs would give way under her. 'That doesn't mean you have to go.' Her voice was hoarse.

'I can't stay,' he said again. 'This is my old life. It makes no sense to me. I don't fit into it, because I've changed, and I need to change more because the Albus I was, was a stupid idiot who got his best friend killed, so I need to be somewhere else, be someone else. Someone who's not screwed up and lost -'

'I've lost him, too!'

Now came the anger. And the grief, all at once, and the words burst past Rose's lips with the tide of agony that was almost physical, almost enough to make her double over. 'I've lost him and you are the only person in the world who could begin to understand - we're in this together, Al, or we should be, except you're running away!'

Albus' expression tensed, but his voice quavered through the anger. 'Running from what, Rose? What on Earth is keeping me here?'

'How about me? How about your family?'

'None of you need me.' Albus took a step back. 'And I can't - I can't be here. I don't know how I'm supposed to be here. I don't know what I'm supposed to do.'

'You think I do?' Rose looked away and slammed her eyes shut against the wave of emotion before it took over. 'He's gone. I wake up every day and he's still gone. You think I know how to cope with that? You think I know how to go on -'

'Yes. You'll go back to school, you'll study hard, you'll build a career and a life and you'll go on -'

'And you can't? I know you've been hurt, Al, I know things went wrong, so very wrong…' Her voice was breaking by now, grief shattering and tumbling across her, and her legs quavered under her again. It took a fierce effort to find the words she needed, and coherence. 'I've lost Scorpius. How am I supposed to cope without you, too?'

Albus took a sharp step back from the gate. 'I don't know. But you've got people around you, Rosie. I just - I can't be here. Everything's too hard. I've got to get away, I've got to get somewhere, anywhere but here, someplace they - the memories - aren't.'

And he grew blurry before her as the tears threatened. 'It's not over,' she croaked. 'The Council's still out there. Thane's still out there. He sacrificed himself to stop them…' Stop them from hurting us, she was going to say, but Albus cut her off.

'No. He was murdered, and it didn't stop them, they're still out there. What do I care?'

That was like a blow to the chest, and she straightened with the impact. 'I don't know. Nothing, I guess.' He'd given up. On the Council, on her, on himself. There was nothing she could do to stop him, and now she was absolutely, utterly alone. She looked away. 'Go, then, Al.' Her voice had gone cold, because the numbness, at least, she could rely on. 'Just - just run away. I'll stay here. Of course. With our families.'

Albus' expression flickered, but only for a heartbeat, before he turned away. 'Bye, Rosie.' Then he was leaving, storming down the long road away from the Old Rectory, pack on his back, a lone figure striding off on this hot summer's day.

She managed to keep her feet, clutching at the garden gate, until he'd rounded the corner and was gone. Then came the grief at last, a wave so strong that her legs gave way from under her, and the sobbing racked her chest and her whole body so badly she could barely breathe and certainly couldn't move.

'Rosie…'

That was Hugo's voice, and he was hurrying out the front door towards her. She waved a hand at him, warding him off though she wasn't sure why, and opened her eyes to get a bleary view of his worried face and the lilacs of the hedgerows -

And she remembered.

Ager Sanguinis. The vision with Tim. It had been of this moment, the future, and with a sickening twist of her gut that almost made her retch, Rose realised that a part of her had known, known, known all along. She'd told herself it was a vision of what could have happened if Scorpius had died in January instead of Methuselah. Except she was curled up on the path next to the lilacs of the hedgerow, just like she'd seen in the vision, and the lilacs wouldn't flower in January.

The sobbing turned to a scream, then, a desperate, distraught scream that she didn't care if the whole house heard, if the whole street, the whole world heard, because maybe, maybe, she could have stopped this. If she'd done what she had never, ever been good at, just as the Trial of Wisdom had pointed out, and listened to something she didn't want to hear.

There were hands at her shoulders, stronger than Hugo's, and for a moment she thought they were her father's - but he was at work, her mother the one who'd stayed at home, and she was standing in the door, summoned by the sounds of her daughter's grief and frozen at the sight of it.

'I've got you,' Matt uttered in a hushed, fraught, honest voice as his arms wrapped around her, and she clutched at him like her grief would physically wash her away if she didn't hold on for dear life. 'I've always got you, I'm going nowhere, I'm here… I'm here…'

The words didn't matter, but the sentiment, somehow, somehow managed to pierce her thoughts and her grief and make it enough to only paralyse her, not kill her. For a moment she'd thought he'd been summoned by her scream, but she realised that was stupid; he had to have been on his way anyway, had probably heard and hurried, had come at just the right moment for her to curl up in his arms and sob and sob, sob like she'd seen Selena sob, like she would never stop. He was here, and she could break into his hands, because there wasn't anything left to keep her in one piece now Scorpius was gone.


A/N: Hugo is indeed reading from Lewis Carroll's 'Alice in Wonderland' in the quote above. 'For Whom the Bells Toll', the other book he read Rose (and I honestly can't think of a worse choice under the circumstances), was by Ernest Hemingway.