Augustus visited them on Christmas Eve.
When Pipsy brought the news of his arrival, Tiberius stayed only long enough to give Madam Pucey a look of mixed anger and disbelief before he escaped to his room so he wouldn't have to see Augustus at all.
Adrian exchanged a brief glance with Madam Pucey, then looked away, exhaled slowly. He had enough of his own dilemma where Tiberius was concerned and did not particularly feel up to dealing with hers right then. Not when he had to swallow his resentment and play nice with Augustus Rookwood.
Madam Pucey ordered Pipsy to bring out the fine scotch from Mr Pucey's collection, and Augustus's face instantly broke into a pleased smile at the welcome. The conversation started out boring and banal, perfectly suitable for polite society. Madam Pucey and Augustus spoke of old acquaintances. Of the current Ministry. Of the bloody weather, among other things. And Adrian, remaining largely on the sidelines, nursing his drink and watching Augustus's every move and every gesture with an intensity he could not tone down.
When the conversation slowed and he emptied another glass of the scotch, Augustus turned his attention to Adrian. "How good are you with a wand?"
"Good enough," he replied carefully, not breaking eye contact with him, not looking at Madam Pucey.
"Don't even think about it, Augustus," Madam Pucey said, looking harshly at Augustus.
Adrian frowned lightly, slowly lowered his not-empty drink to the table.
Augustus leaned back in his chair, looked imploringly at Madam Pucey. "Must you deprive me of such a simple joy?"
Madam Pucey raised an eyebrow at him. "If you are bored, I'll bring out the chessboard for you," she said.
Augustus shook his head, turned back to Adrian, leaned forward over the table. "Surely Thomas taught you a thing of two about duelling? How about it, then?"
"Augustus-"
"Yes," Adrian cut over Madam Pucey, compelling her to turn her glare to him.
Augustus nodded approvingly at him, shrugged lightly at Madam Pucey. "Your son is a grown man making his own choices, Octavia, and I have enough faith in your healing abilities," he said, starting to get up from his chair. "For your sake, however, I shall go easy on him," he added, consoling.
His drink forgotten, Adrian rose from his seat as well.
They were fairly evenly matched, whether that was because Augustus was rusty from his years in Azkaban or because Adrian could not unleash the entirety of his ire with Madam Pucey watching.
Augustus held up a hand to him, asking for a pause. He walked towards him then, pushing back his hair from his forehead. "Shall we dispense with the formalities, Adrian?" he asked, soft and challenging.
Out of the periphery of his vision, Adrian could see Madam Pucey rise from her seat. "What do you propose?" he asked, his grip tightening on his wand.
Augustus smiled lightly. "Octavia will not forgive the Unforgiveables. Anything she can heal should do, I think."
"First to lose his wand?" Adrian asked.
"First to lose his footing," Augustus corrected.
"Very well," he said.
Augustus started walking backwards from him, slowly, his eyes sharp and piercing on Adrian.
And then, his attacks came with little mercy. Came with an unpredictability that forced Adrian's entire focus on keeping his footing. They moved closer to each other, then farther away. They drifted away from the house, then nearer to it. There was no room for the grace of formal duelling, only a single-minded intent to drop the other to the ground.
So single-minded, in fact, that Adrian's heart stopped when Augustus raised his wand, bellowed the Cruciatus Curse. Not at Adrian, but at Madam Pucey. For a fraction of a second, Adrian was back in the graveyard, his father's lifeless eyes looking at him and not seeing him at all.
Adrian dropped all his guard, shifted his entire attention to stopping the Cruciatus from reaching his mother. No time for tact, he brought down the entirety of that side of the porch onto the path of the curse.
And when the curse broke apart at the stone, he had no time to breathe in relief because the very next second, Augustus hit him with a disarming spell, snatching his wand from his hand.
Augustus gave him a sardonic smile. "Impressive. Although, Thomas destroyed nearly the entire side of the house, did you know?" he said.
Adrian did not return his smile, his breathing hard and heavy as he struggled to calm his racing heart.
"Rule one, Adrian," Augustus said grandly, his smile vanished and his face serious.
Sorely feeling the lack of his wand, Adrian gathered his strength to stand without it.
Augustus raised his wand at Adrian. "Petrificus-
"Expulso!" Tiberius shouted from the sides, his wand on Augustus, his expression furious.
Augustus went sailing aside, crashed to a stop atop Madam Pucey's flowers.
Tiberius marched up to him, reached down to grab Adrian's wand from him. "Rule one, Augustus," he spat.
Shoving Adrian's wand at him, meeting his eyes for a mere fraction of a second, shifting away from Madam Pucey's attempt to calm him down, Tiberius marched back into the house.
They retreated to the sitting room after lunch.
Madam Pucey set up the gramophone to play some soft, low classical music. Tiberius hogged the table to set up the puzzle their mother bought for him at the start of the holidays. Adrian merely reclined back on a sofa and lazily followed Tiberius's attempt to solve the puzzle, in no mood to work up the effort to join or assist him.
Considering everything else, their Christmas day thus far was going along swimmingly.
Yes, their porch was still wrecked. But Augustus was unlikely to visit them again for a good while longer, and a ruined porch was a small price to pay for it. Yes, Madam Pucey was walking on eggshells around Tiberius. But Adrian refused to get involved that time. So what if Madam Pucey was certain Augustus would not have let the curse hit her? Adrian found no humour in the trick at all.
Therefore, they stepped over the topic of Augustus, strived to have a perfectly normal Christmas, the music from the gramophone acting as a buffer in the space between them.
And Adrian strived to forget the otherwise inescapable war looming over their heads. He gave in to daydreaming about Hermione, who was at the moment on the continent with her parents.
Adrian's rendezvous with Hermione on the night of Slughorn's Christmas Party acted as the push he needed for his mind and his body needed to fall deeper, fall fast. He dreamed of her when he was asleep. He dreamed of her when he was awake.
Halfway to falling asleep on the sofa, Adrian was mentally crafting plans to see Hermione during the few days she would be at home before the start of the next term at Hogwarts, when Pipsy popped into appearance beside the table.
Pipsy bowed customarily to Madam Pucey first, then turned to Adrian. "Young Master Pucey," she started. "A Mr Scrimgeour and a Mr Weasley wish to see you, Master."
Tiberius looked up from his puzzle, raised both eyebrows in apparent surprise. Madam Pucey lowered the volume on the gramophone.
"Are you certain they're here to see me, not mother?" Adrian asked, furrowing his brows.
Pipsy nodded with certainty. "Mr Scrimgeour asked for Young Master Pucey."
Adrian looked to Madam Pucey. "Do you have any idea what he might want?"
Madam Pucey frowned lightly. "Whatever it is, it can't be good news," she said. She turned to Pipsy then. "Direct them to the parlour, Pipsy, and arrange for tea," she ordered.
Adrian sighed as Pipsy disapparated, slowly pushed himself up off the sofa. Whatever Scrimgeour wanted, it definitely was not good news.
Madam Pucey got up after him, and he was suddenly grateful he didn't have to ask her to accompany him. Not that he needed his mother at his side, he told himself firmly. But the more people to look in disapproval at the Minister, the better. And Madam Pucey had a look of disapproval that could wound.
The Minister for Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, and the Junior Assistant to the Minister for Magic, Percy Weasley, were seated silently, tensely on the parlour sofa. They rose as one when Adrian and Madam Pucey entered the room.
Adrian and Madam Pucey received them with all the politeness due an invited guest, never mind the oddness of the hour or the occasion of the day. Scrimegeour was lucky he was the Minister. They exchanged the season's greetings with each other, and the tea set arrived onto the table.
Madam Pucey invited the guests to retake their seats, but Scrimgeour refused. "I will not insult your intelligence, Madam Pucey, by dawdling on false pretences. And I hope you will excuse us for intruding on your day, but I want a private word with Adrian."
The two of them, Scrimgeour and Weasley, looked like they wanted to be anywhere but in that parlour. Weasley, in particular, pressed his lips together tightly at the Minister's words.
"I'm not working today, Minister," Adrian said cordially. "In fact, I'm not working until the end of the holidays."
Scrimegour smiled grimly. "I'm aware. My visit, however, concerns a more personal matter."
Adrian looked at Madam Pucey, wordlessly seeking her opinion.
She gave his arm a gentle squeeze, stepped away. "Let's hope the Ministry doesn't make a habit of this," she directed to Scrimgeour.
Scrimgeour inclined his head in acknowledgment of her rebuke, his shoulders lightening at her acceptance. "Weasley, leave us for a moment," he said then, as though suddenly remembering Weasley's presence and yet hardly glancing his way.
Madam Pucey's lips thinned. "Follow me, please, Mr Weasley. We'll adjourn to the sitting room," she said, started out of the room.
"Why me?" Adrian asked lightly, his eyes locked on Scrimgeour's every move across the table where both their cups of tea laid untouched.
Scrimgeour smiled lightly. "Come now, Adrian. We both know the position of reigning Triwizard Champion is one of no small honour. And the Ministry does owe you considerable reparations for its past blunders."
He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Let me rephrase my question. Why not Harry Potter?"
Scrimgeour tensed at the enquiry. "Well…"
Adrian's eyes glinted, his spell hitting its target. "Unless, you've already made the gracious offer to Mr Potter first and the Chosen One has already turned you down."
The Minister's eyes narrowed. "Mr Potter sorely lacks a sense of duty," he said, sneering lightly. "Perhaps it was too much to expect of the boy. And he is, in every sense of the word, a schoolboy."
Adrian raised an eyebrow at the venom spewed by Scrimgeour, wondering how much of it was genuine and how much of it was to overcompensate for the slight of asking him to play second fiddle to Potter.
Scrimgeour leaned forward in his seat. "You, on the other hand, can understand, Mr Pucey, the position I find myself in. And how essential it is to maintain what fragile peace we can. The Ministry needs-"
"No," he cut in. Under different circumstances, he might have liked to listen to the Minister for Magic extolling his virtues until he exhausted himself. "I have no desire to work for the Ministry."
Scrimgeour's expression grew tighter. "Of course, a man of private enterprise. Your father taught you well," he said, his tone teetering the line towards sounding offensive. "I'm certain we can find middle ground for you to work with the Ministry, if you so wish."
Adrian leaned back in his seat. "You misunderstand me, Minister. I want to have no part in this venture at all."
He did not relent. "What do you want?" he asked, blunt.
Briefly, the entirety of the war flashed through Adrian's mind. Whatever had passed, whatever he feared would come to pass. He thought about Tiberius. About Hermione. And though there was a certain allure to making his worries become the Ministry's worries as well, he knew it could not be so. Reliable was never a word that could be used when speaking of the Ministry. He couldn't trust them with a single sock, let alone with the safety and security of his family.
"Nothing you can guarantee me, Minister," he said, half-smiled as he mused what he really wanted right then was to be taking a nap and dreaming of Hermione. Or taking a nap with Hermione; he wasn't picky.
Scrimgeour left rather abruptly then, hurrying out the front door.
Adrian did not bother to wish him a good rest of the day.
Adrian stopped at the door to the sitting room, wondering if his eyes were playing a trick on him. Shaking his head, he slowly walked into the room.
Percy Weasley was still there, seated on the corner of a sofa with a glass of eggnog in his hand, looking sorely out of place as he helped Tiberius with his puzzle.
Madam Pucey looked up from the magazine in her hands. "Where is the Minister?"
"He left," Adrian replied, glancing briefly at Weasley.
Weasley reddened at the pronouncement, helplessly looked around for a place to deposit the glass in his hand. "Forgive me, Madam Pucey," he said, seemingly mortified at having remained behind after Scrimgeour's departure.
Somewhat due to Hermione and somewhat due to gossip he picked up elsewhere, Adrian knew a part of the story of Percy Weasley's estrangement from his family. No wonder he was following the Minister around on Christmas. And then for Scrimgeour to practically forget him in his haste to storm off in a huff… Oh, Adrian had no sympathy for Weasley. Only perhaps, a bit of pity for a small second there while he looked like he wanted to spontaneously disapparate where he sat.
Madam Pucey leisurely waved away Weasley's apology. "Finish your drink, Percy," she said, reassuring yet firm. "We can certainly keep you here on the Minister's time when the Minister has no regard for ours."
Weasley looked uncomfortably at Adrian.
Adrian shrugged lightly, hardly in a position to overrule his mother, moved to lean over Tiberius's puzzle. "And with your help, Ty might actually finish the puzzle before the day is through."
Tiberius narrowed his eyes at him, and then threw a sheepish half-smile at Weasley.
Weasley nervously settled back into his seat, tried to inhale his drink as swiftly as he could.
Madam Pucey turned to Adrian, indicated the magazine in her hands. "Have you seen Percy's publication on standardizing cauldron thickness?" she asked, indicating the magazine with a hand.
Weasley gulped his drink rather more carefully, kept his eyes firmly on the puzzle.
"I'm afraid not, mother," Adrian said gently. Who in Merlin's good name cared about cauldron thickness?
Madam Pucey handed the magazine over to him. Oh, that was right. The same people who cared about Potions.
"Have you considered academia, Percy?" she asked, turning her attention back to Weasley, who looked slightly embarrassed at the attention.
Adrian dropped back onto his original place on the sofa, relaxed into its comfort as he attempted to recapture the peace that existed before the Minister showed up.
Weasley remained there for a fair while longer, discussing Potions and ambitions with Madam Pucey, helpfully nudging Tiberius towards the solution to the puzzle whenever Tiberius interrupted their discussion with a moue of discontentment.
And Adrian's attention drifted, inevitably, to Percy Weasley. Because while the Ministry may not have been reliable, but they could always be useful. And whatever his problems with his family, Weasley was still a man of principles, wasn't he? However he attained his position at the Ministry, it was still an important one, wasn't it?
Granted, everything Adrian knew of him he learned when they were in school. And yet… Adrian remembered a Percy Weasley patrolling the dungeons in order to guard the Slytherins against the Heir of Slytherin. Adrian remembered a Percy Weasley tutoring the younger students with the same patience with which he walked Tiberius through a Runic derivation that was part of the answer to the puzzle. Adrian remembered a Percy Weasley who was a Gryffindor through and through.
So, when Weasley, in preparation to finally leave their house, apologized to Madam Pucey once again, both on his behalf and on the Ministry's behalf for some reason, for interrupting their day, Adrian rose from the sofa as well. He then asked Biddan to pack some of their Christmas food for Weasley to take home (wherever that was) with him. He walked alongside him to the gates from where he could disapparate, keeping alive a light stream of conversation, partly about his work at the Ministry, partly about their mutual acquaintances, partly about him.
Because if Adrian played his cards right, he thought as he shook hands with him, the Junior Assistant to the Minister for Magic might turn out to be immensely useful to him.