"To Terrence and Ida, better together," Kenneth declared, raising his drink high.
"Hear hear!" Adrian echoed, clinking glasses with him.
They celebrated at a small pub in London. It was only Adrian and Kenneth, at the time, with Terrence and Ida. A small engagement was the excuse they gave to everyone else for the lack of a grand affair. But Kenneth insisted Terrence and Ida owed him a proper engagement party because he was likely to miss the wedding.
Because Kenneth, on his mother's side, had family in America. And even though Adrian offered to arrange for an international portkey for them, Madam Foley insisted on travelling a continent over by Muggle aeroplane.
Adrian envied Kenneth in that moment, for Kenneth could simply get up and walk away from the whole war. Well, perhaps not entirely simply, but he could nonetheless.
Adrian gritted his teeth in resolve to wish the best for his friend. Kenneth's father had died too early, and it was only natural for his mother to want to take him and herself far away from trouble.
Their flight to the Americas once again got Adrian thinking of his own family, of his friends left behind. Of Tiberius, who did not deserve any of the burden that fate placed on his shoulders. Of Madam Pucey, who would surely run herself to the ground to keep her family, including her brother, safe.
Of Luna, who had every opportunity to avoid trouble but didn't.
Of Terrence and Ida, who spent years dancing around each other before coming together, who only wanted to settle down into a comfortable, uneventful existence.
Of Kenneth, who was all his mother had, who was running away from the war because she pleaded with him to.
Of Hermione, who was too brilliant for her own good, who befriended the Boy-Who-Lived.
Adrian pressed the small book into his hand. "If the aeroplane starts to fail over the ocean, you have a way out."
Kenneth carefully tucked the portkey into his coat. "I told you we're going Muggle," he protested without resolve.
Adrian shrugged lightly. "For my peace of mind, then." He held out his hand for a handshake.
Kenneth pushed it away, pulled him in for a hug. "Thank you," he said firmly.
Adrian embraced him back silently, refused to say goodbye.
And then, Kenneth was gone.
Adrian and Terrence lingered in the city until the aeroplane's departure time, silently watching the Muggles, none the wiser to the dangers looming in the shadows, live their lives. The aeroplane left without fanfare, and Adrian and Terrence moved to the nearest Wizarding pub by mutual unspoken agreement, started drinking to numb the nostalgia.
Ida arrived a good while after, put a stop to their evening.
With a sombre glance at Adrian, Terrence disappeared into the floo with her.
Adrian downed another shot of the whiskey in response to Ida's disapproval, then took the floo.
He found himself travelling to Hogsmeade, of all places, to the drab, little park with a view of the Hogwarts castle. He seated himself on a bench that was too hard, and wrapped his arms around himself to guard against the world.
The school was, for all intents and purposes, closed. And it looked every inch the scene of a tragedy.
When his mood grew too depressing to bear, Adrian wandered further into the village in search of warmth. The Hog's Head was the closest pub, and silently sending his mother an apology, he walked into the establishment. The whiskey did not taste as good as he needed it to be, and he found himself more occupied in staring into the drink rather than partaking in it. In the right light, he mused that Hermione's eyes shone the same colour. He scoffed at the thought, downed the remainder of the drink quickly so as to not slip into any more terrible dramatics.
He could not afford to be wishy-washy any more. The state of the world did not allow it. Because the state of the world was that there was no peace to be had.
They were at the tail end of a peaceful dinner when Siren flew into the dining room, loud and frantic.
Tiberius, shooting short helpless looks at Madam Pucey and Adrian, swiftly rose from his seat and attempted to call her to him.
In the midst of his short-lived endeavour however, the door to the room opened with a bang. And Augustus, face flushed with rage, marched into the room, went straight for Tiberius.
"Augustus, what-" Madam Pucey did not get a chance to voice her question.
Not before Augustus yanked Tiberius to him by the front of his robes, pulling him up close so that their faces were inches apart. "Would you care to explain yourselves?" he asked dangerously.
Adrian summoned his wand.
"Augustus!" Madam Pucey exclaimed louder, over the cries of Siren who seemed to be trying to pull Tiberius away by the back of his robes. "What in Merlin's name are you doing?" she demanded, hurrying around the table to Augustus's side.
Augustus shook off her arm from his. "Now, Tiberius," he ordered, vibrating with unconcealed anger.
Tiberius darted a moment's glance in Adrian's direction, then looked back stubbornly at Augustus, his lips pressed together.
Augustus made to reach for his wand.
Adrian pressed his wand to Augustus's side before he could grab it. "That's not a good idea."
When Augustus turned his wild eyes to Adrian, Madam Pucey used the opportunity to break his grip from the front of Tiberius's robes. Then, taking Tiberius's arm, she physically pulled him back with her away from Augustus. "Enough, Augustus. What-"
Augustus's gaze instantly snapped back to her, and he stepped closer to her and Tiberius, all but ignoring Adrian. "My son," he started in a low voice, "seeks to be freed of my name."
Adrian's eyes jumped to meet Tiberius's, and the single feet of distance between them felt like it was too much. Because Tiberius was looking for the shock in his face that wasn't there. Because Adrian could leave the truth out, could distract, divert, obfuscate. But he could not, would not lie to Tiberius outright.
Madam Pucey, all colour draining out of her face, weakened her grip on Tiberius's arm until she wasn't holding onto him at all. She slowly turned her head to look at him, fear in her face.
And Tiberius didn't look her way at all.
Augustus stepped closer to Madam Pucey. "Tell me, my dear. Is your son a disgrace to the family name, or is it only mine you've raised to be a disrespectful, ungrateful little-"
"Please," Madam Pucey cut in softly, her eyes still on Tiberius. Pleaded in a tone that Adrian had never heard from her before. And then, when Tiberius continued to resolutely not look at her, she forced her gaze away from him. She gently placed a hand on Augustus's arm instead, put herself between him and Tiberius. "Come with me to the parlour, Augustus," she attempted to deviate. "We'll sit down. Take a moment. Let's not-"
Augustus roughly grabbed her arm.
Before he could shove her aside, Tiberius grabbed his arm. "I believe you heard my mother?" he asked, his expression defiant and his tone oddly calm.
And then it was Augustus who paled. He let go of Madam Pucey's arm, took a step back, and looked at her with wide eyes, his anger draining rapidly in the face of the sudden realization, only to be replaced by something worse. "You raised him as your own," he said, a whisper of an acknowledgment.
Madam Pucey crossed her arms, looked down and away.
Augustus darted his gaze between Madam Pucey and Tiberius several times. "Why?" he asked her, his tone hollow, his disbelief and shock plain.
Madam Pucey looked at him, uncertainty in her gaze. "It was a horrible time, Augustus," she replied carefully. "We did what was for the best."
"Why?!" he demanded, radiating manic energy. "Because you lost Eva? But then, why didn't you try for a third? A fourth? You were free, you had the chance. You had every chance! And yet you chose to steal my only son. And you've turned him against me," he ranted, hurt and accusing.
Madam Pucey looked away, blinking rapidly, did not let the tears leave her eyes. "That's not it. That's not – Thomas was - "
Augustus stepped closer to her once more. "Do not forget that I swayed father so you could marry your bastard half-blood upstart," he spat blandly.
Adrian stiffened where he stood.
"When the Dark Lord asked me to bring him a potioneer," Augustus continued slowly.
Madam Pucey's eyes cut back to his.
"I offered him Severus Snape so he would not demand you."
"Stop it, Augustus," Madam Pucey asked, darting a nervous glance at Adrian.
"When the Dark Lord asked for fresh blood-" Augustus continued, softly, covering the small distance to her.
"Augustus-"
"-I sold him Lucius's son so yours could remain unmarked." He leaned closer to her.
"Please," Madam Pucey pleaded softer.
"I keep a noose around Barty's neck so you can sleep undisturbed," he said, inching his face closer to hers.
She pressed her lips together tightly, looked away.
"I trusted you with my son, my only son." he said, smaller. "So why, Octavia? Two decades of Azkaban in exchange and this is how you welcome me? You would deny me my son?" he asked.
And a tear finally, finally escaped her eyes as she weakly, unsuccessfully pushed back at his chest.
He remained undaunted. "Was it Thomas?" he prompted, almost hopeful. "Tell me it was all Thomas's idea. I have half a mind to dig up the son of a-"
Adrian pressed his wand to the back of Augustus's neck, cutting him off mid-tirade. "I'd like you to step away from my mother," he suggested, commanded.
Augustus remained motionless for a moment, searching Madam Pucey's face for an answer to his questions that didn't seem to be coming.
Madam Pucey swiftly wiped away the stray tear from her cheek. "Adrian, lower your wand, please," she requested, her gaze still on a far wall, not meeting any of theirs.
Adrian dug his wand in harder. "You've overstayed your welcome, uncle Augustus," he said, disregarding Madam Pucey's words.
Augustus chuckled lowly, mirthlessly. "Thomas's son, indeed," he acknowledged.
Tiberius abruptly looked away from Augustus, swallowed thickly.
Augustus slowly raised his hands in supplication, took an even slower step back from Madam Pucey. He flicked a glance to Tiberius, then back to Madam Pucey. "So this is how it's going to be hereafter?" he asked, his tone suddenly neutral and distant.
Madam Pucey uncrossed her arms, raised a hand as though to reach for him, then dropped it halfway. "Why don't you stay the night?" she proposed cautiously. "Pipsy has kept up your room for you everyday. You don't have to leave-"
"Am I welcome?" he challenged, clenched his jaw.
She wrung her hands. "What would you have me do, Augustus? We can talk. I – you don't have to leave like this…" she faltered.
Augustus shook his head at her, disappointed, dismissive, then looked at Tiberius. "Tiberius," he drew his attention. "Don't delude yourself into thinking you can escape your birth," he warned, severe.
He turned around suddenly then, marched out of the room.
Madam Pucey started to hurry after him as he retreated out of the house, calling his name, appealing to him to no avail.
Adrian and Tiberius watched the empty doorway after them for several silent moments.
"You knew," Tiberius said softly, without preamble.
Adrian forced his gaze to him, carefully tucked away his wand, took a step towards him. "Ty-"
Tiberius took a step back. "They told you. And they didn't even consider telling me," he said, looking down at his feet, not meeting his eyes. He sniffed lightly, bent down to pick up Siren who was curled at his feet. "You didn't consider telling me," he added, hurt and accusing.
He turned around suddenly then, marched out of the room.
Adrian started to hurry after him as he retreated into the house, calling his name, appealing to him to no avail.
He was, however, halted a few steps in by Biddan popping before him. "Biddan lives to serve Master Pucey."
He swore under his breath because Tiberius would certainly lock himself in his room if Adrian didn't go after him fast enough. "Yes, Biddan?" he asked, impatient.
Biddan somehow bowed lower. "Biddan informs Master that Madam Pucey is staying at the gates."
Adrian scowled down at him. "And Augustus?"
"Augustus is already leaving, Master. Madam Pucey stays at the gates. Madam Pucey is staying at the gates," he said, then huddled into himself. "Biddan thinks to inform Master. Biddan lives to serve Master Pucey. Master must punish Biddan if Biddan is doing wrong."
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "You did well, Biddan. I'd like you to keep an eye on Tiberius for me now."
"Biddan lives to serve Master Pucey."
Adrian exhaled deeply, set off towards the gates.
Madam Pucey was sedately walking back towards to the house when he reached her, no evidence of her recent turmoil except the swiftness with which her gaze jumped away from his.
He fell into step beside her, followed her lead without question or comment all the way to the reconstructed porch at the back of the house.
They watched the empty night for a while, as it whispered lies to them of a peace that wasn't there, dangled the promise of a calm that neither felt.
Adrian rubbed his eyes, asked Pipsy for tea. And only after his cup was empty, did he break the silence. "Ty is in his room," he said.
Madam Pucey paused, nodded in acknowledgment, then slowly lowered her unfinished cup of tea back to the table.
He turned his gaze sideways to her. "If it helps," he said, gentler, an small, ironic half-smile on his face, "he holds me in equal, if not more, blame."
She looked stricken as his attempt at humour fell flat. She reached for his hand, gave it a gentle squeeze, let go. "I apologize, Adrian. I shall talk to him. He shouldn't blame you for anything."
Adrian shook his head. "Don't tell him that," he said seriously. "You know he won't take it well."
"Any of this is hardly your fault," Madam Pucey countered.
But, wasn't it? Adrian leaned back in his seat, turned his gaze upwards. "I won't have you shouldering the blame alone," he stated, no room for argument. Wasn't that half the point of her telling him anything at all? "Will Augustus bring trouble?" he asked then, voicing the fear that had long been lingering in the back of his mind.
"He's angry. And hurt. And he has every right to-"
Adrian closed his eyes. "Mother, please."
"… No," she said, soft and certain. "He won't harm us, Adrian. He would never bring harm to us."
He swallowed down his lack of faith in her words, sat forward in his seat, turned to look at her. "We need to talk to Ty. Tomorrow, I think. How would you like to – I'm not certain how to talk to him without-"
Madam Pucey looked away to the gardens. "He will have questions."
Adrian nodded. "Yes, I'll be there for-"
She turned lightly to him. "He will have questions I cannot answer," she said tightly.
He furrowed his brows. "The Kneazle's out of the bag, mother," he said, disbelief quickly rising. "You can't possibly be suggesting we lie to him now. Again?"
Madam Pucey turned away once more, brought up a trembling hand to cover her face. "How do you think," she started, her voice an unsteady whisper, "Tiberius will react to the knowledge of what happened to – what I did to his – to Mary?"
Adrian pressed his lips together. He looked out to the sky for a moment, recalling his own reaction from a year ago. Looking back at Madam Pucey then, he moved to carefully put a reassuring arm around her shoulders, allowed the night to tease them with a tranquillity that was out of their reach. "What do you need me to do?" he asked, steady and bolstering.
Because he would not have his mother beg anything of him.
Because he was not one to shirk his duty.
Because there was a chance that Tiberius would never forgive her. And if Augustus and the war did not destroy her first, that certainly would.
And Adrian would be stranded in the middle between them, no way to pick up the pieces.