"Dammit!" Albus swore, as he gazed at the large ink stain spreading across the parchment and consuming the essay he'd been working on for the last hour. He'd startled, upending his inkpot when his brother apparated into his room with a pop. "Look what you made me do, you stupid git!"

"Relax, brother!" James ruffled Albus' hair and pointed his wand to siphon the spilled ink, restoring the essay. "Can't believe you haven't completed your homework. We're meant to return to school in two weeks."

"What do you want, James?" Albus carefully stoppered his ink and turned away from his desk, scooping up his ferret Gonçalo, whom he'd named after his favorite quidditch player, Gonçalo Flores, the starting chaser for the Brazilian international Quidditch team. James stretched out on Albus' bed.

"Heard your boyfriend got nicked for pinching goods at Angel Central."

"He's not my boyfriend. Would you stop saying that? And he wasn't arrested. I can't believe Dad told you! Merlin!"

"He didn't. I heard him on a floo call in his study with Professor McGonagall. Malfoy might even be expelled from Hogwarts. Guess you'll have to start being nicer to Sofia Zabini. It's always best to have the wickedest witches in the house among your circle of friends. They're the ones who really protect the quasi-squibs like you."

"Piss off, James. You're such an arsehole, you know that?"

"An arsehole who will soon be Head Boy." James batted his eyelids at his brother. He buffed the badge that he'd pinned to her shirt.

"So you keep reminding everyone." Albus let out a long-suffering sigh and slumped in his chair, closing his eyes. "Fuck me!"

"Um—eew! Oh—wait—are you having it on with Malfoy?"

"Fuck you! Get out, James!"

"Have you at least had a snog?" James continued to tease. "I can't believe you can't see he's gaga for you." Albus leapt to his feet and pointed his wand at him, and James raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay! I was just teasing. Put that thing away! Everyone knows even your most basic spells are life-threatening!" he chortled.

"I said get out!" Albus yelled. James disapparated with another pop.

"It's time for dinner, kids." Harry's voice echoed up the stairs with the use of a Sonorous charm. Albus glared at his brother as they emerged from their rooms, out onto the landing at the same time and made their way downstairs.

"Where's Mum?" asked Lily, when they entered the dining room to find Harry sitting alone at the head of the table.

"Working late again, I suppose," he replied with a helpless shrug.

The three Potter children shared a glance. Over the last several months they'd begun to see less and less of their mother, with the same frequent excuse that she was working late, though her articles were appearing with little more frequency than they usually did. Still, none of them wanted to share their suspicions with their father.

The massive dining table had been shrunk to a size manageable enough to accommodate a cozy family meal for five, rendering the empty chair a glaring reminder that their family unit was incomplete, and the children took their seats. Harry served up chicken fricassee and the meal quietly began. After a few subdued minutes, Harry dabbed his lips with his napkin and spoke up.

"Ah, James! I see you've taken to pinning your badge to all of your clothes. Your Uncle Percy even wore his pinned to his pyjamas the year he was made Head. Uncle Ron did the same thing with his Prefect's badge—though he'd deny it up and down if you asked him. Merlin! I'm proud of you, son! Just like granddad!" Harry beamed. Albus rolled his eyes and slouched in his chair. "Perhaps now, you and Alf Jordan might consider slowing things up a bit with the pranks." He raised a brow at James.

Lee Jordan had been Fred and George Weasley's best school chum, and when his son, whom he'd named Alfred in reverence to his late friend, first met James on the train to Hogwarts, they'd immediately hit it off. Over the intervening six years, Harry and Ginny had taken more than their fair share of floo calls from Headmistress McGonagall, regarding the pair's antics. His son feigned a shocked expression.

"What would Uncle Fred say?" James gave his father a wink and a conspiratorial grin.

"James, promise you'll set a better example for your siblings."

"Fine, Dad. I solemnly swear that I am up to no good!" he snickered. Harry gave him a suspicious look.

"What did you—?" he began, but Lily interrupted him.

"Aunt Hermione's already taken Hugo and Rose for school supplies. Mum's cancelled our shopping trip twice." Harry narrowed his eyes, and looked around the table with confusion. Albus studiously focused his eyes on his plate, and James bit his lip.

"Wait—I thought you'd been shopping already. Mum said—"

"No, Dad. We thought you'd simply left it to the last minute because you were trying to arrange your schedules so that you could both go, like you always do." Harry schooled his expression.

"Right—right. I suppose it's been awfully hectic here lately." He took a sip of water and pasted on a smile. "Right then, I'll leave the office early, and we can go tomorrow. How's that sound?" he suggested.

"I've a Junior League match tomorrow, remember?" James reminded him. "It's the London Metro Seventeen and Under—Islington Kappas versus Hounslow Thestrals.

"Oh, that's right! How could I have forgotten, James? It's written in my diary in red ink." Harry slapped his forehead. "We've only been working with Magical Games and Sports for three weeks to secure a location in the Royal Epping Forest, just beyond Queen Elizabeth's Hunting Lodge. Talk about a logistical nightmare! It'd be so much easier, if there was at least one magical member of the Royal Family—at least a ranking member." He winked. "You kids are going to love the arena! It's no problem. I'll just call in and we'll take the entire day! We'll go to Diagon Alley after breakfast, and then we'll have lunch in the city before the match."

Albus grimaced as the conversation immediately turned to quidditch, and the strategies that Islington's team captains and trainers had come up with. Eventually talk moved from Junior Quidditch to Gryffindor's chances in the upcoming season, and predictably to professional sport. Even Lily chimed in. How could she not? Their mother had been a top professional player before they were born, and was now a correspondent for The Daily Prophet. They'd attended every World Cup in his memory, and his sister had, true to form, also made the Gryffindor house team as reserve chaser the previous year. Everyone was certain she would make the starting squad this term.

Albus didn't dislike Quidditch; he just didn't consider himself a dyed-in-the-wool fan like the rest of the family—well, except his Aunt Hermione. Although, he had to admit, even her enthusiasm for the game had seemed to increase since she was elected Minister of Magic. Albus wouldn't admit it to anyone, but he actually preferred muggle athletics. His favorite times were visits to the home of his parents' friend, Dean Thomas, who was a proud supporter of West Ham Football. As Dean's wife was muggleborn, the family had chosen to live near their muggle relatives in the Kidbrooke district of Southeast London, and Albus frequently joined Eliza Thomas and her father on the parlor sofa whenever there was football on the telly. He'd accompanied his father to watch Eliza play for a muggle girls' football club on occasion. Albus secretly wanted to play football, but he'd only confided this to Eliza. The Ravenclaw girl was one of his few classmates who was not unkind to him and Scorpius, though he wouldn't necessarily consider them close friends. Albus hadn't even told Scorpius of his desire, fearing that his best friend might laugh at him.

They had dessert, and Harry saw his children off to bed after they finished more than one helping of sticky toffee pudding, before he went to the fireplace in his study. He tossed a handful of floo powder into the hearth and requested the sports desk at The Daily Prophet offices.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Potter, Mrs. Potter has gone for the day," said Ginny's secretary.

"Oh, erm, right. Thank you—erm—you don't know about what time she happened to have left, do you?" he asked.

"Ermmm…half six, I believe?" the young woman replied. "She brought me her copy well ahead of deadline. Is everything alright?"

"No—I mean—yes! Yes, everything is fine. I must have gotten our schedules mixed up. Thank you, Sally." Harry broke the connection, but continued to kneel in the hearth for a few minutes.

He hadn't been able to ignore the looks on his children's faces when they realized that their mother was missing dinner again, nor the disillusionment in Lily's tone when she'd mentioned the multiple cancellations of their shopping trip. Harry let out a shocked sigh. He realized that Ginny was even late to his birthday dinner. She'd arrived at the restaurant over an hour past their reservation time, flushed and apologetic, going on about Alasdair Maddock, the disgraced former Chaser for the Montrose Magpies entering The Open Championship, a muggle golf tournament. Then on her own birthday, she'd kept the entire family waiting at the Burrow for nearly half an hour before putting in an appearance.

Had he missed the signs? Was he being over dramatic? Why hadn't he realized that he and his wife were growing increasingly further apart? Harry heaved another sigh and dismissed his thoughts as the silly tendency he'd yet to overcome since his youth, of finding suspicious behavior in the most ordinary of circumstances. Ginny was a journalist after all. To stay on top of her game, she had to stay abreast of the constant surprises and breaking news in the sports world, lest she find her position usurped by the likes of Rita Skeeter. Since she'd left the Quidditch game behind her, Ginny had made it her personal mission to rebut the salacious gossip and rumor upon which Skeeter thrived. It meant countless hours following up on Rita's reports and seeking witnesses who were willing to discredit the other reporter's informants.

"That's all it is," Harry reassured himself as he made his way downstairs to their bedroom suite, where he showered and settled into bed.

Albus lay on his stomach re-reading the same page of his transfiguration textbook for the third time.

"The Colour Change Charm (Colovaria) is a charm that causes an object or animal to change its colour. A witch or wizard can use it to change the colour of walls and banners, for instance. To cast the charm, simply point your wand at the object or animal you wish to transform, and speak the incantation clearly."

Albus sat up, tucking his legs under cross-wise, and pointed his wand at a throw pillow on his bed. He took a breath and concentrated.

"Colovaria!" he said, clearly. The pillow burst into flame. "Shit! Aqua Eructo!" A torrent of water flowed from the tip of his wand, soaking his bed, and pouring onto the floor. "Fuck! Fuck! Finite!" Albus cried. He looked about at the mess of clothing and papers that floated in the shallow pool of water on his bedroom floor and felt like crying as he watched the ink on his transfiguration essay blur and then disappear from the wet page.

"Dammit! Dammit! Dammit!" he swore, tearfully as he struggled to remember the drying charm that his grandfather had used when he'd accidentally broken the sink faucet and flooded the kitchen at the Burrow. He squeezed his eyes shut and swirled his wand.

"Desicco!" Albus held his breath, opening one eye as he heard a gurgling sound like water down a drain. Suddenly, the dampness in his trousers and socks dissipated.

He opened both eyes and looked around. The room was completely dry, including his bedding. However, the throw pillow was badly singed, and his Transfiguration essay was a distant memory. Albus threw himself down across his bed, and fresh tears flowed from his eyes. No one else in his family was as abysmal with a wand as he was. He couldn't seem to remember the simplest incantations, and when he did remember a spell, they were always too weak or too strong. He wished he didn't have to return to Hogwarts at all.

A tiny bell beside the hearth tinkled, and Albus lifted his head. The bell tinkled again. It was late, and the Potter children weren't allowed to receive personal floo calls after eight o'clock. Besides, no one ever flooed Albus except—he leapt from his bed, swiping at the tears on his face, and tossed in a pinch of powder. A moment later, Scorpius' head appeared in the flames.

"Can you talk?" Scorpius asked.

"Yeah. Hang on a minute." Albus took a breath and concentrated. "Muffliato! Merlin! I hope that works. I can talk now," he said, his voice low.

"You sound upset," said Scorpius, a look of concern etching his fine features.

"Fucking flooded my room," Albus muttered.

"How'd you manage that?"

"It's embarrassing," he replied. "I was trying to practice the colour change charm, and somehow, I managed to set my throw pillow on fire. Then, instead of Aguamenti, I panicked, and used Aqua Eructo. Now I have to re-write my Transfiguration essay for the third time! I'm about as shit a wizard as a squib!" he groused.

"No you aren't, Albus. You just let yourself get overwhelmed, and you try too hard!" Scorpius tried to reassure him. "I'll owl you my notes, and you should be able to copy them into a new essay."

"Thanks, mate. You don't have to do that. I know you have a lot on your plate right now. I wish I could come to the hearing, but Dad says only parents are allowed to attend."

"Yeah, I'm kind of petrified, actually. I could be excluded from Hogwarts. Grandfather wants Father to enroll me at Durmstrang. He even wrote to Madame Březina."

"What? No!" Albus exclaimed.

"Well, Father hasn't said much about it. Honestly, we've barely spoken since last night."

"What happened last night?"

"The grandparents came for dinner, and I arrived in muggle clothing!" Scorpius laughed.

"No way! And the old man didn't keel over right then from the shock of it? Is that what you've done with your hair? It looks like a skater cut."

"Yeah. I saw it on a poster in one of the stores, and I liked it, so I transfigured my hair just like it."

"Wish I could do that. I'd probably wind up bald, or with feathers."

"Albus!"

"Okay, no more self-deprecation. So what did the old man say?"

"He actually demanded that I change into proper wizarding attire!"

"But you didn't."

"Of course not! I told him he wasn't my father. Grandmother accused me of being impudent and insisted that I apologize. When I refused, The Old Man insulted Mother, saying that she abandoned proper pureblood breeding in my upbringing, spoiling me instead, and that Father had completely abdicated his parental responsibility by allowing me to consort with the likes of you and your negative influence."

"He said that about your mother?" Albus gasped incredulously. "What did your dad say?"

"Not a single word. I think he's still afraid of the old man. So, I told him off myself. What right does he have to continue to cling to his outdated ideals after what he'd done? If it weren't for your dad, Father—all of them would be in prison, and he'd never had the opportunity to marry Mother. I might not even be alive. Merlin! I hate him!" Scorpius stormed. He let out a sigh. "I feel kind of guilty for yelling at Father though. He is doing the best that he can under the circumstances. He misses her. They weren't very affectionate, that I can remember, but they seemed like they were best friends. They were always talking, and debating over things in the paper. She said that her body was weak, but talking with him kept her mind sharp." Scorpius' gaze grew distant as he continued. "Mother said that the most courageous thing she'd ever seen Father do was stand up to The Grandparents when they expressed their disapproval of their betrothal. I don't understand why he won't stand up to them now."

"Well, maybe he thinks he's teaching you to show respect for your elders or something. I know you say that your father is more tolerant of other groups than we've heard him to be in his youth, but people still cling to their traditions in some way or another. Even my grandparents are kind of funny about squibs, and they still don't quite understand muggles, despite Granddad's utter fascination with them." Albus chuckled. They were quiet for a moment. "Scorp—why were you stealing? You've got plenty of money to buy what you want. Gringotts would have converted your gold to muggle notes even."

"I don't know, Albus. I didn't even think about it, I just—it was a rush. It felt awesome doing something forbidden—testing the limits. Not being proper aristocratic pureblood, Scorpius Malfoy, for a change was kind of a thrill! I wasn't trying to get anyone to like me. Everybody treats me different anyway. Why not be the outcast they already think I am? After all, didn't The Dark Lord start out with petty theft?"

"You're not Dark, Scorpius! You're not like him, and you know as well as I do, that the rumours aren't true!"

"I know! I just—fuck, Albus! I want my mum back. I want to be normal! I want friends—"

"I'm your friend!"

"Of course you are—but—Albus what if I'm expelled? We won't be together! I'll be stuck at the Manor all alone!"

"I couldn't bear to go back to Hogwarts without you there!" Albus exclaimed. "Do you think your father would really send you to Durmstrang?"

"I don't know." Scorpius sighed. "I hope not. Father said Grandmother had steadfastly refused when Grandfather suggested sending him there instead of Hogwarts when he was young. Mother certainly would not have approved, and I can't see Father ever disappointing her, even now."

"I wish our parents would allow us to have a sleepover."

"As do I. This entire summer has been ridiculously dull. There's only so much broom and horseback riding one can occupy his time with. I've read nearly all of the books in the library—well okay—at least half of them, and completed all of my homework, and studied enough alchemical manuscripts to qualify as an expert on the subject! What else is there to do?"

"Nick designer apparel and other goods from muggle merchants, apparently." Albus gave him a wink.

"Prat!"

"Git!" Albus heard the clock chime downstairs. He frowned. "I suppose I should turn in. We're school shopping tomorrow, and then James' Junior Quidditch team has their final tomorrow evening."

"Is that the London Seventeen and Under?" Scorpius asked.

"That's the one. It's to be held in Epping Forest."

"Oh, cool."

"Don't let The Grandparents hear you using muggle slang," Albus teased.

"Don't let your mum catch you receiving floo calls from delinquent wizards after hours." Scorpius grinned.

"Good luck Scorpius. Everything will turn out fine, mate."

"Thanks, mate. I hope so. Love you."

"Wait—what?" Albus was unsure of what his friend had just said, but before he could inquire, Scorpius vanished in a swirl of green flames.

Harry felt the bed shift as Ginny slipped under the covers beside him and snuggled in close.

"Night Ginny," he mumbled.

"Oh, I didn't mean to wake you," she replied. "I'm sorry. Gwenog showed up just as I was leaving for the day. She needed my advice on how to handle Rita Skeeter's reporting that the Harpies were offering payouts to other clubs not to scout female players at Hogwarts. We went to the Leaky for a drink, and then we were both hungry, that became dinner, and of course, you know how it goes. First talk about the problem, then about the upcoming season, trade prospects, which Hogwarts players are likely looking to go pro…I totally lost track of time."

"Yeah. You might have sent a patronus or something. The kids were a bit hacked off. They said you cancelled their school shopping trip twice."

"I know, I know! Gee! It's totally slipped my mind. Why don't we go this weekend? Then we can visit Mum and Dad too."

"I'm taking them tomorrow. I promised, at dinner."

"But then you'll have to take a day off work," Ginny protested. "Why not wait until Saturday, when we can all go?"

"I'd already intended to call it an early day for James' Quidditch match, so it's no big deal. Perks of being boss."

"Shit! The final!"

"Oh, Ginny! Don't tell me you've forgotten that too!" Harry sat up and turned on the light.

"No! Of course not. I'm going to be there anyway. I volunteered to cover the match."

"Alright then. Good night." Harry extinguished the lights and lay back down.

"Wha—Harry!" Ginny turned the lights back on.

"What's the matter?" He looked over his shoulder.

"Well, I—" she wrapped her arms around him, snuggling in close once more, and kissed the back of his neck. "I thought you might want to—you know."

"It's late, love." Harry sneezed. He turned out the lights. He sneezed again. "Wow. Gwenog must have been wearing some perfume," he declared.

"Oh, uh, yeah—it—it was rather loud, I guess." Ginny sniffed. "I didn't realize—"

"It's decidedly masculine, yeah?"

"Is it?" Ginny's voice sounded a bit tremulous to Harry. He edged away from her and sneezed again.

"If you don't mind, love, maybe you'll want to wash up a bit?"

"Oh, erm…well, o-okay then. I'll just—" Ginny eased out of bed once more and made her way to the en suite lavatory. As the beam from the bathroom light fell across the bed, she saw her husband adjust the comforter, turning on his side to go back to sleep.

He didn't really seem to care that she'd been late, or even why. She'd felt guilty about the distance that had seemed to develop between them, but Harry hadn't even appeared to notice. She heaved a sigh and closed the bathroom door.