Disclaimer: Copyright J.K. Rowling

A/N: Hello! Apologies for the delay in release of this, the second part of the last chapter; I had a lot of college work. Which wasn't fun. So I'd better have another little refresher here:

Rose discovered that Geoffrey Alderton, an Auror stationed at the school, helped poison her mother. Penny, his sister and Rose's roommate, got wind of this discovery and made sure Geoffrey got away. Also, Hugo is angry at Rose for... well, a few things, and hasn't been answering her letters. James started going out with Albus's crush, Summer, resulting in much resentment. Cassie, Rose's best friend, was forbidden by her parents to play Quidditch in an attempt to improve her grades. Carlos Santini, Scorpius's Slytherin rival, has been wooing Lily Potter in an attempt to win a sordid bet. Torrance and Orchid, friends of Scorpius, are mixed up in some shady business.

Chapter 17: The Boy, Part 2

The Hogwarts Express gave a final whistle. Steam spewed from the engine, shrouding the many figures that stood upon King's Cross platform in obscurity. Students disembarking from the train embraced their friends before proceeding through the mist, to where their families eagerly waited to escort them back home for the holidays. Everywhere, joyful greetings and festive declarations of goodwill were bursting forth.

Rose was one of the last people to alight from the train, having misplaced her owl's cage until the moment of arrival. Swearing under her breath, she winced as her trunk knocked against her ankles and peered through the throng.

"Have a great holiday, Rose!"

Lisa Harvey and Jackie Saunders were waving at her, surrounded by their own families near the edge of the platform. She mustered a vague smile and continued on, hoping that she did not look as foolish as she felt. Where in Merlin's name was her family?

Moments later, as she neared the barrier that linked the platform with the rest of the station, the tall, lean figure of Scorpius Malfoy loomed up before her. Rose came to another halt. He had his back to her, and was in deep conference with his father – who was looking rather haggard these days; it was no surprise, she supposed – and two older Malfoys whom she had never seen before and presumed to be Scorpius's grandparents.

The old man did not notice her, but the woman – Narcissa Malfoy – did. Her sharp eyes narrowed momentarily as she beheld Rose, then she inclined her head slightly, soft grey hair brushing the collar of her fine robes as she did so.

Unsure, Rose nodded back, and was then greeted with the stares of the three Malfoy men as they turned to follow Narcissa's gaze. Lucius merely wrinkled his nose when he saw who she was, Draco's grey eyes were accusatory, if not exactly hostile, and Scorpius… looked extremely uncomfortable. She could not blame him.

"Merry Christmas." Her voice carried over the din of the station, but the Malfoys did not seem to register her words. There they stood, facing each other stiffly, until Rose felt a hand at her elbow, and turned, with some relief, to regard her cousin, James.

"Your folks are over there," he said helpfully, indicating the other end of the platform. Rose nodded, and did not object when he took the owl cage that she had been clutching. Moving to follow him through the wafts of steam, which were now beginning to thin, she looked over her shoulder once, to see that the Malfoys appeared to have lost interest in her already. Only Scorpius met her gaze, briefly, and something like an acknowledging smile curled his lips, before he was swept away by his family.

"So there hasn't been any sign of him? Geoffrey Alderton?"

With an effort (for she was suddenly and inexplicably breathless), Rose focused on James's words. "No sign," she replied grimly, matching his low tone. "He just… disappeared. Not long after I saw him in Hogsmeade with Ottelby. Even the Aurors don't seem to know where he is. He must have known there was some danger, and taken off as soon as he could."

"What about his family?"

"I've talked to Penny," Rose said, with a sigh. "She doesn't have a clue, either. She's really worried."

James clicked his tongue thoughtfully. "Chances are he'll get in touch with them soon enough, though. He'll need somewhere to hide if word gets out about what he's involved in. I can check out their house when I get back to Godric's Hollow."

"Be careful," Rose said, and that was all they had time for, as they had reached the other end of the platform, and her waiting parents had rushed forward to embrace her while James made his excuses in absenting himself. She felt instantly comforted; it seemed that all the tension had flooded out of her body – for the time being, at least.

Then she looked over her mother's shoulder, expecting to see her brother, and sagged in disappointment. "Er – where's Hugo?"

Her parents exchanged a glance. "He – was too tired to come with us," her mother said after a moment's pause. "You'll see him back in the house."

"Oh." Having no more to say, Rose allowed herself to be led out of the station by her parents, and tried not to think about what her brother's absence meant.

If Cassie Miller had had the choice, she would gladly have stayed in Hogwarts for the Christmas holidays. She had done so before; in second year, when her parents had been in China, she had opted to stay at the castle with Rory and Jackie and a few others.

She had enjoyed that Christmas immensely. Of course, there had been lonely moments, when she had longed to be with her parents. But nothing could have compared to waking up in her dormitory to see Jackie sitting cross-legged in the windowseat, going into raptures at the snow whirling past the glass outside. Nothing could have compared to opening their mountains of presents before a blazing fire in the common room, or indulging in a fierce snowball battle following a splendid breakfast in the Great Hall.

Now, as she rattled through the grey streets of Holyhead in her father's old, battered Almera, nothing seemed preferable to a Christmas spent at Hogwarts. This was not because of her father's silence, or because of the filthy slush that crunched under the wheels of the car, or the bitter, salty wind that pummelled them when they pulled up in front of their old, terraced house. No, it was because of the dread that filled every pore of Cassie's being – the dread of seeing her mother.

Cho Chang was waiting within, and greeted her daughter with a brisk hug and a tight-lipped smile. Cassie's sense of foreboding increased when her father gave an uncomfortable little cough and hurriedly vacated the room, mumbling something about her trunk.

"Did you have a good journey?" her mother asked, without looking her in the eye as they moved into the cramped kitchen. She said it in the kind of tone that did not seem to demand an answer, but Cassie gave it anyway.

"Fine, yeah. I'm exhausted." She let out a little sigh of fatigue following this, hoping that her mother would catch the hint, but there was no such luck in the world.

"Sit down, Cassie. I was just going to make some coffee, if you want some?"

Cassie shook her head, shaking her fringe off her forehead. "I should probably go – help Dad with the trunk – unpack - "

"Cassie," her mother said again, firmly. "You're not going anywhere until we have a little talk. Sit."

So Cassie Miller sat, glowering, and crossed her legs at the ankle, turning her gaze up towards the low ceiling. "Mum, I barely just got home. If this is about Quidditch, I haven't been playing -"

"I find that hard to believe," her mother interrupted. "After your report card arrived yesterday, with a letter from Professor Hobspawn enclosed, it seemed very clear to me that since you don't spend any of your time in school actually studying, you must have some other pursuit to distract you."

Cassie flushed deeply. "I do study!" she snapped. "I've been trying my best, Mum. Besides, it's only the Christmas tests… and you know, there's been a lot going on this year, with the Aurors and the Snarling Sons and Astoria Malfoy and – Hobspawn wrote you a letter about me?" This last piece of information just registering with her, she stared inquiringly at her mother, who nodded slowly.

"He's worried about your progress, Cassie. Before, your grades were at least passable; average, for the majority of your subjects. But now, you're failing almost every subject."

"Like I said," Cassie muttered, looking down. "There's been a lot going on."

"I know that," her mother said, looking suddenly weary. "But Cassie, you can't use that as an excuse. I'm sure your classmates have been just as affected by events as you – some of them even more so…" Here she seemed to catch herself, and Cassie's temper flared.

"You mean Rose? You're talking about Rose, aren't you?"

"I never mentioned Rose," her mother said quietly, but she would not meet the other witch's gaze.

"It was implied, though, wasn't it?"

Her father returned before Cho could reply, and Cassie simply shook her head, pushing up from the table just as the kettle started to whistle behind them.

"Cassie…" her father said wearily as she pushed open the kitchen door, but her mother remained silent as Cassie left the room – almost as though she knew it wasn't worth the effort to call her back.

Rose sipped her cup of tea, her legs folded up in the chair beneath her, and held a book at arm's length before her. It was a Muggle novel, one of her old favourites: The Little White Horse by Elizabeth Goudge. Utterly absorbed in the small print, she gave a start as her father passed by the breakfast table and ruffled her hair.

"Merlin, Dad! You nearly made me spill my tea!"

He met her gaze as he reached the kitchen sink, his eyes dancing with good humour, and she could not stop herself smiling.

Though she had only been home for a few days, Rose had already found herself slipping back into her old routine with surprising ease. Waking up in the morning to the distant strains of the sea through her window, taking a walk along the rocky coastline and letting the hollow roar of the waves fill her ears, taking a book and retreating to the windowseat on the east wing of the house, playing with Falco, the family cat – it all came so naturally, and felt like such a relief after the disorder of the preceding months.

And though today was widely acknowledged as Christmas Eve, by Muggles and wizards alike, to Rose, it was a day meant for relaxation, laziness and the utter bliss of doing absolutely nothing. Sighing contentedly, she leaned back in her chair and returned to her book as her father buttered some toast by the sink. His very proximity was comforting, as was her mother's. Suddenly, they were the ones making the decisions again. All she had to do was follow along.

"Have you talked to Hugo yet?" her father asked quietly, and Rose stilled, her eyes remaining fixed on the same line of print much as she attempted to keep reading.

"No," she replied at last, with equal quiet. Her brow furrowed. She had caught only a few glimpses of Hugo through the crack of his bedroom door, before he had shut it in her face. The unanswered letters that she had sent him loomed in her mind, and she felt a mixture of sadness and anger at the thought.

"You should make things right," her father said thickly as he crunched on his toast. "I don't want you two arguing for the whole two weeks. Especially not this year – after what your mother went through."

Rose made a mumbling noise of assent, but did not meet her father's eye. How was she supposed to make things right when Hugo wouldn't even talk to her? Besides, it wasn't as though it was all her fault. He had done some stupid things too – things that could have gotten him expelled.

She felt her father's hand on her shoulder a moment later, and set her book down, turning to look at him. His blue eyes, so like her own, were gentle and filled with unexpected understanding. Rose sighed again.

"Look, I will try, OK? I promise I'll try, Dad, I just – you know how he can be -"

Her father nodded, slowly. For a moment, he seemed to be considering something, then he reached out and squeezed her shoulder. "Rose, come with me. I want to show you something."

Reluctantly, she drained the last of her tea and rose to her feet, following him out of the kitchen. They crossed the dark hallway and ascended the winding staircase. Coming out onto the top floor, which was distinctly brighter and formed, in part, a gallery that overlooked the lower levels of the house, her father instructed Rose to wait while he went into one of the rooms.

She fixed her gaze on the view through the wide, latticed windows at the edge of the gallery. The sun had just broken through the clouds and cast a cold glitter on the grey water, and visible against the distant horizon was a ferry from Holyhead. Rose found herself thinking of Cassie for a moment. There was only a few miles' walk between their houses; ordinarily Rose would have thought nothing of the distance and trekked over to visit her friend, but – not now.

Cassie, Hugo, her parents… When had she started pushing people out of her life?

Her father's return roused her from her gloomy musings, and Rose turned to behold, with some confusion, what looked like a Muggle cigarette lighter in his hand. "Is that…"

"The Deluminator," her father finished, with a slight smile. "Yes, it is."

"I thought you lost it! In the Battle of Hogwarts!" In her awe, Rose could not even summon an accusing tone.

"Lose one of Dumbledore's most prized possessions? Not a chance." In the following moment, her father's expression had become sombre again. "Do you know why he left it to me, Rose?"

"To help you fight Voldemort?" she said vaguely, mesmerised by the gleam of the metal.

Ron Weasley snorted. "Yeah, because my ability to turn out lights was what ultimately defeated the greatest Dark wizard of all time." Looking down at the Deluminator, he shook his head. "For a long time, I didn't know why he bothered to leave me anything. He barely knew me. But…"

"But what?"

Her father turned over the Deluminator in his hand, then shrugged. "He was always a mystery, Dumbledore. He didn't know me, but he knew enough to know – that I might do something stupid. That I might forget what was important. And… well, he was right."

Rose didn't know what to say. She wasn't used to hearing her father speak like this. Frowning, she simply watched him as he continued,

"This helped me. After I had made one of the biggest mistakes in my life – running off on Harry and Hermione, leaving them to fend for themselves at the worst possible time… the Deluminator helped me to find them again. To realise what was important." He drew in a breath, then held out his hand. "I want you to have it."

For a moment, Rose simply stared. Then, as her father pressed the little metal object into her hand, she stammered, "But this – this is yours, Dad. Dumbledore gave it to you."

Ron shrugged again, folding his arms. "Consider it an early Christmas present."

"Why?" Still confused, she now felt more than a little indignant. "You think I'll forget what's important?"

"Rosie," her father said gently, "What I think is that you're like me. You can be stubborn, and pig-headed, and - " he held up a hand to silence her protests, " – you're also a loyal friend, and a loving sister. Sometimes you just need a little push to remember it."

The Deluminator felt strange in her hand. Rose still did not know whether to feel offended or honoured. Hesitantly, she raised her eyes until her gaze was level with her father's.

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me just yet. Your mother and I have agreed that this cold war between you and Hugo has gone on long enough. So you're going Christmas shopping with him this afternoon."

Rose could not suppress a groan. "Dad! Hugo couldn't even see me off the train, do you really think he's going to agree to a shopping trip?"

Ron Weasley slung an arm around his daughter's shoulders as they moved down the stairs once more. "You're going to have to make him, Rosie. Appeal to his better nature."

Now it was Rose's turn to snort. "Yeah, because that always works."

Snow was drifting over the little village of Godric's Hollow as thickly as it had the morning James had left Hogwarts for the holidays. It muffled the sound of the church bells, which were ringing out for afternoon service. The distant voices of singing Muggles were only just discernible as he tramped along the main street, pulling his scarf over the lower part of his face to guard against the cold.

Wistfully, he thought of the warmth that he had just left behind, in the Potters' house that sat on the outskirts of Godric's Hollow. His parents had been devouring mince pies in the kitchen, his sister curled up beside the vast tree and allowing herself the occasional secretive smile at the lengthy letter cradled in her lap, and Albus had been sprawled on his bed upstairs, wrapping presents.

It wasn't like his brother to shut himself up like that on Christmas Eve, James reflected. He had been unable to prevail on Albus to join him for a walk, despite his best efforts.

The door of his brother's room had stood slightly ajar, so James had no scruples in planting himself in the entrance. "Want to get some fresh air? I'm popping over to the Aldertons'."

Albus did not even look up from the present he was wrapping as he muttered a negative.

"That isn't mine, is it?" James joked. "Because it looks suspiciously booklike. I assume you haven't forgotten the tumultous events of Christmas '12?"

"It's for Dad," Albus replied, as he laboriously applied a length of tape to one end of the package. "And it's not a book."

"Oh." Reaching his hands above his heads, James stretched languidly. "Well, you know, you don't have to do all of that by hand. I can help. Of age, and all that."

"Thanks, but I prefer not to take shortcuts." Albus put the tape away and seized up the next package, all without even glancing at his brother. James whistled through his teeth.

"Whew! Someone's grumpy today. You jealous that you didn't get any love-letters?"

"What are you on about?" Albus sent a scowl in his general direction.

"Lily." James grinned. "Haven't you seen her? She hasn't stopped grinning since her owl came this morning. Must have some kind of admirer." His grin slowly faded. "Hopefully it isn't that Clarence bloke in her year. He's a pompous git."

Albus was silent, and James resumed after a moment, "Did you think I meant Summer? No, she and I don't do the love-letter thing. It's not really our style. We're more about the - "

"James," his brother cut in, "Why are you here again?"

James blinked, momentarily thrown off his stride. "I – er - "

"Because I've got some stuff to be doing." Albus rose to his feet, indicating the pile of packages on his bed. "Give Penny my best."

So their conference had concluded, and James now strode alone along the tree-lined avenue that wound into the heart of the village, where most of the old wizarding houses lay. He was feeling only a little sorry for himself – the sight of young carollers crowding doorways, of lights flickering merrily in windows and of little families trooping together to service – filled him with appropriate cheer, and consequently, James found himself smiling as he stepped up to the entrance of the Aldertons' ivy-hung stone house.

"James!" Mrs Alderton exclaimed in surprise on drawing the front door open. She was a woman of average height, with rather prominent front teeth and limp, straw-coloured hair. "I haven't seen you in a long time!"

With a courteous smile, James held up the tin of mince-pies in his gloved hand. "Mum wanted me to bring these over."

"How thoughtful! Well, come in, do come in." Mrs Alderton beckoned him through the hallway and into the plush, tastefully decorated sitting room, where Penny was sitting with a pack of cards before her. She regarded James with some confusion, even as her mother held out the mince pies in explanation.

"Hullo," James said easily, seating himself on the edge of an armchair across from Penny. "Enjoying the holidays?"

"Yeah." Penny smiled a little, natural shyness returning as she averted her gaze. "It's been… lovely. Do you – er – do you want to play?" Somewhat awkwardly, she indicated the cards.

"No, thanks. I'll only be staying a few minutes." James cast his gaze around the room, as casually as though he were admiring the furnishings. In reality, he was searching for some sign of another presence – discarded cloaks or robes, a third cup of wine, anything that might indicate that the two witches were not to spend Christmas solely in one another's company. But no such luck; the sitting room was immaculate, and offered no object of suspicion, even to a discerning eye such as James's.

"Albus sends his best," he said at last, completing his examination of the sitting room to see that Penny had been watching him all the while. "He was wrapping presents, so he couldn't come."

"Our presents are all wrapped already," Penny said lamely, waving a hand towards the short tree that stood in the corner. James looked in vain for a third pile, before deciding to cut right to the chase.

"Will it just be you two, then, tomorrow?"

"Just us," Mrs Alderton said, having re-entered the room from the kitchen, in a tone which showed her to be not entirely pleased. "Geoffrey's away on Auror business. We'll be quite lonely without him, I think."

Penny looked uncomfortable. James had caught something in her expression when her brother's name was mentioned, however momentary, a kind of alertness which gave him pause. "Well, you're always welcome to join us at the Burrow for dinner," he said cordially, addressing himself primarily to Mrs Alderton. "We always have enough turkey to feed an army of Inferi."

Mrs Alderton thanked him profusely for the sentiment, though politely declining, while Penny remained silent, her small eyes fixed upon James so intently that he was quite glad when it came time to leave them.

Scribbling a note to Rose as soon as he returned to his own house, James ruminated on the strangeness of the visit, and of Penny's behaviour. Either she had developed a liking for him (which was entirely possible), or his enquiries about her brother had made her uneasy. Either way, he was still no closer to finding out where Geoffrey Alderton was really spending Christmas.

Scorpius had not visited Malfoy Manor for over a year. He had not missed it much.

He had not missed the musty hallways that seemed to stretch into nothingness, the diamond-paned windows that revealed nothing of the outside, the unaccountable creakings that always seemed to grow in magnitude at night, the overgrown gardens that no one had bothered to tend to since the war, or the marks permanently burnt into the floor of the dining room, and the drawing room, and – well – many of the room. Scorpius's room, thankfully, was a small one at the top of the house which had been largely disused, so had not hosted any horrors. At least, not to his knowledge.

Still, the manor was, to him, a place of ghosts. It was impossible to walk through it without thinking of the many memories it must hold – and not all foul and gruesome. After all, his father had been happy here. Once. He was not now; Scorpius could tell by the dark circles under Draco's eyes and the haggardness of his features that being in the old place did not improve his spirits. Then again, he was not sure that anything could improve his father's spirits these days. Even his mother's escape from Azakaban did not seem to have given him much relief.

Now, as he sat picking at a dinner that was only lukewarm, Scorpius wondered how his grandparents could bear to live here. Perhaps it was simply old habit, but as he looked across the mahogany table at the aged couple, he perceived a kind of calm content in their pale features, if not exactly happy.

"Who was your friend, Scorpius?" Narcissa asked, breaking a silence of near twenty minutes. Her voice rung out across the empty dining room, jarring. "In the station, the other day?"

Scorpius's first thought was of Rose Weasley; however, sense soon prevailed, and he recalled bidding farewell to Jem as he joined his family on the platform. "Jeremy Sharpwood," he informed his grandmother politely, after swallowing his food. "He's been a good friend of mine since first year. His father's actually quite sick at the moment – Scrofungulus, I think."

Narcissa's only response was a clipped, vaguely sympathetic, "Hmm." Lucius, however, who had been staring into his goblet of mulled claret, seemed suddenly interested.

"Sharpwood," he mused. "I believe I have heard of the Sharpwoods. They're certainly not one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, but…"

Scorpius suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. Beside him, his father spoke for the first time since the meal had begun, quietly.

"The Sharpwoods were collaborators. Useful to the Dark Lord for their connections to the Ministry, but they never took the Mark."

There was an uncomfortable silence for a minute or so, then Narcissa said, in an admonitory tone, "I wish you wouldn't talk like that, Draco. Particularly in front of your son."

Scorpius's father gave a mirthless little laugh. "What, about the Dark Lord? Or the war? Would you prefer if I pretended it never happened, the way you always do?"

"I would prefer," Narcissa said tersely, "Not to be reminded of our darkest hours at a time when we should be celebrating, Draco."

"Celebrating?" his father repeated disdainfully, then set down his fork and dragged his chair back across the floor with an unearthly screech. "You'll forgive me if I don't feel much like celebrating at the moment, Mother."

Without even excusing himself, Draco strode out of the dining room, the other three staring after him.

"He's upset about Mum," Scorpius said, feeling that he had to say something. This was entirely unlike his father, normally so calm and collected even in the direst of circumstances.

"I never would have guessed," Lucius said dryly, before taking another swig of his mulled claret. Narcissa was silent, her face set in worry.

After his grandparents had retired to the drawing room following dinner, Scorpius sought out his father. He came upon him in the second floor study, frowning over a chessboard without appearing to really see the pieces.

"Want to play?" Scorpius suggested, and Draco Malfoy glanced up, with some surprise.

"All right," he said after a moment. So father and son sat down to a game of chess. The silence as they moved their pieces across the board was oddly comforting. They did not need to talk about what had happened at dinner.

The game turned out to be rather an easy win for Scorpius, as his father was still quite distracted; thus, he could not fully revel in his victory. Rising to his feet, he expressed his intention of returning to attend to his grandparents, it being Christmas Eve, but his father stopped him with a gesture.

"Scorpius," he said quietly. "There's something you should know."

"What?"

His father drew in a breath, loosed it, then reached inside the pocket of his robes, drawing out a folded piece of parchment and handing it to his son. "This arrived in the morning."

Scorpius opened it eagerly, and discerned his mother's writing immediately.

Dearest Scorpius,

I can't tell you much. Know only that I am safe, and I love you, and I wish you the merriest Christmas. I hope to see you soon.

It was not signed, which Scorpius could understand. Folding the parchment once more, he looked up at his father. "Aren't you relieved?"

Draco stared back at him. "The note was addressed to you, Scorpius. Only you."

"You mean she didn't write anything to you?" Scorpius frowned.

"I haven't received any word from her since she escaped. When this note arrived, I thought it must be for me, but - " His father drew in another shaky breath. "She might have been dead, for all I knew. I haven't had a single line from her."

"I'm sure she had a reason," Scorpius said, watching his father warily. "Maybe it was safer, just to address it to me. Does she know about what you did to free her? Working with those… people?"

"How could she, when we haven't spoken since her hearing?" his father demanded impatiently. "And yet – if she did somehow know, maybe that would explain her silence. Maybe she's angry at me for what I did."

Scorpius now asked the next question that had been lurking at the edge of his mind, inducing him to sleepless nights and painful reflections. "Are you still working with them, Dad? Those people?"

His father's grey eyes met his, and for a moment, there seemed an unhealthy gleam in them. Then it was gone, and he just looked defeated. "I don't know," he said. "I don't know if they've finished with me or not."

And, much as Scorpius questioned him as to the nature of the work he had performed in order to free Astoria, his father would say no more. Eventually, Scorpius was forced to give up and retreat to the drawing room to enjoy a cold evening of cards and mulled claret and unanswered questions.

The note from James still sat in her pocket, but Rose hadn't had time to think about what he had told her before her parents practically pushed her and Hugo out of the house. They were walking briskly along Diagon Alley now, which was thronged with shoppers who had braved the cold to obtain some last-minute purchases for friends and family.

Rose had bought virtually all of her presents already, except for some bits and pieces, and so for a time she was dragging a silent, sullen Hugo into Flourish and Blotts, Wineacre's, Gambol and Japes and Madam Malkin's, until she was confident that she had enough for everybody.

Now, she cast a backwards glance at Hugo as they exited Sugarplum's. Her arms ached from the shopping baskets and bags that she had been hauling around for the past hour (none of which Hugo had offered to carry), and she was weary of feigning a cheerful tone.

"What do you want to do now?"

Hugo did not respond, just hunched with his hands in his pockets. Rose sighed, not even bothering to hide her exasperation. This had been a terrible, terrible idea, and she would tell her parents so. But it was still too soon to return home – and she still had to resolve things with Hugo. She would never hear the end of it from them if she didn't at least make an attempt.

"Come on," she said to Hugo, leading the way into a little teashop that she had visited with her mother before. It was growing colder as dusk swept over London, and she felt the necessity of retreating indoors.

The teashop was cosy and well-lit inside, hung with holly and ivy. Weary shoppers clutched steamy mugs and bowls at little round tables. Another hour, and the place would be empty as its customers returned to their own homes for Christmas Eve. It all felt a little surreal to Rose, as it always did. When she had been a child, the Christmas routine had seemed so clear-cut, but as she grew older, it had become more difficult to define the holiday, or indeed, to distinguish it from any other time of the year.

"You get us a table," she told Hugo, gesturing vaguely towards a table by the window which commanded a nice view of the adjacent shopfronts, lighting up in the growing darkness. He moved towards it, and Rose went to the counter, fishing a couple of Sickles out of her pocket.

There was a small queue, and while she waited to order, Rose cast a glance back over her shoulder. Hugo had taken the table, and was sitting with his chin on his hand. She felt guilty, frustrated and afraid all at once. What if she couldn't get through to him? What if he refused to forgive her, and spent the next two weeks in stubborn silence, and spoiled the holiday for everyone else?

"Two ginger teas, please," she said to the attendant. Pleasant smiles were exchanged, a Sickle was handed over, a wand was waved, and Rose moved to the other end of the counter to collect the gloriously hot drinks. The attendant wished her a very merry Christmas; Rose did likewise, then turning, she proceeded to the table, plastering an optimistic smile on her face.

But Hugo was not there.

Her first thought was that he had simply gotten up and left. That would be just like him, she thought furiously. So selfish. He couldn't have even stayed to drink some tea with her. What was she supposed to tell her parents now?

Then she caught sight of his cloak, still draped over the chair. And there was the little satchel he had brought with him, at its foot. Setting their drinks at the nearest empty table, Rose rushed forward and felt the pockets of the cloak. His wand was there. He had not taken it with him – nor had he taken anything else.

The next minute or so was a panicked blur, as she moved from table to table, demanding of startled customers and staff if they had seen her brother leave. No one had; it seemed anyone who had noticed him gave the same account – her brother had been there one minute, and gone the next.

Teas forgotten, Hugo's things gathered in her arms, Rose stumbled out onto the street, a shiver passing right through her core at the cold. A second, infinitely more horrible explanation was now forming in her mind: that Hugo had not simply gotten up and left. That he couldn't have.

That someone had taken him.

It was Orchid Ottelby's singular regret, as evening set in over Knockturn Alley, that her family's little apartment had no heating system. She was forced to use her wand instead, and that couldn't even generate enough heat to boil a kettle. So she sat in her cramped room, huddled under blankets, and listened to the sounds of her father clattering around in the kitchen – knocking over pans, tripping over chairs. Soon he would be gone to the tavern, and then they would be free of him for some hours.

There came an insolent little knock on her door, and Orchid groaned. "Go away, Iris."

Her eight-year old sister did not heed her command, instead rushing in and throwing herself on the bed. "Can I sleep in your bed tonight? Please please please?"

"No," Orchid said firmly. "You have your own bed, Iris – so get off mine!" She pulled the blanket out from under her sister so that the little girl was forced to stand once more.

"At least let me stay here for a while," her sister begged. "I don't want to go back out there."

Orchid sighed. "You know Dad won't hurt you, Iris. Even when he's like that. There's nothing to be afraid of."

Iris made a face. "I'm not afraid, not really – but he's scary when he's like that, Orchid! He gets all stare-y and he doesn't remember who I am… I don't like it. And it's cold…"

"Fine, fine." Orchid relented, as she always did, and allowed her little sister to climb back onto the bed and wind one of the blankets around herself. "But you can't make too much noise."

"I won't," Iris promised breathily, and spent the next half-hour talking her sister's ear off before promptly drifting off to sleep. Then Orchid was alone with her thoughts again, and she didn't like them. Casting a glance out the window at the dilapidated buildings around her, barely visible now in the dusk, she felt that there had never been a place more miserable than Knockturn Alley was at that very moment.

The sounds of her father's clattering soon faded as he vacated the apartment, and Orchid rose from her bed, moving gingerly so as not to wake her slumbering sister. She was about to draw her curtains over the hideous view outside when a barn owl appeared, tapping the glass insistently. Hope surged within Orchid, and she cranked the window open with some effort, seizing the note from the owl's claws.

Love,

Meet me at the entrance to Diagon Alley in a few. I might have something for you.

Torrance

Orchid smiled broadly, then spent some minutes fixing her hair and makeup before pulling on a thick, hooded cloak and locking the apartment as she left. Iris would be all right, she knew; she had left her alone like that plenty of times before, to no consequence.

She had never been gladder to leave the grim streets of Knockturn Alley behind than on that Christmas Eve, as whirls of snow were beginning to fall from the sky above. Lights danced merrily in Diagon Alley, and they seemed to draw her in as she approached, filling her with hope and gladness. The sight of her boyfriend, framed against the beautiful scene, only increased these wondrous sensations.

"Merry Christmas," he said with a smile.

Reaching her boyfriend, Orchid brushed the snow from his hair before tilting her head up to kiss him.

"I thought you'd never come," she murmured, coming up for air after a lengthy interval.

Torrance brushed a thumb across her cheek tenderly, his dark eyes gazing into hers. "Did you really think I'd leave you to spend the holidays in that hole? No, you're coming back to Manchester with me tonight. My parents would love you to stay with us."

"But Iris…" Orchid protested mildly, leaning her head against the comforting security of her boyfriend's shoulder. He kissed her temple, brushing a strand of her hair aside as he did so.

"Iris can come too, of course. We'll go back and get her now, if you want."

Orchid pulled back her head so she could gaze at him. "Do you know how wonderful you are?"

"I have some idea," Torrance replied, smiling crookedly before pulling her in for another kiss, this one much more heated. When they broke apart this time, something had struck Orchid's mind, even in its distracted state.

"So you did it?"

"Done and dusted," Torrance said cheerfully. "It was simple enough in the end; just a collection and delivery kind of deal." At Orchid's raised eyebrows, he elaborated with a sigh, "Yeah, I picked up Weasley and left him off. With her. But you know, I really preferred the package analogy. Much more mysterious."

"You don't need to be mysterious," Orchid purred. Another kiss followed, then, "You know what this means, don't you, Torrance?"

Her boyfriend slid his arms around her waist and pulled her against him. "Enlighten me, love."

Grinning, Orchid stood on her tiptoes and brought her mouth close to his ear. "It means she's going to be very happy with you," she whispered. "With us. We're finally in, Torrance."

"Mmm." Torrance held her tighter. "Looks like it."

Dusk seemed to be falling over Diagon Alley more rapidly than Rose had ever seen it before, and still there was no sign of Hugo. She walked the entire length of the street, from the Leaky Cauldron to Gringotts and back to the Leaky Cauldron again, inquired of the perplexed landlady Mrs Abbott whether she had seen her brother pass through the inn, which she had not, revisited the teashop where she had seen him last a total of three more times. Even as the curtains were pulled over shop windows and the cheerful crowds began to disperse, moving in floods back to their homes, Rose still wandered, her mind in turmoil.

The thought of soliciting her parents' help frightened her more than anything else, though she knew that they would be expecting her and Hugo soon, and were likely to become worried. For by the time she returned home to tell them what had happened, Hugo might be permanently out of her reach. Or perhaps he was out of her reach already; she had no way of knowing.

As snow began to fall from the darkening sky onto the cobbled streets, Rose felt the cold wrap around her, and knew that she could not stay outside much longer. She was beginning to shake all over, and the temptation to use magic was almost overpowering, despite the consequences that might ensue.

After she had passed Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes a fourth time (that shop had been closed all day; otherwise she would have sought help there), Rose finally settled on returning to the Leaky Cauldron again. Perhaps something had been seen of her brother since she had left there; perhaps Mrs Abbott could tell her what to do. Perhaps, from there, she could work up the courage to contact her parents.

However, she had not walked more than a few paces in the ever-thickening snow when she felt a vibration in the pocket of her jumper, and drew out the Deluminator that her father had given her earlier. Illuminated by a shaft of yellow light from one of the windows she had stopped outside, she could see that it was moving in little circles on her palm, and glowing with a kind of pulsing blue light that reminded her of the light of a Portkey.

Rose stared as the blue light began to move into a little orb that flowed out of the metal object – and towards her. Strangely, she felt no fear; her father's words were coming back to her. The Deluminator helped me to find them again. To realise what was important. Was this what he had been hinting about? Was this why he regarded the Deluminator with such reverence?

The blue orb came to a halt before her chest. There it hovered, pulsating, for a moment, before plunging into her heart. Rose closed her eyes; she felt a sudden certainty, a steady warmth flowing through her limbs, and suddenly she knew where to find Hugo.

Barely any time seemed to pass as she strode away from the shops, heading into the darkness of Knockturn Alley. She passed the old shopfront of Borgin and Burkes, passed the abandoned runologists' where she and Scorpius had seen Andromeda and Zabini – the memory made her momentarily cold, in spite of the Deluminator's warm light. She went on, and on, deeper into Knockturn Alley than she had ever gone before. Soon there were no more faded shopfronts; only grim, forbidding houses that crowded onto a narrowing street. Every time she passed a shadowed figure, Rose clutched her wand a little tighter, but she was never pursued, at least not to her knowledge, and to the blue light within her made her brave.

At last, she came upon a side-alley, so dark that she had to light her wand, and halted before what looked like a cellar door, built into the ground. Hugo was close; she felt it in the fluttering of her chest. Reaching down, Rose found a grip and wrenched open the wooden door.

The darkness beyond seemed almost an entity in itself; it flowed out of the door, thicker than the dusk, and pulled Rose in with it. She lowered herself down, keeping her wand lit, and found the rungs of some ladder built into stone. The rungs stretched downwards for quite a distance; or perhaps that was simply what it felt like. When her feet finally met level ground, Rose felt nothing like relief; only ever-increasing foreboding. Her courage seemed to have abandoned her above ground.

She appeared to be in some kind of storeroom; her wandlight fell on overturned casks and crates that littered the corners, and the faint smell of stale Butterbeer floated to her nostrils. It was warmer than outside, but only marginally so. Rose cast around for another entrance; she found only a solid, sturdy door, which would not yield to any spell she used. Panic began to seize her again, and she pulled out the Deluminator, but it lay still in her palm, giving no further hints. Perhaps she had simply imagined it all. After all, how could a little gimmick like that tell her something as important as where –

"That's some extraordinary magic."

Whirling, Rose saw that the door behind her had opened soundlessly. But it was not Zabini standing there, as she had half-expected – or even Geoffrey Alderton. It was an unfamiliar witch: an olive-skinned woman with lengths of unkempt, grey-streaked hair and dark, liquid eyes that showed nothing more than weary boredom as they regarded Rose. She was short and round, but moved with a halting gait that showed her as somewhat older than she had initially appeared.

Rose opened her mouth, but the strange witch cut across her. "Too extraordinary for you, I should think. A bit of a waste. You barely know how to wield it, do you? You don't even know what it's made of."

"Where's - "

"Where's your brother? Is that what you're going to ask me?" The witch looked slightly disappointed. "How unoriginal. Are you going to demand who I am, too? Why I'm here? Go on."

Pressing her lips together, Rose conquered her instincts and remained silent. The witch gave a little laugh – but it was the kind of stiff, polite laugh one heard at a social gathering, issuing from someone who wasn't really amused but had some reason to pretend that they were.

"Are you hoping to trick me into saying more than I mean to by keeping quiet? Or perhaps you don't want to be accused of being unoriginal again? Is that what you're afraid of?" The witch's eyes lit with true amusement for a moment, then she shrugged. "Strangely enough, the petty fears of Rose Weasley don't really interest me. Oh, yes, I know your name." She rolled her eyes. "But it's not because you're remotely interesting. No, I make it my business to know the names of my enemies' children."

Rose's eyes widened perceptibly, and the other witch gasped, feigning shock as she held a hand to her mouth. "Oh, no! I've revealed something, haven't I? Your trick worked!"

"Where's - " Rose began again, her impatience rising, but the witch simply held up her hand, and the words were stopped, even as her mouth moved.

"Don't think for a second that anything you have to say would interest me long enough to listen to it." The witch lowered her hand, slowly, and smiled a little at the confusion on Rose's face. "And no, I didn't need a wand for that. Because, you see, true magic comes from within. Like that." She made a sharp gesture, and the blue orb was wrenched from Rose's chest so abruptly that she doubled over, gasping.

"Does it really surprise you that your parents have enemies?" the witch resumed as though nothing had happened. "I can't imagine that it does."

"You - " But Rose was silenced again as she straightened up.

"What did I say?" The witch raised her eyebrows. "Nothing you have to say could possibly interest me, Rose Weasley – because you are not interesting. That, on the other hand…" She pointed to the blue orb, which was now bobbing up and down in front of Rose, its light almost blinding. "That is real magic. They don't teach you any of it in your school. You have no idea how to handle it, do you?" She tutted.

"You don't know anything about me," Rose spat. In the midst of her surprise that she had been allowed to finish a sentence, she noticed that the witch had not moved from the door since she arrived. She stood between it and Rose.

"True. But why do you think that is?" The woman gazed at her with undisguised contempt. "I don't need to know anything about you, Rose Weasley. Because everything about you is so painfully obvious."

Rose bit her tongue. The witch was just distracting her, she told herself. Trying to make her forget why she was here. Forget what was important. Still, she could not help demanding, "What do you mean, obvious?"

"Well, for a start, I imagine you fancy yourself quite clever. Top of all your classes. Would that be accurate?" Without waiting for Rose to respond, she went on, "You've been playing the detective for the past few months, haven't you? Keeping secrets, breaking rules, taking risks… And you've lost friends because of it, haven't you? You no longer trust other people, and they no longer trust you. But still, you imagine it's all worth it, don't you? You imagine yourself to be uncovering the truth." She smiled. "Now, all of this has the potential to be quite interesting, doesn't it? Well, here comes the disappointing part."

She took a step closer, and Rose, instinctively, found herself leaning in to hear what the witch had to say.

"You weren't uncovering the truth, Rose Weasley. You didn't discover anything that your parents hadn't already figured out." As Rose recoiled, she shook her head, causing her grey hair to ripple slightly. "Oh, come now. Did you really think they wouldn't guess that Blaise Zabini had a hand in Andromeda Tonks' death, long before the Prophet reported it? Or that Geoffrey Alderton wasn't entirely trustworthy? Or that Astoria Malfoy had been framed?"

"That doesn't make any sense," Rose muttered.

"It makes every kind of sense, Rose," the witch said, almost pityingly. "Your parents were always one step ahead of you. They had all the resources of the Auror Office at their disposal, and all you ever had was your own fancied intuition. You were never a threat to any of us, Rose. You were never anything more than an inconvenience. Although - " She paused, frowning. "Andromeda Tonks might disagree with me on that point, if she were still alive."

Rose felt like the wind had been knocked out of her. She couldn't stop the tears as they blurred her vision, the lump that rose in her throat, the whistling that was beginning in her ears. "You're wrong," she whispered.

"That was when your little investigation really took off, wasn't it?" the witch continued, ignoring her. "There's nothing like having a death on your conscience to motivate you to action, is there? After poor Andromeda was lost to this world, you simply had to find out who was behind it all, or more people would get hurt. Wasn't that what you told yourself?"

Rose shook her head, angrily brushing away her tears. "I - "

"Admit it," the witch said, baring her yellowed teeth for the first time. "A part of you hoped, when your brother disappeared earlier today, that it had something to do with you. Didn't it? That you had gotten too close to the truth, and someone had punished Hugo because of it. To punish you, and not your parents."

"You're sick," Rose hissed.

"I'm right, though. I know I am."

"And where do you stand in all this?" she demanded, moving marginally nearer to the door as she did so. "What makes you think you know everything?"

"Oh, I never pretended to know everything. That would be arrogant." The witch shrugged her shoulders again. "Your parents have been one step ahead of you all the way, ignorant only of your involvement in Andromeda Tonks' death, and I have been one step ahead of them." Her mouth widened in a smile once more. "This is the part where you ask me who I am, isn't it?"

"I know you won't tell me," Rose said through gritted teeth.

"Well, at least we're clear on that much." The witch sighed. "Now, moving on, am I right in supposing that the object which produced that - " She indicated the blue orb of light, still hovering before Rose, " – once belonged to Albus Dumbledore?"

Rose did not reply. The witch watched her, liquid eyes inscrutable. "Did you know that he was a great practitioner of wandless magic too? Perhaps your parents never mentioned it. It is one of the most elusive branches of magic, and powerful. To perform it with control, you must have great strength of mind. You must be utterly convinced of your own innate ability to wield magic without a conduit." She smiled again, apologetically. "Which eliminates you as a candidate, I'm afraid. I'll make you a little bargain, Rose. Hand over that object, and then I'll let you through this door."

"Is my brother in there?" Rose asked, furious at her own quavering voice. The witch nodded.

"Yes, he is." She held out a wrinkled hand, palm facing upwards. "Give me that funny little Muggle device, and I'll let you and your poor little brother enjoy your Christmas. Go on, now, Rose. For once in your life, do the unexpected thing. The thing your parents wouldn't do. Don't you want to be different from them?"

"Yes," Rose said, her voice low, as she reached into her pocket and drew out the Deluminator. "Do I have your word? That you'll let me and Hugo go?"

"My word," the witch smiled. "Whatever that's worth to you."

"Fine." Rose raised the Deluminator, and clicked once, twice.

The first time, the blue orb was absorbed by the Deluminator once more, and she perceived the barest hint of surprise on the witch's face. The second time, the light of her wand and the dim light of the storeroom vanished, and they were left in utter darkness. Rose pressed forward, knocking into the witch and shoving her aside before shouldering through the door. She stumbled into more musty darkness, calling out, "Hugo! Hugo!"

"Down here." Her brother's voice was hoarse, and she followed it blindly towards the corner, feeling the wall for support as she went. Then her hands were on his shoulders, and she was kneeling, hugging him tightly.

"I'm here. I'm here. I'm here."

"I know," he said, then Rose could hear rapid footsteps behind her and she rummaged in her pockets frantically, drawing out a little handcomb.

"Hold on tightly," she said, and then she raised her wand, pointing it at the comb. "Portus." She had watched people making Portkeys before, but had never attempted it herself. Hopefully, this piece of underage magic wouldn't land her in Azkaban.

A blue light flooded out from the comb, and it began to emit a familiar hum. Rose grabbed onto it, pulling Hugo's hand and placing it there. And, just as light flooded the room and she glimpsed the figure of the witch in the doorway once more, watching them, she felt a jerking at her navel. They were yanked into spinning darkness, and landed, panting on the snowy street of Diagon Alley.

"I couldn't bring us far," Rose said breathlessly, tucking the comb back in her pocket and attempting to get to her feet. "We need to move quickly, before she catches up with us. Are you hurt, Hugo?"

He shook his head. He was frighteningly pale, however, and his auburn hair was dishevelled, his face grimy. Rose helped him to stand, once she had regained her balance. "We need to go," she said again, but he shook his head.

"She won't follow. She let us go."

"Why would she have done that?" Rose demanded.

"She said - " Hugo began, then shook his head, staring at the ground. "Something about a message. She wanted me to bring a message to Mum."

"What message?"

"I dunno." Hugo frowned. "Maybe that we're not safe, either. You and me, I mean. That she can take us any time she wants."

"That can't be true," Rose murmured, but her brother regarded her soberly.

"She only let us go because she wanted to, Rosie. She's powerful."

"It seems everyone is, these days," Rose muttered. "Hugo, who took you from the teashop? How did it happen?"

"It was a wizard," Hugo said hesitantly. "At least, I think it was. I never saw his face."

"Geoffrey Alderton," Rose said, more to herself than to him. Then she caught her brother's eye, and felt a sinking inside of her. "Hugo, I'm so sorry. About everything. I was an idiot."

"Yeah, you were," he said simply.

"But so were you," Rose added, and Hugo nodded.

"Yeah, I was."

There was a brief silence, and in it, the two siblings noticed that Diagon Alley was now deserted, and dusk had deepened into night. "Mum and Dad will be worried about us," Hugo said quietly.

Rose put an arm around his shoulders. "So we'll tell them everything," she said as they began to walk towards the Leaky Cauldron. "And I mean everything."

They didn't speak again for a long time, but just before they re-entered the inn, Rose cast a backwards glance at the quiet street behind her, with a shudder, and wondered, as she would frequently do for the next fortnight, who that witch really was... and whether she had been right in all that she had said.

A/N: Not much Scorpius, I know, or Scorpius/Rose... but other important stuff. The rest will come :)