Helene wakes him twice through the night to check on him, as per healer McLeary's instructions. Maggie herself pops by mid-Sunday morning, allegedly to drop off a copy of the committee minutes and agenda to Narcissa, but she takes the time to check Draco thoroughly.

"Marvellous. No Apparating or flying above two metres for another two days, rest as you feel the need, otherwise, you should be fine."

Helene holds to her plan of visiting Ron and Hermione and returns home late in the day brimming with stories and laden down with boxes of cakes, "Which Hermione told me I was to tell you she made as a gift for you, but actually, she said it was probably better if you know they came from Molly Weasley, but were made for Ron, so they won't be poisoned, and they will taste excellent."

She continues to share stories of her day as she bullies him back into his bedroom, Summons plates and cutlery and slices baked goods. "She and I are going to learn to bake properly, though, because it is important not to lose traditional skills. They said that you had to get well quickly so you can come and visit them and Ron can laugh at you and Hermione can be sympathetic."

The cakes are, indeed, excellent, and Helene's chatter improves a day that has been spent mostly in the company of his mother and son, with a great deal of resting and a deliberate absence of the name Potter. Draco does think that Harry could have sent a message to check on his health, though he supposes Maggie might have been asked to pass details back to the Auror Office.

The one moment of interest has been an owl from Fotherington asking for a copy of one of Draco's new finding spells. Its arrival at 3pm has caused Draco to hope that Fotherington had a long and successful previous evening.

He tells Helene about it when she has finished with her tales. They spend an amusing ten minutes imagining how Fotherington will have described what he does for a living and end up torn between him pretending to be a research scientist and an information specialist for a top-secret government organisation.

"Probably the latter," Draco concedes. "It being all-but true."

"You told me you were a fashion designer when we met," Helene reminds him.

"I did no such thing," Draco protests. Then, because he is mostly honest, adds, "You saw straight through me, and it was only because you were outside that boutique."

Helene laughs. "It is what young people do. I pity Hermione, she never had any mysteries with her Ron."

"Ron is possibly the least mysterious person we know," Draco reminds her.

"Yes, though it must be nice, understanding someone else so thoroughly, having known them for years, seen them in their worst hours, being able to see through their moments of foolishness …"

"I still don't want to talk about it."

Helene pats his hand. "Has he written today?"

"No."

She puts her head to one side and peers at him. "You didn't fall asleep immediately after an intimate interlude, did you? Because that always irritated me."

"No!"

Draco shakes his head in mock-despair. "And I only did that once, and I was very tired."

"Once," Helene mutters, not quite under her breath.

"Why are we friends?" Draco asks. "Most divorced wives hate their ex-husbands and don't pop up daily to make their lives miserable."

"They lack foresight!" Helene declares. "How's your head?"

"Much better. You're a terrible person and I am sure you only visit because you take pleasure in my discomfort."

"But of course. And you keep an excellent kitchen and cellar. Plus, sometimes there are handsome men."

"Yes, Scorpius and I were both impressed that you didn't turn your attentions on young Lester."

"Lester?" she laughs. "He is a child, and he is too big – like a bear. I prefer men with cheekbones. At the fundraiser, we will invite many men with cheekbones, and you will have some reason to call me a terrible person, but it will all be in the name of charity."

"I kissed him," Draco confesses.

"And?"

"It went quite well, at the time. But I did it because I couldn't bear for him not to know if things went badly."

"Ah. And afterwards?"

"I may have … encouraged him to believe …"

"That it was just the moment?"

Draco nods.

"Poor darling." Helene brushes his hair back from his eyes. "And now you regret it?"

"It was probably the right thing to do," he says.

"Yes, probably." She smiles at him.

"I had a whole list of reasons. They were very good. Do you think I'm an idiot?"

"I think you're a dear man. Would you like me to stay tonight? Just so you're not alone?"

Draco grins. "Why Helene de Dreux, are you trying to seduce me?"

"I am not that lacking in handsome men with cheekbones."

"Will you read to me?"

"Yes. That novel is very good, you will like the end."

Draco wakes curled against her the next morning. Scorpius is standing at the door, staring in surprise. Draco sits up quickly.

Scorpius attempts to look nonchalant. "So, are you two …?"

"I am wearing pyjamas," Helene points out.

"Yes, but they're Dad's."

"If I was planning a torrid affair with your father, I would not be wearing his pyjamas. And I would have locked the door."

"Sleepover," Draco says. "You young people have them all the time, looked like fun."

Scorpius regards them suspiciously. "Right. Well, I have an owl from Albus, he wants to come over for lunch. Can he?"

"Of course," says Helene.

"I thought he was with his mother," says Draco.

"She wasn't expecting them until this afternoon, so Miss Lovegood and her son are over at her place, too, and they've all been there all weekend. He says it's a bit chaotic. Mrs Potter says that it is fine for him to come and free up a bit of space."

"Yes, of course," says Helene. "Get him out of her hair. You may as well ask him to stay the night."

Draco pinches her under the sheets, but she ignores him and smiles graciously as Scorpius declares her to be the best, then runs off to send an owl.

"So much for Potter-free days. You know what they'll get up to," Draco sighs, once he can no longer hear footsteps.

"They're young, let them enjoy it." Helene rolls onto her side and regards her ex-husband. "You know, he'll be off making grand plans for Albus for at least two hours. And since he's already assuming, we could …" She raises her eyebrow suggestively.

Draco's face desperately searches for a polite response.

Helene is laughing loudly before he manages it.

He pinches her again. "You really are the most dreadful person I know."

"It was worth it!" she gasps. "Your panicked little face!" Peals of laughter ring out again, and a few moments pass before she can compose herself.

"It's all right, dear," she says. "I know that I don't come with some of the things you are looking for in a lover at the moment."

Draco gapes.

"I meant glasses."

He snaps his mouth closed. "Of course you did."

They are both up and dressed well before Albus arrives for lunch. Helene and Narcissa have set up a table in the garden and provided a buffet so that the young people can wander about and eat at leisure while they all keep an eye on Draco.

"I'm perfectly fine today," he mutters as they watch the boys wander off towards the maze, nearly making it to the privacy of the hedges before Albus's hand reaches out to catch Scorpius's and draw him close.

"You haven't received an all-clear from a Healer," Narcissa reminds him.

"Maggie said I was fine yesterday, I just had to take it easy until tomorrow. And you will note, I am taking it easy! I will take it easy all day and then tomorrow the two of you can stop treating me like a small child."

"Oh, Draco," says Helene, amused.

"Shh. Be kind and let it go."

Narcissa waves her wand lazily, fixing all of them cold drinks and sending a glass to hover beside each chair, along with a plate of cakes.

"Eat up," she encourages. "We don't want to be here when those two appear adjusting their clothes."

In perfect synchronicity, Helene and Draco reach for their drinks. Draco is very sad to find that his contains no alcohol whatsoever.

The afternoon passes quietly. Although Draco assures everyone that he is perfectly recovered, he still feels tired. He has just put his feet up on the library's comfiest ottoman for a pre-dinner nap when there is a knock.

"Albus?"

"Hello, Mr Malfoy, I hope you don't mind, I just wanted to have a quick word. Check that you're really all right."

Draco sits up properly. "I'm fine. How are you? I hear your mother's house is a bit over-run."

"She sends her best. Asked me to speak with you, actually. Says thanks for keeping Dad alive. That's what I wanted to talk about, too."

Albus swallows, then quickly goes on speaking, "To say thank you, that is. I know that Dad meant to, but then you were hurt and he probably forgot. He thinks the world of you, he's just not very good at dealing with things when people close to him are hurt. Lily fell off my broom the first holiday I came home from school, and I thought he was going to have a heart attack. She was fine, but he didn't talk to me for three days."

Draco is glad his son loves this young man. "Thank you Albus. I really am fine. Your father has a lot on his mind at the moment. Do you know if he's caught Byford yet?"

Albus looks at his feet. "I haven't really seen him since yesterday. We're at Mum's, and he's been working."

"He really does have a lot on."

Albus looks up at Draco. "When you said that you were just worried about us, that wasn't really …"

Draco interrupts. "Albus, we're meant to worry about you, not the other way around."

"Yes, Mr Malfoy, but …"

"It will be fine, Albus."

"Really?"

Draco thinks for a moment. "I think so." He smiles. "Harry was saying just the other day that our friendship would survive anything. I think that sometimes people just need a rest."

Albus does not look entirely convinced, but he echoes Draco's smile. "Well, rest quickly, Mr Malfoy."

"I will, Albus. In fact, I was about to have a short nap when you appeared."

"Sorry. I'll let you get back to that."

Albus stops at the door, but doesn't turn around. "Just … don't be stubborn. Dad can be pretty stupid when he's stubborn, and it wouldn't be good if both of you were."

"I won't be stubborn, Albus," Draco promises, and receives a nod in reply before Albus continues off.

And Draco tells himself that he will honour that promise. Even if he would prefer to honour it by graciously listening to an overture from Harry.

The nap turns out to be a mistake. He is tired and befuddled over dinner. Albus and Scorpius seem to be quietly arguing, and when Draco hears: "Well, have a word with him!" hissed by Albus, he is afraid he knows what their topic is.

An owl arrives for him just as they finish their pudding, it is from Lester. Hannah has asked Lester to pass on the news they tracked Byford to Dieppe, but he managed to evade the French police, and they are yet to run him to ground. She sends her love, according to Lester, who somehow manages to simultaneously and between the lines convey both his doubts that she is being serious and his astonishment that Draco has managed to secure any of Hannah's affections.

Lester himself says that he is off to France, but would like to come by on Wednesday in the middle of the day, partly to see Scorpius at last and partly to fill Draco in on the events that have occurred since Friday night. Draco writes back immediately that Lester would be welcome, and then tells Albus he had better come for lunch on Wednesday.

"I'm sure Mum will be fine with that," says Albus. "Rose and Hugo were going to drop over, and the house will be bursting at the seams."

"Do you have any more letters to write before you put your quill away?" Helene asks.

Draco gives her A Look, and hopes that will be the end of that.

"I am sure that you do," she continues undaunted.

"Don't let us disturb you," adds Narcissa. "We can all go and take a turn around the gardens."

"Your idea of a turn always ends up with a peacock having one, Mother," Draco says, not quite patiently. "I've finished my correspondence for the day."

He spots Albus looking at him and clearly thinking the word 'stubborn', even if he is too polite to say it. Draco relents a little.

"I'm too tired to manage anything else today. Tomorrow, when I am thinking more clearly."

Albus exchanges a glance with Narcissa, which confirms Draco's worst suspicions. He decides that this is an excellent night for going to bed early.

Although Draco is up before six the next morning, he is only just in time to say goodbye to Albus.

"Lily Owled last night," Scorpius explains when he returns from his private farewells. "She and James were at each other's throats, so she asked Albus to get home as soon as he could before Ginny grounded both of them."

Draco can't help smiling.

"He'll be back for lunch tomorrow," Scorpius goes on. "And he said I could come over and stay for a bit soon, if that's all right with you?"

"Of course," says Draco.

Scorpius sits down to join Draco for breakfast and manages to make it through two slices of toast and almost an entire cup of tea before he succumbs to the sulks.

Draco waits until he has finished his kedgeree and the Prophet before he tosses a brioche at his son's head. "It's Tuesday," he says. "I'm ungrounded, and I feel like flying. You in?"

"Seriously?" Scorpius's eyes widen.

"Absolutely. Broom or bird? Professor McGonagall said you should practise over the holidays."

Scorpius hesitates. "Broom," he decides. "Can chat with you. And fly rings around you."

"Cheek! Right, upstairs into something warmer. And tread quietly, your mother and grandmother are still asleep."

"Is Mum in your room again?"

This time it is Draco who hesitates. "Yes, but only because she popped in to chat about you and her feet were getting cold. Don't get any ideas in your head, it's like you sharing a bed with … James. Yes. Like that."

"Except without the half-hour of casual mentions that he is happily heterosexual," Scorpius mutters.

Draco smothers a laugh. "Really?"

"I assume. We've never had to share a bed, so it's just been the occasional offhand comment."

"I'm guessing he believes he's so handsome no-one can resist. I imagine you've never had any problems, though."

"None."

"Probably best you never mention this, I'm not sure his fragile ego could stand it."

"I'm not sure his fat head would hear it."

"Accuracy is no excuse for rudeness, Scorpius," Draco says, not bothering to smother his laughter any longer. "Go and get a jumper. I'll change and meet you at the broom room in ten minutes."

Helene does not even stir as Draco pulls out his flying gear. She has stolen his favourite pillow and most of the bed space; he ended up last night chased into a corner by her questing cold feet. Draco smiles. It reminds him of being thirteen, and Pansy and Blaise piling into his bed on cold winter afternoons while they sent Greg and Vince out to find snacks. They would gossip and gorge on sweets and end up in a pile of napping before the prefects came through shouting at everyone to get dressed for dinner.

He resolves not to tell Helene that she reminds him of his schoolmates, buckles up his flying trousers, pulls on his gloves and sets off to meet with his son.

Scorpius is already sorting through the broom collection. Draco has kept every one that he has ever owned, bolstered by the spares from his brief period as a would-be pro player after his return to England, plus the set he bought for weekend games with friends. Scorpius has added not a few to the number over the years. And then there is the shiny Firebolt 30, its classic lines reminiscent of the original Firebolt – much loved by the man who owns this one. The man who had tossed it to him less than a week ago when they raced to save London from flooding. Ron's is beside it, both stashed here in the chaos of that day.

"I thought Harry had taken that home," Draco says, aware that Scorpius has noticed him staring.

"Must have forgotten."

"Probably," Draco agrees, reaching past it for the red Volare Alto, an Italian sportsbroom he bought himself for his fortieth birthday in a moment of mild mid-life crisis.

"Are you going to take it back to him?" Scorpius affects disinterest.

"I'll see him at work next week," Draco says matter-of-factly. "He'll let me know if he needs it before then. Come on, people will be up and about if we leave things much longer."

The Manor is in a quiet part of Wiltshire, and aside from a few farmers concentrating on tractors and finishing the milking, there is no-one to see or hear the two figures who cut through the sky, laughing riotously. They resemble happy ravens, bent on morning mischief, which, coincidentally, is what one of those farmers would see were they to look up, thanks to a small Disillusionment.

Draco delights in the sun seeping through the seams of his jacket and warming him even against the still-cold air that rushes in through the gap about his neck. Although the sun has only been on the fields of unripe barley beneath them for an hour or so, already the grain's full, slightly beery fragrance is lifting up, contrasting with the bright green scent of the grassfield beyond. The stiffness and stillness of the last few days leaves his body, and he leans forward to urge his broom level with his son's.

For his part, Scorpius is not showing his father any favours. "Come on, old man!" he urges over his shoulder, easing right into a languid barrel roll.

Draco describes a loop about his son's trajectory, touching Scorpius's hair as he flies past.

"Show off," Scorpius says, laughing.

"Make up your mind."

They fly alongside each other, slower, taking in the landscape.

"You'll see Albus again tomorrow," Draco says.

Scorpius looks at him, surprised. "How did you …?"

"I'm your father."

Scorpius grins. "I just get used to him being there every day at school. I miss him."

"Your mother lived in France when we were first seeing each other," Draco says. "I'd find excuses to go and visit her. Your grandmother feigned an addiction to macarons and insisted I acquire a regular supply."

"So that's how that steady stream of pale-green boxes began ..."

"After the first box, she wasn't feigning any longer," Draco confessed.

"You and Mum really aren't …?"

Draco shakes his head. "No, and we won't. We stopped working as a couple years ago. If we'd tried to stay together we would have ended up hating each other. And I am far too fond of your mother to want that. We make excellent friends, and that's how we should stay."

Scorpius nods. "I just had to check."

They fly a little more before Scorpius adds, "You should go and visit Mr Potter, he must be lonely with all the children away."

Draco sighs at the turnaround in the conversation. "He's busy, tracking down Byford."

"You could give him back his broom."

"Scorpius …"

"I'm just saying, it would be all right. I was … I was upset the other night. Really, it would be all right."

And Draco half-hopes he will go on, and explain what would be all right and exactly how all right he would be with it, but Scorpius chooses that moment to wheel about and declare that he will race Draco home.

The Volare has excellent straight-line speed, but Scorpius has chosen a winding path back to the Manor, and so they reach the cypress hedge that marks the boundary to the gardens at the same time. Draco would complain about the brief moments of cheating that have littered the chase, but he is laughing too much.

"You're not a bad flyer for someone so old," Scorpius teases him.

"Behave, or I'll confiscate all your brooms," Draco teases back.

"Makes no difference to me!"

And Draco can see what his son is thinking and so nods, and drops his own broom into a sweep, allowing him to catch Scorpius's, as the boy wheels away on wings that were arms half a second ago.

That will always be astonishing, Draco thinks. And he wonders how it must feel. Scorpius has suggested he could learn the skill, but Draco knows his own limitations, knows that this particular genius is something beyond him. Though he would dearly love to fly like that.

Instead, he flies as he has always done, with mundane grace, and lands, stowing both brooms beside the kitchen door and ambling out to watch his son transcribe a broad-winged arc, before the silhouette angles sharply and Scorpius dives down towards him, slowing and pulling up a few feet from the ground, then changing suddenly back into a boy, who runs a few steps as his feet reconnect with the earth.

Draco lets go of the breath he has been holding. He knows that he should say something cautionary, but instead … "That was extraordinary."

"I've been practising," Scorpius says, only a little proud. "Professor McGonagall says that the more seamless my transitions are, the better chance I'll have if I ever need to Transfigure in an emergency."

Draco wraps his arms around Scorpius, who is still a little shorter, a little slighter, and kisses the top of his head while he can still reach it. "You are my brilliant boy."

Scorpius hugs him back for a moment, and then he is nearly 17 again and far too old to be hugging his father. He stands back, and looks embarrassed, except … "I learned everything about transformation from you."

Draco is surprised. "I was never that good … That's a metaphor, isn't it?"

Scorpius pats Draco's shoulder. "I love you Dad. Stop worrying about everything. You're pretty good, really. Just … be happy."

"That's practically un-British," Draco teases.

"If we can't manage a little happiness, what's the point of all the hard work?"

Right then, Draco has never been more profoundly and simply glad for the differences between his son and himself at that age.

He hears women's voices coming from inside, and the door opens to let his mother and ex-wife tumble, laughing, out into the sunlight. A cloud of smoke follows, and a voice that Draco thinks must be Larky's can be heard declaring that the Mistresses can call for assistance with cooking at any time, any time at all.

Helene grins at him, and Narcissa tells him he is looking well now that he has his colour back, and that he may want to avoid the kitchen for perhaps ten minutes or so, and did he know that pain perdu could be flambéed, just not very well?

And Draco is happy. Nearly perfectly so.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

At a quarter past four, a parliament of owls arrive outside Draco's small study. The first message is from Hannah Abbott, and the message simply: Got him!

Draco unties the remainder of the letters quickly and distributes Owl Treats liberally. The longest letter comes – unsurprisingly – from Lester and gives a more detailed account of the reports that have reached him at the Ministry. The team, led by Harry and Hannah, has cornered Byford in Fife, after a tip Floo-ed in by a retired Auror who spotted someone squatting in one of the old cottages at the bottom of his pear orchard.

After a short exchange of hexes, a somewhat singed Byford has been taken into custody and is expected back at the Ministry for interview at any moment. Because Lester has been very helpful, Savage has promised that he can sit in on the interviews. Lester asks if there are any charges that Draco would like to bring personally, and assures him that there are already illegal detention and threat to the lives of Ministry staff items on the list.

Draco keeps flicking through the post. One from Savage, a little more detailed than Hannah's. One from Fawcett, giving a clear account of the capture and asking if Draco wants to attend the interviews, closing with an offer to Side-along Apparate him there and home if he is still feeling unwell. Draco worries about Fawcett.

The ninth letter is the one that Draco does not want to admit he has been looking for. He recognises the swooping D on the front of the envelope, and wishes the fold of paper was thicker. He runs a thumbnail under the sealing wax, and then hesitates before opening it.

And he knows that it is stupid to be this worried. Harry himself has said that they are on exactly the same terms as last week … which was after there was flirting and talk, but before snogging, so perhaps he means the week before? Or a few years ago, when he shifted from being a respected colleague to being a genuine friend over the course of an horrendous fortnight?

Anywhere within that time frame, and Draco can live with it. After then, too. That would be fine, if he's being honest. Just not before. Not the professional courtesy of their first years working alongside each other.

Stop, he tells himself, and opens the letter.

Hannah tells me she has already written to you, it says. You were missed on the op, though there weren't any near-death incidents in your absence. Will talk you through it when you're back at work.

At the bottom, there is a familiar H.

Draco reads it again to be certain.

There is a quiet knock on the door.

"Is there news?" Helene asks. "I was in the garden, and I saw all the owls."

"They've caught Byford," Draco says.

"Excellent!" She kisses his cheek warmly. "Was anyone hurt?"

"Byford, a little. He resisted being caught."

"His own fault, then."

She sits in the reading chair by the window and picks up a few of the Owls that he has dropped onto the table there.

"I see that Lester is determined to be involved until the bitter end. And Fawcett really is keen on you. We should invite him to my party, it will be amusing. For me, if not for you."

Draco shakes his head, but cannot hide his smile.

"Is that from Harry?" She points to the letter in his hand.

"Yes."

"What does it say?"

Draco hands the page over. Helene reads it carefully.

"It's short," she says, "but encouraging, I think."

"We're still talking," Draco points out.

"You were missed," Helene replies with a grin.

"Do you think that's his main meaning?"

"I think he's saying that the next move is yours."

Draco nods agreement.

"Ah," Helene continues. "And you want the next move to be his."

Draco looks out the window.

"He did give up far too easily," Helene says, loyally. "Listening to you in that state – ridiculous! Though, my dear, silly Draco, did you think that perhaps he might be feeling as awful as you are?"

"I should bloody well hope so."

"You could just go back to work."

"I will. Soon. I'm just not sure …"

"Not sure what you want?"

"Oh Helene, I absolutely know what I want. I'm just not sure what's the best thing to do."

"Poor darling." She stands behind him and wraps her arms around his waist. "You make everything so hard for yourself."

"It's not just about me, he's public property."

"When has he ever cared what people thought?"

He holds her slim, capable hands. "What if he starts?"

"Darling, I know the editor of the Prophet, Harry has threatened to hex him so often that the man routinely edits out any mention of a Potter that doesn't come attached to a Saves Wizarding World or Discovers Magical Puffin story. It will be fine."

"And if it's not?"

"Then Scorpius and Albus will rope Lester into a political counter-move, with Lily and Rose handling the media. James may even involve himself, though hoping Hugo will be any help is probably a step too far. Your mother and I will be cuttingly sarcastic and destroy the social seasons of any enemies you obtain."

Draco laughs. He turns and kisses the top of Helene's head.

"Is that all the encouragement you need?" she asks.

"Nearly."

"I would tell you to stop being afraid, but it is perfectly logical to be unsure and worried. So be brave instead. You're good at that."

He kisses the top of her head again, smiling at the scent of soapwort and apples. "Scorpius asked me if we were getting back together today," he tells her.

"Dreadful boy, he knows I can do much better."

"You certainly can. But you'll stay my best friend, yes?"

"Of course, silly." Helene smiles up at him. "Who else can I tease so profitably?"

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o