A/N: Ummm...don't really have anything to say right now.

I guess I could do a disclaimer like everyone else on this website.

HAHAHA! Why bother when everybody knows I'm obviously not J.K. Rowling?

Chapter Thirteen
Decisions

It was raining and there was a breath of wind that ruffled the flowers in the garden. Rose looked from the men lowering the casket into the grave to Scorpius, who was standing in the shade of an oak tree, the slight wind ruffling his hair. As she watched, a single tear rolled down his pale cheek and fell to the ground. His stormy gray-blue eyes were fixed, as if riveted, on his grandmother's grave.

Rose left her parents' side and walked over to him, slipping her hand into his and squeezing it comfortingly.

"Are you all right?" she asked gently.

He shook his head, eyes glistening with the threat of tears. He blinked rapidly. "No, Rose. I'm not all right."

She rested her head on his shoulder and cried with him.

. . .

It wasn't meant to be difficult, was it? All he had to do was tell her the truth. Rose would understand . . . she was Rose.

Scorpius turned his eyes to the girl who was wreaking havoc on his mind, who had rejoined her parents and now stood at Hugo's side, her eyes downcast.

"I know what you're feeling," a gentle voice said to him.

Scorpius, shaking his head, turned to face Harry Potter. "No, sir. I doubt you do."

The emerald eyes studied him intently and, wordlessly, Harry gestured towards one of the stone benches under the shade of one of the many tall oaks dotting the cemetery. They sat down and Harry clasped his hands together, his eyes fixed on something only he could see.

"Scorpius," he began in a gentle voice, "when I was sixteen years old, I witnessed the murder of one of my heroes. Of course later I learned the whole act was planned, but I was broken when Dumbledore died. Surely you've heard about Voldemort's Horcruxes, and how I was sent on a mission by Dumbledore to seek them out and, eventually, destroy them?"

Scorpius nodded and Harry continued, "Well, in order to do that I had to leave the people I loved. I'm talking, of course, about Ginny."

Scorpius knew where this was going, and he suddenly felt something click between this man and himself. The likes between the two of them were incredible.

"It killed me, watching her eyes glaze over with tears as I told her I was leaving. For how long? I didn't know. Would it be dangerous? Without a doubt. Would I live? A slim chance that I wouldn't.

"Scorpius, I understand your sense of indecision. You're afraid Rose won't understand, or that you're making a terrible mistake that will, maybe not at once, kill you. I couldn't tell Ginny why I was leaving her. Voldemort, without a doubt, would've found her and tortured her for that information. That may not be that case for Rose. Due to recent events, I have a feeling Ron won't let her out of his sight, so she's not in any immediate danger. She can also be trusted to hold her tongue. Rose is a very smart girl; she is Hermione Granger's only daughter after all."

"But how can I be sure she wouldn't break?" Scorpius asked in a tight voice, remembering her screaming. "If she were to be attacked again—"

"She'd know that what she told them would put you in danger. It was the same case for Hermione when she was tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange. She was tortured with the Cruciatus Curse, close to the brink of death, and yet she didn't break."

Harry Potter adopted a thoughtful expression. "There's just something about bookworms . . . ."

Scorpius smiled. "Probably all of those adventure novels, sir. About heroes refusing to break under pressure."

Harry grinned at him. "Maybe so, Scorpius. Maybe so. Jack Bauer material, I'd say."

"Who's Jack Bauer?" Scorpius asked curiously.

"Oh, of course you wouldn't know. He's a character on an American muggle television program—" Harry abruptly stopped, a twinkle in his eye. "But we're off topic. Maybe I'll tell you some other time. I don't think it's appropriate to talk about muggle television programs—American or not—at your grandmother's funeral."

Scorpius couldn't help himself. He laughed, earning glares from the people gathered at the graveside, one in particular, coming from his grandfather.

Scorpius cut his laughter of hastily, but Harry put a hand on his shoulder. "It's all right to laugh at someone's funeral. Especially when it's someone you loved who has passed. They'd want us to be happy, not to sulk in misery."

"You're a very wise man, you know that right?" said Scorpius.

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. "I was forced to grow up way too fast. I had to start thinking before acting at the very early age of eleven. But I'm thankful for that now. It helped me get through my teenage years alive. You try juggling school work, Hungarian Horntails, girls, psycho Ministry Officials, Half-Giants and the rebirthing of the world's darkest wizard all at once. It was hell."

All Scorpius could do was smile.

. . .

Scorpius watched Rose in silence as she bent down to hug her mother, who's eyes were red and puffy. Her father had a stony expression, a protective hand on Hermione's shoulder as he glared at anyone who stared at them for too long. Harry and Ginny Potter stood with them, looking a trifle uncomfortable as they too were cast suspicious looks. James, Albus, and Lily were silent.

In silence he walked to Rose's side, keeping his eyes averted from Ron's murderous glare. Even if he had saved Rose's life, Scorpius remained in Ron's disfavor, which wasn't really a surprise.

He put an arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. Astoria had been released from Azkaban for the funeral, but she was under the watch of two burly Aurors, and Harry Potter. Scorpius now knew that it was all for nothing. His mother was innocent.

Astoria drew him into a hug, her sweet aroma engulfing him. He clutched the small slip of paper she had secretly pressed into his hand.

"I love you, Scorpius," she whispered into his ear. "I trust you to do the right thing."

She pulled back, holding him at arms length and smiling sadly. She released him and turned to Draco.

"I love you, too, Draco," she said quietly. His father had tears in his eyes as he kissed his wife goodbye once more.

Scorpius kept his eyes trained on his mother's back as she was lead away by the two Aurors.

Lucius was standing at his wife's grave, his face a stony mask of disinterest as he gazed at the newly engraved tombstone.

"I'll see you at the flat, Scorpius?" his father asked quietly, looking terribly sad. Scorpius nodded, his eyes fixed on his grandfather, who had begun to walk briskly down the path towards the wrought iron gate of the cemetery.

"We'll see you at home, Rosie," said Hermione, her voice sounding unnaturally loud in Scorpius's ear, distracted by Lucius's quick retreat.

"We most certainly will not—" Ron began hotly, but Hermione shot him a cold look, jerking her head towards Scorpius. Ron crossed his arms stubbornly, but Hugo rolled his eyes and, on his mother's commands, dragged Ron from the graveyard, leaving Rose with Scorpius.

He slowly turned to look at her. "Rosie," he said quietly, "I need to tell you something."

She looked concerned as he led her over to a bench under the shade of a large tree, shielded from the steady drizzle of rain.

He kept a gentle hold of her hand. He gazed steadily into her eyes, realizing that they were blue, and found himself momentarily distracted. "Rose, aren't your eyes supposed to be brown?"

She blushed and looked down at her shoes. "They . . . uh . . . change color sometimes."

"Why?" he asked, completely perplexed.

She smiled sheepishly. "They change with my mood. When I'm really happy . . . they turn blue."

He grinned swiftly at her. "You're happy at my grandmother's funeral?"

She looked up at him in horror, and he watched in amazement as the familiar chocolate brown color flooded her eyes. "No, it's not that! I was happy because I'm here with you—"

Scorpius smiled gently and she let the subject drop, knowing he understood. A moment passed by in silence as Scorpius tried to sift through his thoughts. He cleared his throat and spoke very slowly, "Rose, I know why my mother was accused of murder."

Rose's eyes widened, but she didn't interrupt him as he continued, "It was Greyback."

Silently, he took out the letter from the Fallen Brother to his mother and handed it over to her.

He watched as her eyes, once more blue, scanned the letter quickly, and smiled slightly as he watched them steadily turn brown again as she became more and more confused. When she had read it all, she passed it back to him, her face blank.

"You're going to do it, aren't you?" she asked timidly. "You're going to be a spy for this 'Fallen Brother'? Just because I'm in danger?"

Scorpius didn't say anything. She didn't expect him to. She stood up angrily. "Scorpius, this is ridiculous and dangerous—what could Greyback want with you?"

"I don't know, Rosie—"

"Don't call me that," she said coldly. He blinked at her ferociousness.

"It's to protect you, Rose. If Greyback is convinced I'm on his side, he won't hurt you—"

"That's a lie, Scorpius!" Rose exclaimed, throwing her hands up into the air. "Do you really think Greyback won't threaten me, just because you two are pals? He tortured me for no reason; don't think for a second—"

Her voice broke and Scorpius was on his feet in an instant. He took her into his arms and she stiffened. "Rose, I am willing to do whatever it takes to keep you safe. If that means throwing myself into Greyback's arms, I'll do it, understand? Nothing, nothing, but your safety is important to me now."

"Why?" she demanded, clinging to his shirt. "Why, why, why?"

"Because it kills me, Rose. It kills me to hear you scream, to see you hurt—"

She looked up into his eyes, shocked to see tears forming there. "Scorpius, don't cry—"

He grinned swiftly and said, "I'm not. My allergies are acting up," before his face returned to a look of torture.

"I need you to understand why I have to do this," he said gently. "Tell me you understand why I am doing this."

"But I don't understand, Scorpius!"

"Rose, not only do I have to do this to protect you, but I have to do it to stop Greyback."

"Why can't someone else do it?" she demanded. "Why do you have to be the one to risk your life?"

"Because he's threatening you, Rose! It all ties together, don't you see? By threatening you, Greyback knows I'll do whatever he wants—"

"Then what's the point of being a spy, Scorpius? If he knows you're only doing it to protect me?"

"Curse your logical thinking!" he said with a wiry smile. He sighed. "Because Greyback doesn't know that I know he's targeting you. He's going to approach me and try to recruit me to his cause. He'll use you as other means to persuade me."

He saw her eyes harden as she finally understood. She crossed her arms stubbornly and he smiled fondly at her, waiting for her response.

"I . . . well . . . curse your logical thinking," she snapped, turning away from him so he could only see her profile.

Scorpius, laughing, took her into his arms again and this time she didn't pull away.

"I'll be fine, Rosie," he murmured into her hair. "I am a Malfoy, after all."

Rose snorted. "What does being a Malfoy have to do with any of this?"

"We Malfoys are sly, sneaky, intelligent, not to mention incredibly handsome—"

Rose rolled her eyes. "Pighead."

"I resent that!" he said, putting a hand over his heart with mock hurt.

Rose didn't laugh. She didn't even crack a smile. "Does this mean . . . ." she paused, eyes downcast. "Does this mean you're not coming back to Hogwarts?"

Scorpius stared at her in silence. That hadn't even crossed his mind. The thought of not going back was unbelievable. He wondered if Harry had felt this sudden sense of lost when he was sent after the Horcruxes. He wondered, with a sense of dread, what would happen when he told his father and grandfather he was dropping out of school.

"I don't know, Rose," he said hesitantly, his heart heavy as her face fell, her eyes the darkest brown he had ever seen them. "It depends on what Greyback wants me to do."

"I-I understand," she muttered in a tight voice. She pulled out of his embrace, wrapping her arms around herself. She turned away from him again, this time with her back facing him. He saw her wipe her face hurriedly. "I—goodbye, Scorpius."

"Rose—"

She was shaking her head as she began to walk down the path leading out of the cemetery. Each step she took drove another dagger into his heart. She didn't look back once as she began to ran.

When she was no longer in sight, Scorpius sank back onto the bench, covered his face with his hands, and cried.

. . .

Godric's Hollow, Old Potter Cottage
Midnight

Scorpius stared at the hastily written address his mother had given him and knew immediately it wasn't from her; it was from Greyback.

Shaking his head, he pocketed the small piece of paper and left his bedroom and entered the small kitchen.

Draco, not wanting to go anywhere near Malfoy Manner ever again, had bought a new flat, dragging Scorpius along with him. They had found the perfect one: not too big, not too small, in the new suburban section of Diagon Alley. Why the Ministry saw fit to build suburbs in Diagon Alley, Scorpius had no idea. But he liked the new apartment either way.

Draco was sitting at the table, a mug of coffee in his hand whilst reading the newspaper.

"Dad, I need to talk to you," said Scorpius, sliding into the seat across from him.

"About?" said Draco, raising an eyebrow elegantly.

"I'm dropping out of school."

Draco, who had been sipping his coffee just then, choked, splaying his espresso all over his copy of the Daily Prophet.

"What?" he exclaimed. "For whatever reason?"

Scorpius took a deep breath. "Because-mum-told-me-that-Octavius-Greyback-wants-to-recruit-me-and-that-some-old-goat-wants-me-to-be-a-spy-for-him-and-now-Rose-is-in-danger-and-I-have-to-protect-her-by-accepting-the-position-as-a-double-agent-and-I'm-very-confused-and-in-order-to-take-the-job-I've-got-drop-out-of-school-and-help-the-Fallen-Brother-take-down-Greyback."

Draco's eye was twitching as he stared at his son who was rambling on and on and about goats, Rose, and Octavius Greyback.

. . .

Rose didn't go home that night.

She found herself at the Leaky Cauldron, staring glumly into a bottle of Butterbeer and in the company of the last person anyone would expect: Rubeus Hagrid.

Hagrid was getting on in years; his once black beard was now snowy white, giving him the appearance of a very large St. Nick. But he was still the same old Hagrid. Loud, big, incomprehensible at times, but a generally kind soul that Rose needed at the moment. Even though Hagrid had retired, he still lived at Hogwarts, visiting the Leaky Cauldron on Thursdays and Saturdays and sometimes Tuesdays. Rose knew this because Hannah usually had to keep a watchful eye on him, making sure he didn't drink too much liquor and get too violent, as Hagrid sometimes did.

Ever since the war, Hagrid hadn't been the same. No one has, and it was steadily sinking into the same sort of fear as before now that Greyback was on the move with his evil 'Horde.' Wizards everywhere throughout Great Britain, and pretty much the rest of the world, felt threatened at the thought of another Wizarding War on their hands.

Even if Rose now understood why Scorpius was doing what he was doing, that didn't mean she was happy about it. On the contrary, Rose was far from happy. Nothing except this huge feeling of loss she was experiencing could have drove her to sink so low as to crave Hagrid's drunken company.

She made sure she had her wand on hand.

"So, Rose, wha' brings yeh to ole Hagrid's company?" Hagrid asked her in his roughly kind voice, squinting at her.

Rose shrugged, glaring at her Butterbeer as if it was the cause of all her misery. "I needed cheering up, I guess."

"Ah," said Hagrid, nodding wisely, his great mane of white hair flopping all over the place. "Do yeh want to talk about it?"

"Not really," she said discouragingly, looking around the pub with boredom.

Hagrid stared at her intently with those beady eyes hidden behind his crinkly hair. "Yeh sure?"

"Positive."

He snorted and lifted his giant mug of firewhiskey to his lips.

"How's yer mum and dad?" he asked after a few moments of silent.

Rose shrugged again. "They're fine."

"I 'eard Hermione was in St. Mungo's. Wha' happened?"

"She was cursed," Rose said, feeling her heart steadily sinking lower and lower.

Hagrid noticed her melancholies and immediately changed the subject. "And yer dad?"

"Stubbornly overprotective," she said with a small, reluctant smile.

"An' Hugo?"

"Will be Hugo," said Rose, her smile growing a teensy bit wider as she relaxed in Hagrid's company. He always made her feel calm, serene, like nothing could bother her. She appreciated that about Hagrid.

"Good, good. An' Harry? We've not talked in a while. He's good?"

"Yes, they're all fine. Oh, did anyone tell you? Albus got himself a girlfriend!"

Hagrid's booming laughter was earsplitting in the normal quiet of the pub, earning them a few funny stares. "Oh, so Al's finally realized Jess has got a fancy for 'im, eh?"

"Yes," said Rose, smiling without hesitation now. "Took him long enough, huh?"

"I'll say!" said Hagrid. "Took 'im—wha'—six years?"

"Pretty much," said Rose with a little giggle.

"Now, Rose," said Hagrid, suddenly adopting a serious expression. "Wha's this I hear abou' Scorpius Malfoy?"

Rose, completely at ease now, sighed dreamily.

"He's so nice," she said, absentmindedly twisting a piece of her hair around her finger. "A jealous idiot sometimes, but nice."

Hagrid was staring at her. "It's true?" he said incredulously. "Yer in love with a Malfoy?"

Rose adopted a thoughtful expression. "I don't know if it's love, necessarily. Love is something my mother and father have, Hagrid. I don't think you truly fall in love with someone until you marry them. But yes, I really like Scorpius. A lot."

"How did this happen?" he demanded in a booming voice. Rose didn't flinch, too busy smiling dreamily into her Butterbeer. "How did Ron bloody Weasley allow his only daughter to fall in love with a Malfoy?"

"I told you, Hagrid, we aren't in love . . . yet," she added ominously, a malicious grin on her face.

. . .

At a quarter to midnight, Scorpius apparated right out of his bedroom and straight to Godric's Hollow.

After telling his father everything he knew about the Fallen Brother's plan, Draco had stormed out of the house, off to confront Astoria, no doubt.

Scorpius's feet hit the ground and he looked around the village. A short way ahead of him, a glow of golden streetlights indicated the center of the village. All was quiet (A/N: must I say it?), too quiet.

Feeling very exposed in open view of all of the cottages lining the street, Scorpius started down the narrow road, and soon the little lane along which he was walking curved to the left and the heart of the village, a small square, was revealed to him.

There were several shops, a post office, a pub, and a little church whose stained-glass windows were glowing jewel-bright across the square. The silence itself was deafening. It was unusual for absolutely no sound to be heard, even in the pub.

He was hurrying past the war memorial that stood in the middle of the square, when all of a sudden it transformed as he passed it.

Pausing momentarily to stare at the statue of James, Lily, and baby Harry Potter, Scorpius heard Harry's words echoing in his head, "It killed me, watching her eyes glaze over with tears as I told her I was leaving. For how long? I didn't know. Would it be dangerous? Without a doubt. Would I live? A slim chance that I wouldn't."

Somewhere, a crow cawed, reminding him of what waited at the Potter's Cottage. What if Greyback found out he was sent as a spy? Would he survive?

Would he ever see Rose again?

Scorpius shoved his hands deep into his pockets, his eyes fixed on the dark mass that stood at the very end of the row of houses. He sped up.

Most of the cottage was still standing, after all of these years, though entirely covered in dark ivy, but the right side of the top floor had been blown apart; that, Scorpius guessed, was probably where the killing curse meant for Harry had backfired onto Voldemort. He stood at the gate to the cottage, gazing up at the wreck of what must have been a cottage just like those that flanked it.

It looked very unsafe. Greyback expected him to go inside?

He reached a hand out and grasped the thickly rusted gate. Just as he touched it, a sign rose out of ground in front of him, up through the tangles of nettles and weeds, like some bizarre, fast-growing flower, and in golden letters upon the wood it said:

On this spot, on the night of 31 October 1981, Lily and James Potter lost their lives.
Their son, Harry, remains the only wizard ever to have survived the Killing Curse.
This house, invisible to Muggles, has been left in its ruined state as a monument to the Potters and as a reminder of the violence that tore apart their family.

And all around these neatly lettered words, Scorpius saw, scribbles had been added by other witches and wizards who had come to see the place where the Boy Who Lived had escaped. Some had merely signed their names in Everlasting Ink; others had carved their initials into the wood, still others had left messages. The most recent of these, shining brightly over more than nearly forty years' worth of magical graffiti, all said similar things, witches and wizards expressing their thanks for the defeat of the Dark Lord. Without thinking about it, Scorpius took out his own wand and tapped it to the sign. It simply read, Thanks, Mr. Potter.

Taking a deep breath, Scorpius carefully pushed open the gate, wincing as it creaked loudly, the rust that had gathered over the decades crunching together.

His heart was pounding in his throat as he walked through the swaying shoulder-length grass towards the demolished cottage. He couldn't hear anything over the loud pounding of his heart. He flexed his fingers, feeling his wand tucked safely into his jacket.

He reached the door that was hanging off its rusty hinges, slipping his wand from his pocket and holding it steady in his hand.

"Lumos," he muttered, taking a careful step inside the house. Everything was coated with dust and he felt his nose itching with a sneeze. He hurriedly pinched his nose between his forefinger and thumb and held his breath. The urge to sneeze passed and he breathed a sigh of relief, feeling very stupid.

Every step cautious, Scorpius walked down the front hallway, oddly calm. He carefully pushed open a door to his right and entered the front room, the overgrown front lawn revealed through a large window flanked with moth-eaten curtains.

Moonlight illuminated the room through the gaping hole in the ceiling and beyond that the top floor that had fallen through. Broken beams scattered the room, hanging dangerously low. The ceiling light lay scattered in pieces on the floor.

Sitting on the couch, in plan view directly below the gaping hole in the ceiling, was Octavius Greyback. He stared intently at Scorpius, one leg crossed over the other, chin in his hand, fingers drumming against his knee. Dust particles floated all around them and Scorpius caught himself staring at his reflection in the large, cracked mirror hanging on the wall behind Octavius. He was paler than a ghost.

"Good evening, Scorpius," said Greyback pleasantly. "I'm not surprised you came. All of you love-sick puppies are the same. Willing to lay down your lives at a moment's notice for the ones you love. It gives character such weakness, don't you think?"

Scorpius didn't say anything. Octavius scrutinized him. "Ah, I see. You think I'm the bad guy."

"One of us has to be," Scorpius said quietly as he paced up and down in front of Greyback, his steps careful, "and I can assure you that it is not me."

"This is bigger than you think, Scorpius," said Greyback, a hard edge to his voice. "It's not just about the Avengers of the Fallen. It's not about Voldemort, it's not about the Ministry, it's not even about me."

"What are you talking about?" asked Scorpius.

Greyback leaned forward ever-so-slightly, a serious expression etched into every part of his face.

"I'm talking about a revolution, Scorpius. The Dawn of Time. A New Age. It's not about good and evil anymore. It's about domination."

"Who's dominating?" Scorpius asked in a small voice.

Greyback considered him for a long, deafening moment of silence. "Tell me, Scorpius, are you familiar with the legend of Xavier?"

"No."

Octavius nodded. "I expected as much."

Silence passed between them. Moments ticked by painstakingly slowly.

"Are you going to tell me?" Scorpius asked after the silence was too much to bear.

Octavius tilted his head to the side. "Can you be trusted?"

Scorpius swallowed, gripping his wand tighter.

"Ah," said Octavius, eyes widening a fraction of a bit. "My sources within the Avengers were right! You were recruited as a spy!"

Scorpius's heart stopped dead and he stared at Greyback like a deer caught in headlights.

Octavius, upon seeing his reaction, smiled, and this time it wasn't so cold.

"Don't worry, Scorpius. We're friends now, you and I. We face a common enemy."

"A common enemy you have not revealed to me yet," Scorpius pointed out.

Octavius was grinning now. "Aren't we eager to learn?"

Scorpius carefully sat down cross-legged in front of Octavius. "I'm all ears."

"Prepare for a history lesson, Scorpius Malfoy," said Octavius Greyback, getting comfortable on the moth eaten sofa. "This one will surely blow your mind. It is nothing like one of Binns's boring monologues at Hogwarts."

Now, all of sudden, Scorpius was intrigued.

Octavius cleared his throat . . . and began to speak.

/././././

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