Rose was itching to grill Lorcan about Lily. Because, of course, there was something there. Maybe neither of them realised it yet, in which case, her interrogation will get at least Lorcan thinking about the possibility of it. But the thing is, in real life, its not exactly easy to ask a guy about his love life without coming off as if you're trying to hit on him or asking him out. And after the crackling energy Rose had witnessed between Lily and Lorcan, she was certain about never wanting to even think about going out with Lorcan Scamander. How did Lily do it? How did she ask people about their love lives so confidently? Right. Lily was upfront about her nosiness. People expected it from her. Rose, however, was sneaky nosy. And it went against her image. Rose felt like slapping herself for even thinking the word "image".

Lorcan, however, made it all easy for her as he looked up from his book and raised his eyebrows inquisitively, "Can I ask you a question at the risk of sounding like a presumptuous fool?"

Rose grinned at him. "You would never sound like a fool even if you tried."

"Right," Lorcan cleared his throat and frowned, his gaze focused somewhere past Rose's left shoulder. "Why was Lily trying to set us up just now?"

Since the jig was up, Rose decided that it was best to go with the truth. "Lily has it in her head to make me start dating sincerely. And you are her first target," Rose flinched at her own choice of words. "Sorry. You know how she is. She can be tenacious if she puts her mind to something."

Lorcan didn't say anything accept nod his head and stare at nothing as he kept chewing his lip, deep in thought. That was not a good sign. Rose was having an internal freak out. She didn't want to lose a friend over this. And despite of knowing what kind of person Lorcan was, an irrational part of her kept nagging at her brain, telling her that Lorcan would decide that it was better not to be friends with Rose after all.

"This is awkward." Rose said.

"Tell me about it." Lorcan muttered, then looked at Rose and smiled sheepishly. "Would you be terribly offended if I were to say no, though?"

"Of course not. I had decided not to ask you anyway. We tried this once, remember?"

"Yeah, that was a bit of a disaster, wasn't it?" Lorcan winced. "I'm sorry about that, Rose."

"Ah, no. It wasn't entirely your fault." Rose waved it off, then smiled at him, her eyes sparkling. "Hey! Maybe we should aim to find people we can love more than we love the library!"

Lorcan gave her a half smile and said, "Actually, I already have someone in my life."

Scorpius sneezed for the thousandth time as he went through the corridor with Ireland still clung to him, her mouth and nose covered with Scorpius' handkerchief. It didn't make sense why father had shifted mother to the West wing. They rarely ever used those rooms.

He voiced his question to Alice. "Why are they staying in the West wing?"

"I don't know. A month ago, Mrs. Malfoy took to her bed, terribly ill. Mr. Malfoy had everything shifted to the West wing overnight."

"Where is everyone else? Where is Richard?" Scorpius asked, wondering where the aging butler had disappeared.

Alice stopped in her tracks and looked at Scorpius with pity in her eyes. "Mr. Malfoy dismissed most of the staff. Richard was heartbroken and begged to stay. But I suppose Mr. Malfoy didn't want anyone around."

Scorpius looked at her in confusion. "No offense, but then why are you here?"

Alice hesitated a little before answering, "I would never leave little Ira alone."

At last they stopped at a door. Before opening it, Alice looked at Scorpius and said, "I know you don't trust me, but please," she said, stealing a glance at Ireland's sleeping form in Scorpius' arms. "Try to keep an open mind. Keep your temper in check. If not for your sake, then for hers."

Scorpius didn't like the sound of that. Of course, he didn't trust her. The last time he was home—which was barely two months ago—there was no sign of a Ms. Whitaker in this house. Ireland had always had a part time nanny who came from nine to five every day. But a full-time governess? And Scorpius wasn't foolish. He hadn't missed the protective way she looked at Ireland. How had a governess of two months formed such an attachment to a child in such a short time was beyond him. His naturally suspicious nature was starting to gnaw at his brain. He was itching to interrogate her. But that will have to wait. For now, he thought as he entered the room trailing behind Alice.

Of course, he had expected to see something unusual in the room. The kind of bad anticipation Alice had created on the subject had been a fair warning for him. Even before that Scorpius knew that his father would be in a right state with everything that had been going on. What he hadn't steeled himself for, however, was the complete disarray displayed in front of him.

The first thing Scorpius noticed was the awful stench in the room, the kind of stench only a human body can make if left unwashed for days. He was afraid to find out which of his parents were the source of it. Although it was quite an easy mystery to solve, because right then, Draco Malfoy was sponging his bedridden wife with utmost gentleness. There was a bowl of water placed at his feet. Draco was whispering something to his wife as he continued with the task at hand.

Draco himself was, to put it mildly, a mess. He was in one of his pyjama bottoms and a blue t-shirt, a dressing gown thrown over it. From the wrinkled and stained state of the clothes, Scorpius assumed that his father probably hadn't seen a shower in at least a few days. His blond hair, usually so immaculately parted on the side and swept back in a sleek style, was sticking out in every direction. His face had a week's worth of stubble.

Scorpius' grip on Ireland tightened a little as he took a careful step closer to where his father was. His always vigilant father, who was still oblivious to his presence in the room.

"Father." Scorpius said, but his voice came out in a hushed rasp.

Draco didn't hear him. But Scorpius could definitely hear Draco as he whispered to his wife, "Is the water alright, my love? Would you like me to warm it up a bit more for you? There is a bit of a chill to the air today."

Scorpius shuddered and tried again, a bit louder this time, "Father."

Draco heard him this time. He looked up, a flicker of surprise in his otherwise lifeless eyes. "Ah, Scorpius. I didn't know they let you out for Christmas already. What day is it? I was just telling your mother that it is a bit cold today."

Scorpius didn't know how to respond to that. But his gaze shifted to his mother's body. Astoria had lost a lot of weight recently, so much that she almost looked like a small child buried under all those blankets. Scorpius didn't have enough grief left in his body to deny the possibility that his mother was probably already dead. A chill ran through his spine and settled as a dull headache.

"McGonagall let me leave for a bit to see mother." Scorpius said.

"Scorpius, my darling boy. You were always a little too sensitive for your own good." Draco said, his calm exterior sending Scorpius into panic mode. "I had told you to stay put. Your mother is being taken care of. She will be up and running in no time at all," He said in a cheerful voice. "And then you will have to hear from her for skipping school."

"Father, please." Said Scorpius, not sure what he was pleading for.

"What is it, Scorpius? And why," His voice hardened a bit as he looked at Ireland who was finally stirring awake, rubbing her eyes and then again letting her head rest on Scorpius' cheek. "Is she here?"

Ireland's dark gaze fell on her father and she chirped as only a four-year-old could, "Daddy!"

Scorpius never understood it, her devotion towards their father. She had always been a tactile child from the start. She would constantly grab onto your hand or your face if she was on your lap. Even their father, who was the least tactile person he knew, took it all begrudgingly, in the rare moments when Scorpius had seen Ireland and their father together. That often made Scorpius doubt his "father-hates-Ira" theory. But then again, you never knew the inner workings of Draco Malfoy's mind.

"And you," Draco snarled, looking at Alice. "You're still here? Didn't I tell you to stay away from my house and my daughter? Where is Angela?" His father grew frantic.

"Mr. Malfoy, please." Alice whispered. "I am just—"

"Scorpius, you get this woman out of here. You get her out right now, or I won't be responsible for my actions." Draco had his wand out now, his sick wife forgotten momentarily.

Scorpius' hand gripped his own wand under his robes as he took a steady step closer to his father. "Father, please. Mother is—"

"No, you don't understand. She is with them. Those hooligans. They call themselves The Cavalry. They have been running around robbing estates—stealing artefacts, gold, stealing children. Get her out now."

Scorpius had his wand out and pointed on Alice's forehead now.

Alice, with her both hands up said, "Scorpius, listen to me. Think. Why would I steal from you- let alone your sister— when all I have done is protect her?"

"Tell me, Ms. Whitaker," Scorpius' eyes were cold, his grip tighter on his fidgeting little sister. "Are you a member of this group—The Cavalry?"

"Yes." Alice whispered, feeling Scorpius' wand jabbing into her forehead.

"So you weren't employed by my father like you had implied earlier."

"No, but-"

"Of course, she wasn't," Draco muttered behind Scorpius. "I asked Angela to stay. She is—was- the new governess. The last I remember this woman was with that man who leads these hooligans—Cade something-or-other."

"Cade Whitaker." Alice provided quietly. "He is my husband. I—he was—Mr. Malfoy—Scorpius, please. Just give me a chance to explain myself. Ask Ireland! I've never tried to hurt her, have I, Miss Ira?" She looked at Ireland desperately, who had started wailing now as any child would when adults start yelling.

"Stay. Away. From her." Scorpius gritted out, his grip tightening on his wand. He let his sister down and behind him quickly. "Shh, stay there, Ira. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you. You," He pushed Alice with his wand, forcing her to stumble onto the chair situated behind her. "This is your chance. Talk."

Alice whimpered at first, but then she steeled herself, "I am a Squib. Years ago, I used to work at the Leaky Cauldron where I met Cade first. He was a charming fellow. He always knew what I wanted to hear. And I was foolish enough to believe him. We got married. At first, I didn't know what exactly it was he did. But one day he told me we needed to leave. Keep moving. His job required that of him, he said. I believed him then. Why wouldn't I? But then he started sending me on these little errands. He would take me to people's houses—big houses—like this one. And he would sometimes send me in to fetch things when he couldn't get in. Sometimes the wards don't let wizards in but if they are weak enough, they do let Squibs inside."

"Why did you come here then?"

"Cade had abducted children before. I think he had been watching your house for some time. Because we were camped not far from here since the beginning of this summer. We knew there was a little girl in here. We also knew that the house was mostly abandoned. Your servants weren't terribly loyal. But Richard, he was kind. I had run into him a couple of times during the Summer. Cade wasn't always around. So sometimes I came upto the house to spend time with Richard. That is how I got to meet Ireland first. Richard loved her. Then he came to me one day, crying, begging me to look after Ireland. I knew about the nanny. But I still kept an eye on her. I started lying to Cade about the situation at the house. But he found out about the house being abandoned. Because he brought me here a week after Richard left and told me to go inside and fetch the little girl. I said I wouldn't. So, he threatened to kill me." Alice tried to swallow back a sob, but her throat was too dry. "But I couldn't do it. I couldn't do it anymore. So I got in. And never got out. And turns out it was for the best. When I came here, the nanny had ran away. Your sister was unconscious—she hadn't eaten for two days. So I decided to take on the job of looking after her. Its not like I have anywhere else to go."

Scorpius couldn't believe this. There were so many wrongs in this situation that he couldn't even begin to count. What was his father doing? Isn't it his job to see to Ireland's safety at least? He knew that Draco had made a point of being a detached parent. But this was a whole new level of detachment. This was reckless. He felt a newfound respect for this strange woman in front of him. If it weren't for her, his sister would probably be dead by now. His hand instinctively tightened around Ireland's hand. He lowered his armed hand a bit.

Draco saw that and scoffed. Scorpius was a sweet boy like his mother. It never made sense to Draco why his son was like this. The boy didn't have a bad bone in his body. But he was weak. Too soft. Naïve. He didn't understand that sometimes you just have to take matters into your hands. Sometimes, you just have to strike.

Draco raised his wand at ready and moved towards the wretched woman quickly.

Yes. Scorpius was softer. Even a bit naïve, perhaps. But he was also quicker. Younger. He had the reflexes of a cat. And he was deceptively good at combat.

He must have foreseen his father's movement; maybe the yelp from Ireland who was looking over Scorpius' shoulder at father gave it away. But he turned around and exclaimed, "Stupify!"

His father froze and fell to the floor. His expression was a startled gasp, his eyes wide his mouth open. Scorpius wasn't done yet. He had to tie all the lose ends. He pointed his wand at a surprised Alice and murmured, "Incarcerous."

"I'm sorry. You're probably telling the truth," He said, his voice dry. "But I still don't trust you."

"Look, I don't really—"

"Silencio." Scorpius drawled out the spell with a tired voice.

Scorpius looked down at his sister who was obediently quiet looking up at him with a mixture of confusion and awe, her face streaked with tears. "I want mummy." She said, her arms up, urging Scorpius to pick her up. Scorpius obliged.

He went to his mother's bedside. She had been quiet through all of the excitement, which had made Scorpius sick with worry. And his suspicions were mostly true. Because when he looked at his mother, she was incredibly thin. He skin was ashy. Her brown eyes -so much like Ireland's- were open, a tear rolling down her left cheek. Scorpius set Ireland down on the bed beside her. She started stroking mother's hair. Scorpius bit his cheek to stop himself from crying as he took her hand into his and said, "Mother, it's me. I'm here now. Talk to me."

Astoria, of course, couldn't answer. Her speech had been lost some days ago. She could barely blink now. "I love you, my darling boy." She wanted to say. She wanted to squeeze back his hand. She wanted to run her hands through his hair. Kiss his forehead one last time. She wanted to take her daughter into her arms and never let her go. She wanted to hold her husband's hand, walk with him in the garden—barefoot—one last time. But she couldn't. She couldn't move a finger. Her breathing was laboured.

A tear of frustration rolled down her cheek. Scorpius couldn't hold back a sob anymore as he looked at Ireland trying to make their mother to respond. "Mummy, look! I am taller now."

Scorpius barked out a tearful laugh. "I got a leave from McGonagall to come here. Rose Weasley talked to her. Can you believe it?" He rambled, hoping his mother could hear him. "She is reckless. And annoying. But I am glad I'm here. We will spend the entire week together. You and I can play a bit of Exploding Snaps, too, when you're feeling up to it. I have so much to tell you," His voice twisted into sorrow again as he said, "Mum, please. Say something."

He rested his head on his mother's stomach and started crying earnestly.

Harry Potter pushed his glasses up his nose bridge as he looked at the mirror for the last time, then tried to flatten his hair, and failed miserably. He sighed aloud and said to his wife, "Maybe I should just shave this. That will put me out of my misery."

Ginny raised her eyebrows at him, handing him his tattered old watch, "Why? I like it. It has character."

Harry grinned in response, "Don't you think I have enough character as it is?"

"Well, that-"

"MUM!" came an interrupting bellow from downstairs. "MUM! THERE'S AN OWL FOR DAD!"

Harry pursed his lips to supress irritation.

"Don't start, Harry." Ginny warned him.

"What? I didn't say anything."

"You didn't need to." Ginny glared at him. "His apartment had a leak, Harry. The whole place was flooded. How was he supposed to live there? You know all of this."

"Yeah, well. That's what he said, at least." Harry mumbled.

"Harry-"

"MUM! IT WON'T GO! YOU NEED TO COME DOWN!"

Harry sighed at that. "I better go and see what that is about."

Downstairs, Harry was greeted with a very dishevelled James dressed in his pyjamas, tackling an owl. The owl was now perched on James' chest and trying to nip him on his neck. Sometimes, it baffled him how his kids got themselves into these situations. Especially James, who had been a little hellion from the start. He was a fussy baby, crying at the worst possible places, throwing food at people, tugging at their hair. In fact, the hair tugging had gotten so bad that he had made a girl cry.

People would often point out that James was how Harry would have turned out if he had had the privilege of a normal childhood. Harry always chose to ignore these comments because he felt like people were a bit too fond of labelling his kids and forcing them into these moulds that they thought fit them well. According to them, James was "just like his namesake, just like his late grandfather". Albus was "a replica of Harry". And Lily was "a blend of her grandmothers". While he suspected that some of these statements might be true to some extent, he refused to believe them. Because these kids were born in fame, whether he liked to admit it or not. And that was the sad truth. And to top it off he and Ginny, in their young (too young) age had decided to honour the dead by giving them names of some of the most famous wizards of the last century. It was a mistake neither of them would ever admit. And it was also a redundant guilt as it was too late for them to change their names; the mere thought of it was absurd and yet, something Harry wished he could do. But James had been "James" for too long. And Albus. And Lily…

As he watched James struggle with the feathered creature, he dwelled on how James had somewhat managed to adapt into his "mould". James was a Quidditch prodigy. He had learned to fly a toy broomstick as soon as he could walk. At the age of five he was caught flying his father's broomstick out in the backyard one summer. The time it took Harry and Ginny to get him to the ground that day were the worst thirty minutes of their lives. He was brilliant at both, Charms and Transfiguration. He was self-assured, headstrong, and stubborn to his core. He also had a tendency to skulk behind his mother's proverbial skirts when it fancied him. It was just like James to show up at his parents' door 10 o'clock at night with a duffel bag and a broomstick, asking if he could stay with them for a bit as his apartment had a leak. Ginny had hugged her boy tight and made him tea, asking Harry to go and make James' bed while the boy ate the soup and chatted with his mother. Harry wasn't ready to break it to his wife—because it would lead to a fight Harry didn't want to get into that night—but he was certain that James was lying. Harry suspected that all of this had something to do with a certain muggle girl James had been involved with since a month now (don't ask how Harry knew this). But he wasn't going to ask James about it unless he would provide that information voluntarily. James had been sour on the topic of his romantic life since the start. He was notoriously private about it. And Harry respected that. Ginny, however, didn't. If she so much as smelled the stench of a break up or other romantic troubles on her kids, she would turn into an interrogator that could rival an Auror. Everybody knew that. It made sense why James was lying.

"Oh! Dad. Thank Merlin you're here." James said, his voice struggling. "Get this bugger off me!"

Harry freed the owl from his son, gently stroking its head with his finger. "Go ahead and bring me a treat for this one, will you, James?" Harry said, as he untied the letter from the bird's talons.

"It doesn't deserve a treat." James grumbled, but went to fetch a treat regardless.

"Alright, let's see who this is." Harry said, squinting at the letter.

"You need to start carrying around your reading glasses with you, Harry. You will go blind as a bat in the next ten years at this rate." Ginny frowned at her husband as she handed him said glasses.

But it was like a dark cloud had descended on him. Harry was slouching a bit, the weight of the world on his shoulder, as always. Ginny squeezed his free hand in hers and gently asked, "What is it, Harry?"

"I have to leave now."

"And go where? To Hogwarts?"

Harry shook his head several times as he looked at her with what could only be called an expression of suppressed anxiety. Ginny had seen that look on his face several times before. But she had never seen him so lost before.

"To Malfoy Manor."

A/N: So, this chapter is a tiny bit longer. I have a few surprises for y'all in the next few chapters. I might not update next week due to some personal entanglements. But I will be back as soon as I can. Please keep reviewing. They help me figure out what you guys like and don't like.

Thanks to those who reviewed last chapter!