Apparently, Marty wasn't a bald, elderly guy smelling like cough syrup gone stale, secretly hired by Hagrid like Lily had suspected. No. Marty was better. Marty was beautiful, even adorably cute despite of how big he was. Lily wanted to touch him. She wanted to run her hands all over him. Although she suspected it wasn't exactly a good idea to ruffle his feathers when he was so emotionally volatile. Literally and figuratively. Or at least that's what Lorcan had informed her when Lily had tried to pet the baby Hippogriff. And he had flinched and let out this terrible sound that fell somewhere between a snarl and a cry of agony—Marty, not Lorcan. Lily couldn't tell what it had meant though. After all, she wasn't well versed in Hippogriff speak like some grumpy eighteen-year-old who was totally rocking that ratty old pair of jeans. Lorcan hadn't been impressed with Lily's "outrageous display of recklessness" – his words, not hers. After all, Hippogriffs could be fatal unless handled with utmost care. It almost baffled Lorcan that Lily didn't know that. Either that, or she just didn't have a good sense of self-preservation, which frankly, would explain a lot of things about her. He had picked Lily up by her waist like she weighed less than a rag doll and sat her on a rock nearby, chastising her to stay put. The whole ordeal had reminded Lily of the time when she was two and she had tried to put her hand in the pot of bubbling Alfredo sauce and her mother had caught her before any real damage was done.

At that very moment, Lily was waiting patiently for Lorcan to be done fussing over the baby Hippogriff. He was murmuring something to Marty as he stood beside the little twerp, grazing an index finger gently just above his beak. It was a sight to behold. If Lily could capture this scene into a painting (which she couldn't, as Lily was hazardous to a paintbrush), she would simply name it "The Boy and His Beast".

A Bowtruckle had climbed up Lily's shoulder at some point and made itself comfortable there, its little leafy arm thingies kept tickling Lily's neck and her ear, making her giggle, which in turn made Lorcan look up from his task and then look away abruptly, trying to hide a smile.

Lorcan couldn't honestly say that bringing Lily here had been a terrible idea. Apart from that initial recklessness with Marty, Lily had been surprisingly accommodating. She had stayed on the assigned rock for the remainder of the time, already having made a friend while Lorcan saw to the rest of the Hippogriffs. They were his main job, apart from the Nifflers and the chickens. Hagrid had been very firm about giving Lorcan the easiest ones. Not that Nifflers were particularly easy; far from it, in fact. But Lorcan wasn't complaining. It had taken him months to convince Hagrid to give him the Hippogriffs. The rest of the creatures were looked after by Calliope, who had uncharacteristically disappeared after saying a fleeting "hi".

"You ready to go, Lil?" Lorcan asked over his shoulder.

Lily, who was too busy worshipping a certain part of his posterior anatomy to listen, startled a bit and stuttered out a reluctant "y-yes".

As they made their way through the Sanctuary towards Hagrid's door, Lily remembered something.

"So, what did you and Rose talk about?" She asked, trying—and failing to muster up nonchalance.

She couldn't see Lorcan's face because he was walking ahead of her, but she noticed his back stiffen a bit. "Nothing specific. About classes and stuff, I guess." He said shortly.

Lily rolled her eyes. Either those two really were that boring, or Lorcan was dirty rotten liar. She was pretty sure it was the latter. But she also knew that she couldn't press him anymore for answers. His body language screamed "access denied" at that moment.

She wasn't wrong. Lorcan didn't want to talk about any of it. He had had his fill of prying females for the day, thank you very much; and it was barely noon. He must have noticed Lily's uncharacteristic silence, because he suddenly stopped in his tracks and looked back at Lily. "What? No more pestering me with follow-up questions?"

Lily raised an eyebrow. "I thought you didn't like it when I pestered you. Why?" She looked at him with big innocent eyes. "Do you want me to, Lorcan?"

Lorcan chuckled. "What I want from you, Lily," he said, leaning a bit closer to her, his eyes laughing. "Is to stop meddling with people's lives. But I don't think you could resist the temptation."

Lily, transfixed by his brown-black eyes, almost nodded like a docile little girl, when she realised that she was neither of those things—docile, or little. She glared at him and said, "I don't meddle, Lorcan. I just nudge people in the right direction." Her eyes got a defensive look in them. "But if you can't appreciate that, then it is your loss."

Lorcan knew better than to react. When it came to Lily Potter, the only way to win was to keep quiet, and not let her succeed in raising your hackles. So, he held up his hands in resignation and continued walking.

Ginny Potter was a remarkable woman. Not many people noticed this immediately. All they saw was Harry Potter's ex-Quidditch player turned freelance reporter, mother-of-three, infamously outspoken, beautiful redhead of a wife. They were wrong. Those roles were just scratching the surface of Ginny Potter.

Scorpius wasn't most people though. He was quiet and observant. He was a people watcher. He watched how people acted around other people, how they reacted, what made them tick and what ticked them off. The first time he had truly paid attention to the Potters was when he had got off the train with Albus the end of their First Year. The Potters were right there—along with the Weasleys. Mr. Potter was looking a bit anxious, pushing his glasses up his nose as Albus often did, his forehead etched with worry. But Mrs. Potter, standing beside Mr. Potter, was beaming. As soon as Albus stepped off the train, she snatched him into a tight hug and then kissed him on the forehead. Albus, not a huge fan of public display of anything, protested like only Albus could, with feeble "Mum, please"s and eye rolls. What took Scorpius by surprise, however, was when Mrs. Potter engulfed him into a hug. Scorpius, unable to comprehend what was happening gave Albus a wide-eyed stare, who responded with a "just-go-with-it" shrug. Mrs. Potter released him from the embrace, her eyes filled with a peculiar emotion and smiled at him, "You must be Scorpius. I'm Al's mum. Its so nice to finally meet you."

Over the years, Scorpius had had fleeting conversations with her when she always asked him about school and commented on how tall he was getting. It always made him smile. Scorpius had met only a handful of people who saw him as just what he was: a boy. Those who never associated him with the invisible disclaimer of "Son of Draco Malfoy: Ex-Death Eater" he had walked with his entire life. And that was enough for him.

Ginny was also a trooper when it came to handling surprises as was evident from how after a silent questioning look thrown towards Harry, she had immediately broken into a smile seeing Harry standing there at their doorstep with the Malfoy children. Scorpius had been greeted with a broad smile and another one of her crushing hugs. "Finally," she'd said. "You're here. I kept telling Albus to bring you home all these years. But my children never listen to me." She had feigned a sour expression at that and then stooped to Ireland's eye level and said, "And who is this fine young lady?"

Wide-eyed, Ireland had replied with her signature "HulloI'mIslandit'snicetomeetyou."

Ginny had broken into a surprised laugh and looked at Harry, "This is exactly how Lily used to introduce herself when she was little, remember?"

Harry had smiled in response.

It was not as awkward a meeting as Scorpius had dreaded. It was a little surreal in fact. He was at his best friend's place, without his best friend around. Albus' room was exactly how Scorpius had imagined. It wasn't too big, but it had a huge window. The walls were ivory, one entirely covered with hundreds of books. Some of them looked well-worn, but some of them were new; almost all of them were fiction. Albus didn't read non-fiction. His argument was that the real world wasn't as interesting as what he read in his books. The bottom shelf of his Wall of Books contained a set of state-of-the-art speakers, a record player, and some albums—Muggle music, mostly. He had heard of a few. Albus was always trying to make Scorpius listen to this artist or that. But Scorpius only remembered those he liked.

On the other wall there were pictures of Albus with his parents, Albus at the Eiffel Tower, Albus with Lily and James in Christmas sweaters, Albus in his Quidditch gear holding the snitch in his hand—he remembered that day. Scorpius was there when that picture was taken. Apple Skeeter had clicked it for the Herald, and even though it had taken some effort, Albus had convinced Apple to give him a copy. The snitch in the photograph was fluttering now and Albus was looking behind him smiling at someone. It wasn't apparent who he was looking at; the image of that person was a little hazy, but it was Scorpius. That was a good day.

Another picture that caught his attention was of a young—about Ireland's age- Albus playing with Rose on a beach. They were making sand castles. Rose's carrot coloured hair was fluttering in the wind and her tongue was caught between her teeth in concentration as she filled her little bucket with more sand. How such an adorable little girl had grown into such a vicious harpy was beyond him, but he didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to think about her.

He shifted a little closer to the wall to squint at one of the pictures when he heard the bedroom door creaking open, making him turn to face the intruder. Only, it wasn't an intruder; it was James Potter, leaning against the doorframe, clad in pyjamas and a pair of Gryffindor socks. His hair looked mussed, like he had just got out of bed to grab a glass of water and decided to make a detour to his brother's room at last minute. He looked tired. Maybe he was sleepwalking, Scorpius thought.

"Malfoy." James greeted coolly, nodding at Scorpius.

Scorpius resisted an eye roll as he responded with an equally glacial tone, "Potter."

It wasn't exactly news, but James Potter was The Potter back in Hogwarts. Potter—the good looking, charming-your-pants-off-you-before-you-know-it one, the Quidditch hero. There were a lot of "qualities" James had been known for in school. But those were the tags invented by people who liked James. Scorpius had a duty towards Albus as his best friend to hate James passively. And Scorpius wasn't an irrational fellow. He had seen James tyranny up-close. James took every opportunity he could to mock Albus—make him look stupid or weak. James broke hearts of girls in his wake. He never said a word to Scorpius, though. He always expected to James comment on his heritage. Call him a Death Eater or something equally horrific. It wasn't as if other people hadn't done it. But James had never ever done that. He had been remarkably dismissive to the whole idea of the friendship between Albus and Scorpius. Only once had he heard James calling him Al's "girlfriend" during a particularly nasty row. But otherwise, he avoided Scorpius' existence most of the time. But that didn't change that James Potter was still a colossal dick.

"You snooping on Al's stuff?"

"What? No. I'm just—"

"Oh, please," James held up his hands. "Continue. In fact, I would ask if I could join you but I'm afraid this is not an unexplored territory for me." He smirked. "Oh, don't look so scandalised. He has done the same to mine."

Scorpius folded his hands and asked tiredly, "Do you need anything, Potter? 'Cause I was just about to go to bed."

James gave Scorpius a half smile. No wonder he was Al's friend. Both of them were artful dodgers of confrontational situations. "Alright, look. I just came here to tell you that I found her," he looked behind him, "sitting on the stairs. You might want to see what that's all about."

Scorpius knew who he was talking about. He walked out of the room pushing away James a little which won him a mild protest from James. Sure enough, Ireland was sleeping on the staircase now, her face tear-streaked and tired. Scorpius felt a surge of guilt passing through him. He was too busy wallowing in self-pity to realise that his sister might be going through an equally terrible time, if not worse. He should have realised that Ireland was in shock. And it probably wasn't a good idea to let her sleep on her own in Lily's room.

"Is she okay?" James whispered behind Scorpius, trying to get a better look at the sleeping child.

"I honestly don't know." Scorpius mumbled as he picked Ireland up and took her to his—Al's room.

James didn't say anything as Scorpius put Ireland to bed and tucked her in. Then Scorpius quickly got to his trunk to find something. James could see the pain and uncertainty on his face. But he wasn't good at pep talk, especially when it came to such situations. He frowned as he said, "Well…do you want me to do something?"

Scorpius shook his head in response without looking at him as he got out a stuffed owl toy—Ira's favourite—and placed it beside her.

"I could call mum if you want."

"Nah. I think we're good here," Scorpius said, trying to appear as casual as possible. But there were tears in his eyes threatening to fall.

James stood there, debating as to whether he should ask Malfoy if he wanted a Butterbeer, but that would be way too much familiarity. So, he just shrugged it off and said before leaving, "If you need anything, I'm right next door."

Poor kid, James thought. James wasn't the touchy-feely sort. But he did feel sorry for Scorpius Malfoy. People always assumed that James was nothing but a superficial, selfish twat—at least the few friends Al had definitely had that impression. But that wasn't really true. Not that James cared what those stuck-up gits thought of him—but still. James wasn't a selfish twat. Contrary to popular belief, he loved his baby brother. He just loved teasing him more. But that didn't mean that James hadn't kept an eye on Al and who he consorted with over the years at Hogwarts. If Scorpius hadn't checked out as being a stick-up-his-arse-like-Al but otherwise an alright (almost too straightlaced) kid, James would have made sure to get Al away from him. He liked Scorpius as much as he could like a decent fellow human being who he didn't know very well. Scorpius was good people, which had also compelled James to beat up a Ravenclaw kid who had called Scorpius "Death Eater" once. James was territorial, after all. And any friend of Al's or Lily's was his responsibility, just like Al and Lily. He tried to protect his siblings as stealthily as he could. It didn't always work out, of course. Mainly because Albus was a holier-than-thou snob and James loved it when Al got all prissy and offended over the stupidest matters. But he was still his brother. And in his own twisted way, James loved his prim and proper arse. Lately they hadn't been on the best of terms. Partly because Albus was going through a "the-whole-world-is-against-me" phase. And also because James was trying to treat Al with some tough love. The plan had completely backfired as usual, ending up with Al hating him.

James didn't want to think about that, though. Al sometimes didn't realise how hard it was to be his brother. The quiet, sweet, bookworm Al Potter. Al had always resented him for something or other. For things that were beyond his control. But he never realised how wrong he was. Al had always seen James has someone had it all easy. He didn't know that James had a tough time during his first year at school. James had to constantly put up a front of "individuality"—as in, being something bigger than just a "Potter kid". He had built his unbreakable façade from the scratch, and he had earned it. It wasn't handed to him on a silver platter like Al seemed to think.

That was the biggest issue when one sibling was extrovert and the other was an introvert. The extroverts are always mistaken for having an ego the size of a mountain, and the introverts end up developing an ego for not having an ego.

It was a cat and mouse thing with James and Al's issues.

James couldn't go back to sleep. He was too keyed up now. He went back to the living room and switched on the television. His father had been insistent of having one when they bought this house in the muggle neighbourhood; unsurprisingly, nobody had complained.

He flipped through the channels rapidly; at last stopping on the sports channel. Some basketball game rerun was on. James liked basketball. He went to the kitchen and grabbed a butterbeer to complete his experience of mindless-tv-watching.

"Can't sleep?" His father said from the end of the stairs.

James shrugged in response before concentrating back on the screen.

Harry sighed in defeat. He was having a terrible time as a father in general these days. All his kids were on some kind of "our-father-is-our-enemy" trip. He didn't know how to deal with them anymore. Still, James was the easiest of three to crack. James had always been easier to deal with because he was easy to please. He had been one of those kids who learn everything on their own and are so self-reliant that they barely need their parents for much more than some emotional support. James had always sought his mother for that more often than his father, which often made Harry feel…redundant. His son was a mummy's boy and while there was nothing essentially wrong with that aside from the slightly disturbing fact that Ginny had never really cut the proverbial umbilical cord of James, Harry still wanted a bigger role in James' life. All his kids' life. That was the major point of arguments with Ginny, who insisted that Harry never gave his kids time. "Just because they are alive and fed doesn't mean that they don't need their father! You really need to cut back your hours at work and give them time," she said.

She wasn't wrong. But Harry hadn't exactly grown up in ideal conditions. He had no clue what the consensus when it came to raising children. When he was a kid, it had all been about survival. And now his oldest was refusing to leave the nest because apparently there was a leak in his apartment. That was three weeks ago. Harry knew that there was more to the situation than that. James had lost his last game (two months back) and he had broken multiple bones in the process. The bones had healed, but the mind hadn't. James was sulking in defeat.

He handed Harry a bottle of butterbeer as Harry sat on the couch beside him. "Are you waiting for an owl or something?" James asked.

"No. I can't sleep either."

"Hmm," James said, rolling the neck of the bottle between his fingers absentmindedly. "So what's up with Malfoy?"

"His parents are sick." Harry said shortly.

James nodded but didn't pry any further.

"James," Harry approached cautiously after a moment. "When are you planning to go back to practice?"

James didn't look at his father, but his eyes hardened, a muscle ticked in his cheek. "Soon."

Harry pursed his lips. He wanted to say a lot of things, but settled with, "There are worse things in the world than losing a game."

"Great. Now you will give me the speech."

"What speech?"

"Come on, Dad," James scoffed. "We both know that you want me out of here. So you are going to give me the 'you-don't-know-how-easy-you've-got-it' speech. I get it, Dad. I am not fighting a bigoted maniac like you had to. But not everyone is you. Just because our demons are invisible, doesn't mean that they aren't there."

Harry's face twisted with grief and anger. He placed the half empty bottle on the table and got up. He wanted to say so much. He wanted to tear at James for his tone and his hurtful words. But he settled with, "Fine. Let me know when you are ready to talk like the adult you are."

He was just about to leave when Teddy's voice came from the Floo. "Harry! Are you there?"

Harry rubbed his eyes tiredly and bent closer to the chimney. "Somebody better be dying, Ted. Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"Sorry," Teddy said hastily. "But you need to come in. There's been a…complication with the Malfoy case."

"Don't tell me they managed to kill Draco Malfoy."

"No, its worse than that. They uh… lost him?"

"They what?" Harry frowned before adding, "James, go to your bed. Now."

"Right," Teddy cleared his throat. "They lost Draco Malfoy on their way to 's."

"Fucking Hell, Teddy," Harry swore uncharacteristically under his breath. "Draco Malfoy is a grown man, and that too a sick grown man. How did they lose a person?"

"The Mediwizards said they took him to 's but before they could admit him, he had disappeared. I don't have the exact details on me at the moment."

"Then get them for Merlin's sake, Ted. I want a full report on the situation by the time I reach the location."

"You've got it," Teddy said firmly. "I'm sorry, Harry. I left them at St. Mungo's… if I had known—"

"Never mind that right now. Start interviewing every single person who had laid eyes on Draco Malfoy at St. Mungo's and find out who saw him last. And pray that he hasn't escaped. Or this will be an epic shitstorm at our hands."

It was dark when Draco Malfoy came to consciousness and found himself bound to a bed. He looked around helplessly, trying to figure out what exactly this place was. It was dimly illuminated. There was a pitcher—probably a water jug—in one corner, a toilet in the corner. The whole place smelled faintly of piss and herbs, a peculiar combination of smells for what Draco suspected to be either a hospital room, or a cell. It could be either, but given how the smell of piss dominated the smell of medicinal herbs, this was probably a cell. He tried to listen to any sounds. But it was eerily quiet outside.

Draco still wasn't sure how he got here though. He tried to jog his memory as he struggled against his bound hands. But it was a difficult task. His memory was fractured. All he could remember was bits and pieces: Astoria's sickness. Ireland. Scorpius coming home. His silent accusations. A flash. An army of Mediwizards. Him being bound to a stretcher. Then again a blackout. A vaguely familiar voice. Needles. People in white coats.

What day it was? How long had he been there? Why was he here? Where was his family?

"Astoria. No. ASTORIA!"

A couple of people in blue scrubs rushed in.

"Great," One of the men in blue mumbled. "The loon is up again. Get me some midaz, Steve. GO!"

Draco looked at them, his eyes glassy. "What is this place? Where am I? Where is my wife? ASTORIA! SCORPIUS!"

The man pinned him to the bed. "Shut up, you freak," The man who wasn't Steve ground out. "Shut the hell up before I fucking kill you. STEVE!"

Draco struggled in the man's grip, "Let me go. I need to talk to my son. There is so much I haven't—SCORPIUS! WHERE ARE YOU, BOY!? SCORP—"

The man punched Draco in the jaw. The man named Steve hurried in with a syringe in hand. "About fucking time." The other man muttered as he performed a quick phlebotomy and hooked Draco to another pint of dextrose. "Hurry. Don't worry about the dosage. These freaks don't die that easily."

A/N: Hello! I'm back! I know I am a little late. But not as much as usual. So I hope you guys will forgive me. I was traveling last week and then I got sick. It was awful—the being sick part. Not the traveling part. That was…um, adventurous, I guess?

Anyway. As you can see, we are going a little deeper and probably a bit more serious in the story than I originally planned. But I promise I will try not to mess it up. Consider this chapter to be a filler, in fact. I have big plans in the future.

I hope you liked this chapter. Thank you so much for all the reviews/follows/favourites. I live for them. Keep 'em coming. Cheers!

PS: Sorry about any grammatical mistakes. This chapter was really hard to write. I think I did okay. But there will be a shit ton of mistakes there. I tried.