Epilogue

Chapter 1. The Potters: after the storm

They haven't spoken for three hours and twenty-two minutes now, but neither was bothered by that. What they wanted was to be quiet, just touching one another – lightly, fleetingly, discreetly. And quiet they were, his fingers gliding over her arms and shoulders, hers – over his drawn, harrowed face. And neither could look away – they gazed at one another, as though through these light touches, they were re-discovering that which had once been known by heart, but later lost…

Three hours and twenty-two minutes later, they were in a quiet Hogwarts hallway, where the morning sun was only now peeking in. Another minute later she spoke; her voice was hoarse: from a dull ache in the back of her head, a warm sensation in the pit of her stomach, a racing heart, his silver gaze with floating shards of ice:

"Dad must be going absolutely mad."

He nodded, pressing her against him and kissing the ginger hair at the top of her head, dusted with silver snow.

"And that brother of yours, too."

They smiled in unison. The sound of an Apparating house elf barely disturbed their seclusion.

"Oh, Dong…," with an abrupt sob, Lily knelt before the elf, hugging his bony shoulders. The house elf blinked, frightened, and his ears pressed against the back of his head. "Forgive me, my dear, please forgive me…"

"What for, Mrs. Lily?" Dong attempted to wiggle out of her tight embrace but failed. Malfoy was barely holding back laughter.

"Scorpius said that I forced you to obey that awful man."

"Oh…" the elf finally broke free. "That…"

"Lily, weren't you supposed to have forgotten him?" Scorpius asked suddenly, pointing at the elf. "Or have you since remembered?"

The girl pondered momentarily and then shrugged her shoulders:

"It must be that that man," she couldn't speak the name of her tormentor, although now, hours after Malfoy told her everything, she knew it, "did not consider a house elf something worth remembering. Just like my dreams. I remember Dong perfectly – though I have no idea from where…," she paused, "I can't catch a single clear image…".

"Leave it be," Scorpius stepped toward her and put a cool hand on her forehead. His face – tired, with shadows of exhaustion – showed concern. "We'll get you to Xenia, and she'll take away the headache… Enough for today."

She nodded and pressed herself against him – it was a strange need to be near him, and it was getting stronger, like thirst, roused three hours ago, when he finished his tale.

"So, we go to your father first, and then go looking for Xenia and Potter," Scorpius summed up, looking mockingly at Dong who was surreptitiously wiping away a plum-size tear. "Enough of this wetness already; let's go…"

Elf nodded happily and clutched his master's trousers in his long fingers. At the last moment, Malfoy recalled leaving his coat in the forest, but such trifle was not worth going back for. Still, the very fact that trifles began to occur to him in the first place brought relief.

Ice was melting. Life was getting back to normal. The only thing missing was a crowd of Potters around them, and he was working on that.

Well, not a crowd, exactly, but one of the objects in question was right there.

"Poor lamb," Lily whispered, walking over to the sofa, where the huddled James was breathing noisily in his sleep.

"Lucky," Scorpius snickered, knowing that he would gladly join his mate there, but that would require letting go of Lily's hand, and he couldn't do that. And while she was in pain, he was not going to let himself rest. "I wonder where Xenia is."

"At work," James huffed, without moving.

"Yes, a stupid question, indeed," Scorpius snickered, nudging his still sleepy friend with his knee. "Are we bothering you?"

"You did," James grunted, but a second later his eyes flew open, and he sat up, gaping sleepily at his sister. "You…? You two…? How…?"

"This is just like you, Potter," Malfoy laughed lightheartedly, holding Lily close. He hoped that it would be proof enough for James that things were getting back to normal. A widening smile came over Potter's face, making it look like a happy-face cream pie.

"How is Xenia?" Lily was also smiling, while James suddenly deflated, as though there was nothing but citric acid in that pie. Malfoy was instantly on alert, brushing aside the silver-snowy mood that entered his life almost four hours ago, with the kiss that Lily gave him despite her pain. "Jim?"

"It's fine," the chap waved, getting to his feet and rubbing his face. "It's just that my entire body fell asleep. I probably ought to go to bed. "Do you want to shack up with us for now?"

Only now Scorpius recalled that Lily and himself did not have a home: they wouldn't be returning to the burnt-up flat, of course, while the cottage on the Malfoy grounds was not yet completed. They couldn't very well move in with his parents…

"Gladly," Malfoy noticed how deftly his friend switched topics. What else happened to his cousin? The answer came to mind readily, but was so unpleasant that discussing it now, in front of Lily didn't make much sense. Did his wife know that Xenia is – was? – expecting a baby? And if she did… did she remember that?

"We must find Daddy…" Lily reminded them timidly, but Scorpius merely shrugged his shoulders.

"Dong, instead of digging in soot," Malfoy nodded at the subdued house elf's smeared apron, "go find Harry Potter. Tell him that Lily is alright and that we'll be at James'."

Get to Potters' parlour only required enough time to follow one another into the fireplace.

"Don't you touch that broomstick," James said curtly to his friend, wasting no time in sprawling on the couch and stretching his legs. "By the way…"

They simultaneously spotted official-looking letters with the Ministry stamp lying by the open window. It looked like they were being summoned in for questioning.

"Not today," Lily whispered, almost clutching at Scorpius' hand. "Will they…?"

"It will be alright," he pressed her to him again, hoping that he wasn't causing her more pain with his proximity. Still, he couldn't force himself to maintain distance. "Let's leave it all for tomorrow."

Although today had barely started, he felt as though it was the middle of the night. Probably due to the fatigue made itself more and more pronounced.

"I could eat something," James wistfully patted his stomach and looked at the doorway leading to the kitchen. Lily, who'd taken Malfoy's wand and was retrieving the last remaining shards of glass out of her husband's wounded hand. They fell to the floor with a gentle clink.

She laughed, re-doing the bandage on Scorpius' hand again and handing him his wand:

"Sit here, and I will put something together for you…" her first step away from her husband was hesitant; she looked back at him before disappearing into the kitchen.

"She lost the baby, didn't she?" Scorpius whispered, with a half-way turn towards James. The other instantly dropped the exaggerated devil-may-care act and nodded quietly, staring down at his large hands. "How is she?"

"All rght," the corner of his mouth jumped, as though afraid to turn into a smile. "Better than me…"

"It is not surprising," Scorpius put his hand on his mate's shoulder. "You'll get plenty more chances."

"Uncle Ron said something of the sort, too. And Xenia is sure that she will get pregnant again in seven months."

"You two will need that much time for this?" Malfoy feigned horror. "Yes, indeed, Potter – you had some major gaps in your sex education.

"Xenia spoke with him… with the baby… somehow."

Scorpius' eyebrows shot up. Although – what's so surprising about that? It is Xenia, after all…

"Sent you his best regards, did he?"

James nodded, but his friend's mood was clearly beginning to rub off on him, because a smile finally materialized on Potter's wan face.

"He'll have my hair and my father's eyes."

Malfoy mock-moaned, then snickered:

"Well, now you brother can have no qualms of becoming gay."

James grimaced in mock disgust, but then turned his head toward the sound of dishes clicking in the kitchen and grew serious.

"How is she?"

"She remembered some things."

"You, for instance?"

"Well, yes," Malfoy smirked, leaning against the back of the couch and also stretching out his legs.

"Was it hard?"

"Bloody," Scorpius forced out, lifting his bandaged arm to his eyes. He was still feeling pain, but it seemed so trivial right now…

"Your blood or hers?"

"Both," whispered Malfoy.

They fell silent, half-lying down, shoulder-to-shoulder. Silence enveloped them with peace – inside and out.

"Here's breakfast," Lily entered with a tray, but stopped in her tracks, smiling at the two sleeping chaps. She set the breakfast on the side table, pulled out the wand that was sticking out of James' pocket (she really ought to find out where her own was), and summoned a tartan, covering both of them with it.

Poor lambs. Judging by what Scorpius had told her, while she and Xenia were gone, they didn't sleep or eat. She could hardly imagine what they'd been through and how they survived it, because although her memories of her life with Malfoy were still sketchy and returned slowly and painfully, she was terrified just imagining what it would be like for her, had she been in his place. It was this very feeling – the terror at the thought of losing him – that helped her there, in the forest, when she remembered what she'd felt for him. She suddenly realized in a surge of panic that she'd very nearly lost him, as she looked up at his tormented face. He seemed to be dying, kneeling before her, and that moan that escaped his pale lips filled her poor, once again loving heart, with dread. And she couldn't let him die, she couldn't bear his pain – just like he couldn't bear her suffering. And in that very moment – the moment when she reached her hand out to him, not yet remembering him, knowing nothing about him, not understanding him – but loving him nonetheless – she realized that she would die without him; that the past didn't matter and memories didn't matter, next to the agony somewhere deep in his frozen soul, reflected in those cold, wild eyes.

She never thought that tears could hurt so much. One tear – because it was his tear. The shock she experienced could only be compared with the fright she'd had, back when she was a child, when she heard her father wail in his sleep.

And when she kissed him, her Scorpius, she knew instantly that the pain that was tearing at her was nothing next to the possibility of being separated from Malfoy, next to the thought that he was suffering because of her.

Lily sat down in the chair, staring at the sleeping face of her husband. She was no longer afraid of that word – rather, it gave her peace and hope. She will never lose him, even if she never remembers all that he briefly related to her in near whisper: of a werewolf boy in Hogsmead and Malfoy's shock therapy; of the Imperius Curse and the first slap; of the first kiss that she gave him in the Hospital Wing and which she remembered; of her first "I love you" and the silver forest; of her ill-advised appearance in the Slytherin common room; of his first "I love you"; of the summer they spent in Greece with Xenia and James; of him showing up in her room when he ought to be in Germany; of her bedroom filled with butterflies; of a midnight loop on thestrals; of the first and last broomstick flying lesson; of their first dinner in the new flat; of the ring and the wedding…

He probably left out a lot, because other memories were now returning to her, too. Lily thought that he probably told her what was most memorable for him.

She must have dozed off, because she started and opened her eyes at the slight rustle of the flames.

"Xenie?" she whispered, frightened, realizing that the other girl was not seeing her, as she stood, frozen, by the fireplace. Xenia looked up, and Lily instantly had her arms around her friend: "What happened? What…?"

"Not here," the healer managed to get out, covering her mouth to muffle her sobs. She quickly crossed the room where their husbands were sleeping soundly and vanished into the kitchen before Lily had a chance to follow.

Xenia was sat at the table, her face buried in her hands, her shoulders shaking as she fought desperately for composure.

"Xenie," Lily whispered, putting her arms around the other girl's shoulders. "My dear, darling girl…"

Someone carefully moved her aside, and Lily saw James step towards his wife, lifting her easily off the chair and holding her tightly against him, letting Xenia bury her face in his broad chest. The healer stopped trying to hold herself back, and her sobs caused almost physical pain.

Lily momentarily closed her eyes and walked out into the living room, to the slumbering Scorpius. Two silver eyes peered at her from under half-open eyelids. She sat down next to him, and he hugged her to his chest.

"It will be all right," he whispered, feeling Lily tremble against him.

"What happened to her?"

"I don't know," he kissed the top of her head. "But James will find out."

She nodded, still listening to Xenia's quiet weeping. She gasped when Malfoy rose abruptly to his feet and, lifting her in his arms, headed for the stairs. What was on his mind: to be alone with her, or to give James and Xenia their privacy?

"This was always our room, when we stayed the night," Scorpius whispered, carrying her into a small room, filled with sunlight. Lily noticed a few of her things and a stack of shirts, probably Malfoy's. Small cushions were scattered across the bad, and the drapes on the windows failed to block the sun.

He carefully lowered himself on the bed, with her in his arms, took out his wand and waved it, before setting it on the bedside table: the drapes turned completely impenetrable, and the room descended into darkness. Another second – and a sole candle on the right was casting whimsical shadows over their faces.

"I feel like I'd die instantly, should you let me go," Lily whispered, pressing closer to him, and putting her arms around his slack body. Warm fingers stroked her back, causing her eyes to flutter closed.

"Your head still hurting?" he asked in a barely perceptible whisper, his breath caressing her skin.

"A little," she lied. Actually, if she wasn't thinking about it, Lily was about to forget about the pain – ever since she kissed him back there, in the forest.

"Don't try to remember…," he put his lips to her temple – tenderly and carefully, as if trying to relieve the pain he might have caused.

"I am not trying… it just happens," she grinned, raising her head and setting her chin on his chest, so that she could gaze into the silver of his eyes with dancing candlelight reflections. "You know, it's interesting…"

"What?"

"I recall these odd moments," her smile broadened.

"Which ones?" the silver eyebrow shot up; his fingers played with her fiery locks.

"For instance, when I struck you in my Hogwarts bedroom… Three times… and then once more, after the kiss." She looked down, biting her lip, barely holding back laughter. "And then, in the Entrance Hall, when you were there with James…"

"For the newspaper article," he nodded, with a crooked grin.

"And when you brought two spiders into my bedroom, from the catacombs under Hogwarts.

"I told you right then and there that it wasn't intentional," he laughed. "It isn't my fault that the secret passages are crawling with these charming creatures."

"And I was dead certain that you did it on purpose, because you'd believed the rumors of my going to the Ball with Greg Gregory."

"I always believed you, Lily," he whispered, drawing her face closer. "Whenever, wherever. If you told me that you hated me, I would believe you."

"Stop," she put her fingers to his lips, unwilling to even hear it. "Why would I hate you?"

He paused, seemingly trying to pick his worst transgression.

"I failed to protect you. Because of me, you were in danger. And… I killed, again," he said, so softly she could barely hear him, looking away.

"No," she breathed, "no, you didn't do that. Daddy told me everything!"

"Your father wasn't there," he looked heavily at her.

"He's spoken with the Aurors who are investigating the kidnapping… you didn't kill him; the locket did," she stroked his pale cheek with trembling fingers.

"I cast the spell…"

"Expelliarmus, Scor!" she almost laughed, perplexed by his chagrin. "Rose proved it! Besides, at the examination, the locket showed that the beam that entered it was red… My father was so proud…"

"I don't remember," he whispered, stroking her hair and staring at the candlelight. "I can't remember casting the spell at all. I wasn't even thinking about what I was throwing at Devereaux…"

"What were you thinking about?" she hugged him tighter.

"That everything I do can reflect on you in the future," he shut his eyes. "Every word, every offer I dismiss out of hand, my every past and present step may cause you to suffer, like you did in these past few days."

"Merlin, Scor," Lily pressed her lips to his cheekbone, listening to the regular beat of his heart. "No need to get paranoid only because a vile man decided he had a score to settle with you."

"And there may be many more out there," he smirked bitterly, before kissing her – affectionately, tenderly, as if afraid of shattering or breaking her. Never before had he felt such awesome responsibility for someone.

"There aren't, just forget what happened," she whispered. "I am here, and I am all right…"

"Yes, if you leave out the part where you hardly remember anything about us and each moment of my presence causes you pain," he remarked morosely.

"You said that you believe me, didn't you? So, hear this: your presence cannot cause me pain," she smiled. "Your every touch, even your breath, is like a painkiller; I simply forget everything… Was it always like that?"

"How?"

"When you were near me, I would forget about everything else?"

"When you were near me, like this," his features finally relaxed; a crooked smile played across his lips, as he pressed her closer to him, burying his face in her ginger hair. "When you were this close, I never thought that you might have a headache."

She laughed, reaching out to kiss him.

"You need to sleep, since you didn't get a chance to eat," she whispered, tearing herself from his lips, the taste of which even Oblivion could not erase from her memory.

"I am not Potter; it is his life's creed to 'eat, sleep, and mess around'," Scorpius smirked. "In my list of priorities, you hold the first place."

"I love you," she whispered, closing her eyes.

"More than my life," he replied with what sounded like his own declaration. Liquid silver reflected the candlelight, and Lily felt a flow of memories suddenly pour forth, flooding her with feelings, images, thoughts…

"If there were no sun, ice would never melt and spring would never come," she whispered the words he'd said to her on their wedding day, and then continued with her own words: "If there was no air, fire would never start. It would go out, it would suffocate, it would be extinguished."

"Never," he sighed brokenly, hugging her and covering her face with kisses. "You will always burn; you will always be my fire."

Silently, they stared at the burning candle.

"Sleep, my Scor," she whispered, stroking his tired, pale face. "Sleep, I am here with you…"

"I am so afraid of losing you again," he said, almost with pain. He must never have been more vulnerable, even with her. She wanted to hide him from the world and hold him to her heart, to give him back his confidence in himself and his abilities.

"Never, do you hear?" she whispered, laying her head on his chest. "You will never lose me…"

He didn't say anything in response; his fingers lightly threaded through her locks. She lay there, listening to his breathing growing deeper. In a swift and subtle motion, she put out the candle, plunging the room into darkness, filled with peace.

Sunlight played in her hair, as the swing slowly moved. He couldn't take his eyes off her – her face, hands clasping the tartan to her throat, quivering eyelashes casting shadows over her pale cheeks. He pressed her tighter against him and once again carefully pushed off with his foot, to continue the gentle movement of the swing, lulling the girl he was cradling in his arms.

He didn't say anything – his words would sound hollow and insipid next to her sobs. She simply needed to pour out her grief, her pain – everything that she'd been holding in the last few days… Or weeks? Years? He could only guess why she came home in such a state; what had become the trigger, the last drop that broke the dam of tears…

He held her, silently, letting her know that he was there for her, that she could always count on him. He sobs pierced his heart, and he even forgot that he'd recently been in a similar state himself. Only now, looking at her, pressing her shuddering body to him, he realized that he had no right to wallow in grief.

The swing shifted the rays of sunlight playing in the loose gold of her hair; he leaned slightly over his wife, to block the sun from her face. How long did it take before her sobs – deafening, horrible, heart-rending – subsided?

He didn't know and he didn't care. He would spend eternity holding her, if he knew that it made her easier; that her pain was lessened with her in his arms.

She was completely spent now, but tears continued to roll out of her eyes – silently now, docilely even, when she whispered that she needed air. He lifted her up and carried her into the garden. Carefully, like he would a child, he wrapped her in the tartan and rocked her, listening to the spasming of her throat, to tears of pain rolling down her cheeks, to the pounding of her kind, beloved heart.

She appeared to have fallen asleep now. He felt her even breathing, the beating of her now calm heart. She sighed occasionally, clasped her hands; her eyelashes trembled, and he pressed her closer, lulling her with the rocking of the swing.

Why was she crying? He realized that she had plenty of reasons, but… Only a few hours ago she was calm, serene, full of expectation and quiet sadness. He had never in his life seen her suffer so much, cry so hard…

He stared at her in desperate desire to learn the reason for such pain and to protect her from it in the future. He longed to become a healer of souls, if only for a minute, to understand how he could help her, to not feel so helpless.

Her hair was almost blinding, yet he was afraid to even blink – afraid to fall asleep and leave her alone with the pain that tormented her. And so he gazed at her face, at her long locks that shone like candlelight.

A candle. Yes, Xenia always reminded him of a candle, and sometimes that pained and scared him. She burned, giving those in the dark around her light and, if they got close enough, warmth, and hope that the flame would always burn, showing light at the end of a difficult journey. She burned, burning down, never doing anything for herself. A candle always burned away, leaking wax on the candlestick. It was terrifying.

And now he feared he would see a candle stub in place of his exhausted wife. She was no phoenix, rising from the ashes; she was merely too strong and too grown-up, having once decided that she owed the world a lifetime of service in exchange for the gift she'd received at birth. The gift and the heavy burden…

He shut his eyes for what seemed like a blink, but when he opened them, she was looking at him – just like he always did, only her cheeks held traces of tears.

"Forgive me…"

He even smiled, leaning down and kissing the tip of her nose:

"Stop that, right now," he paused, studying the look in her eyes. "Feeling better?"

"Yes," she looked away, focusing her gaze on his chin where, despite the customary morning spells, stubble was now showing. Actually, he had very little idea what he looked like now… "Where is Lily? How is she doing?"

"Xenie…," he smiled again, knowing his wife was incorrigible. "Forget about the others for a spell, at least. They are all right."

"And how are you?" she raised her cold hand and stroked his cheek. "You…"

"Xenie…," he rubbed his cheek against her palm, "I don't want to talk about me."

She seemed to be feeling self-conscious, and immediately tried to cover it up by smiling. As if he could be tricked by this façade.

"Will you tell me?" was all he asked. "Or is it a secret?"

"Priscilla Zabini died," she breathed, trying to stay calm, which didn't work that great.

James attempted to find the right way to respond to this news. He couldn't say it made him very upset; yet, looking at Xenia's face, he would have preferred for Zabini to have lived, since her death so upset his wife.

"Were you with her?" She nodded, closing her eyes. "Was it very hard?"

"She killed herself…"

James barely kept from raising his eyebrows in surprise: Zabini could definitely dish it out. But why, then, was Xenia so sad?

"You weren't able to… help her?" He asked gently, rocking his wife in his lap. He kept trying to decide whether it was better to quit the subject or to let her vent.

"I don't know," the girl appeared lost. "I don't know whether I did the right thing. It was as though I… helped her do it. Or… helped her to escape a worse fate. I… I don't know."

Tears once again flowed from Xenia's eyes, and James almost hated himself for talking to her about it.

"Hush, darling, hush… You couldn't have done anything if Za… if Priscilla had made up her mind. You didn't do anything wrong."

"Why, Jim?" Xenia breathed, not even trying to stop weeping. "Why are we always so helpless before this? And why did she have to die like this, the way she was feeling…"

"How?"

"Feeling not needed… empty… rejected…"

He kept silent, not wanting to talk about this any longer. For Xenia, every life was precious and every death – a tragedy. For him, Priscilla Zabini wasn't worth even a pair of tears from Xenia's eyes.

"It will pass, sweetheart," he kissed her salty lips. "You have just been through too much lately. You need some rest. Go to sleep. I'll be right here."

"You also need your rest," she said, as usual, easily switching the focus from herself to caring after the others. He smiled, rose from the swing, and carried his wife in the house, swearing an oath to himself that he would teach her to think about herself, if only sometimes.