28/06/18
Old Money
Blue hydrangeas, cold cash divine
Cashmere, cologne and white sunshine
Red racing cars, sunset and vine
The kids were young and pretty
Where have you been? Where did you go?
Those summer nights seem long ago
The sound of the wireless crackled, echoing off of the conservatory walls.
'And Khatri swerves, under Mason, launches up – and scores! Puddlemore's going to have a hard time coming back from that…'
He knew how the match ended. It was a repeat from last week. Cork beat Puddlemore three hundred to one hundred and twenty. It wasn't a particularly enthralling match, and yet there was nothing else on the radio other than Christmas carols, and he couldn't bear to face them.
Across the room he heard the door creek open and shifted in his armchair to glance around, finding Mitsy in the doorway, struggling for breath. She was the youngest of their house elves and was usually designated the more tiresome chores, today's apparently being locating him.
'Master Scorpius,' she squeaked at him, 'Mistress Astoria is wanting you in the kitchen.'
He gave his assent and switched off the radio, getting to his feet.
'Master Scorpius, you is not in your robes yet,' said Mitsy, alarmed.
He didn't bother replying; he would have to have the same conversation with his mother shortly. He followed Mitsy through the bottom floor of the manor and into the kitchen, finding it in hive of activity. The four other house elves had each been designated work; Dinny was garnishing a blancmange, Twitch and Deirdre were chopping vegetables for a salad, and Lotty was tending to the stove top. In amongst them, Astoria was standing over the counter in scarlet dress-robes, arranging a delicate looking cheese platter, humming to herself. She looked up at him when he stepped into the room.
'Darling, there you are,' she said, and gave him a smile and a sigh. 'Where have you been? Oh, dear, you're not dressed. You best hurry. Your father's gone to pick up your grandmother.'
'I was just going to wear this.'
His mother eyed the trousers and sweater he was wearing. He could tell she wanted to protest, but protesting wasn't much in her character. 'I do like that sweater, darling,' she began carefully, 'although I think your father was hoping we could all – that we'd all look nice for your grandmother. It's her first Christmas without poor Lucius, after all.'
'Mum, she's not even going to notice.' He knew this was a lie, but Astoria didn't pick him up on it.
'Darling, I really think your father would appreciate it.'
'Well, I'll ask him when he gets back.'
Astoria cast a glance around at the elves to try and gauge if they were listening; they were all tactful enough to appear immersed in their work. 'Darling…'
'Are you finished with that?' He gestured to the cheese platter. 'I'll put it on the table.'
'Master Scorpius, Dinny will do it,' said the head elf, bounding forward. 'Master Scorpius can go get ready.'
He watched Dinny hoist the platter over his head and traipse out of the kitchen through the doors into the dining room. His mother moved on to inspect the blancmanges. Knowing he had lost the debate, Scorpius left the room to go change.
He strode into the foyer: it had been decorated for the occasion. Above his head, several hundred candles were floating in the air, their flames glittering against the marble floor. The elves had adorned the marble staircase and torch-holders with delicate holly vines.
He paused beneath one of the torch-holders. It was made of gold, welded into the head of the serpent, it's mouth stretched wide to hold the open flame. It was designed to look regal, an affect that was rather at odds with the affectionate greenery it had been decorated with. He gazed up at it, wondering once again who had been responsible for welding it so artfully back when the manor house was built, and whether whoever had made it had done so of their own free will.
From behind him, he heard the rap of a wand against the front doors and turned to see them swing forward, permitting his father and grandmother into the house. His father was clutching his grandmother's arm, leading her hobblingly forward. She was wearing elaborate azure dress-robes and looked even thinner than the last time Scorpius had seen her, her once sandy hair now verging on white, her face sallow and lined, and yet when she saw him she gave him a broad smile.
'Scorpius…' she croaked at him. 'Darling, come here.'
He obliged, moving forward to meet them. Narcissa let go of her son to raise her arms and wrap Scorpius in a weak hug. He returned it and allowed her to stand on her tip-toes to kiss his cheek. From behind him he heard his mother's heels against the marble floor as she hurried in from the kitchen.
'Oh, Narcissa, you're here,' said Astoria brightly, moving forward to greet her with a kiss. 'Oh, those robes do look lovely. Come in and sit down, dinner's nearly ready.'
Astoria may as well have not spoken, for Naricissa was focused adoringly on her grandson, clutching his hands in hers. 'My darling, you have gotten so tall.'
He didn't know what to say to this, and so he merely told her, 'Happy Christmas, Grandmother.'
Narcissa ignored this and raised a hand to brush his hair from fringe back. 'And your hair – it's getting quite long, isn't it? Certainly, it needs a trim.'
With this, she at last acknowledged Astoria by sending her a rather pointed look, which prompted Draco to declare, 'We've told him he needs to cut it, but he refuses. Honestly, it's started to look ridiculous, Scorpius.'
'Oh, I think it suits him,' said Astoria fondly. 'Come on, let's go sit. Narcissa, what would you like to drink? We have mead, sherry…'
She stepped forward to take her mother-in-law's arm to lead her slowly forward into the dining room. Scorpius made to follow them, but his father swooped upon him to catch his arm.
'You're not wearing you robes,' Draco muttered.
'No.'
'Why not?'
'I didn't know I was supposed to.'
Before Draco could scold him any further, Astoria called to them from the dining room. Draco's eyes flickered from Scorpius to the doorway, torn between urging his son to go change and not wanting to keep his wife and mother waiting. Deciding on the latter, he let go of Scorpius and strode past him into the dining room.
'James.'
The light through his window told him he had overslept, but he felt no push to get up. He had slept in to retrieve lost hours of sleep that had escaped him while he was out drinking with Finlay and their dorm-mates. His head was aching and he was still exhausted, and so he shut his eyes to will himself back to sleep.
'James.'
Only then did he realise that he hadn't woken of his own accord, and that he wasn't alone in his bedroom. He raised his head as slightly as possible to glance across at his bedroom door. Seeing who had woken him, he groaned and pulled his duvet over his head.
'James, please get up,' beseeched Albus. 'It's nearly one o'clock. Mum's gonna kill you.'
'It's Christmas,' he mumbled through his covers.
'What?'
'It's Christmas. It's a holy day. Leave me alone.'
'We're supposed to be at the Burrow in an hour.'
At this he sat up, glaring at his brother. 'Why? We're not going to eat until dinner.'
'It's not my choice. Mum wants us there.' Albus raised a hand and pointed towards the window. 'You have an owl.'
James glanced around. A shabby-looking screech owl was perched on the window sill, tapping at the glass, a yellowed slip of parchment attached to its leg. Albus moved took a step towards the window to let the owl inside.
'Ah!' cried James, aiming a finger at Albus, who came to a dead-halt. 'That's my letter. Stay away from it.'
'God, fine,' snapped Albus, and he turned away to leave the room, but James called him back.
'I heard you've been in Aberdeen.'
Albus looked back at him over his shoulder. He hesitated, as if trying to gauge whether he was being baited, before saying, 'I got back last night. You'd already gone out.
'You still a virgin, then?'
Albus's face reddened, but he ignored the question. 'If you stay in bed Mum's gonna blame me for not getting you up.'
'Did you shag her or not?'
Albus rolled his eyes and turned away once more.
'I'll take that as a no,' said James. 'Why? She's pretty good-looking. Legs far too nice for you, anyhow.'
Rounding on his brother, Albus growled, 'Can you not talk about her like that?'
'Why? Do you love her, Ducky?'
'Fuck off, James.'
Albus, scowling, turned away once more. This time James allowed him to go, listening to his footsteps fade away, before he slammed his bedroom door shut with a flick of his wand. He pulled himself out of bed and crossed to the window, pulling it open to retrieve the letter. The owl took off into the grey sky.
He knew what it was without opening it, and so he took the time to roll himself a cigarette. He left the window open despite the cold; he was sure his mother was aware of his habit, but he wasn't going to invite a row by filling his bedroom with smoke. Inhaling deeply, he gazed out into the snow-covered street. Hecate Hall had been built before the village stretched out this far, when the land was still forest. The manor now sat on the outskirts of town, but the expansion of the village made the street no more interesting.
He smoked half his cigarette before he picked up the letter and tore it open.
Jim,
Ten tonight, usual place
M. Fletcher
Most meals in Malfoy Manor were conducted in relative silence. There was a polite enquiry here or there, but they were dominated by the sound of silver knives against china plates and mead bottles being poured into goblets. In other years, when his mother's side of the family joined them, Christmas was far more tolerable. This year's exclusion of the Greengrasses had been orchestrated by his father for, as he insisted, Narcissa's sake.
By the time they had made it to the third course, Scorpius was itching to retreat to his bedroom.
'And how are you finding the Ordinary Wizarding Levels, darling?' Narcissa croaked from across the table.
'Yeah, fine.'
'And what classes did you choose to continue with?'
'Muggle studies and arithmancy.'
His father looked at him as Narcissa set down her glass of mead. 'Oh, dear,' she said. 'It's such a shame Mr Rowle hasn't been able to have Muggle studies made non-compulsory. It would be much more beneficial for you to have a choice of subjects.'
'It's only compulsory until third year,' said Scorpius.
'Mother, would you care for another mead?' asked Draco.
Narcissa appeared not to hear him. She was frowning, apparently deep in thought, before she said matter-of-factly, 'I must say, I'm very happy that we have that Mr Rowle there to look out for us. I feel a lot safer knowing we have the curfew in place.'
'When was the last time you went to Diagon Alley?' asked Scorpius, innocently as he could.
Draco cast him a sharp look before saying briskly, 'Yes, Mother, I agree. But you needn't worry about any of that. You know the papers blow it out of proportion. Astoria, perhaps it's time for pudding?'
'Oh, yes, I'll let the elves know,' said Astoria brightly, and she rose from her chair. 'Narcissa, would you like another sherry?'
'But, Draco, you must be worried,' continued Narcissa determinedly. 'With all the nonsense they've been reporting about you, and that fool Harry Potter treating you as a suspect...'
Draco tried to appear unbothered, though Scorpius could see him frowning. He watch as his father swirled his glass of mead, staring into its depths. 'I'm not concerned,' said Draco.
'We mustn't underestimate these things. You know how Muggle-borns can behave towards us.'
Draco said nothing and Astoria, looking between her husband and mother-in-law, dropped back down into her seat. She stretched her arm across the table to take her husband's hand.
'Well, actually, Narcissa,' said Astoria slowly, 'the both of us have had other things to think about.'
There was something in her voice that caught Scorpius's attention. It was excited, almost childish. His eyes darted across to his parents. His mother was smiling, his father was not; instead he was gazing at his wife with something akin to warning, as if somehow trying to communicate with her in silence. He was evidently unsuccessful, as Astoria continued.
'We have big news,' she said in the same giddy trill. 'You know after what happened in August I've been seeing a very good healer at St Mungo's.'
Something sharp prickled in Scorpius's throat.
'Oh, is that still going on?' said Narcissa.
Astoria seemed unable to contain her smile. 'Well, I went back last week, and they confirmed that the treatment's been working, and we're going to have a baby.'
Something dark and awful swooped down upon Scorpius. He had no words as he watched Narcissa gasp and get to her feet. She enveloped Draco in her arms, before moving onto kiss Astoria's cheeks. Scorpius's eyes were fixed upon his father, who was forcing a smile, as Astoria trilled with joy. Narcissa asked the terrible questions about due-dates and names and healers. Astoria suggested champagne for the others, and Narcissa agreed, and Draco called to the elves in the kitchen to retrieve it.
'Scorpius, will you have a glass?' chirped Astoria, once Dinny had delivered a bottle of Blanc De Noirs.
He knew this warranted a response. He knew his mother was looking at him, wanting some gesture of blessing. His mind was whirring too quickly to think of a reply; he was wondering how long his mother had known that she was pregnant, wondering what the healers had told her, wondering why he didn't guess when his mother declined wine with dinner, wondering how many galleons a bottle of champagne like that had cost.
'I think he can have one,' said Draco matter-of-factly. 'For a special occasion.'
Scorpius said nothing as he watched his mother fill a champagne flute and place it before him. She brushed her hand over his shoulder as she did so, softly and warmly. He couldn't be angry with her, and yet what was he supposed to do with all the fury surging through him?
'We should toast,' declared Narcissa, once she and Draco had been given a glass each. 'To this wonderful news, and to Astoria's health.'
They chinked glasses, Astoria substituting water, and drank. Scorpius's head was full of the very similar toast they had made in June.
'If only your father was here,' said Narcissa, suddenly turning solemn. 'He would be so proud of you, Draco.'
Scorpius's could feel his hand shaking as raised the glass to his lips.
Not again, he pleaded in silence. Please not again.
The house was not the same as it had been in his youth, but it was a very good reproduction. In 1998, when the Death Eaters had discovered Ron had been with him rather than ill in the attic, the house had been burned to the ground, and rebuilt again along with the rest of the country. It had been replicated as best as possible, even though the seven stories made to accommodate the children were no longer necessary.
The tiny dining room had been retained, perhaps against better judgement. It had struggled accommodating the Weasleys, himself, and Hermione back in their school days, and was now at breaking point with the addition of twelve grandchildren and three extra in-laws.
'Dubrovnik,' said Fred from across the table. 'You've got to see Dubrovnik.'
James was watching his cousin like he was witnessing a prophet preaching. Fred and his girlfriend had returned from Europe the previous week, both looking lean, dishevelled, and unprepared to back home. He was speaking with a kind of tired drawl; calm and advisory and not something James could ever achieve, though Harry knew that was what he longed for – to disappear away from himself and Ginny and the rest of the family. To retreat to somewhere abroad where he would be foreign and strange and unknown and do things that Harry didn't want to think about.
'Harry, dear, I'm going to have to ask you to move – you're right in the doorway.'
Harry looked around to see his mother-in-law hovering behind him, carrying a large plate of mashed potato. Ron stood beside her, holding a tray on which an enormous roast lamb sat. Harry apologised and shuffled out of the way, allowing Molly and Ron past to deposit the plates of food on the dining room table. There was a collective twittering around the table as family members offered up their praise and thanks.
'Shall I carve?' asked Arthur, gesturing towards the roast lamb.
'Arthur, we can't, Vicky and Teddy aren't here yet.'
'They should 'ave been here by now,' said Fleur with a frown. 'Dommy, did she tell you she would be late?'
'Why would she tell me?' grumbled Dominique. Fleur didn't bother replying, and instead asked the same question of Louis, who said he didn't know.
'They won't mind,' said Bill. 'Come on, let's start.'
Molly and Ron took a seat beside their respective partners, and Harry followed by sitting down on Ron's other side. Ginny was across the table, talking to Audrey and Lucy. The room was so full of people and noise that it was hard to discern what the three women were talking about, but Lucy seemed to be doing most of the talking.
'Potatoes, Harry?' asked Molly over the noise.
Harry thanked her and took the offered bowl, before passing it down the table to Xan.
'The food looks great, you two,' Harry said to Molly and Ron.
'Oh, it's nothing, dear,' said Molly. 'Have as much as you like. You're looking thin again. Ginny tells me you've been working too much.'
Ron saved him from thinking of a reply. 'It's not like he gets much of a say in the matter, Mum.'
'But surely,' said Molly, casting a sideways glance towards Hermione, 'even the aurors should get some time off at Christmas…'
'He has time off,' said Ron, now jumping to Hermione's aid. 'He's just on call. You want Diagon Alley to get blown up and the investigation to put on hold until January?'
'Oh, Ron, stop,' scolded Hermione, though Harry noticed her give his arm a thankful pat.
'But you have the kids home for so little time,' insisted Molly. 'Surely you want to spend as much time with them as you could?'
Harry didn't have a reply. Around the table, each of his children were occupied. Lily was giggling with Xan and Louis, about what he didn't know. Albus was talking animatedly to Rose, who looked bored, which made Harry certain he was relaying her on the details of his trip to Aberdeen (something, of course, he had not done for his parents). James was barraging Fred with questions about where to find the cheapest ale in Eastern Europe. He wasn't sure how to tell Molly that he didn't think his children had much time for him.
Thankfully, however, Molly's attention was demanded by noise from the kitchen as the backdoor was thrown open. Teddy's voice called into the house, and from around the table the rest of the family called back. Teddy and Victoire appeared in the doorway, clinging to each other, their faces pink from the cold.
'Sorry we're late,' Teddy offered to the room. 'Got held up.'
'Oh, don't be sorry, Teddy, it's not a problem,' Molly assured them, rising from her seat to kiss their cheeks. 'Sit down, sit down. You both look frozen.'
Victoire was giggling as Molly conjured up seats for them. The couple refused to let go of each other as they squeezed into their seats beside Harry. Teddy poured them both glasses of mead with only one hand, as the other was busy clutching Victoire. Very vaguely, Harry could remember when himself and Ginny looked like that.
'What kept you two?' asked Fleur from across the table.
'Oh, let's not hound them,' said Molly affectionately. 'I'm just glad you both made it.'
'We were busy,' said Victoire, smiling. Across the table Dominique was looking repulsed. Victoire seemed not to notice; her eyes were fixed upon Teddy.
'Andromeda couldn't make it, Teddy?' asked Arthur, passing around the plate of potatoes.
'Afraid not,' said Teddy. 'Thought she ought to stay at home with Narcissa.'
'Ah, of course,' said Audrey. 'Poor thing.'
Very few people around the table appeared to share in this sympathy; George scoffed audibly. Conversation broke out again and people returned to their food, no longer wanting part of the conversation. Harry remembered, before his children were born, his family had relished somewhat in post-war gossip when it was in regards to the Malfoys; now it was nothing more than exhausting.
'You both are very good, going to visit the two of them today,' Molly said to Victoire and Teddy.
'Oh, that's not where we were,' replied Victoire.
'Vicky, have some mead,' said Teddy.
Victoire accepted the glass of mead he offered her and inclined to kiss his cheek in thanks.
'Oh my god,' said Xan loudly from across the table. 'Vicky, what is that thing on your finger?'
The conversation died once more as eyes snapped around to look at Victoire. Lily shrieked. Albus dropped his fork. Fleur clapped her hand to her mouth. Molly's eyes immediately filled with tears.
'Teddy, you idiot!' cried Louis.
The hand with which Victoire had accepted the mead was adorned with a glittering, white diamond. Teddy looked somewhat abashed, but Victoire raised up the hand, inspecting the ring, as if she had only just noticed it. She was very good at this look, Harry knew; this clueless sort of teasing, though she, of course, had been hoping for someone to notice.
There was a flurry of movement from all around the table as people got to their feet to envelop the couple. Harry was very nearly knocked out of his seat as Fleur swooped upon her daughter, pulling her into a hug, before grabbing hold of Teddy and kissing both his cheeks.
'I wanted to ask you first,' Teddy said to Bill as the latter pulled the former into a hug. 'We were going to wait until after dinner-'
'Oh, stop it, Teddy,' said Victoire, giving his arm a light slap. 'As if he was going to say no!'
'Drinks!' was apparently the only thing Molly could manage to say. 'Arthur, go fetch the mead! The good mead, the nice mead-'
'You don't serve us the nice mead, Gran?' asked James. 'Only when these idiots come over?'
Ginny looked up from inspecting Victoire's ring to say to James, 'Eat before you have another glass.'
'I've only had one, Ginny.'
Ginny looked unconvinced, but she refrained from protesting further when Arthur returned with a bottle of mead and made a rotation of the room, refilling the glasses.
'Arthur, just half a glass for her, please,' said Hermione, when he reached Rose.
Rose rolled her eyes. 'Why?'
'Because we let you have one when we arrived.'
'I'm not going to die from two glasses of mead.'
Hermione dismissed the topic by turning to Victoire and Teddy and asking about wedding plans. Rose accepted her half-glass of mead with an unhappy thank you. Once everyone's glass had been refilled, cheers had been said, and glasses had been chinked in celebration, they returned to their food.
'So, Teddy,' said Audrey, 'tell us how you asked.'
Teddy smiled, though Harry could see the discomfort in his dark eyes. This was unlike Teddy, Harry thought; he was very rarely bashful.
How would you know? he asked himself, suddenly vicious. How do you know what he's like anymore?
'Oh, he was very sweet,' said Victoire, when Teddy didn't answer. 'He was so nervous. We were at his place last night, and his flat mates were out, and I could tell he wanted to tell me something, but he didn't know how…'
As Victoire continued, Harry tried to tell himself not to feel guilty. Teddy had his own life now: he was twenty-three; he had friends and a partner and a flat and a life that Harry wasn't part of. He hadn't truly been part of his godson's life in years, and soon he would find himself in the same predicament with his own children.
Harry watched Teddy eating his dinner as well as he could with only one hand; the other was still interlaced with Victoire's. Victoire wasn't even attempting to eat; she was too busy gesticulating with her free hand, recounting the story of their how Teddy proposed. Her ring glittered as she brandished her wine glass, sending glittering light dancing against the family photos on the wall.
'It's a nice ring,' Harry said to Teddy.
'It was my mum's,' said Teddy. 'Nan told me it was Dad's grandmother's before hers. Nan was saving it for me.'
Harry had nothing to say to this, and so he nodded. He drank his mead before asking, 'How's Andromeda?'
'Yeah, good,' said Teddy, and he grinned. 'Happy about the wedding.'
'I haven't seen to her in a while,' said Harry. 'You and she and Victoire should come round for dinner. To celebrate.'
Teddy cocked an eyebrow. 'Can you fit us into your busy schedule?'
Teddy said this with a smile, no accusation in his voice, though Harry still felt a pang of shame. 'Well, it's not every day you get engaged.'
'If I knew you'd make some time for me I would have asked Vicky years ago.'
'How long have you been planning to ask?'
Teddy looked bashful again. 'I didn't plan, I just sort of – did it.'
'That's very like you.'
'Pretty much. Nan gave me the ring when Vicky finished school.'
'That long ago?'
'Yeah, and I just laughed. I told her not to get ahead of herself but… You know. I would have been pretty thick if I never asked, don't you think?'
Teddy grinned. He somehow looked younger than he had in a long time. It occurred to Harry that he should say something better; something bigger. Something about Teddy's parents or grandfather or how it had felt when Harry had watched him board the Hogwarts Express for the first time, but all of these things seemed too immense to be expressed aloud.
'I'd say so, yes,' was all he could say.
Teddy smiled again and picked up his fork, returning to his meal. For whatever reason Harry was finding it hard to look at him, and so he turned away to watch Ginny from across the table. She caught his eyes when he turned to her and he knew she had been listening to him and Teddy talking. She smiled when their eyes met; it wasn't a smile meant for him, but rather one of commendation for Teddy. She then turned away to speak to Angelina, but Harry found he didn't want to stop looking at her.
She had never had an engagement ring; she had told him she didn't need one. He had asked her to marry him as they lay on a mattress on the floor of Grimmauld Place. It was three weeks after the war had ended and she had laughed and asked him if he was serious. He had told her he was and she had told him she would. There wasn't much more to say to each other after that.
'Harry, dear, are you finished?'
He looked up. Molly was standing over him, levitating a stack of dirty plates over her shoulder. He thanked her and she took his plate. A few minutes later Molly returned from the kitchen with an enormous plum pudding. He realised he had no interest in eating, and instead reached for another glass of mead.
'Actually, Gran, that was delicious,' he heard James saying from across the table, 'but I'll have to decline. I have another engagement.'
Ginny didn't miss this, and she said sharply, 'Another engagement? James, it's Christmas dinner.'
But as the rest of the table helped themselves to pudding, James was already getting to his feet. Ginny looked around at her husband. Harry knew this was his queue to intervene.
'James,' he said, 'where else do you have to be?'
'I don't have to be anywhere. I go where I please, Harry.'
'And where is it that you please?'
'Lee and Alicia are away. We have to capitalise on the opportunity while we can.'
'You're going to Finlay's again?' sighed Ginny. 'You saw him last night. Isn't he sick of you?'
'Ginny, it's Christmas. Would you have him spend it alone?'
'He's very welcome here, of course,' offered Molly, and Arthur nodded in agreement.
'You're too sweet, Gran,' said James. 'But I did promise I'd go to his place.'
Harry could see Ginny eyeing her son venomously as he stooped to kiss both of his grandparents goodbye. Harry knew, had they not been in the company of others, Ginny wouldn't have let it rest so easily, but as it was she said to her son, 'If the Jordan's house isn't anything but immaculate when they get back, don't think I won't tell them you're responsible.'
'Noted,' said James, and he kissed her cheek.
Harry watched him make a round of the table, bidding goodbye to the rest of the family, before he reached Teddy and Victoire. James clapped Teddy heavily on the shoulder. 'I'm sorry, you two. My deepest condolences. You were both so young.'
Victoire laughed. 'James, please. I know you're a romantic at heart.'
'I know. I just always thought Teddy could do better.'
Smiling, Victoire gave her cousin's hand a smack before she gave him a hug. 'Give my love to Finlay.'
'I don't think it will mean the same coming from me. Night, Harry.'
'Get the Knight bus home if you're drinking,' Harry replied.
'Where's the fun in that?'
'James.'
'Harry.'
Harry sighed. 'Leave before I stop you.'
'Good luck,' said James, before he raised his arm to the room. 'Bye, you lot.'
There was a chorus of goodbyes and wishes of Merry Christmas from around the table. James left the room, conversation resumed, and the backdoor slammed shut. Harry listened, very carefully, for the sound of James disapparating, before he refilled his glass of mead.
Draco Malfoy was a strange man. Scorpius was sure there was nobody who would refute that. Most people of his age were strange, Scorpius knew; it was a given for people who had been at Hogwarts in 1998, but surely his father surpassed them all in his strangeness.
The things his father chose to pick him up on astounded him. His convictions checked all the boxes for conservative so thoroughly that had it been anyone other than his father, Scorpius may have suspected he was doing so satirically.
He rolled over in bed to face the mirror on his dresser. Sitting up, he inspected his overgrown fringe, pushing it back from his eyes. Who in the world other than his father had enough free time to worry about the length of someone's hair?
There was an overdue rap on the door. Draco had apparently been waiting until his mother was asleep, but Scorpius knew it was coming; he had behaved unduly in front of his grandmother, and it wasn't going to be ignored.
'Yes?' he called across the room.
The door cracked open to reveal his mother's bright, olive face. He immediately regretted his coldness and swung his legs over the side of the bed. 'Mum.'
'Hello, darling.'
'Are you alright?'
'Oh, yes, darling, why wouldn't I be?' He chose not to answer and Astoria crossed the room to lower herself into the dragon-hide armchair that sat beside his bed. 'Did you have a good Christmas?'
'Course. Did you?'
'Yes, it was just lovely.'
Scorpius felt the tiniest twinge of irritation. Just as he marvelled at how his father had enough spare time to be so thoroughly critical, he could not fathom how his mother had enough patience (or perhaps it was naivety) to be so cheerful under very nearly any circumstances.
He looked back to the boy in the mirror and told himself don't do it.
He told himself this often, and it was a matter of circumstance how it was to be translated. It could mean to hold his tongue around his dorm-mates. It could mean not to seek out Zaina when he was in the mood to argue. It could mean not to turn on his heel and tell James Potter and Finlay Jordan or whoever else was staring at him on that particular morning to fuck off.
More often than not, it meant snapping at his father; it meant speaking all the things he could never speak of to his parents; it meant abandoning the carefully orchestrated façade of calm he had cultivated.
'When did you find out?' he asked.
He had done it.
'About what, darling?' replied Astoria.
'That you were pregnant again.'
Oh.' Astoria paused, as if to try to remember, but Scorpius knew she was choosing her words carefully. 'A few weeks ago.'
'And you were … waiting to tell us at Christmas?'
He hadn't intended for it, but by the look on his mother's face he knew his voice had betrayed his dismay. She gave him a sorry look. 'I wanted to tell you sooner of course, darling. But after what happened last time we wanted to wait until we knew everything was okay.'
'So, everything's okay?'
'Of course. The baby's very healthy.'
He couldn't look at her for the next question, and so he raised his eyes gaze to the cornices on the ceiling. 'What about you, though?'
'What do you mean?'
'I mean… you're healthy, right?'
'Oh, of course, darling. You don't have to worry about that. The healer's kept a very close eye on me, and they let me know when it would be safe to start trying again.'
'But they said that last time, and then you got really sick. I thought you weren't going to try again after what happened in August. You said you didn't want to.'
'Scorpius,' said Astoria slowly, 'I shouldn't have said that. I was upset – it's very hard, you see. It happened so suddenly – I wasn't expecting it. I didn't think I could go through that again, but then with a little time and perspective… your father and decided it was something we really wanted. It was something we had to do. We've always wanted more children – we always intended for you to have siblings, and now you finally can.'
'So, you and Dad decided?' said Scorpius. 'Or was it just him?'
'Scorpius…'
'I just don't see – I don't see why it matters so much. Why do you want more kids?'
'Scorpius, you know you're everything I've ever wanted. Please don't doubt that.'
He found it hard to meet her eyes and so he looked away. He felt very young. 'It's not about that.'
'But it's true, Scorpius.'
'I'm not a kid, Mum. I'm not jealous, I'm … I'm going to go for a walk.'
'Darling, it's freezing outside.'
'I told Zaina I'd go see her.'
'Now? But it's late, darling –'
'She'll be waiting. I have to go.'
His mother protested no further and he left his bedroom. The manor was silent as he trailed down the stairs to the ground floor. He knew, hidden from view, the elves were still working, cleaning up the remnants of the day's festivities. He hoped they believed their masters had enjoyed it; he hoped they didn't know their hard work was for nothing.
He didn't have a coat, but it didn't deter him. He eased open the manor's front doors and stepped outside. The cold was a welcome relief; it seemed to slow him down somehow. He shut his eyes, breathing deeply, willing himself to be calm. He didn't want to upset his mother.
There were footsteps behind him and he looked around. His father stood in the doorway, frowning, his traveller's cloak wrapped around him. 'What are you doing out here?'
'Going to see Zaina,' said Scorpius. In truth, he had no intention of going to see her; he had only wanted to escape his mother, but maintaining the lie seemed easier than explaining this to his father. 'Where are you going?'
'It's cold out. You can't go all the way to Norfolk. Your mother will want you in.'
'Won't she want you in, too?'
Draco didn't answer. Scorpius knew he hadn't intended to meet any opposition on the way out of the house. His father seemed to decide upon confronting this opposition by changing the conversation.
'How is Zaina?' he asked.
'Fine.'
'She's a nice girl,' said Draco. 'I like her father. He's a good man.'
He doesn't think the same of you.
When Scorpius offered no reply, Draco stepped forward, gazing out into the garden. 'I'm very glad you have her in your house,' said Draco. 'It's good to have old families still at the school.'
'Why are you doing this?'
Draco looked at him. 'Doing what, Scorpius?'
'To Mum. Why are you making her do this?'
'I don't know what you're talking about.'
'Yes, you do,' said Scorpius. He could feel himself shaking, but it wasn't from the cold. 'Don't you think I realise what happened in August? She was sick – really sick. Neither of you bothered to tell me, but I knew.'
'Scorpius, you've misunderstood. You mother is in perfect health-'
'You've been doing this for so long,' insisted Scorpius. 'Ever since I was little. When are you going to give up?'
'Scorpius, I…' Draco's voice seemed to fail him. Once again, Scorpius could see him arguing with himself internally, before he settled on a different approach. 'You were being rude tonight, Scorpius. You didn't congratulate your mother, and not to mention the robes – '
'Oh, the robes,' snapped Scorpius. 'What does it matter?'
'It's Christmas. Things like this matter to your grandmother. It's polite. It's tradition.'
'Yeah, tradition's so important she didn't even bother with a funeral for Lucius.'
Draco looked taken aback, before he recovered his anger. 'You cannot talk that way about your grandmother. You have no idea what it was like for her. She wanted a small memorial.'
'So small I didn't even get taken out of school?' snapped Scorpius. 'You don't care. You just want people to – to look at you and think, Draco Malfoy with his perfect home and perfect wife and all their perfect children.'
'I will not let you talk to me like this.'
'Do you care that she nearly died?' he demanded. 'Don't pretend that's not true. I'm not an idiot – I know what happened. All because of the miscarriage, and now you're making her do it all again. Just so you can have an heir who fits your expectations better than I do.'
Draco fastened his cloak and turned towards the steps. 'You are being a child, Scorpius. Go to bed.'
'Where are you going?' Scorpius demanded.
'Go to bed.'
He stepped in front of his father. 'Where are you going?'
'To see my father.'
This shut him up. He didn't know how to argue with that, and so he stepped aside. He didn't know where this referred to; he didn't know where is grandfather was buried. He hadn't bothered to ask; he didn't want to know, and his father apparently didn't want to talk about it. This was the first reference his father had made to such a grave in Scorpius's presence.
'I want you in bed when I return,' Draco warned him, 'and I don't want any more talk of this rubbish.'
'I just don't know how she feels.'
'What's there to know?'
'Well, like, does she – does she like me?'
'Check.'
'But how do I check?'
'Check, Al. Move your king.'.
'Oh, right. Sorry.'
After dinner the family had spread out throughout the house or ventured out into the chilly garden to play Quidditch. Rose and Albus had tucked themselves away in the breakfast nook with their grandfather's chess board. Rose was close to her third win.
Albus reached for his king, tilting it back and forth, torn between moves. Frowning, he looked back at Rose.
'I just don't know.'
'Put it next to the knight.
'No, I mean – about Mei.'
'Oh, please, Al. Can we stop talking about this? She likes you, okay? She wouldn't have invited you to Aberdeen if she didn't like you.'
'But we didn't like – share a room.'
'Did you want to?'
'Well, before I got there I was kind of hoping we wouldn't. I was really nervous. But once we got there and I relaxed a bit I started to think that I – that it would might have been nice.'
'Has she slept with anyone before?'
'I don't know.'
'You haven't asked her?'
'No… Should I?'
'You've never talked about that with her?'
'Well, no but – but she told me I'm the first boy she's brought home, so I guess that means she hasn't, right?'
Rose shrugged. 'Hopefully.'
'Hopefully?'
'Are you going to make your move?'
'Why hopefully?'
'Only because then she won't have very high expectations.'
'God, thanks.'
'What? It's not an insult. I'm just being realistic. It's never going to be good the first time.'
Albus gave a groan. 'I should have just done it with Cassie … gotten it out of the way.'
'Just move it to the left, would you?'
'I thought I liked Cassie so much, because I was always so scared around her – and now I've realised I felt like that because I didn't even know her. And now I like Mei like – like properly, and I don't know how to do anything, and I wasted my chance with Cassie-'
'Cassie's not a doll for you to practice with,' said Rose sharply.
'I didn't mean it like that! I only mean – I like Mei and I don't want to ruin it.'
'It takes more than bad sex to ruin a relationship.'
'How would you know?'
'Everyone knows that except you. You're making too much of a big deal out of it.'
'You've never dated anyone,' he reminded her irritably, 'and you've only had sex once.'
Rose scowled and then recovered. 'Still more than you.'
They were glaring each other when the door opened and Teddy stuck his head in. If Teddy sensed the tension between them, he gave no indication. 'Molly wants everyone in the living room. We're having tea and Schnaps. Well, you two aren't having Schnaps, because you're babies.'
Rose and Albus rolled their eyes in unison as Teddy went to the back door to call in Xan, Fred, Louis and Hugo from their Quidditch game. They made there way to the noisy living room. There seemed to be three conversations being conducted in isolation, half-yelled over the sound of Celestina Warbeck playing on the wireless. One conversation about Quidditch, one about the Ministry, and one about Victoire's ring. Not wanting any part in any one of the three, Albus and Rose settled themselves down on the floor in the corner.
The room got considerably louder when the Teddy returned with Xan, Fred, Louis and Hugo in tow, bickering about the game they had braved the cold and the darkness to conduct. Teddy stood in the doorway, scanning the room. Seeing that Albus and Rose were the only two not immersed in conversation, he approached and asked, 'Where'd Dom gotten to?'
They told him they didn't know.
Teddy looked more perturbed than such a response warranted. He frowned at them. 'I told Molly I'd get everybody in. Now I'm going to be a liar. Where'd she go after dinner?'
They again told him they didn't know. He looked more worried still, before he left the room again. The door opened once more to permit Molly, Audrey and Lucy, each carrying trays of drinks and passing them around the room.
'I can't wait until I can apparate,' said Rose, quietly enough so only Albus could hear. 'James and Dom get to sneak off. Why can't we?'
'Remember how fun this used to be?' Albus whispered back to her. 'It was the most exciting day of the year. When did that change?'
'Anyone over the age of twelve who gets excited about Christmas needs to reassess their life.'
'Maybe if Teddy and Victoire have kids it will make it seem less… pointless.'
'Don't joke. Toddlers would make it worse.'
'Tea?'
They looked up at Lucy who had stopped before them, brandishing two tea cups at them.
'Where'd the Schnaps get to?' asked Rose.
Lucy glared at her. 'Your mum said –'
'I know what she said, Lucy. It was a joke. Thanks for the tea.'
The seat Lucy had had beside her sister had been usurped by Louis while she passed around the tea, and so the head girl sufficed to sit down on the floor with Rose and Albus. They sipped their tea in silence, listening to Celestina Warbeck crooning from the wireless.
'Oh, by the way, Rose,' said Lucy, accepting a mince tart from a plate Bill was offering around, 'I've had to rearrange the patrol schedule. Mei doesn't want to be paired with you anymore.'
Albus seemed to take this news much more badly than Rose did; he gagged on is mince tart while Rose merely shrugged and sipped her tea.
'Fine,' she said. 'Who am I with, then?'
'Well, it's hard finding someone to switch her with. It would be much easier if you two could just get along, but I suppose I can't blame her.' Lucy said this thoughtfully, as if she was completely unaware that had she been talking to anyone but Rose, this could have been a bruising statement. 'I've had to find someone with a similar schedule to you, so the only person I could think of was Scorpius Malfoy.'
It was Rose's turn to gag. She choked on her tea, spluttering into her mug, and Albus gave her a heavy whack on the back.
'Malfoy?' croaked Rose once she had recovered. 'I can't patrol with Malfoy.'
'Why not?'
'He's a prat, Lucy.'
'Well, it's only one night a week and there's no one else you can be paired with.'
'Lucy, I refuse,' said Rose firmly. 'I just refuse. I am not spending my evenings with that arse.'
'Well, take it up with Neville then. It's not my fault Mei Zhao can't stand you,' Lucy told her irritably, and to put the matter to rest she got to her feet and moved across the room to inspect Victoire's ring.
'I don't believe this,' hissed Rose.
'Now you can keep an eye on him, Rosie,' chortled Albus. The look Rose gave him wiped any hint of a smile from his face. He sipped his tea hurriedly.
'I'm going to Neville,' said Rose. 'I can't spend a whole term with that idiot.'
'It's only one night a week?'
'How would you like to spend one night a week with Emory Vane?'
'Well, not much but… but Malfoy isn't as bad as Vane.'
'And what are you basing that on?'
'Well, just… Malfoy's… not so mean.'
'Mean? Who cares if he's mean. He's an arrogant, self-assured, snobby little brat.'
Albus laughed again. 'That's funny.'
'It is not funny.'
'Well, it kind of it. You always used to tell me I had no reason to hate him, and that I didn't even know him, and now that we know him it's you that hates him. Don't you think it's kind of funny?'
'No, I don't.'
'Come on, Rosie. If it was happening to anyone else you'd find it funny.'
Rose watched him sipping his tea, before saying very quietly, 'I hope you die a virgin.'
Albus slopped tea down his shirt in surprise. He glanced hurriedly around to check nobody was listening, before he rounded on Rose to retort, but he was never given the chance. There was a chorus of gasps and shrieks around the room and Albus and Rose spun in their places to look around. A silver lynx had materialised in the centre of the room, poised in mid-air. It's mouth opened and the voice of the Minister for Magic echoed around the room.
'Harry, Hermione – there's been an attack on the Ministry. Seven confirmed dead, maybe more. Come immediately.'
There were more gasps, more shrieks. Somebody dropped their tea cup and it shattered to the floor. Harry got to his feet, and then Hermione, and then the room was full of movement.
Nobody had noticed her slip away from dinner. Nobody noticed her do anything. Nobody ever had and nobody ever would. She was a figure in the background of a photo. She was what people caught in the corner of their eye and thought it to be Victoire before they looked at her properly. That's not Victoire. She's nothing like Victoire.
What misdeeds had she committed in another life to land her here, in the old bathroom with nothing but a staircase guarding her from those people she called her family? Those people who didn't love her and couldn't love her because she wasn't like them – she was different; she was diminished; she was lacking. She was not welcome, she was not missed, she was not Victoire.
You'll be like her one day, she used to tell herself, but when? When will a boy love her? She must try harder; she must be stronger; she must be better, softer, kinder. She must be different.
She raised a hand to the pendant around her nick. It was making her feel ill. How stupid and happy and foolish she had been when he had given it to her. How pathetic being hopeful was. Had she really believed he would look at her when Victoire was in the foreground? Would anyone ever look at her when Victoire within reach?
There was a knock at the door and she pulled herself back down to earth. Somebody had finally noticed she was missing – or perhaps they just needed to use the bathroom. She had to compose herself; to bite it back like she always did. She turned on the bathroom tap and steadied her voice. 'Just a minute.'
'There's tea downstairs if you want it.'
She hadn't heard Teddy's voice sound like that before. It was strange, and distant, and inexplicably sad. She wanted to look at him; to see how he looked when his voice sounded like that. She turned off the tap and opened the door.
She hadn't expected to find him so close. He was right in the doorway, standing over her, his dark eyes fixed upon her. She couldn't remember ever being so close to him. It was too much to bear, and so she took a step back.
He didn't look bothered, nor did he look surprised. He continued to stare at her, and without knowing how she knew it she said to herself, He's not happy.
'I wanted to tell you,' he said to her, his voice low enough to ensure it wouldn't travel downstairs. 'I really wanted to.'
A smarter person than herself would have pretended not to know what this meant, but she had never been smart. 'Why didn't you?'
'I didn't know how.'
And suddenly there were tears in her eyes. There was no way to pretend she wasn't crying, and so she didn't fight to stop her voice breaking when she asked, 'Why'd you give me the necklace?'
He stared at her before giving his head a slow shake. 'I don't know.'
He stepped towards her and this time she held her ground. There was nothing to be afraid of anymore: there was no way to hide it anymore. His eyes stayed fixed on her and she raised her head to look up at him, and he was inches from her, and she willed it to happen, for what purpose she didn't know, but she knew it would hurt Victoire. Perhaps that would feel good; perhaps it would make it hurt less.
Perhaps Victoire didn't even need to know; it would be her secret and Teddy's secret. They would share something that Victoire would not, just as Victoire had shared a world and a life with Teddy that she herself knew nothing of, but she could take that life and walk into it right now if only she had the courage. She could feel his lips on hers if she had the courage, if she could lean into him, or he would lean into her, and she could touch him, and how would she kiss him, and what would it be like to kiss him, and was she going to find out?
But she shouldn't. She couldn't. She didn't want to. He was a stranger who loved beautiful women, a face across a crowded office, a laugh at the end of the dinner table that made her heart race.
She flinched away from him, and all at once it was broken. He was staring at her, bewildered, and then horrified, and then backing away, shaking his head in disbelief, realising what he had been about to do.
'I didn't…'
'I know,' she said.
'We didn't… I can't…'
'I know, Teddy.'
'Dom…'
They both jumped at the footsteps ascending the staircase. He took another step away from her, panicked, spinning in his place to see Victoire appear at the top of the stairs. She was shaking. Dominique's stomach turned – of course Victoire would know.
'Teddy,' she said to him.
'Vicky… I…'
'We have to go,' she said, and she grabbed his hand. 'There's been an attack.'
Teddy said nothing. He was gazing at Victoire in shock. 'An – what? What do you mean?'
'On the Ministry. Dad says we need to go home. They've stopped the Floo network. Dommy, come on.' And with her other hand she seized Dominique, leading them down the stairs to the sound of frantic footsteps.
Godric's Hollow was soft and still and silent. Snow drifted slowly onto their shoulders, bare tree branches grazed against rooftops. A long way in the distance, someone was playing Christmas carols with their window open. It was uneasy in its tranquillity, as if they had somehow stepped away from the rest of the world. Their hurried movements seemed intrusive against the peace of the village.
Ginny kept her hands clasped around their forearms as she steered them to the front door, forcing them inside and locking the door after them.
'Can we turn the radio on?' asked Lily.
'Should we go get James?' asked Albus.
Ginny turned to look at the pair of them. 'Go upstairs.'
'I want to hear what happened,' said Lily.
'What is James tries to Floo home and he can't?' said Albus.
'I sent him a Patronus,' said Ginny. 'He's safer staying at Finlay's.'
'We should be allowed to listen to the radio,' insisted Lily. 'You knew what was going on when you were my age.'
'No, I didn't.'
'But if there's a war starting –'
'Lily, that's ridiculous,' Ginny snapped. 'This isn't a war, this is – this is very sad. I just want us all to go to bed. Dad will tell you what happened in the morning.'
'He will not,' countered Lily. 'He never tells us anything.'
'I'll make sure he does this time.'
'No, you won't.'
'Lily, I promise I will,' said Ginny, and she raised her hand to her daughter's shoulder. 'But right now, I really want us to all to get some sleep.'
The pleading in his mother's voice made it impossible to argue further. Lily was frowning but she seemed convinced as she allowed her mother to take her hand and direct her towards the stairs. He knew she wanted to protest further, but she contained herself. He went to his bedroom without another word to them. He climbed into bed, still in his trousers and sweater, and turned off the light. He listened to Ginny and Lily talking in the next room, heard them whisper their goodnights to each other, before he heard Ginny's footsteps approaching his door. She cracked it open.
'You asleep?' she whispered through the darkness.
'Not yet.'
She paused in the doorway, silhouetted against the light in the passageway. 'Are you alright, Ducky?'
'Yeah, I'm fine. Are you?'
'Course,' she told him. 'Dad should be home soon.'
'Okay.'
She hesitated as if she wanted to say something, but she seemed to decide against it. 'Love you, Al.'
'Love you, too.'
She shut the door. He lay still, once again listening to her footsteps, waiting until he heard her reach her bedroom and shut the door. He reasoned twenty minutes would be enough time to allow his mother to fall asleep, or at the very least long enough for her to have given up listening for the sound of footsteps.
'We're going to have to tell them something soon.'
'They can wait.'
'Harry, they can't. If it looks like we're covering it up – '
'We're not covering it up. They haven't been dead an hour.'
Hermione was silent. He pretended not to see her wiping her eyes. He didn't want to comfort her – he didn't know how. In his head he was running over a list of names of the aurors who had been on duty that evening. He didn't have room to think of much.
The curse-breakers had been called in to assess the damage. They were stood at the mouth of the ruined atrium, working to clear the rubble. He had tried to help, but he had been shooed away.
'They haven't assessed the structural damage,' Dennis had informed him when he arrived. 'Leave it to the professionals. They'll let us go in when they know there'll be no further collapses.'
There had been twenty-five aurors on call that evening. Seven were dead; that was a fact. Eighteen more were trapped in the lower levels of the Ministry. Their families were waiting up on street level, barred from entering. He had been told it could take as long as twelve hours to inspect the rest of the building.
Movement behind him caused him to stir. He spun around, reaching for his wand, to find Kingsley gazing at him. Harry knew the look in his eyes; he was pitying him. His Deputy Ida Bones stood beside him, wearing her cloak over her nightgown and visibly trembling.
'I'm going to make a statement,' said Kingsley. 'Bring the press up to speed.'
Hermione nodded, but Kingsley's eyes were fixed on Harry.
'I want you to give the okay,' Kingsley said to him. 'They were your people.'
'There's no sense in waiting,' was all he could manage.
'What are you going to tell them?' asked Hermione.
'The truth,' said Kingsley. 'That there's been an attack on the Ministry. I'm not going to get into the habit of keeping things from people. That's not how it's going to work this time.'
'This time,' murmured Hermione, and Harry saw her eyes fill with tears once more.
'Rosie?'
'Yes?' she said over the music.
'Are you awake?'
It was a stupid question, but she decided not to tell him this. 'Yes.'
The door opened to reveal her brother. He was in his pyjamas and had tied his ringlets back from his face to sleep. He stood in the doorway looking at her, frowning and biting his lip, and he cast an appraising look around her bedroom. 'You haven't unpacked your trunk,' he concluded.
'We're only home for another week.'
This deepened Hugo's frown. He rested his head against the doorframe and folded his arms. 'What are you reading?'
'To the Lighthouse.'
'What's it about?'
'Nothing, really.'
'Do you want me to go away?'
'No, it really is about nothing. Come in if you want to.'
He didn't take much persuasion. He shut the door behind him and sat himself down at the foot of her bed, hugging his knees to his chest. She turned the page of her book, waiting for him to speak.
'Dad's sleeping,' he told her. 'He said we could listen to the Quidditch replay until I fell asleep, but I'm not tired.'
'Mmm.'
'Do you think Mum will be home soon?'
'Probably not.'
'What do you think happened?'
'Don't know.'
'Why do they want to attack the Ministry?'
'Not sure.'
'Do you think it was the same people who killed Gustav Gamp?' he asked her. 'And who vandalised Diagon Alley, and who set the fire in Hogsmeade…'
'I don't think anyone knows yet,' she told him as patiently as she could. 'But I'm sure when they find out it will be all over the Prophet.'
'Do you think Mum's in danger?'
'No, course not,' she said, much more certainly than she felt.
She knew this was what Hugo had been hoping to hear and so he gave a nod. 'Can I sit in here for a bit?'
'Yep.'
'Can I put the Quidditch on?'
She looked up at him. He was eyeing her wireless greedily. She very much wanted to say no, but she decided against it. 'Okay.'
He grinned broadly and slid from the foot of her bed to change the station. The music died away and the harsh rattle of a Quidditch match came on.
'Turn it down a bit,' she instructed.
'Sorry.' He obliged.
'Here,' she said, and she drew back the covers, shifting over in her bed to allow a space for him.
She knew he was pleased with his. He clambered in beside her and settled down against her pillow, turning on his side to gaze at the wireless as the Quidditch match muttered away. 'If I fall asleep in here, is that okay?' he asked her.
'Yeah.'
'Thanks, Rosie.'
It was one in the morning before the wireless had anything of substance to report. With the fire dancing in the hearth, he lay across the couch, staring at the ceiling. He wasn't sure what he was waiting for; whether it was for his father to return home, or whether it was word from James, or whether it was to hear an update from the radio. He only knew that to stay in his bedroom battling to fall asleep was futile, and so he had crept as quietly as he could downstairs to the living room and turned on the wireless.
'We've just been told the Minister's going to make a statement.'
Up until now, it had been nothing but speculation The Prophet reporters had been on the scene as soon as the Floo network went down, but they knew even less than he did. They had announced over the wireless that they had been barred from entering the Ministry and had been forced to conceal themselves on the Muggle street awaiting direction from the Ministry officials.
But now, all of a sudden, the Minister was going to be on air. He felt strangely guilty; his mother wanted him asleep. But no matter what she had told Lily, he knew that she and their father had no intention of relaying the truth. He would need to find out for himself.
There was the sound of static and movement on the other end of the wireless. He could hear reporters talking amongst themselves, hear the sound of many footsteps and many bodies jostling against each other, and then there was silence. Albus found himself holding his breath.
'Good evening,' came the voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt through the wireless. I'm sorry to have kept you waiting out in the cold. You will have noticed the Floo network has been suspended, but we have re-opened the lines now. I do appreciate the importance of making our knowledge available to the public as early as we can, and so for that I am grateful for your commitment.'
There was another silence. When Kingsley spoke again, his voice was as strong and calm as ever. 'I can confirm that there was an attack on the Ministry of Magic this evening. It appears the perpetrators forced their way into the atrium. There were twenty-five aurors in the building at the time – ten on the usual patrol shift and fifteen on call. I'm sorry to say all twenty-five have lost their lives.'
There was another silence. The Minister was choosing his words carefully; allowing listeners and reporters respite to take in what he was sayign before he continued. 'The exact nature of the attack is unknown at this point. We have aurors and curse-breakers investigating. For now all I can tell you is that we suspect the use of dark materials to break through the building's structure-'
Something changed in the Minister's voice. It distorted, then dropped out, and then static rang around the room. Albus sat up, panicked. There was something wrong with the transmission. Had there been another attack at the Ministry? If Kingsley was meeting with the reporters then surely his father was with him…
And then the static disappeared. There was silence, and then another voice spoke, but it was not the voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt. It echoed around the living room, clearer and sharper than Kingsley's. Albus knew immediately it was being transmitted from somewhere else; somewhere silent where there was no Ministry and no reporters.
'We interrupt your soon to be former Minister for this special announcement,' proclaimed the voice. It was deeper than a voice should be, and Albus knew magic was distorting it. 'While your Ministry scrambles to assure you that you are safe, let me make this clear: you are not safe. But, if you denounce the Minister and his regime, you have nothing to fear.'
Shacklebolt's Ministry protects the inherited class structure that has kept Muggle-borns marginalised for as long as our country has stood. We are the Reclamation Army and we declare the end of Shacklebolt's regime. We declare this by murdering Gustav Gamp. We declare this by burning Hogsmeade's monument to bigotry to the ground. And tonight we are declaring war against Ministry of Magic. We demand the dissolution of a Ministry that serves Purebloods and keeps Muggle-borns oppressed. You have been warned, Shacklebolt: more deaths will come.'
And then there was the screech of static and at once Kingsley Shacklebolt's voice returned as if there had been no interruption. He continued in his slow, calm, forceful proclamation.
'I'd like to offer my deepest condolences to the families of the aurors who lost their lives protecting out nation…'
It was almost like he had imagined it. It was almost as if he had conjured it in his head, but he knew that wasn't possible. The voice of the attacker was too real, too distinct, too ruthless. Albus felt ill. The Ministry was not yet aware their transmission had been hijacked. What else didn't they know?
'We believe the number of deaths indicate that the aurors on call came to the aid of those standing guard. They gave their lives to…'
Kingsley stopped. Albus looked at the wireless, his heart pounding. And then Kingsley continued, recovering. '…protect their fellows. And I'm sorry but that's all I have to say at this point. We're going to need you to clear the street…'
Kingsley's voice was suddenly drowned out as the reporters began to protest, bellowing their questions at the minister. Albus leant forward and turned the wireless off. He was plunged into silence, save for the fire crackling of the fire in the hearth. He drew in his breaths, short and laboured. Kingsley's haste to end his transmission meant that the Ministry had been made aware that their broadcast had been interrupted, but what hope did they have of finding who had hijacked the station?
He got to his feet. He couldn't sit still in longer. He couldn't think about any longer. He needed to move – he needed to think of something else. He went to the window to peer out into the garden. The snow was still falling, the tree branches still scraped against rooves. He shut his eyes, willing himself to stay calm.
'Albus?'
He jumped in his fright and spun in his place. There, in the fireplace, her head sitting in the middle of the flickering flames, was Mei. Her hair was pulled back from her face and she gazed up at him with wide, searching eyes.
'Mei.'
'Did I frighten you?'
He crossed over to the fireplace, dropping down onto the ground, lowering his voice. 'No, no, I just wasn't expecting it.'
'Were you listening to the radio?'
'Yeah, were you?'
She nodded. 'Mum and Adalric are asleep and I – I was hoping you were awake. I didn't mean to intrude.'
'You're not intruding,' he assured her. 'I'm glad you wanted to talk to me. I was just thinking how… how this is crazy. They – they said they were declaring war.'
Mei nodded, frowning in thought. 'I'm sure the Ministry will catch them.'
'You think so?'
'They must. Kingsley Shacklebolt is very competent.'
'Yeah, but – but they're obviously unprepared. I mean, they didn't even seem to realise the transmission had been intercepted until after it had dropped out.'
Mei's frown deepened. 'I trust the Ministry.'
'So do I – but… but they couldn't protect the aurors. How are they supposed to protect anyone else?'
Mei made to reply, but Albus threw out a hand to signal for her to be silent. He had heard movement from outside the living room door. 'I think my dad's home,' he whispered to her. 'I'm supposed to be in bed.'
'I'll go.'
'Yeah, but – but stay by the fire. I'll go check who it is and then I'll come back to say goodnight, okay?'
'Okay.' And her head disappeared from the flames.
Albus got to his feet and crossed the living room. He cracked open the door and the light from the fire bled into the foyer just well enough for him to see a figure ascending the stairs to the manor's second floor. In the darkness he couldn't make out the man's features, but by the haphazard way he had thrown his coat over his shoulders and by drunken way he walked, Albus recognised him as James.
'James,' he hissed across the foyer.
His brother appeared startled; James spun back around, peering through the darkness to the light of the living room. It seemed to take a moment for James to register what he was looking at. He raised a hand to tug his coat further around him. 'Al.'
Albus opened the door more fully and light bled into the foyer. James stood lopsidedly on the first step of the staircase; his face pale and his eyes unfocused from drinking ale. It occurred to Albus that James and Finlay would have had no reason to be listening to the radio.
'Did you hear what happened?' Albus asked.
James looked exhausted. He had his jacket thrown over his shoulders, not having bothered to pull it over his arms. His whole body was shaking from the cold. Albus wondered if he had managed to comprehend what he was being asked, until finally the older Potter shook his head.
'There was an attack on the Ministry.' Albus said this very quickly, as if that would help him not to think about what he was saying. 'Twenty-five aurors got killed.'
James's eyes widened. 'Dad-'
'No, Dad's fine,' Albus assured him breathlessly. 'But - but I was listening to the wireless, and the Minister was talking to reporters and then - all of a sudden the signal got taken over. By this voice - saying they were called the Reclamation Army, and the Ministry was protecting Purebloods, and that - that there'll be another war.'
James stared at him, the light of the fire flickering over his face. He adjusted himself, leaning all of his weight against the balustrade of the stairs, drawing his coat around his shoulders. 'Al,' he said slowly, 'I really want to sleep, okay?'
Albus stared up at his brother and shook his head. 'Did you hear what I just said?'
'Yeah.'
'Don't you get it?'
'I really, really don't want to talk right now, okay?' And he turned away.
Albus suddenly found himself flush with anger. He realised now this was what he had been waiting for; for James to return home. James had started up the stairs, slowly and timidly, focusing on every step he took. It was easy for Albus to step in front of him and block his path.
James looked up at him, confused. 'What, Al?'
'Where were you?'
'Just leave me alone, okay?'
'Tell me where you were.
'Just fuck off, Al, okay?'
James tried to sidestep him but his footing was too uneven. Albus stopped him easily, placing a hand on James's chest to force him back. James responded by raising one hand to give Albus a rough shove, pushing him aside, but Albus was determined. He grabbed hold of James's shoulder, pulling him back, and James gave a great yelp of pain.
Albus let go immediately. 'James…'
James stumbled away from him in an attempt to free himself, clutching his arm to his chest. His coat slid off his shoulders in his haste and James caught it awkwardly, throwing it back over him, but he wasn't quick enough; Albus saw clearly what he had been trying to conceal with his coat. His arm was bent in a way Albus didn't know arms could bend, his elbow inverted, bone protruding through his bloodied flesh.
Albus's stomach turned. He looked at his brother in horror to find him wearing very much the same look.
'James…' he said again.
'It's alright,' James told him, clutching his mangled arm to his chest. 'I'll fix it, just… just go away. Please.'
Albus shook his head. He could feel his trhroat burning as if he was going to cry, and he hated himself for it. 'Alright?' he said in a very small voice. 'It's not alright, James. What the fuck did you do?'
'Leave me alone, okay?'
It was only now that he could fully see the truth for himself. This was why he had been waiting for James; this was what he had been afraid of. When it had been a limp after the Hogsmeade fire, he had convinced himself not to think on it. He had been pretending he didn't know the truth, and he could no longer pretend. 'Why – how…'
'Al…'
'Don't,' he spat, and he took a step away. 'I can't – you can't-'
'Keep you voice down,' James demanded. 'You're freaking out. It's fine. I'm going to fix it, okay? I don't want to talk about it anymore, alright?'
Finally he felt the tears hit his cheeks. James shook his head, sighed, and muttered, 'Christ, Al.'
'I don't want to talk to you anymore.'
'I don't want to talk to you either.'
His head was spinning again. He was finding his brother sickening to look at, unclean and unwelcome in their home. He stepped off the staircase, turning away, retreating back to the living room.
'Don't tell Harry and Ginny,' were James's parting words, but Albus did not look back at him. 'Don't, okay?'
But Albus had shut the living room door. He heard James's footsteps start again, easing himself up the stairs to his bedroom. He sank down on the floor beside the fire place, breathing heavily, fighting back another bout of tears.
He didn't, he didn't, he didn't. He didn't mean to.
He plunged his head into the flames. The world spun around him and when it solidified he found himself staring into the study of Mei's house, looking out across the room from the hearth. Mei was sitting in an armchair, waiting for him. She looked up when she heard the flames cracking.
'Is you dad back?' she asked, but after looking at his face she instead asked, 'What's happened?'
He shook his head. He wanted to explain, but all he could say was, 'James.'
'What's he done?'
But he couldn't tell her; he wouldn't. Even now, when he was so certain, he couldn't speak it aloud; speaking it aloud would make it real. 'I wish you were here,' he said to her.
She hesitated before glancing over her shoulder. 'My parents' bedroom is upstairs. You won't wake them if you come through.'
'Are you sure?'
'Yes, come on.'
'But I – it's one in the morning.'
'Don't come if you don't want to.'
'I really do, I just..'
'Then come here.'
And so he pulled his head out of the frames, snapping back into the living room of Hecate Hall, before getting to his feet and stepping fully into the fireplace. He took a handful of floo powder, tossed it at his feet, and in an instant materialised in Mei's study. He stepped out of the grate to meet her, and she stepped forward to meet him, and he laced his arms around her.
They were silent for some time, holding each other, before he said into her hair, 'I didn't say Happy Christmas.'
'It's okay.'
'I really missed you.'
'You saw me yesterday.'
'Yes, but still.'
She pulled away to look at him. He could tell by the look in her eye she wanted to know what had happened, but he wasn't ready to tell her. She seemed to accept this and said, 'Let's go to my room.'
Song Credit: Old Money by Lana Del Rey.
A/N: This chapter is stupidly long and a kind of hate it. Even so, thank you if you made it this far! Please let me know what you thought in a review! x
