A matronly housekeeper showed Albus into a drawing room.

"The young master will be along shortly, sir," she said. "He's been held up unexpectedly." She flicked her wand at the fireplace, causing warm flames to shoot up, before bobbing a curtsey and retreating from the room.

Albus sat on the least expensive looking chair he could find, and flattened his hair out of habit. His sense of the surreal at being in Malfoy Manor was mounting.

The room he sat in had a slightly unused feeling, though it was spotlessly clean. The light from the fireplace was muted. Albus swept his eyes around the decor, which reminded him of the furnishings at Grimmauld Place, a house which had belonged to his father's godfather. Serpents and dark paraphernalia featured heavily. He wondered if the Malfoys had no sense of shame at serving the Dark Lord. Then he wondered why Scorpie hadn't gotten rid of these things.

Above the fireplace hung a tapestry displaying an enormous silver serpent, which coiled around a golden tree. Beneath it was woven a verse in silver thread:

Juno was she who bade me guard
The garden of the Hesperides

I am Drakon, king of serpents,
Who covets golden things

When I seize my treasure,
None shall take him from me.

The reference to Drakon reminded Albus unpleasantly of Scorpie's father. The elder Malfoy lurked in the background of Albus' memories, a tall figure on Platform Nine And Three Quarters, shrouded in an emerald cloak, with smoke from the train billowing around him. His eyes, the same grey eyes as Scorpie's, slid over Albus' face, choosing not to see him, glassy and flat like a snake's.

The only person in Albus' family whom Draco Malfoy would acknowledge, however slightly, was Albus' father.

I covet golden things…

The Malfoys only saw things which had value to them.

The door to the drawing room opened again, and for a moment Albus thought Draco Malfoy had appeared, summoned from Albus' thoughts. But then he saw that the pointed face was a little rounder than it should be, the grey eyes less sharp, the frame slimmer, the head bowed. He stood up.

"Well," he said. "Alright, Scorpie? It's been a while."

Scorpie stayed in the doorway, hovering like a small animal poised for flight. He was looking anxiously at Albus, as though asking permission to enter, as though Scorpie were the guest and Albus the master of the house. When Albus spoke, though, Scorpie softened a little, and his left cheek lifted in that familiar lopsided smile.

"It has!" Scorpie glided into the room. He seemed to draw strength from Albus' friendliness, like a reverse Dementor. "It's good to see you again, my friend." He held his hand out stiffly.

Albus grabbed Scorpie's hand, then moved forward and pulled him into a hug, before releasing him to study him more closely. Scorpie was as skinny as ever, but there were dark shadows under his eyes, strange creases on his cheeks, and long threads of silver shining in his golden hair.

He has a mature man's face, thought Albus with a shock. I wonder what I look like to him. A complete wreck, probably.

"Shall we sit down?" said Scorpie. His pale, thin fingers slipped out of Albus' grasp, like a strand of memory from a Pensieve, stretching and breaking away.

They sat across from each other, and Albus found a smile playing across his own face as he watched his old friend. His spirits were lifting for no reason at all, as though it were summertime at Hogwarts, and he and Scorpie had skipped their last class to sneak out of school and go flying in the valleys around Hogsmeade.

"I wish I had reached out to you sooner," Scorpie began, but Albus raised a hand to stop him.

"The fault's on both sides," he said. "Let's not dwell on past regrets. You're the one who broke the silence."

Scorpie fairly beamed. "I meant to greet you on your arrival. Barlow was supposed to let me know as soon as you arrived, but he's very good at forgetting instructions when he doesn't want to follow them. I think it's not done for the master of the manor to greet visitors out in the grounds. He has a lot of old-fashioned ideas like that. They all do-,"

"He did seem quite set in his ways. To tell the truth, I don't think he was thrilled to see me."

Scorpie frowned. "People are very traditional around here. They're very loyal, but they bear grudges for a long time. The Malfoy name is a source of pride to them, and they think… well, they think your father was responsible for besmirching the honour of my house. Complete nonsense. I mean, it's not like your dad forced my family to follow the Dark Lord. Was Barlow rude to you?"

Albus shrugged. "Not really. Just a little passive-aggressive. The Potter ego could probably do with some puncturing from time to time."

"The Potter ego, such as it is, wasn't inherited by you at all. If any of the servants are rude to you, let me know. I have allowed myself to be guided by them… but no one will disrespect you while I am master of this house." At these final words, Scorpie's face became stern and forbidding, not at all like his usual self. Albus was reminded of the portraits of Scorpie's ancestors gazing coldly down from the walls and found himself a little unnerved.

"In any case," Scorpie continued, "I'm very glad you agreed to come. I wish I'd written sooner, and under less morbid circumstances."

"Morbid?"

Scorpie stood up, went over to the fireplace and rested his hand on the mantelpiece, leaning against it dramatically. "This is a dark house, hiding many secrets within its bloodstained and storied walls. I knew that full well when I accepted my inheritance. However, I was not expecting those secrets to start manifesting themselves so soon after I took over, nor in so deadly a way."

Albus stood up too. "How deadly?"

Scorpie turned to face him. "The lands around the manor are extensive, the fruit of centuries of my ancestors' expansion efforts. A week ago, a member of a Muggle family on our lands was murdered."

Albus started. "I didn't hear about this. Was the death reported?"

"No," said Scorpie. "Firstly, the killing was done in a way that would make it look accidental to the Muggle eye, so their police would not get involved. Secondly, the local populace are not… cooperative with outside law enforcement."

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning that by tradition, it is the lord of the manor who dispenses justice. I think it's a backward custom and open to abuse, but even if I reported this crime, it's unlikely the local magical populace would be cooperative. Furthermore, if this murder was designed to undermine my authority, then my calling Ministry officials into this country - bearing in mind the last Ministry investigation which took place here involved my house being ransacked and my parents being put through a show trial - will only increase friction between myself and the locals."

"So what exactly are you proposing?"

"I'm proposing-," Scorpie came closer to Albus now, and in the shivering firelight, his face looked more haggard and careworn than ever. "That you stay with me, Albus. Help me find out what's going on here. Help stop me from losing my mind."

"Scorpie… I'd like to help, I really would. But… you realise this is insane, right? You need someone like my Aunt Hermione, someone from Magical Law Enforcement. I'm not a detective."

"I don't need a detective," said Scorpie. "I need someone here who's on my side. Someone who's not a dark wizard, who isn't romantically in love with my family's past. I need a friend, Albie. Please."

And so it was that Albus came to promise his help to Scorpius Malfoy, in the matter of a murder investigation, a subject he had no experience in whatsoever.

Later that evening, Albus was shown to his room. It was located next to Scorpie's bedroom, and was the second largest in the house. There was something a little different about its furnishings, almost as though it had been transplanted into the manor from elsewhere.

Scorpie stood at the door, and said apologetically, "My grandmother had this room made up, for when she wanted a break from my grandfather. You'll notice she uprooted a lot of the original furnishings and conjured her own, to remind her of her childhood home."

Albus then knew what had struck him as different. It was not a Malfoy room per se, but a room designed by Narcissa Black. She had left a few serpentine objects in honour of her new family, but a more floral theme predominated in place of the reptilian one, with open spaces, spring-green hangings and bursts of flowers, both real and painted, blooming everywhere. The ceiling was emblazoned with a lifelike night sky. Against a cobalt background, brilliant diamonds clustered into the constellations the Black family so revered. Albus watched as the silvery Draco wound southwards, chasing the dog star, which bounded away, fur streaming.

"There are lilies everywhere," said Albus, feeling oddly comforted. "Lily was my grandmother's name."

"Mine too," said Scorpie, grinning. "Narcissa, remember?"

"Oh yeah," said Albus, blushing and feeling stupid.

"Well, good night, Albie," Scorpie said. "I'll be right next door if you need anything."

The housekeeper cleared her throat with the tiniest sound possible. "Mr Potter can always ring the bell should he need anything, sir," she said.

"Yes, yes," said Scorpie, rolling his eyes. Albus wished him goodnight and he left, the housekeeper shutting the door behind them. Albus unpacked his things and got settled into the wonderfully soft bed. He tapped the bedpost with his wand and the canopy became transparent, allowing him to watch the constellations.

Above his head Draco twisted and danced, his long serpentine body snapping like a banner. Albus fell asleep watching Scorpius glide along, his shell studded with brilliant diamonds, the crystal-white fire of his sting flashing a warning on high.