A/N: Welcome to CHAPTER ONE! This is a SEQUEL to Quelle Valeur, which was a story I wrote twelve years ago! Draco Malfoy was the main character, and it was based off a little plot bunny that hopped along and said, "what if Rita Skeeter made up rumours about Harry and Draco being together?" and I had so much fun with it. It's not purely necessary to read all 26 Chapters of Quelle Valeur to understand this story - a lot of the plot is explained as we go. As of the beginning of this story, Scorpius and Albus are beginning their 5th or 6th Year at Hogwarts, and Harry and Draco are 42 years old and still hot, dammit.

It's the first day of Hogwarts. The Manor is chaos. Luggage is everywhere, and I mean, everywhere. Fishing a pair of burnt underpants off the toaster, I call Scorpius.

"Thirty seconds, Scorpius, or I'm turning you into frogspawn and making you swim to Hogwarts!"

He comes skidding into the kitchen on his socks - ever since Albus visited the Manor, Scorpius doesn't walk anywhere, it's all skidding, all the time - and grabs the toast from my outstretched hand.

Stuffing breakfast down his gullet in one swift movement, he gives me a toasty grin and bolts away. "Guhgetreddy."

"I'm aware." I say, trying to sound stern, but I can't help grinning. He's just turned fifteen, and he still has his youth. It's simultaneously infuriating, and delightful.

I rub my arm, trying not to think of what I was doing at fifteen. It doesn't bear thinking about. I wish I had been skidding around the Manor in my socks with my best friend all summer.

We actually manage to leave the Manor on time, all clothes inside suitcases, all shoes on feet, and Scorpius' eagle owl is caged and covered. It's a miracle if you ask me.

As we approach the station, Scorpius' constant talking veers from worrying about schoolwork, about O. , about the Triwizard Tournament that he hasn't stopped talking about since he heard rumours it would be happening in his 7th year, to worrying about Albus. Wondering if he'll see him at the station, or not until they're on the train, or what if Albus misses the train? It's the same every year.

"He won't miss the train." I say, gently, interrupting his monologue about that time Ron and Harry couldn't get onto the platform, which I don't believe for a minute, never have. "And if he does, you better not even attempt to get off the train and go back for him."

"Of course." Scorpius lies, beaming innocently at me.

We arrive at the station, and the Potters are easy to spot. A crowd always forms around them - not too close, but enough to help them stand out. Scorpius pushes through the bystanders, flailing his handluggage, and calling, "Albus! Hey, over here! It's me, Scorpius! Your best friend!"

I swear, every day for this kid is like the first paragraph in the book about his life. He has to narrate everything. Like he wants the phantom reader to know what's going on, on every page. As I've marveled a million times since he was born, I can't believe he's mine.

I inch myself through, and when people realise it's me, I start getting a wider berth. Think of me as the anti-Potter.

We've been through a lot, Potter and I. Last year was a wild ride, with everything the kids got up to. We learned a lot about each other. And there was a moment in time when we were on the same side, all those years ago.

"Morning, Potters." I say casually, to him and his offspring. Ginny - I still think of her as a Weasel even though she's a Potter now too - is nowhere to be seen.

"Malfoy." He nods at me, then turns to his children, who are straining to leave, but standing still for their father. "James - behave. Albus - be careful. Lily - be kind. Go."

They all bolt to the train, Scorpius too, with his new, slightly-too-big cloak flapping behind him. I'll see him at Christmas and it will be almost up to his knees, he grows like a weed.

"Bye, Dad!" Scorpius calls back to me, just in the nick of time, before they all pile onto the train. I raise my hand in farewell, clenching my teeth. I promised myself I wouldn't cry.

"Oh, Malfoy, while you're here." Potter turns to me, all business, while I bite my knuckle. "Shacklebolt collapsed last night, at his home. He's in St. Mungo's. He was asking for you."

I nod. But me nodding doesn't scratch Potter's curious itch.

"Why would he be asking for you?"

I shrug. "He's allowed to have friends that aren't you and the Minister, you know."

Potter looks like I've asked him to divide 4874 by 62, without magic. "I think I would have known if Shacklebolt had you as a friend."

I'm stung. "What's wrong with having me as a friend? I'm one of the good guys now, remember?"

"I'm sure you are." Potter remarks. "I just don't get why it would be some huge secret, that's all."

"There's a lot you don't get, Potter." I say, snappishly. But I exhale. There's a lot I haven't told him, that's why he doesn't understand. So it's not his fault.

Frustration flares in his eyes, and he puts on his Head of Magical Law Enforcement Voice. "Then why don't you explain it to me, Malfoy."

"Perhaps another time." I sigh, remembering to wave to the train as it pulls away. I can't even see Scorpius, but a few years ago, he saw me not waving and sent me a Howler.

"I'll be in touch." I promise vaguely, and turn away.

Back at the Manor, I spend my Sunday attempting to tidy up after having Scorpius home for six weeks. Everything he owns has been pulled out, and placed either on a surface, or in a circle on the floor, surrounding where he chose to sit at any given moment. My mother's antique side table from the 1300's is piled high with books like The Golden Trio: Life After Hogwarts and How To Be More Like Harry Potter.

I roll my eyes as I thumb through the book. This is nothing like Harry Potter. Look, here, it says to be humble and gracious. A dismissive noise escapes my mouth before I can stop it.

Potter isn't humble, he's just too stupid to take credit for most things he does. If you ask him, he doesn't even admit he defeated You-Know-Who. He thinks all his friends did, and "love" did. And he's certainly not gracious. He's bad-mannered, bad-tempered, impatient, and overall a terrible role model for my son.

But… he's trying. If I learned anything last year, it was how to empathise with Potter, instead of resenting him for everything he had that I didn't. Unconditional love from his people. The hero status, the wife, house, three healthy kids… I spent a long time hating it. But, his life isn't perfect either.

Why am I even thinking of him, anyway? I see these books all the time, and I've never once picked it up and opened it.

It's probably because I have to watch Scorpius hanging out with a tiny version of Potter all the time lately, that's why. Those two have been fast friends for years, but this is the first summer Albus has been allowed to the Manor, and about three times I had to stop myself calling him "Potter" or snapping at him when he was being annoying. Which is all the time. He's a good kid, but when you're outnumbered by teenagers, life gets really annoying, really quickly.

It still doesn't feel normal, a Potter and a Malfoy being friends.

The next morning, I skip work and head to St. Mungo's bright and early to see Shacklebolt. A Healer leads me to his room, and he's in there fighting against another Healer to get out of bed.

"Now, Minister, please…" The Healer puffs, wrestling with him. "You need your rest."

"Don't call me Minister, I'm not senile." He argues, batting her hands away.

"Nice to see you in fighting form, Shacklebolt." I say with a smirk.

He finally relents, and the Healer wipes her forehead from the effort, pats him on the knee, and leaves us be.

"Good morning, Malfoy." Shacklebolt says. "I'm glad to see you."

"What happened?" I ask, sitting on the chair next to his bed.

"Ah, a lifetime of curses caught up to me. I was ignoring my aches and pains, that was my biggest mistake. I taught a bit of self-defense at Hogwarts yesterday, I think one of those little blighters caught me with something."

I smile at the idea of the great Kingsley Shacklebolt being taken down by a first year. "You've been an Auror for what, forty years?"

"I lost count." Shacklebolt smiles. "But I think retirement is calling my name."

"No, it can't be. You're not even middle-aged yet. What would you do with yourselfat home? Can't you stay on, just stop doing Field Work?"

"Draco, I tried that five years ago when my knee took the brunt of that Expulso curse. I keep getting dragged back into cases, everyone wants me out in the Field. It's always life or death…"

"Well, say no." I cross my arms.

"If I could do that effectively, I wouldn't be here." Shacklebolt gestures to the bed.

"So what does that mean, for me?" I ask him. "For my job?"

Shacklebolt adjusts his position in the bed, and places his hands together. "Well, that's why I wanted to meet with you. Minister Granger knows I have people working in Intelligence. Even before she became Minister, she suspected, and she doesn't let things like that go easily. I couldn't hide it from her, she would have kept digging and the whole cover could have been blown. So I told her that I had hired a handful of the best wizards in the country to analyse unsolved cases, and for the department to function, she had to stop getting in the way."

"And she did stay out of the way?" I'm surprised by that, and can't mask it.

"I had to tell her that my people - that you - prevented the bombing of the Big Ben in 2009. And the whole Dementors fiasco was you too. No names, just incidents she had heard about."

"What about Manhattan?" I ask, a knot forming in my stomach.

Shacklebolt shakes his head. "I didn't want to mention Manhattan, just in case she did confide in Harry or Ron. I don't think she did, but I wanted that to be up to you."

I shrug, pretending that I don't care. But my heart is hammering away in my chest.

"But now, when I'm gone, you'll have to bring her in the loop. We can tell the Heads of Department if you two feel it's necessary. It's not exactly fair, but me being Kingsley Shacklebolt, we got a lot of things done without needing their direct permission. You might face obstacles. Even something as simple as an Arrest Warrant might be a trick to obtain if Potter doesn't know why you need one."

"Right." I continue nodding, and rub my face. "He wouldn't approve one for me, he doesn't know I even work there."

This surprises Shacklebolt. "Wow Draco, I said be vague, not completely opaque. You could have told him you were at least one of my pencil-pushers, you know."

I know I could have, and I used to want to… but now? I just shrug. "I built an entire lifestyle around privacy and secrets with Astoria. I got used to people not knowing anything about me. I quite liked it."

And I didn't want to sound like a Ministry man. But I can't say that to Shacklebolt, he's the Posterboy for Ministry Man.

"Sounds lonely, though." Shacklebolt's brown eyes pierce mine. "Especially now that she's gone."

I'm getting a real shoulder workout with all the shrugging I'm doing lately, but what else am I supposed to do? Admit that being alone has become bearable? Or admit that I can only fall asleep if I pretend she's still laying right next to me? No. So I shrug.

"Well thank you, Shacklebolt. For this talk, for your service, for everything." I shake his hand. "And get well soon, okay? So I can visit you at home. I hate hospitals."

"I'll work on it." Shacklebolt says, but a chesty cough betrays his confident demeanor.

The Healer hurries back in as I step out, and I make my way to work, taking the long way to give me time to think.

I used to picture it in my head. I'd take Potter aside and admit to him that I've been working for the Ministry this whole time. He wouldn't believe me at first, but then I'd astound him with knowledge that I couldn't possibly know, unless I was telling the truth. Then he'd collapse in awe and possibly give me a pay rise, or medal, or something.

But now, with everything that's happened and his still-shaky trust of me, I can picture him glaring at me and saying, I knew you always were a sneaky liar, and having my department closed down.

Arriving at the Ministry, I head to my office. It's hidden from view, next to the Minister's office, behind a portrait of Snape. Shacklebolt's idea, he thought it was fitting.

I run my finger over the gilded inscription in the frame, which says, "heroes come from all walks of life". Snape smirks at me as his portrait swings forward, and harrumphs. "You're late."

The 'Department' is nothing more than a hallway with two cubicles crammed in, and my office at the back, but that's all we could get Planning Permission for without blowing our cover.

"Progress report on the Red File, Mr. Malfoy." Says my Intelligence Analyst, Bramstoke, bringing me a handful of papers with red trim. We don't say out loud what they are, or who they involve, and we use a rotating colour coded system to keep track of cases. Being secretive is second nature to me.

I take the papers, thank him curtly, and head to my office. Even though it's small, it's second only to the Ministers in style and sophistication. No thanks to our shoestring budget, of course, but it was worth paying out of pocket for.

Sitting back in my leather chair, I put the Red File on my mahogany desk. I've really gotten used to this place, I hope nothing happens to it when all the other Department Heads find out.

They surely wouldn't shut us down. Granger wouldn't let them, for a start. And we've been operating just fine, with no real problems, for over two decades.

Wait a minute, has it really been that long?

When did I blink and turn 41?

I shake my head, push away thoughts of white hair and crow's feet, and get to work pushing papers around so my employees have more leads to follow this afternoon.