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Chapter Text

Harry Potter was feeling particularly satisfied with his life, as he apparated into the shed behind the Granger-Weasley house. Sure, he’d had The Mighty Ghouls’ most recent hit stuck in his head for the past three days, and his kitchen had taken violently against his coffeemaker again, but on the whole, things were good. He had a job he loved, he had friends who truly cared about him, and nobody had made a credible attempt to take his life in over ten years. Harry felt like he could finally say that he was in a good place.

His thoughts were soon interrupted by the sounds of an argument coming from inside the house. He sighed. He had amazing friends, but they bickered constantly. He honestly wasn’t sure if this was a normal sort of thing for married couples. He didn’t have a lot of examples to consider. Certainly Vernon and Petunia were more of a cautionary tale than anything, and Molly and Arthur didn’t seem to talk to one another, but rather talked next to one another, each never requiring an answer from the other about what they were saying. Still, Ron and Hermione's petty squabbling, which seemed as natural as Quidditch at Hogwarts, seemed to have become further entrenched as they aged.

“Uncle Harry,” came a quiet voice from the back porch.

“Hey Rosie,” Harry answered, just as quietly. The little girl standing on the steps had her father’s fiery red hair, and her mother’s brown eyes. She moved quickly, and burrowed her face into Harry’s middle. “Alright?”

“They’ve been doing this for ages,” she answered. “I don’t understand. They get cross with me and Hugo when we fight, but they do it all the time.”

“I’m sorry, darling. You know that they love you very much, right? And each other?”

“I s’pose,” Rose said with a world-weary sigh.

Harry didn’t want to intrude on his friends’ family life, but he, not for the first time, wondered if he should intervene. Instead, he tightened his hug, and said, “And, you know that you’re my best girl?”

“Of course I do, Uncle Harry.” She gave him a knowing smile, and looked, for a moment, so grown up, that Harry’s heart clenched in protectiveness.

“Good. That’s important. Now, should we go inside and see whether your Mummy has ruined the cooking?”

Hermione had, indeed, ruined dinner, and Harry set about to salvage something edible. Hugo stood on a stool beside him, and commenced with a lengthy, stream-of-consciousness diatribe. Since he was barely three, Harry could only make out about half of what he said, but Hugo seemed satisfied by his responses. They were just about to sit down to eat when his charmed Galleon heated in his pocket. He flipped it out of his pocket and quickly reviewed the information. Rose’s face fell as he stood. “We were going to play with my divination crystals,” she said in disappointment.

“I know, sweet one, and I’m sorry, but I need to go and help a kid. I’m sure that Mum will help you with your divination,” Harry said, prompting a look from Hermione that promised future retribution.

Sending a half-apologetic shrug to Ron, who would likely receive the worst of Hermione’s rant about Crystals and divination, Harry threw on his jacket and made a hasty escape. The apparation coordinates that he’d been provided landed him in an alleyway full of garbage cans. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of rotting food, and took out his notebook. It was a brilliant little thing, spelled to automatically update when his Department got a new case.

The details were fairly spotty. Female, seven years, Violet Powers, underage magic, transfiguration. Multiple non-magical signatures present. As a precaution, Harry sent a note to the Obliviation Squad, putting them on standby. He’d talked himself out of tricky situations before, but his gut told him that he’d likely need to have a few memories wiped. He quickly stowed his wand, notebook and Galleon, and strolled down the street.

When he arrived at the address he’d been provided, balloons adorned the gate and the front of the house. He could hear raised voices in the backyard. Something told Harry that this would be a birthday party that the Powers family would remember for some time. He opened the gate, and slowly made his way towards the backyard. As he peeked around the corner, he assessed the situation with a keen eye. Several of the children were crying, and one woman appeared to be in hysterics. A man was shouting at another man and woman who huddled together, their arms wrapped around a little girl.

One little boy seemed to be an oasis in the storm. He was carefully holding something that appeared to be wriggling in his hand, and watching the chaos unfold. Harry quickly transfigured his outfit into a Police uniform, and strode into the fray. “Excuse me,” he said calmly, “we were called for a noise compliant. Is anything the matter?”

“My daughter,” the crying woman screamed. “What’s happened to my daughter?”

“I’d like to know exactly what’s happened here,” the yelling man blustered. “This freak did something to my Amy!”

“That’s enough,” Harry snapped. Even years later, the word triggered a visceral reaction. He removed his wand from his pocket, looped it in a lasso-ing motion, and incanted, "Populum Subsisto.” It was a nifty little spell that an Auror had taught him once, intended to immediately freeze people in their tracks. Unlike Immobulous, it had the added benefit of making them completely aware of the passage of time around them. Aurors used it to subdue rioting Quidditch Fans, but Harry had found that, in the aftermath of accidental magic, it gave him the ability to take stock.

Taking a quick look at his surroundings, Harry freed the huddled trio from the enchantment. “Hello,” he said gently, as they regained awareness. “My name is Harry. I’ve been asked to come and sort out what happened.”

“I didn’t mean to!” The little girl burst into tears.

“Of course you didn’t,” Harry soothed. “What’s your name?”

“V-Violet.”

“That’s a lovely name,” Harry replied. “Is this your Mum and Dad?” Violet nodded. “And is this your house?” Another nod. “Well, because I’m very good at sorting out mysteries, I’m going to also say that it’s your birthday party. How old are you, Violet?”

“Seven,” Violet said.

“Oh, that’s lovely,” Harry enthused. “Something tells me that you got a little upset at your party, though.” Violet nodded. “Can you tell me more about what happened?”

“It was Amy,” Violet said. She threw a filthy look at her mother. “I hate her, but Mum said that I had to invite her, but she was calling my friend Steven a bad name, and I told her to stop, but she pushed me over.”

“I bet that made you upset,” Harry said.

Violet’s father put a protective arm around his daughter. “Officer, I don’t really know how to explain what happened. It was very strange, but I’m sure it’s not Violet’s fault.”

“Of course not,” Harry agreed. “Something unusual happened to Amy, though, right?”

“She turned into a lizard!” Violet cried. Harry could tell that she was halfway between pleased at her bully’s comeuppance, and frightened by the strangeness of it all.

“Wow, that is a surprise,” Harry said. “Believe it or not, it isn’t the strangest thing I’ve seen. I’m going to call some of my colleagues to sort things out, but if you didn’t mind, I’d like to come inside with you, have a cup of tea, and explain some things.”

It was a work of moments for Harry to confirm the Reversal and Obliviation Squads. They’d sort the rest of the partygoers out. Once they were seated around the table, Harry stifled a little grin. This was his absolute favourite part of his job. “I told you that my name was Harry, and that’s true, but I did mislead you a little when I arrived. I’m not actually a Police Officer. I’m an Integration Specialist, and I work for my Government, in the Department of Magical Accidents.”

“Just a moment, sir,” the dad began, but Harry raised his hand with a big smile.

“You’re magical, Violet,” he said solemnly. “A witch, actually. I know that this sounds unbelievable, but magic is real, and there are others who are just like you.”

“I am?” Violet’s eyes were enormous.

Violet’s mother finally spoke. “This doesn’t make any sense. I think you should leave.”

Harry pulled out his wand, prompting a gasp from Violet’s mother and a look of confusion from her father. He waved it gently, and the tea cup in front of him turned into a tiny baby chick, who blinked at him in confusion.

“My god,” Violet’s mother breathed.

“I know,” Harry said, a bit gleefully, switching the chick back with the teacup. “I was just as shocked as you are when I learned about magic. Violet, there’s a whole world about to open up to you, and I’m absolutely delighted to get to tell you about it. What happened today, the lizard? That’s called accidental magic, and it happens when a young witch or wizard experiences strong emotions. Mr and Mrs. Powers, I know that this is an enormous shock, but there are loads of people who will be here to support you.”

“What if we don’t want it?” Mrs. Powers asked flatly.

“I’m sorry?”

“What if we don’t want Violet to have magic?”

“Well, I’m sure that’s a natural first reaction. But, just like her pretty blonde hair, Violet does have magic. It’s not really the sort of thing you can turn off.”

Mrs. Powers looked unconvinced, and Harry’s instincts were twitching. She would need a lot of information, a lot of support. “Listen,” he said quietly, “I’ve just dropped an enormous bombshell on your family, and I’m certain that you’ll want to take a bit of time to process it all. What I’d like to do today is to leave some information with you, and come back to have another chat in a few days. We’ll help you all get through the adjustment.”

He left them with a stack of pamphlets, his mobile number, and an agreement to return in a week’s time. As they walked him to the door, Violet suddenly threw herself at Harry and hugged him tightly. “Thank you, Harry,” she said, her blue eyes looking up at him in awe.

“You’re welcome, little witch,” he answered, patting her on the shoulder. In the back yard, the Magical Reversal squad had reverted the lizard into a little girl, and the Obliviators were just sending the last family on their way.

“Thanks, lads,” Harry said.

“You can thank us by dropping our reports off at the office,” one wheedled.

“Yeah, alright, I need to do up the intake papers for Violet, any road,” Harry said agreeably. He gathered the parchments and apparated to the Ministry. The DMAC office was near-deserted, but he could see a light in the office beside his. As he dropped the reports off, and gathered an intake form and a quill, he popped into the lighted office.

“Oi, prat, since when do you work on a Saturday night?” Harry asked. The slim figure behind the desk jumped, splotting ink all over her parchment.

“Blimey, Harry, you scared me!” Tamsin Applebee had a friendly, heart-shaped face, and her curly hair was coiled into a bun, held by her wand.

“You scared me! Since when do we come into the office on the weekends? You’re going to raise the bar, set unnecessarily high standards,” Harry teased, settling into her guest chair.

She smiled, but it didn’t quite make it to her eyes. “Just getting through a few reports.”

“Tams,” Harry said. “You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?” Her voice was stubbornly devoid of any emotion.

“The hyper-vigilance, the obsession. Darling, you have to let it go. It wasn’t your fault.”

Her eyes were hard. “Oh, yeah? Are you really the poster child for healthy distance from guilt?”

“Not at all,” he replied evenly. “Tams, I’m your friend. I can’t imagine how hard this is for you, but I worry.”

Her expression softened. “I know, Harry. I just wish…”

“Yeah, I understand,” Harry said. “I do. I can tell you that you’re blameless all day, and that’s still not going to stop you from beating yourself up. Daniel was…”. She went rigid at the name. His throat closed for a moment, and swallowed hard. “We’re always going to remember him, yeah? And we’re going to use that memory to do our best with all the kids we meet going forward. But you can’t burn yourself out, otherwise, who will be there for the next one?”

“But, Harry-”

“Tamsin,” he interrupted, his voice firm. “I know. I do. You know I know.” And she did. Tamsin was the only person who Harry had ever told about his childhood. After Daniel, they’d gone to Tamsin’s flat and gotten sickeningly drunk, and Harry had told her everything. He stood and went around the desk until he was standing next to her, and then wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her tightly. “We can’t save everyone, but we save everyone we can, yeah?”

She let her head relax on his shoulder for a moment, and then put her hands on either side of his face and kissed his forehead. “You are the best,” she said. “Why haven’t you let me marry you again?”

He laughed. “Likely because I can’t really stomach the idea of sleeping with a woman, I suppose.” That got a wry smile, so he continued, “Besides, I’d be a rubbish husband, I reckon. I’m a decent friend, though.”

“That you are.”

“Now,” Harry continued, “you’re going to listen to me as I write this report and tell you about Violet, who turned one of her classmates into a newt, and then we’re going to go back to mine and listen to Spice Girls until Kreacher shouts at me.” And she did, and they did, and the shadows didn’t disappear completely from Tamsin’s eyes, but she still did an admirable job at harmonizing as they sang ‘Stop’.

Chapter Text

Harry had the next couple of days off, so he spent the time lounging on his couch in his pants, eating biscuits, and arguing with Kreacher about cleaning the kitchen. He bought a new coffeemaker, and begged his semi-sentient kitchen to accept this one. He visited Teddy and took him for a fly, and then topped it all off with another visit to the Granger-Weasleys.

Luckily, he found that his best friends were in much improved humour, compared to his last visit. He spent an entertaining hour with Rose, who was re-writing the story of Sleeping Beauty. Apparently, the princess wasn’t ‘interesting enough’, and Rose fancied a story where the princess did her own saving. Looking down at her earnest, beloved little face, Harry couldn’t dispel the ache in his chest. He knew that he hadn’t really exorcised the ghosts of his past, that his work for DMAC was a transparent attempt to address the childhood that he hadn’t had. He also knew that, if he ever listened to Hermione and went to see a Mind Healer, they’d have a field day picking through his unresolved issues. Still, he couldn’t look at Rose, or Teddy, or Hugo without wondering how anyone could possibly look at the unbridled sweetness and potential of a child and still treat them cruelly.

Hermione, who was deeply entrenched in some writing something for presentation at the Wizengamot, emerged from her study to get a cup of tea. She produced some biscuits of dubious origin, and they spent an enjoyable half hour exchanging the latest gossip about their Ministry Co-Workers. “…and that awful Romilda Vane, you remember her, right, Harry?”

“Well, yes, seeing as how she potioned Ron, and nearly got him killed.”

“Right, well, she’s still just as much of an airhead as she was in school. She was trying to rent some Merpeople for a party she’s throwing.”

“The fu—-ah....” Harry said, realizing at the last moment that Hugo, who had taken to parroting his every word was listening avidly to their conversation. “That’s very wrong of her, indeed,” he said with a knowing frown.

“Yes, well, we ended up having a screaming match in the middle of the Atrium.”

“And who won?”

“Honestly, Harry, do you even have to ask?”

“No, probably not.” Hermione was just as terrifying as she’d been in school, more so, actually, because she was a lot more confident. Harry wished that he'd seen Hermione toe to toe with Romilda Vane.

Ron, who had been happily working his way through the jam tarts that Harry had brought, cleared his throat. “Harry, mate, have you time to go for a pint?”

“Course,” Harry answered, tamping down his prickling instincts. It wasn’t the beer that was a problem. He and Ron often enjoyed a drink together, but usually they did so in the Granger-Weasley back yard, or at Harry’s place, or occasionally, in the Quidditch locker rooms. Going for a pint indicated that Ron was likely looking to have a talk.

He was. The moment he returned from the bar with two glasses of ale, he heaved a big sigh.

“Something on your mind?” Harry asked.

“How did you know that you and Ginny weren’t meant to be?”

Harry blinked at Ron for a full twenty seconds. “Well, it was fairly easy,” he said, “because kissing her made me feel scared and grossed out, and, messed up as I was then, even I knew that wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“Right, yeah,” Ron replied pushing his hair out of his eyes. “I guess it’s different.”

Harry felt a wave of sympathy for his oldest friend, who still couldn’t muster up the slightest bit of emotional intelligence. “I don’t think that Ginny and I are what’s bothering you.”

“I don’t know if Hermione and I are going to make it,” he blurted out, and then looked panicked, as though saying the words had made it a reality.

“What makes you say that?”

“We fight all the time, and not in the way we used to. At Hogwarts, we’d bicker, and it made me feel alive, it challenged me. Now, it just makes me sad.”

“Do you think that Hermione knows that you’re feeling this way?”

“I dunno,” he replied with a huff. “I sometimes think that she kind of likes being mean. Like, it makes her feel superior or something.”

“Maybe,” Harry allowed. “But until you talk to her, you’re only guessing, and that’s not really fair to either of you.” He took a long breath, focusing on suppressing his growing annoyance. Ron and Hermione had no idea how bloody lucky they were, to have a life partner. It was unfathomable that they’d disrespect the family that they were fortunate to have by constantly picking at one another. He knew that it was his own loneliness speaking, and that the problems between his two best friends weren’t trivial, but it still irritated him that they never seemed to appreciate what they had. He cast a quick Tempus, and said, “Listen, why don’t you and Hermione go somewhere tonight and talk. Get some dinner, go somewhere that you’ll be obligated to be civil to one another, and just tell her what you’re feeling. Maybe she’s got things that are bothering her as well.”

“I don’t know if Mum and Dad are free,” Ron said, but he looked hopeful.

“Don’t bother your parents. I’ll stay with the kids.” It wasn’t exactly how Harry had planned to spend his evening, but he felt like this was important.

“Thanks, mate. Now, what about you?”

“Sorry?” Harry asked, choking on the peanut he’d just tossed into his mouth.

“Well, obviously, Hermione and I are doing an excellent job at showcasing the highlights of marriage. When are you going to find someone?” His grin was wry, but Harry knew he wouldn’t get out of answering the question.

“Ugh, Ron, we’ve been over this. It’s impossible to meet someone who wants to get to know me.”

“You don’t even try anymore, though.”

“Well, the last bloke I dated sold a story to the Prophet before the sheets had cooled. It’s just not worth it.”

“I just want you to be happy.”

“I am happy. Honestly. I don’t need anyone to complete me. I’m fully actualized, all on my own.” Harry knew that he was oversimplifying things. True, he didn’t need someone, but that didn’t mean he didn’t wish for it.

“Bleh, stop doing social worker talk,” Ron said, making Harry laugh.

“Never,” he said, “Now let’s go home and convince Hermione to go out on a work night.”

When he returned home, late that night, Harry was tired, and bit discouraged. Ron and Hermione had come home speaking in polite, clipped tones, and when Harry caught Ron’s eye, he simply shook his head sadly. Hurting for his friends, he lay awake long into the night, wishing he could make things better for them.

The next day, he was grateful that it was a quiet morning at the office. Tamsin was coming off shift, and she fetched lattes for them from the nice shop on the corner, which they drank companionably while catching up. Tamsin told him about a lovely family she met, and she seemed…better. Less obsessed with catching every kid that might possibly fall through the bureaucratic cracks. She yawned, and hugged him, and headed home to catch some sleep.

It was nearing lunchtime when a call came in: Male, six years, Scorpius Greengrass, underage magic, Hex. Repeat offender, Obliviation required.

Harry raised his eyebrows. It wasn’t uncommon for a child to perform a simple charm, something like levitation, summoning, or the odd notice-me-not, but a child who performed aggressive magic on another person was fairly rare. It could be that the child simply had higher than average magical levels, but it also could be that he was being hurt in some way. Harry didn't waste any time. He dispatched the Obliviation Squad, and apparated to the coordinates.

Since it was a Wednesday, and midday, Harry wasn’t surprised to find himself at a Primary School. He entered the front door, and made his way to the office. “Good afternoon,” he said to the Secretary. “My name is Harry Potter, and I’m a Community Support worker. I’ve been asked to pop by and visit with Scorpius Greengrass.”

The Secretary looked him over, and asked to see his ID. He passed over the Ministry-supplied credentials and watched her closely. Fortunately, they seemed to pass muster, and Harry was grateful he wouldn’t have to use a Confundus charm on her. “There’s a little meeting room through here,” she said. “Please have a seat and I’ll fetch Scorpius.”

She returned presently, a little boy reluctantly trailing after her. He was of slight build, the hole in his trousers revealing knobbly knees. His hair was white-blonde, his fringe slightly covering his eyes. His head was down, and he looked so fragile that Harry’s heart thumped painfully in his chest.

When the secretary left, the little boy regarded Harry solemnly. Harry motioned to a chair beside him, and the boy scrambled onto it. Harry took a moment to observe him. Scorpius’ breaths came fast and harsh. He was clearly terrified. “Hi Scorpius,” Harry said softly. “My name is Harry, and I’m here to help you.”

If anything, Harry’s words made things worse. Scorpius’ grey eyes widened, and his breathing became more erratic. “It’s okay,” Harry soothed. “I think you might feel a bit scared, so I’d like to start off by doing a little something to help you calm down. Could you come and stand in front of me?”

Although he looked reluctant, Scorpius obediently climbed down and stood in front of Harry. He was trembling. “I’m not going to touch you, Scorpius, but I want you to watch the way that my shoulders and chest move when I’m breathing. All I want you to do is to try and breathe like this. Can you try that for me?” Scorpius nodded, and his eyes focused on Harry’s shoulders. Harry led him through a breathing exercise, counting inhales, held breath and exhales, until he could see the little boy start to relax. “That’s brilliant, Scorpius. Thanks for doing that. Go ahead and sit down again.”

Scorpius did so, still watching Harry. His posture had relaxed some, but he was still wary.

“Now that we’re both getting our breaths properly, I want to make sure of a couple of things. First of all, does any part of you hurt? Your chest, your head?”

Scorpius considered this, and whispered, “My throat is a bit sore.”

Harry nodded. “I bet. Sometimes breathing too quickly can dry it out. I have a throat sweetie here, if you want to take it. I’ll have one too.” Once they were sucking their sweets, Harry smiled. “You’re doing so well, Scorpius. I know that it can be really scary when unexpected things happen, and you don’t know me very well yet, and so I’m really glad that you’re giving me a chance.”

Scorpius regarded him for a long moment, and then gave a tiny nod.

Undaunted, Harry continued. “Do you feel as though you could talk to me a little bit, now?”

Scorpius nodded again, but remained stoically silent. Stifling a grin, Harry said, “I understand that something happened in your class today. One of your classmates got a little sting, and I’m sure that it was confusing and upsetting for everyone. Do you know what happened?” Scorpius nodded. “Great, I’m so glad you can help. Tell me what you saw,” Harry said encouragingly.

Scorpius was so still, Harry wasn’t sure if he was even breathing. He sat for a very long moment, and then his thumb popped into his mouth for a moment. He took a long, shuddering breath, removed his thumb, and said, “Jemima got hurt.”

“Is Jemima your friend?”

“Not ‘specially. My best friend is Damien.”

“I understand,” Harry said. “What was Jemima doing before she got hurt?”

Scorpius shrugged. “She was colouring, just like everyone.”

“Do you know what happened to hurt her?”

Scorpius looked down at his knees. He worried the hole in his pants, ripping it a little, and then a fat tear rolled down his cheek and dropped onto his thigh. “I did magic again,” he said softly, and then let out a little sob.

“Heyy,” Harry said softly, wanting nothing more than to give this tiny, hurting child a hug, but keeping his distance. “It seems like you feel sad about that.”

His words prompted an outburst of further sobs from Scorpius. Alarmed, Harry dropped to his knees in front of Scorpius. He didn’t touch, but leaned closer in order to catch his gaze. He summoned the box of tissues, and handed a few to Scorpius, who buried his face into them and wept. It took a few minutes for the tears to die down, during which Harry made soothing noises, but otherwise didn’t interfere. Soon, watery grey eyes lifted to meet Harry’s. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Scorpius, you don’t have to apologize. Every single witch and wizard does accidental magic. You won’t be in trouble for it. Magic is brilliant, but it’s hard to learn, and we don’t punish kids for the things they can’t control.”

Scorpius shook his head. “What is it?” Harry asked. “You seem kind of scared.” He was trying to control his reactions, but alarm bells were ringing in his head. It was just that…Harry remembered crying in a principal’s office after suddenly finding himself on the school roof. He remembered the gut-wrenching terror of what would face him when he got home. He remembered the stifling, endless darkness of his cupboard after doing something freakish.

Logically, Harry knew that his experiences weren’t the norm. Most parents were, after their initial shock wore off, pretty excited to learn that their child was magical. But most children didn’t cry as though their heart was broken after a fairly minor stinging hex.

“Mr. Harry?” Scorpius said quietly.

“Yes, Scorpius?”

Scorpius was silent for a long moment. It looked as though he were trying to summon up the courage to say something. Harry waited patiently, even though his stomach was roiling. “Please, please don’t take me away from my Papa!”

“Why would you think that I’d do that?” He kept his voice gentle.

“I keep getting into trouble. I’m trying so hard to be good, and Papa is trying hard too, but if I get into trouble, then maybe someone will think that he’s not a good Papa,” Scorpius explained, clearly having trouble explaining his fear.

Harry couldn’t help but remember the one and only time he’d tried to get away from the Dursley’s special brand of ‘care’. He’d been seven, and his teacher had led a discussion about bullying, which made him realize that the way Dudley treated him wasn’t officially condoned. Their teacher had continued to explain that nobody was allowed to hurt them, that if someone was hitting or shaking or slapping them, they could find a trusted adult to assist. Harry had spent a long time thinking about this. He didn’t have a trusted adult, but perhaps the teacher could help him find one.

He’d waited nearly a week, thinking it over, and deciding what he wanted to say. When he finally approached the teacher, he was a mass of nerves, stumbling over his words, and unable to look her in the eye. As he finished his stammering explanation, he chanced a look up through his fringe. The teacher was looking carefully at him, and Harry allowed himself to feel a tiny thread of hope. “Thank you for telling me this, Harry,” she said. “I will look into it.”

His tiny, innocent self had hoped that, the moment he described his home life, he’d be whisked away to family that would treat him nicely, but he nodded, and waited. Two evenings later, a social worker had arrived at the house. Harry had been sent up to Dudley’s second bedroom while Petunia and Vernon had spoken to the man. An hour later, he left, and Vernon had fetched him, his eyes promising retribution. He still didn’t know what the Dursleys had told the social worker, but whatever it had been, it had convinced him, and Harry’s teacher, that Harry was a liar. The teacher had sent him a filthy look when he returned to school, and nothing more had ever been said about it. Harry’s punishment had left bruises on his arms and torso for days.

From that moment on, Harry had been protective of the information about how he was treated at home. He had never told another person, until Tamsin, and he’d gotten very good at deflecting any probing questions, convincing everyone who asked that the Dursleys were suitable guardians, if possibly a bit distant. He wondered what had been said to Scorpius previously. He vowed to look up which member of his team had visited Scorpius on previous occasions, and made another promise to himself that Scorpius wouldn’t fall through any cracks.

“Scorpius, you are good,” Harry said firmly. “There’s absolutely no question of that. None of this is your fault, and I promise you that I’m here to protect you. If there’s anything going on in your life that makes you frightened, or upset, you can tell me, and I will believe you. I promise.”

“But what about my Papa?” Scorpius’ lower lip was wobbling.

“I think,” Harry said, “that we should take you home, and I can have a chat with your Papa. I bet he loves you a whole bunch, and I’m sure he’ll want to know that you’re okay.”

“Are you going to call the Aurors?”

Harry frowned. “Why would you think that?”

“Because if I do bad things, and hurt someone, then the Aurors are going to blame my Papa for that, and they will put him in Azkaban.”

“Sweetheart, I don’t know who told you that, but it isn’t how it works,” Harry said. His instincts were screaming now, urging him that something was wrong. “I’m here to help you, I promise, and you, or your Papa, won’t be punished for accidental magic.”

Scorpius raised his head and regarded Harry for a long time. His eyes, so large in his little face, reminded Harry of someone’s, but he figured that, with the amount of inbreeding in the Wizarding world, his parents were related to someone he knew. Harry met Scorpius’ gaze, letting him think it through. “Okay,” Scorpius finally said. “Let’s go home to my Papa.”

Chapter Text

It didn’t take Harry long to get Scorpius’ home address sent to his Galleon. He ensured that the Obliviation Squad had everything in hand, and let the Secretary know that he’d be taking Scorpius home. She noted the information down, and sent them on their way, and, after finding a discrete spot, Harry side-alonged Scorpius to a loading dock behind a grocery store. The walk from there was pleasant, as Scorpius’ neighbourhood was a nice one.

When they reached his address, Scorpius brightened, and he opened the gate and ran to the door. Harry felt the wash of wards over him as he followed. Magical house in a Muggle neighbourhood, he thought. Scorpius flung the front door open and thundered inside, yelling “Papa? I’m home!”

“Scorpius? What’s going on?” The voice from another room was familiar, but Harry couldn’t immediately place it. It all became clear though, when Scorpius’ father rounded the corner. “Potter?”

“Malfoy?” Harry stared at his former childhood nemesis, and his breath caught in this throat. He looked again at Scorpius, and yes, of course he could see a resemblance, now that he was looking for it.

“Why are you here with my son?” Malfoy’s voice couldn’t be more dangerous.

“Papa,” Scorpius said, his voice wobbling. “I did it again.”

Harry was immediately forgotten as Malfoy knelt in front of his son. “Oh, darling. Come here.” He gathered the child into his arms, and held him tightly. “Are you alight?”

“Yes,” Scorpius said, voice muffled against Malfoy’s jumper. “Mr. Harry said that I wasn’t in trouble. But he said that he needed to have a talk with you.” He looked worriedly at Harry. “You’ll be nice to my Papa?”

“Of course, Scorpius. I’m here to help, remember?”

Malfoy coughed discreetly, and Harry was certain that he was stifling a snort. “Scorpius, why don’t you go and help yourself to a snack from the fridge. Mr. Harry and I will have a talk, and then, later, we can go to the park.” Scorpius gave him a somewhat dubious look, but obediently disappeared. “Sit, Potter,” Draco said, his voice not welcoming, exactly, but also not full of scorn.

Harry sat. “Long time, Malfoy.”

“Long time. Is Scorpius okay?” Draco’s grey eyes, (and how could Harry have not remembered those eyes?), were filled with fear. He looked good, Harry realized. He was still lean, but he was nearly a head taller than Harry was. He’d stopped doing unnatural things to make his hair all sticky and slicked back, and a little shock of it fell over one eyebrow. He was wearing Muggle clothes, Harry realized, and he found himself bemusedly approving of the way Malfoy’s legs looked in the slim trousers.

“He isn’t hurt, and he isn’t in trouble, but he’s terribly frightened,” Harry started.

Draco seemed to wilt a little. “How is it that you’re involved in this?”

“I work for the DMCA. I’m an integration specialist. Normally, I go ‘round telling little First-Gen wixes about Magic, and help prepare them for Hogwarts. Sometimes, with kids like Scorpius, I help with frequent magical outbursts.”

“Thought you were going to be an Auror.”

Harry laughed. “You don’t read the Prophet?”

Draco’s face shuttered. “I haven’t read the Prophet since my parents died.”

“Oh, right, I suppose that makes sense,” Harry said, embarrassed that he had brought it up. The Malfoys had been sentenced to House Arrest after the war, but the Ministry had made them remove their ancestral Wards, replacing them with standard, Ministry-issue ones. Two years later, a Ministry employee, nursing a grudge, had stolen a poorly-secured wardkey, breached Malfoy Manor, and killed Narcissa and Lucius while they slept.

He gave Malfoy a crooked smile that was more like a grimace. “What you missed, then, was how spectacularly things fell apart after that. Your parents’ deaths uncovered a lot of corruption and shoddy practices within the DMLE. I tried, for about a year, to change things, but I wasn’t getting anywhere, and I was so unhappy. I’d been fighting the Ministry, and wizards who were taking the law into their own hands, and it was just, suddenly so clear that nothing I did would make a difference.”

“Oh,” Draco said recovering his poise, “I didn’t realize.”

“Yeah, well. It all culminated with a giant screaming match with Kingsley in the Atrium of the Ministry. And I threw my badge at him, and apparated out of there, which, I guess, tore down a bunch of wards and stuff.”

“You threw your badge at the Minister of Magic?”

“He was being a twat,” Harry said, a proud little smile on his face. “The Wizengamot wanted me to be this Figurehead, a symbol of all that was right in the magical world, and I just…couldn’t.”

“You were always a bit sensitive about that sort of thing,” Draco muttered.

Harry laughed. “Yeah, just a bit. Anyways, there was a big fallout. The Prophet was speculating that I was going to be the next Voldemort, and the DMLE were going to arrest me, at one point. And then my personal life fell apart a bit, and I kind of had a breakdown, I guess.”

Draco didn’t say anything, and his face looked totally different without his trademark sneer. Harry continued, “So, Minerva McGonagall, of all people, intervened, and basically shamed the Wizengamot, and Kingsley, and, well, everyone, I suppose. She took me back to Hogwarts, and let me follow Hagrid around for a few months, keeping up the Castle and tending to creatures and stuff. And when I got a bit better, I sat down with Kingsley, and we talked, and I realized what I was passionate about, and the whole Department for Magical Accidents and Catastrophes got revamped, and here I am.”

“Here you are,” Draco repeated, and Harry remembered that this wasn’t a chance to catch up with an old schoolmate, but an open investigation, and something was wrong with Scorpius.

“I’m concerned about Scorpius,” he said bluntly, after describing the way that Scorpius hexed a classmate. “Accidental magic isn’t uncommon, but it’s usually productive. A child is told no more sweets, so he summons the cookies. A child feels scared so he casts a notice-me-not on himself, in order to hide. When a child’s magic lashes out to hurt someone else, it’s worrisome.”

“What do you think is happening?” Draco asked. Harry looked closely at Draco. He didn’t seem defensive, or like he was hiding something, just worried and upset. But, Harry reminded himself, Draco was a Slytherin, and had learned to mask his real emotions since birth.

“It could be a lot of things,” Harry prevaricated. “In some cases, the child hasn’t fully accepted that he’s magical, or has been made to feel like his magic is something to be ashamed of. Sometimes, they’re having trouble adjusting to living in the magical and non-magical worlds.” He shrugged his shoulders. “In rare cases, the child is acting out because he’s being hurt by someone.”

“And which do you think is the case with Scorpius?”

“I don’t really know yet. That’s what I’m here to help sort out.”

“And how long will I be under investigation?” Draco asked, and he didn’t look angry, like Harry would have expected. He looked defeated.

“It isn’t really an investigation of you, at least not formally. I’ll be looking into all aspects of Scorpius’ life, to make sure that he’s safe, and happy, and getting all of the support he needs. It’s not a fishing expedition, Malfoy.” And it wasn’t, Harry reminded himself. He could be objective about Malfoy’s parenting. He’d moved on from the war, and gotten rid of his old prejudices. He had.

Draco’s eyes were clouded as he looked steadily at Harry. “He’s everything to me,” he said quietly. “I know that I’ve done wrong in my life, Potter, I know that you have the power and the motivation to completely ruin my life. But I know that you’re not the kind of man to play into petty revenge. I would give up anything for Scorpius. Please, Potter. Please don’t take my son away.”

Harry had been through this before. Sort of. When he worked with Muggle families who had a first-generation wix, they sometimes worried that their child would be taken away, whisked off to a world of magic where they could not follow. And, yes, children raised in the non-magical world did sometimes turn their back on their pasts, but Harry had learned how to reassure nervous parents. “Malfoy, it’s not my intention to remove Scorpius from a happy home. I truly am here to help, not destroy families. But, make no mistake, I am Scorpius’ advocate. I’m here to make sure that he’s being supported, and loved, just like I do with every other child I work with. If he’s being treated appropriately, you have nothing to worry about.”

Draco looked a bit relieved, but he still cast an anxious glance toward the kitchen. “What happens now?”

“Well, because Scorpius has performed accidental magic around people without magic before today, his file will be prioritized. I’ll be his caseworker, I’ll work with him, and his support systems to ensure that he’s happy, and that he’s getting everything he needs to thrive. Different kids need different things. If we determine that Scorpius’ magic is lashing out because he has some difficulties dealing with anger, for example, we’ll arrange for someone to work with him on coping strategies. If, on the other hand, he’s got more magic than we usually see at his age, we’ll need to find a conduit to productively release or dampen it. The solution will depend on what his needs are.”

“Thank you,” Draco said, seeming surprised to be saying it. “I’ve been worrying about this for a while, and I’m relieved to have some help.”

“For today, I’d like to ask you a few more questions, and we’ll mostly just watch the situation for the next little while.”

“Sure.”

“So, Scorpius’ Mum, is she wixen?”

“Yes, she was. She doesn’t see Scorpius, though. She moved to Austria after he was born. She’s not really the…maternal type.”

“I see,” Harry said. “Given that he has two magical parents, I wondered why he was attending a non-magical school?”

Draco sighed. “As a child, I…well, you know full well how I was. A lot of it came from ignorance. When Scorpius was born, I wanted things to be different. I didn’t want him to make the same assumptions that I did. I wanted him to be exposed to all sorts of different people. I bought this house, in a Muggle neighbourhood, and, by the time he was ready to start Primary, he had friends. It just made sense.”

Harry nodded. “It does. I think it’s a good way to give him an understanding of many cultures. Do you like his school?”

“I do,” Draco replied. “The staff there is inclusive, and Scorpius has been happy there. Maybe a little less happy this year. He's had more conflict, he's come home with stories of mean children occasionally. Once he told me that the Head Teacher didn't like him. I'm not sure how much of it is normal for his age, versus actual issues. His teacher says he does well, though.”

“Depending on how long it takes us to get Scorpius’ outbursts sorted, you might need to consider putting him in a less mainstream environment. There have been some studies about Obliviation, and the data suggests that we really ought to avoid doing it more than a couple of times. It's not really fair to the staff at Scorpius' school to keep taking their memories.”

Draco swallowed. “Yes, that makes sense.”

“You don’t seem to want him to go to a magical primary, though.”

“I’ve worked very hard to repair the damage done to our family’s reputation, but, understandably, there are still many people who suffer the impacts of our actions. I am hoping that I can avoid exposing Scorpius to the worst of it, especially while he’s so young.”

“That’s why he isn’t a Malfoy?”

Draco shrugged. “Partially, yes. But also because, on the day he was born, I looked down at him, and I was suddenly so terrified of becoming my Father that I almost passed out.” He regarded Harry, his lovely grey eyes filled with sadness. “I made terrible mistakes. I was a bigot, and I was arrogant, and I own my responsibility in those mistakes. But I was also a kid who desperately wanted his Father to be proud of him, to live up to being a Malfoy. I don’t want that for Scorpius.”

He looked sincere. Harry wasn’t really sure what to say, but fortunately, they were interrupted by Scorpius, who had finished his snack and wanted to be involved in the conversation, which meant that they avoided the heavy topics, and Harry asked some questions about their lives together.

“And what do you do for a living, Malfoy?”

“Draco,” Scorpius said firmly. “My Papa’s name is Draco.”

“Yes, of course you’re right, Scorpius. Mr. Malfoy, do you mind if I call you by your first name?”

“Yes, fine. I’m a Crown Prosecutor.”

“My Papa helps to save the world from bad guys!” Scorpius looked at his Father proudly, and Harry felt his heart warm in spite of himself.

He smiled at Scorpius, “That’s amazing. I can see that you’re really proud of what your Papa does.”

“He’s a superhero,” Scorpius said solemnly, and Draco exchanged an embarrassed look with Harry, who grinned.

“Not in the slightest, Scorpius,” Draco replied. “I do my best, and I try to make good choices.”

“Choices are everything,” Scorpius agreed, and Harry suspected that this was something that was repeated often between them.

Scorpius changed the subject to discuss the nearby park, with its brilliant climbing structure, and Harry made his excuses, arranging a time to meet in the next few days. He logged his paperwork, and, since it was still early enough in the day, sent a Patronus to Andromeda, arranging to pick Teddy up from school.

They had a quick fly, and Harry was pleased to see that Teddy was taking well to his broom. He knew that Tonks had been comfortable flying, but he’d never actually seen Remus on a broom. Teddy was quite bookish, and Harry wanted to make sure that he was well-rounded.

Once they went inside, Teddy disappeared to his room to read, and Harry made his way to Andromeda’s kitchen, where he gratefully accepted a cup of coffee. His kitchen had already waged war on the latest coffee maker, and he’d had to settle for a powdered instant abomination that morning. “How’s work?” Andromeda asked, as she always did. The older woman had been incredibly supportive of Harry’s career choice, and she loved hearing stories about young witches and wizards who were learning about their abilities.

“Good,” Harry said, taking a grateful sip from his cup and whimpering a little in appreciation. “I actually met a relative of yours.”

“Oh?” Strictly speaking, Harry was under a restrictive secrecy agreement, but, since Andromeda was a Healer, she was a bit of a loophole, and Harry appreciated her advice. He supposed that it was technically against the rules, but if his magical vows allowed him to speak, it couldn’t be too bad. “I haven’t seen Draco in years.”

Harry smiled. Of course Andromeda would know who he was talking about. “Did you know that he has a little boy?”

“I’d heard something about that. I suppose he’d be about four now?”

“Six. Nice little kid. Hexed a classmate who was being a bully.”

“Why would they call you over something like that?”

“He goes to a Muggle School, surprisingly, and little Scorpius-”

“Scorpius? Oh Merlin, Draco, honestly?” Andromeda snorted.

“I imagine that it’s hard to find a constellation name that hasn’t been taken by some mad old Blood Purist by now,” Harry defended half-heartedly. “It’s not so bad.”

“That tradition has seen its day,” Andromeda replied.

“I think it’s nice.”

Andromeda laughed outright. “Nice? I’m not certain that there’s anything nice about maintaining the Black family legacy. Or the Malfoy one, for that matter.”

“Maybe that’s why he’s doing it. Maybe that’s the only tradition from his family that he feels is worthy to keep.”

“Has he changed, then? I seem to recall that he was a superior little shit in Hogwarts, if the stories you tell are even remotely true.”

“I think he has, ‘Dromeda. Scorpius is perfectly lovely, and Draco doesn’t seem even remotely Death-Eatery. It’s early though, and there’s something going on.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I don’t get any bad vibes from my first home visit, objectively speaking. But Scorpius was terrified when I turned up at the school, sobbing, begging me not to take his Papa away from him. And his accidental magic hexed another child. There’s something going on with Scorpius.”

“You think someone’s hurting him?”

Harry pushed his glasses up his nose, shrugging. “Maybe? He’s scared. Abused children are often protective of their abusers, and he begged me not to take him away from Draco.”

“Mmm,” Andromeda said noncommittally. “And you’re comfortable that you can remain objective?”

“‘Dromeda,” Harry began, his voice a little sharp.

“No, Harry, I’m not implying anything. I fully think that you can stay balanced, but I wanted to know that you’d considered it.”

Harry sighed, but patted her hand placatingly. “Yes, I know. And thanks. I’m well aware that Draco and I have a past, and that I was, quite rightfully, it turned out, suspicious of him at school. But I spoke at his trial, and I did mean what I said then. He deserved a second chance. If anything, I think that I’m the person in DMAC who’s most likely to give him a fair shake.”

“Well reasoned,” Andromeda said. Sentiment around Dark Wizards remained a bit negative, and it really wasn’t that surprising that Draco had fled the Wizarding world. In the non-Magical world, he was just another man.

Harry’s eye caught the clock on the wall and groaned. “Ugh, look at the time, I need to get going.”

“Late for dinner?” Andromeda said, her eyes filled with amusement.

“Yes, it’s all very funny, until he murders me in my sleep,” Harry grumbled, yelling his goodbye to Teddy and apparating directly from Andromeda’s kitchen directly to his own.

“Master!” His house elf, who was doing something in the sink when Harry arrived, straightened and whirled around. Harry looked at his face carefully. Normally, he’d be berating Harry over the time, or the fact that he hadn’t apparated into the backyard, and he certainly wouldn’t be calling him Master.

“Kreacher,” Harry replied evenly. “What’s up?”

“Your dinner is prepared, Master,” Kreacher said, grandly sweeping his arm toward the table.

“Lovely, thank you. What are you working on there?”

“Master does not need to be concerning himself,” Kreacher said. Harry’s brow wrinkled. He was definitely hiding something.

“Master isn’t concerned, Kreacher, just curious. Master certainly wouldn’t want to have to order you to explain what’s going on.”

“Kreacher is just improving the drain,” the elf said loftily.

“Improving it how?” Harry’s suspicion rose when Kreacher looked quickly to his right. “Kreacher…”

“Kreacher is renewing the banishment charm on the drain,” he said reluctantly.

“Oh? And where are you banishing the drainage to?”

The silence stretched out between them, until Kreacher muttered something that Harry could barely hear, but he made out the words ‘Number Ten’.

“Kreacher!” Harry barked. “We talked about this!”

“Kreacher thinks he hears an owl,” the elf said quickly, and with a snap of his fingers, disappeared from the room.

Harry sighed. Kreacher had declared unofficial war on their neighbours in Number Ten, after Mrs. Number Ten had sprayed Kreacher’s cat with a hose. Kreacher had been incoherent with rage, and it had taken Harry nearly an entire day to talk him out of his more murderous inclinations.

Harry had been unprepared for Kreacher’s hesitant request for a pet. He’d refused clothing, after the war, and, when he was offered continued work at Hogwarts, had expressed that he’d really prefer to return home and take care of Master Harry. Harry, who hadn’t truly planned to move into Grimmauld Place, had been at a bit of a loss, but Kreacher had more than proved his loyalty, and Harry wanted to return the favour. Kreacher’s request for a ‘small cat of Kreacher’s own’ had seemed a minor thing to accommodate, and the day that Harry had taken him to Diagon Alley to pick out his ‘small cat’ was one Harry remembered fondly. Kreacher had selected a grey, non-magical kitten, who he’d immediately dubbed ‘Gimple’. The elf doted on the cat, and, since it provided something to keep Kreacher busy, Harry had found it a workable solution for all.

It was only after the incident with the garden hose that Harry realized that he needed to set wards to keep Gimple within the boundaries of Number Twelve. He considered the matter settled, and had been relieved that a spray of water had been the worst that had happened, since Kreacher would be inconsolable if something more serious happened to his friend. He ought to have known, he realized, sitting down to eat his dinner. Kreacher held a grudge like no other living being.

Harry eyed the sink warily. He had no idea how to unpick House Elf magic, and he could only imagine how Mrs. Number Ten would react when waste water and food particles ended up in her sitting room, or wherever Kreacher had set the drain to banish. Grateful yet again for the Fidelius charm, Harry resolved to bring the matter up with Kreacher on another day.

Incident Investigation Report
Date: March 12, 2007
Investigating Agent: Harry J Potter
Subject: Scorpius H Greengrass

Narrative:
Summoned to non-Magical Primary School to address instance of underage magic. Upon arrival at the school, presented acceptable credentials, and was allowed to meet with Scorpius Hyperion Greengrass, aged six. Upon entering the meeting room, Scorpius was visibly nervous, and several minutes were necessary to calm him enough to discuss. The incident of accidental magic was non-suspicious in nature; it appears that Scorpius was irritated by a classmate, and inadvertently performed a wandless hex. The affected non-Magical child sustained no permanent injury.

An issue that does require follow up, however, is the child’s reaction to having performed the hex. Scorpius was aware of the existence of magic (note: previous investigation records performed by other investigators document other instances of magical accidents), and he does live with a magical parent. Despite these mitigating factors, Scorpius was inconsolable at having performed magic, and repeatedly begged that he not be removed from his custodial parent. It has not been established why Scorpius believes that he is in jeopardy of being removed from his family home, and further investigation will be required.

Upon visiting the family home, no concerns were identified with provision of material requirements. The home is clean, safe, and more than adequately meets the child’s physical needs. Upon meeting Scorpius’ parent, Draco Malfoy, my observations of the interaction between parent and child raised no concerns. Mister Malfoy is appropriately concerned with providing support, guidance and structure to his child, and engaged in expected ways regarding Scorpius’ outbursts of accidental magic.

Mister Malfoy also raised concerns that Scorpius would be removed from the family home, and displayed signs of being quite fearful that this would come to pass. He pledged to partner with the Department in ensuring that Scorpius is supported through the investigation, and I have no reason to suspect that Mister Malfoy will be uncooperative.

A note regarding potential mitigating factors: Mister Malfoy has had interactions with the Ministry of Magic in prior years, having been placed on probation after an underaged affiliation with the terrorist group known as Death Eaters. It is possible that these prior interactions have contributed to an initial mistrust of the Ministry’s authority, and this mistrust has been passed along to the minor child.

However, it is impossible to verify this for certain, and further follow up will absolutely be required to ensure that the child is being disciplined with appropriate methods.

Follow Ups/Next Steps:
Further home visits to ensure that the interactions between parent and child raise no additional warning flags.
Additional one-on-one discussions with the minor child to probe for information on disciplinary practices, and to identify where his fear originates.

At this time, Investigator Potter does not believe that Legilimency is required, nor the use of Vertiserum, as there is not enough evidence to support the violation of personal privacy.
If Steps 1 and 2 do not produce the information required to satisfy the investigation, Investigator Potter recommends interviewing Teachers and other caregivers, however, as this will endanger the Statute of Secrecy, it should be a secondary tactic. Since the staff at his Primary school have been Obliviated, the investigator notes the complications involved in any future outbursts.

Chapter Text

The office, when he arrived, was busy, team members coming off shift, replacements arriving. Their boss, a no-nonsense witch named Juniper Buckley, who reminded Harry of Minerva McGonagall, hustled them into the conference room for the Thursday meeting. Tamsin and Harry found seats at the back of the room. The Thursday meeting was where assignments and special projects were doled out, and Harry and Tamsin always had the same assignment. Tamsin occupied herself by levitating a quill off the table, sending it to tickle the ear of Linden Nettle, a man who she and Harry both loathed.

As Juniper discussed break-room cleanliness, for the fourth week running, Harry stifled a snicker as Linden swiped distractedly at his ear. Tamsin glared warningly at Harry, who bit his lip and looked away. The meeting droned on, and Tamsin continued to plague Linden mercilessly. Just as Linden caught a glimpse of the quill out of the corner of his eye, Harry quickly banished it with a wave of his hand, leaving Linden none the wiser.

Finally, the meeting broke up, and Harry paused to snag one of the nice pastries before they were all gone. He settled on a jam one, leaving only raisin ones in the box. “Potter,” a smug voice said in his ear. “You’re still here then?”

“Yup,” Harry said shortly.

“Haven’t cracked up fully then?”

“Not yet,” he replied, his voice tight. Tamsin was casting murderous glares at Linden, and Harry edged past the odious man.

Linden sneered at Harry, his crooked teeth making Harry think of Snape. It was his only resemblance to Harry’s Potion’s instructor though, as Nettle was short, squat, and had at least three decades of age on Snape. “I still think it’s mad, letting you around children. Between your unnatural tendencies, and your propensity to violent outbursts, you’re a walking time bomb.”

“Noted,” Harry said.

“I think it’s mad that they let a bureaucratic little twat like you work anywhere other than the floo regulation department, but hey, what do I know?” Tamsin said from over Harry’s shoulder. He raised his bun to her mouth, hoping that if he filled it, she’d stop getting them into trouble. She took a big bite, but continued to glare at Nettle.

“You’re no better,” Nettle said to Tamsin. “Washed up, aren’t you? One mistake away from getting the sack.”

Harry knew that if he didn't intervene, there'd be bloodshed, and Nettle, the slippery fucker, always seemed to find a way to make things look like their fault. “Tamsin,” he said warningly. “Come on, I want to talk.”

Tamsin looked enraged, but allowed Harry to pull her to his office. She spent the next ten minutes ranting about the size of Nettle’s cock, his beady little eyes, and what an enormous waste of space he was. Harry made soothing noises, finished the bun, and reviewed his schedule for the day.

His only scheduled appointment was a follow up with the Powers family. Harry apparated to the same alley as before, and presently, found himself knocking on their front door. Violet flung the door open. “Mr. Harry,” she beamed. “You came back!”

“Of course. I said I would, didn’t I?”

Mr. Powers was standing in the hallway. “Hello again, Mr. Potter,” he said. “Please come in.”

“Thanks, and please call me Harry.” He followed a bouncy Violet and a sedate, but genial Mr. Powers into the kitchen, and gratefully accepted a cup of coffee. He smiled delightedly at the cup as it was presented to him.

Mr. Powers looked at him, bemused. “I’ve never seen anyone smile at their drink before.”

Harry shrugged. “I’ve been having trouble with my coffee maker lately,” he admitted. “I seem to be relying on the kindness of friends for my caffeine fix.”

“Can’t you just magic it better?” Violet asked.

“Actually,” Harry said, "because my home has quite a bit of ambient magic in it, it can sometimes interfere with the way electricity works.” He looked around. “Is Mrs. Powers joining us this morning?”

Mr. Powers looked uncomfortable. “Ah…she might.”

“Mr. Powers, I assume that Violet’s mum is a bit overwhelmed by the big changes that your family is facing?”

Relief crossed the man’s face. “A bit, yes. Is that normal?”

Harry chuckled. “Frankly, yes. I’ve just disrupted all of your paradigms. It’s an enormous shock, and some people struggle with accepting something so surprising.”

“But they come around?” Mr. Powers’ voice was hopeful, wary. “They always come around?”

Harry flicked a glance towards Violet, who was watching the interplay, rapt. “Mostly, yes. When push comes to shove, parents generally want the best for their kids, yeah?” He resolutely does not think about the the parents (or aunts and uncles) who don’t want the best for their kids. “Now then,” he said, “I’m sure you have some questions about the literature that I left with you?”

They passed a pleasant hour, working through Mr. Powers’ tentative inquiries about the nature of his daughter’s gifts, and Violet’s increasingly excited demands to show him more magic. She reminded Harry a little of Rose, her eyes bright as she eagerly consumed information. Mr. Powers looked at the clock, a little sadly. “Vi,” he said, “you’ve your piano lesson in a half hour.”

Violet’s face fell, and Harry quickly reminded her he’d be back to visit soon, and that there was a support and social group that the Powers family could join to meet other families who were new to magic. Reluctantly, Violet disappeared up the stairs to get ready for her lesson. “Mr. Powers,” Harry said quietly.

“Call me Ben, please.”

“Certainly. Ben. I’m getting the impression that Mrs. Powers has more than a few concerns.”

“She’s frightened,” he said, a bit defensively.

“Yes, I can understand that,” Harry soothed. “Would it be possible for me to speak to her? Maybe while Violet is at her lesson? Sometimes it’s easier to get things out into the open without little ears listening in.”

Ben gave Harry a somewhat nervous glance, but excused himself for a moment, and left Harry standing in the kitchen. He examined the childish drawings stuck on the fridge, and helped himself to another cup of coffee. Shortly, Ben was back. “She’s on the back porch, and she’s agreed to listen,” he said, relief evident in his voice.

“Thank you,” Harry said. “I’ll just go have a little chat, then.”

Mrs. Powers was indeed on the porch, chin on her knees, watching some birds as they pecked at the dirt in her flowerbed. She was a slight woman, with long, dirty blonde hair, which she’d scraped back into a ponytail. Harry sat on the step beside her. “Thank you for agreeing to speak to me again,” he said.

“I didn’t want to,” she said firmly. “I don’t like this, Mr. Potter.”

“What don’t you like?”

“I don’t want this for our family. I don’t want my daughter to have some dangerous power that we have to keep hidden. I don’t want her to go away to a school I can’t visit, and I don’t want strange men with sticks coming by to wipe my neighbours’ memories.”

“I can understand that,” Harry replied. “I can see that you love Violet very much, and I can’t imagine how jarring it would be to learn that she has abilities that you don’t yet understand.” She regarded him closely, scrutinizing his face for any hint that he was being facetious. “One of my best friends is a first-generation witch, and her parents were similarly overwhelmed.” He didn’t mention that, thanks to the political climate at the time, they had good reason to be frightened, and that Hermione had resorted to wiping their memories to protect them. It was different now, and there was no point in mentioning the troubled history of their world. Not anymore.

“But they’re okay? Now?”

“Yes,” Harry said simply. The truth was that Hermione’s parents had never returned from Australia after the war. They got their memories back, but they were quite upset by it all, and their relationship with Hermione remained a bit strained.

Mrs. Powers was silent for a long moment, her eyes focused on the middle distance. “She’s just a little girl,” she said finally.

“Yes,” Harry said.

The woman’s shoulders stiffened. “I could take her away,” she said, her voice low and harsh. “I could take her away from you people and all of this.”

Harry’s own shoulders stiffened at the words, ‘you people’. It reminded him too much of his Aunt Petunia. “You could,” he said quietly, not mentioning that, now that they had Violet’s magical signature, they could find her, no matter where she went. “Violet would still be a little girl who had magical abilities, though. And she’d be in a place where she didn’t get any support or education on how to use her gifts.”

“She could get hurt.”

Harry wasn’t sure whether Mrs. Powers meant that Violet could get hurt in the magical world, or away from it. “She could. She could get hurt by many things in the world, magical or not. I imagine that must be one of the most frightening things about being a parent. I worry about my Godson in exactly that way.”

“Seven,” Mrs. Powers said suddenly.

“I’m sorry?”

“Seven miscarriages. Before Violet. Seven desperately longed-for babies that I wasn’t able to carry to term. Seven children that I lost, and grieved, and-” Her words cut off in a bitter little sob. Harry was filled with enormous compassion for the woman.

“Mrs. Powers, I’m so terribly sorry for your losses. It’s unimaginable how painful that must have been for you, and I can understand how cherished Violet is. I’ve never lost a child, so I wouldn’t presume to tell you that I know how you feel. I do know what it’s like to lose someone that you love…” He trailed off for a moment, as his mind readily supplied the list of names that resonated through him like a heartbeat. Dad, Mum, Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Fred…. He drew himself back to the conversation, clearing his throat. “It’s terrible, and I know that it made me extra-protective of those who I still held close.”

Mrs. Powers was still watching him carefully. “I think,” she said softly, “that you do understand. You’ve had a painful life, haven’t you, Mr. Potter?”

Harry paused, considering how to answer this. “I think that all of us have pain in our lives,” he said eventually. “I have. I’ve also had joy.”

“Were you born into a magical family?”

This was veering into territory that Harry didn’t feel was productive for an introduction to magical Britain, but once they started learning more about magic, they’d inevitably learn about Harry Potter. “I was,” he said carefully, “but unfortunately, my parents died when I was very young, and I was raised by a non-magical aunt and uncle.”

“So you’re like Violet, then. You had someone turn up in your backyard when you’d done something impossible?”

Harry smiled. “Things were a bit different back then. First-Gen Magicals were approached near their eleventh birthday, just in time for them to attend Hogwarts. But yes, I was just as surprised as Violet was to learn that I had magic.”

“Do you regret it?” The question was stark, and it took Harry aback for a moment. It shouldn’t have, really. He’d asked it enough of himself, when he was half-starved on the Horcrux hunt, or attending one of the endless funerals after the war, or when the press was lambasting him for what they saw as one of his transgressions.

Finally, he spoke. “I don’t,” he said seriously. “I don’t regret it at all. I call magical abilities a gift, because that’s truly what I believe that they are. It changed my life, if I were to lose my magic somehow, I would feel like I had a hole inside of me.”

“Do you promise me,” Mrs. Powers said savagely, “that this will give my Violet a better life?”

Harry’s smile was tinged with sympathy. “How can I promise something like that?”

“I need you to.”

“But it would be a hollow promise, and I can’t do that. The Magical world isn’t perfect, just like the non-magical one. Violet is a wonderful little girl, who has abilities that few others do, but just like every other person alive, she’ll face challenges, and hardship. I can’t promise that accepting her magic will inoculate her from all pain and suffering. Besides,” he said, lightly touching her arm, “you’re focusing on the wrong thing. This isn’t about you giving permission for Violet to have magic. She already does. This is about you accepting her, just as she is.”

Mrs. Powers made a strangled sound. Harry sighed. “I know it’s hard, and I know you’re frightened, but your choice is simple. Not easy, but simple. You can accept that Violet has a gift, and support her as she learns it, or you can try to suppress it, and risk losing her completely. Violet wants her magic, and she’ll feel conflicted if she knows you don’t approve.”

The sky, which had been sunny, had become a bit grey and gloomy, and Harry wondered idly if it would rain. Time passed, and he watched the clouds roll in, and caught a distant rumble of thunder.

“You’re right,” Violet’s mother said finally. “I despise it, but you’re right. I can’t go back, can I?”

“Back to not knowing? No. Only forward,” he said gently.

“Only forward,” Mrs. Powers repeated, but she squared her shoulders, and unfolded her legs and stood. “Then, I suppose we’d better take another look at those pamphlets of yours, Mr. Potter.”

“Call me Harry,” Harry said, and followed her inside to do just that.

When he finished with the Powers’, it was still early, but since Harry was on-call that night, he decided not to return to the office. Instead, he popped into the Granger-Weasley back yard and rapped on the door.

Hermione’s face lit up when she saw him. “Harry! What a nice surprise.”

“I didn’t fancy going back to the office, and I remembered that today was your work-from-home day. Can you do me a cup of coffee?”

She smiled. “Kitchen still hates your coffeemaker?”

“I don’t know what’s wrong!” Harry exclaimed. “It set the last one on fire. On fire, Hermione! And Kreacher seems to encourage it.”

“Never mind,” she said, in a feeble attempt to bolster him. “How’s work?”

“Good,” he replied, but he could never really say much, the confidentiality spells preventing him from giving any details. “Ran into someone from school last week.”

“Oh?” Hermione was used to this. To any listener, it would appear that he was changing the subject, but Hermione had long been his sounding board, and he relied on her. If he was careful, he could tell her things without telling her things.

“Yeah. From our year.”

"A friend?"

"Not exactly."

"An enemy?"

Harry laughed bitterly. "Not exactly, but after facing Voldemort the term 'enemy' changed a bit."

“Malfoy?” Hermione’s eyes widened noticeably. After the trials had ended, Hermione had been involved with ensuring that the Slytherins had gotten a fair shake. Some, like Nott, had been devoted Death Eaters, and their Veritaserum testimonies had ensured they’d never emerge from Azkaban. Others, like Blaise Zabini, had been neutral, and his mother, who’d been rumoured to be a bit flighty, had done a runner. Blaise had been on his own, and Hermione had ensured that he got to finish out his NEWTs and ensured that he was protected from the worst of the anti-Dark prejudice. She’d helped Draco, Harry knew, arranging a transfer to Beauxbatons in France, and helping him to obtain non-magical credentials when he graduated.

“Yes, he’s a lawyer of some sort. Crown something.”

“A Crown Prosecutor?”

“That’s it,” Harry agreed. “Has a nice little boy.”

“That’s nice,” Hermione said evenly. “I certainly hope that he’s being treated fairly, in his dealings with magical bureaucracy.” She cast him a warning look.

“Of course he is,” Harry said, a bit defensively.

“It would be a shame for all of the hard work since the war ended, if someone let their old grudges and suspicions create problems for a family.”

“What are you implying, Hermione?”

“I’m just saying that you’re a bit…emotional, Harry, and it would be wrong of you to let some schoolboy grudge break apart a family.”

“Yes, it would,” Harry said, his voice taking on a steely tone. “I’m good at my job, Hermione, and, despite the fact that my suspicions back then were completely fucking valid, as evidenced by a certain incident with a vanishing cabinet, I am able to maintain objectivity.”

“That’ll be a first,” she snorted.

Harry was suddenly filled with cold, icy rage. Normally, he and Hermione bantered away in good humour, but he had always been sensitive about the incident with Malfoy in sixth year, and how it had been a long-running joke between Ron and Hermione that Harry was obsessed with Malfoy. She’d dismissed his suspicions then, and she was implying now that he’d be unable to perform his duties. “That’s out of line, and a low blow, besides,” he said coldly.

“Harry, I didn’t mean-”

“No, you did, Hermione, and there’s no point in walking backwards now. I,” he hissed, “have a sworn duty to advocate on behalf of magical children, and ensure that they get the childhood they deserve. It’s unfair of you to say that I’d try to remove a child from his home just to score a point or something.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Hermione said, her voice raising a bit. “I’m saying that you are always a bit sensitive to kids who you think aren’t being treated well, and with your history with that family, you don’t think you’d be looking extra hard to see if there’s anything wrong?”

“A bit sensitive?” Harry knew, deep-down, that he should walk away. That having this conversation, one they’d very, very carefully avoided for years, would result in things being said that couldn’t be taken back. But he was unable to back down. “What do you mean by that?”

“Oh, Harry, it’s not your fault,” Hermione started, the condescending tone putting Harry’s teeth on edge. “With your upbringing, it’s no surprise that you are still experiencing trauma from your own abuse.”

“You have no right!” Harry shouted, and then, realizing that the kids might be home, carefully lowered his voice. “No right, Hermione, to assume things, and draw your own conclusions. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Is that so?” Hermione said, and Harry could hear the frustration in her voice. This was something she’d been carefully not saying for a while. “I have no idea? Honestly, Harry, anyone who’s got a set of eyes knows that you project yourself into every kid you meet, desperate to give them the childhood you didn’t get.” She suddenly went silent, and Harry could tell that she’d not meant to go quite that far.

“Of course,” he said icily. “Yes, how silly of me.” He stood, a bit shakily.

“Harry, wait, oh God, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“No,” he said sadly. “You did mean. I need to go.”

“Please, can we just talk about this?”

“No,” he said, marvelling that his voice remained even. “No, I don’t think so, not right now. I’ll see you.”

“Harry!”

He didn’t wait for her to say anything else. He stumbled into the back yard, and apparated home. Kreacher, who was dragging a bit of string for Gimple to pounce on, jumped to his feet. “Something has happened to Master Harry,” he said in concern.

“I’m fine,” Harry said. “I just need a bit of time to myself, Kreacher. No need to make dinner tonight.”

He climbed the stairs automatically, barely registering the steps he took. Once ensconced in his library, he waved his wand at the fire, and crumpled into the armchair. He knew that he had to confront his feelings about what happened with Hermione. But not today, he decided.

Chapter Text

He’d fallen into a fitful sleep when his charmed Galleon warmed. Blinking his eyes blearily, he straightened his glasses and read the message.

Male, four years, Malcolm Sanders, underage magic, malicious charm. Two non-magical signatures present.

Harry’s brow wrinkled. Malicious charm was an odd classification, one that he didn’t recall seeing before. He grabbed an invigoration potion from the cabinet in the bathroom, cast a quick charm to freshen his jeans and t-shirt, and made his way to the back garden. (Kreacher disliked it when Harry apparated directly from the house, telling Harry that it was ‘very bad manners’.) He arrived in a quiet suburb, bathed in darkness. It was ominously quiet, and when Harry checked his watch, he realized that it was nearly midnight. What was a four-year-old doing up so late?

He rang the doorbell of the only house that had lights on. A beefy man answered the door, his face harassed and red, and demanded, “What is it?”

“Hello, are you Mr. Sanders?”

“What do you want?”

Harry sniffed. He could smell the scent of a recently-smothered fire. He looked beyond the enormous man, and noticed evidence of charred curtains on a window. “I need to come in, please,” Harry said firmly.

“You’ll do no such thing!”

Harry was tired, and a bit off centre from his earlier fight with Hermione. He didn’t fancy trying to convince this man to let him in. He cast a mild confundus charm, and, a little dazedly, the man stepped back. A woman came out of the kitchen at speed. “Who is this?”

“‘Dunno,” the man said bemusedly.

“My name is Harry Potter,” Harry said. “I’m here about your son Malcolm.”

The woman’s face went through a miasma of expressions: fear, revulsion, a hint of shame, finally settling on bitter resignation. It sparked a reaction in Harry, and he struggled to keep his face neutral. “What about him?”

“Did something a bit unusual happen here this evening?”

“No!” The woman shouted this, before exchanging a wide-eyed look with her husband and saying, “Everything’s fine.”

“I’d like to see Malcolm, please.” It wasn’t a request.

“He’s sleeping,” Mrs. Sanders said shortly.

“I must insist.”

Mrs. Sanders led Harry up a staircase. As they neared the top of it, she bolted ahead, and as he followed, Harry heard the scrape of furniture moving, followed by a door opening. He gave her a pointed look before glancing at the heavy chair that she’d clearly been using to block the door closed. Her face flushed.

“Mommy?” The voice inside the room was tiny, and Harry could hear that the child was scared. “Is my punishment over?”

“Yes, of course, darling,” the woman said. “Everything is fine.”

Harry, who had frozen at the word ‘punishment’, pushed past her and entered the room. It was bare, save a mattress on the floor. The woman screamed at him, “Get out! Malcolm is on restriction, I can’t have you-”

“Hello, Malcolm,” Harry said gently. “My name is Harry. I’m here to help you.”

The tiny figure illuminated by the hallway light didn’t move. Harry crouched down beside the mattress. “Are you hurt at all?”

The little boy shook his head, refusing to look at Harry. Harry sighed. “Okay, I’ll be right back, okay? I wanted to chat with you for a minute, but I just need to sort some things first.” He left the room, and glared sternly at the woman. “Come downstairs.”

“Who do you think you are?”

“Just Harry,” he muttered, and with a firm grip on her arm, steered her toward the stairs. Once back in the lounge, with Mr. Sanders sputtering angrily, he pointed unwaveringly at the sofa. “Sit down,” he said. Mrs. Sanders opened her mouth, but clearly saw something about the set of his jaw, and sat quietly.

He pulled out his wand, and spelled them both still before grabbing a recording orb from his pocket. “Investigator Harry James Potter,” he said clearly after charming the recorder to begin. “Called to investigate accidental magic at 2 Squire’s Mount, Hampstead. Subject identified as Malcolm Sanders. On scene is also two adults, assumed to be Malcolm’s parents. Evidence of a recently extinguished unplanned fire, as well as evidence of mistreatment of the subject. As abuse is suspected, Investigator Potter, utilizing Statute 4.7.3 of the Magical Child Protection Act is prepared to perform legilimency on Mr. and Mrs. Sanders.”

He crouched in front of Mr. Sanders and made eye contact, intoning “Legilimens”. His Occlumency remained absolute crap, but Harry had been surprised, after being declared Horcrux-free that he was a better than fair Legilimens. With surgical accuracy, Harry sliced through Mr. Sanders’ mind until he found the images he was looking for. He exited the man’s mind, not taking any particular care to avoid causing him a headache.

He moved on to Mrs. Sanders, and, once his suspicions had been validated, he proceeded to make a series of complicated wand movements that would transfer the memories directly to the recording cube. The couple was watching him intently from their places on the sofa, terror obvious in their expressions. Harry ignored them, methodically calling for an apprehension squad who would take them in for more extensive questioning, and, if required, proceed with legal actions. Harry then conjured his Patronus and smiled thinly as Prongs erupted from his wand, scanning the room for danger. “Lu,” Harry said. “I’ve one for you, tonight if possible. Let me know.” Prongs bowed his head and bounded through the nearest wall. Presently, a shimmering hare bounded through the wall and said, “I’ll put the kettle on, Harry.”

With a sigh, Harry climbed the stairs once again. He crept to the side of the thin mattress again and said, “Malcolm? Are you still awake?”

The little boy turned over, and Harry conjured a ball of light in his palm, nudging it a little until it hovered over them and bathed them in a warm glow. Malcolm’s eyes widened at this. Harry smiled. “Neat, isn’t it? Do you remember what I said I was called?” Malcolm nodded. “Good. So I’m Harry, and you’re Malcolm, and I bet it’s been sort of an awful day, hasn’t it?” Another nod. Harry moved his hand nearer to Malcolm. “The first thing that I need to tell you is that you’re absolutely, perfectly safe. I am going to make sure that you stay that way, and that’s a promise. Nobody’s going to hurt you anymore, Malcolm.”

Malcolm shivered. Harry silently cast a wandless warming charm, and, for good measure, conjured two mugs. He reached into his pocket, extracting two sachets of hot chocolate mixture, casting an aguamenti, and a warming charm. “Do you like hot chocolate? I think it helps, sometimes, after a hard day.” He took a long swallow from one of the mugs, and then held the other out. It took a long time. Malcolm regarded him silently. Harry waited patiently, sipping his drink, and holding the mug out. Finally, the child crawled into a seated position, and tentatively reached for the mug. When he took a tentative sip, Harry smiled widely at him. “Better?” Malcolm shrugged.

“The next thing I have to tell you, is that all of the things that you got into trouble for? That’s not your fault. You should never have been punished for that. You’ve magic, Malcolm. You’re a wizard, just like I am.” Malcolm’s eyes grew impossibly big. He shook his head. Harry nodded. “You are, and magic is a wonderful gift that only some people have. I don’t think that your Mummy and Daddy understood it, and sometimes, when people don’t understand, they get frightened. But that’s not your fault. Every single little witch and wizard does accidental magic.”

“Where’s my Mum?” Malcolm asked suddenly.

“Some of the people I work with have taken your Mum and Dad to our offices to help explain things.”

“When will she be back?”

“I don’t know, Malcolm. Probably not tonight, because it’s actually quite late.”

“Are you going to stay here with me?”

“No, what’s actually going to happen is that I’m going to take you to a very, very special place. It belongs to a friend of mine, and she’s going to take wonderful care of you until we sort things out with your parents.”

Malcolm began to shiver. “I can’t leave,” he said. “I’m not allowed.”

“It’s okay,” Harry said. “You’re allowed for right now, okay?”

“But…” Malcolm’s chin wobbled a little. “What if I’m not here when my Mum gets back?”

Harry’s heart broke in two. “Oh, darling,” he said gently. “I know this is so hard, and so confusing. He carefully removed the mug from Malcolm’s trembling hands, and said, “You don’t have to say yes if you don’t want to, but would you like to hold my hand when we go?” Malcolm gave him a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. Harry smiled, and held out his hand. Together, they selected a change of clothing for tomorrow, and retrieved Malcolm’s toothbrush from the loo. Harry conjured a little rucksack shaped like a dragon. He surreptitiously performed a diagnostic charm behind Malcolm’s back. There were some minor bruises, but nothing requiring medical treatment. He transposed the results into his notebook.

It was a matter of moments to arrive at Luna’s strange, rook-shaped home. Malcolm didn’t enjoy apparation, and was sick into the dirigible plum bush, but Harry assured him that Luna wouldn’t mind. He knocked on the door, Malcolm shivering like a leaf beside him. Luna opened the door and regarded them both for a moment.

“Yes,” she said softly, “you’re in the right place now.” Malcolm looked up at her, and she gave him one of her lovely smiles. The boy’s lips quirked, but he looked quickly at his feet before a true smile could blossom. “Come in,” she invited. Harry and Malcolm crossed the threshold.

“Luna, I’d like you to meet Malcolm,” Harry said. “I’ve been telling him all about you.”

“I’m happy that you’re here,” she replied. “This is a good place for you.” They sat on Luna’s comfortable, overstuffed sofa, and she kneeled in front of Malcolm. “Are you frightened?” He nodded. “That’s okay. I am sometimes frightened too. If you let me hold your hands for a moment, I can share some of my courage with you. Harry has already done a wonderful job of giving you some of his, but I think that you could use a little more.” She outstretched her hands, and very slowly, Malcolm placed his tiny hands in hers. “Lovely,” she said gently. “Exactly right. Harry, I think we need the song.”

Harry knew instantly what she meant. It had been a few days after the war, and, overwhelmed by everything, Harry had walked from the Burrow over to Luna’s house. She had made him tea, and held his hand, and rested her head on his shoulder, and for the first time in what felt like months, Harry had felt like he could take a full breath. She’d been playing music, and when the song changed, Harry had bolted upright. “What is this song?”

Luna had fetched the album cover. “Nina Simone,” Harry muttered. “Luna, I know this song. I remember this song.”

“That’s nice,” Luna had said easily.

“Luna, my Mum used to sing this to me,” Harry had replied, a bit frantically. “I remember my mum singing this to me.” She had pulled him tighter and together they listened to the lyrics:

O-o-h child things are gonna get easier
O-o-h child things'll get brighter
O-o-h child things are gonna get easier
O-o-h child things'll get brighter

As they listened, something further unclenched within Harry, and he had found, for the first time in years, tears pricking at his eyes. “It’s okay, Harry,” Luna had whispered. “You can let go.”

And then, like a dam breaking open, Harry had wept. He cried and cried, for his young, hopeful mother, promising her baby that there’d be brighter days ahead. For his broken godfather, who had never truly been freed from Azkaban. For Remus and Tonks, who would miss out on watching their son grow up. For Fred, for sweet little Colin Creevey, for Lavender Brown and finally, for himself.

Since then, any time that things had gotten tough, he’d find his way to Luna’s and they’d listen to Nina Simone. He put the record on now, thanking Merlin yet again that Luna had agreed to go through the training to become a foster parent, and that her home was open to children who needed her boundless kindness.

Nina’s voice echoed through the sitting room, and Luna whispered into Malcolm’s cupped hands. Harry didn’t really understand Luna’s unconventional version of providing comfort, but he’d seen it in action enough times to let it proceed. Malcolm’s eyes were drooping, and Luna pressed a gentle kiss into each tiny palm. “He’s ready for bed, I think,” she said.

Harry obligingly carried him into the spare room, with its brightly coloured walls and bunk beds. He placed Malcolm into the bottom bunk, smoothing the duvet around his shoulders. “Good night, Malcolm,” he whispered. “I’ll come back to see you tomorrow.”

Later, after he’d finished filing his reports at the Ministry, and come home, he felt exhausted, but completely unable to sleep. He slumped into his armchair by the fire, wrung out and sad, and sent some good thoughts to a little boy who had an uncertain future.

He wasn’t supposed to be on call the next day, but Tamsin had received a letter from her Mother, and Harry knew that their relationship was already a torn and broken thing. She had floo called him early, begging Harry to switch shifts with her. Harry had agreed instantly. He was a big proponent of maintaining family relationships. Nonetheless, he’d hoped for a simple, event-free shift. Other than his follow up visit with Malcolm, the morning had proceeded quietly, but just before eleven, as Harry was sitting in the canteen, eating a late breakfast, his Galleon warmed.

Code Orange! Male, six years, Scorpius Greengrass, underage magic, magical explosion. Multiple non-magical signatures present. Multiple injuries, including magical child.

Harry dropped the piece of toast he was eating, raced to the Apparation Point, and apparated away as he was reading the Galleon. Code Orange indicated that a magical child had been injured while under the supervision of Muggles. Since Muggle medicine was rarely helpful, and often harmful to magical children, it was Harry’s job to intervene before the medics took him to hospital.

When he arrived at the apparation coordinates, Harry realized he was near Scorpius’ school. A number of emergency vehicles were parked in front, their coloured lights contributing to the chaos. Harry noticed that some of the windows of the school had been blown out. He used his Galleon to upgrade the emergency to a Code Red, summoning every available Obliviator and Task Force member. Suitable explanations would need to be provided, as there was no way that this wouldn’t reach the press.

Backup called, Harry’s priority was finding Scorpius. Deciding not to bother checking in with the school administration, he cast a surreptitious charm that would lead him towards the nearest magical signature. He found Scorpius in appeared to be a lunchroom. The windows had been blasted away, and the child-sized tables had been slammed into the walls. Scorpius was laying in the epicentre of the blast, still and silent. A few twisted chairs surrounded him. Harry raced to his side, quickly casting diagnostic charms. He was alive, but unconscious, magically exhausted and his pale skin was littered with cuts and bruises.

Heedless of the onlookers, Harry gathered Scorpius in his arms and touched his hand to the portkey he wore on a charm around his wrist. They spun away, landing in the Welcome Witch’s hall at St. Mungo’s. “DMAC Emergency,” Harry barked, and sprinted the three flights of stairs to the Magical Accidents ward.

A tired looking resident looked up at his arrival. “Room four,” he said. Harry nodded gratefully, and carried Scorpius into the healing room, gently depositing him on the bed. The resident followed him, and Harry quickly explained the situation.

“I have to notify his parent,” Harry said. “Can you possibly wait to rennervate him until his Father gets here? I think he’ll be less scared.”

The Resident nodded, saying they’d need to fetch a Healer anyway, and Harry went into the Hallway. His mobile wouldn’t work in the hospital, so he descended the stairs and exited to the street below. He quickly dialled the number and waited. “Draco Malfoy.” The voice was crisp, businesslike.

“Malfoy, it’s Harry Potter.”

“Scorpius?” His tone changed immediately, low, urgent with fear.

“He’s alive, Draco, safe at St. Mungo’s. He’s been injured, and the Healers are looking him over, but I think he’ll be fine.”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“That’s fine. Magical Accidents, room four.”

“Fine.” The connection was abruptly ended, and Harry climbed the stairs back to Scorpius’ room.

“Did you reach his guardian?” The Healer, a man a few years older than Harry by the name of John Arden, had removed Scorpius’ clothes, down to his pants. Harry registered the reassuring rise and fall of the child’s breathing and felt his hands unclench.

“I did, he’ll be here momentarily. Are his injuries serious?”

“Not at all. Magical exhaustion, some contusions. He’ll be fine in a few days.”

“Thanks,” Harry muttered, not taking his eyes from the tiny child on the bed. Something about a kid in a hospital bed…it made them look so vulnerable.

“Listen, Harry,” John said, “I get off shift in a half hour. Do you want to get a drink?”

Harry looked up. He’d wondered if John had been flirting with him the last time he’d been here. His work meant that he visited Mungo’s fairly often. He was a nice looking man, with sandy brown curls, and dark eyes. He was quite a bit taller than Harry, and broad in the shoulders. And he was a decent bloke, easy to talk to.

“I-” Harry started, but they were interrupted by footfalls in the hallway, and the door being flung open.

Draco rushed in, and barely looked at Harry or John as he hastened to Scorpius’ side. He was wearing a three-piece suit today, a crisp grey one that looked incredibly distinguished. His hair was disheveled, though, as though he’d been running his hands through it. The incongruity was appealing.

“Mr. Greengrass?” John said.

“Malfoy, actually,” Draco replied, stiffening a little, as though he was anticipating John’s reaction.

Since the healer had grown up in the United States, and had very little understanding of the war against Voldemort, John didn’t react at all, save saying, “Oh, my mistake. Mr. Malfoy. Scorpius is expected to be perfectly fine. He is magically exhausted, and there were a number of small lacerations.”

“Why hasn’t he woken?” Draco asked worriedly.

“That’s my fault,” Harry said. “I asked Healer Arden if he could wait until you’d arrived to wake him. I thought Scorpius would be more easily reassured if his Dad was here.”

“Oh,” Draco said, surprised. “That’s…thank you, Potter.”

“’S fine,” Harry replied.

“Well, if we aren’t waiting for any additional family members, perhaps I will wake Scorpius now?” John asked. Draco nodded, and John cast the spell.

Scorpius’ long eyelashes fluttered, and he started to cry. “My Papa,” he sniffled.

“I’m here, sweetheart,” Draco said. “It’s okay. You’re okay.” Scorpius raised his arms imploringly, his eyes still a little unfocused. “Can I hold him?”

“Of course,” John replied.

Draco wrapped his arms around his son, pressing a kiss into his hair. Harry could see his lips moving as though he were whispering reassurances to Scorpius.

“I’ll just give you a moment,” John said, catching Harry’s eyes as he backed out the door.

Harry stood too, wanting to allow Malfoy some time with his son, but Scorpius stretched out his hands in Harry’s direction. “Mr. Harry,” he said, his voice wobbling.

Harry looked at Malfoy, who gestured him to a seat. “I’d appreciate knowing what happened,” he said.

Harry sat, allowing Scorpius to take his hand. “I only really saw the aftermath,” he admitted. “Scorpius wasn’t awake when I arrived, and, since he was injured, I prioritized getting him treatment over finding out the situation.”

Malfoy nodded approvingly. “Scorpius, I can only assume that your accidental magic flared up?”

Scorpius’ grey eyes filled again. “I’m sorry, Papa,” he whimpered.

“None of that,” Draco reassured him. “Mr. Harry and I just want to understand what happened. It isn’t your fault.”

“It’s not,” Harry added. “When I was nearly your age, I accidentally apparated to the top of the school roof. It caused all sorts of trouble.”

“I made my father bald,” Malfoy contributed, a little smile blooming. “He was furious.”

Harry couldn’t suppress the giggle that escaped him. Malfoy looked at him with an odd expression, and Harry schooled his features quickly.

“So what happened, Scorpius?”

“I got upset,” he said. Harry waited for him to say more. He didn’t.

“That’s okay, little one,” Draco said. “Something upset you, and then what happened?”

Harry was surprised that Draco didn’t demand to know who had upset Scorpius, but he approved. The last thing they needed was for Scorpius to relive the emotions that had caused the magical explosion in the first place.

“I felt like my tummy had a dragon inside it,” Scorpius said. “It was hot and mad, and growling. I tried to make the dragon be quiet, but it was so mad that it got away on me. It grew and grew and then it ‘sploded out of my fingers and toes.” He looked through his lashes at his father. “I don’t know what happened after that.”

“There was a bit of damage to the building,” Harry said, exchanging a glance with Draco that suggested that ‘a bit’ meant ‘quite a lot, really’. “I’m sure that the response team has fixed that all up now. The more important part is that Scorpius’ magic responded so violently that he is now suffering from magical exhaustion, and that, because of some flying glass, he was injured. It’s not Scorpius’ fault, and fortunately, he’ll easily get better soon, but it’s a little dangerous that his magic is so…spirited.”

“My dragon is sometimes naughty,” Scorpius agreed.

“Not naughty,” Harry corrected. “Your magic is working to protect you, and that’s a good thing. Little witches and wizards are very fortunate to have protection built-in like that. It’s not your magic’s fault that you’re still learning the difference between things that make you feel upset, and things that are threatening to actually hurt you.”

“How can we teach my dragon to be good?” Scorpius asked worriedly.

“That’s a good question, Scorpius, and one that I’m here to help you work out. I don’t have the right answer, not right this minute, but I promise that I’ll help you sort things out. For now, the important thing is to make sure that you get better.”

“Mr. Harry is right,” Malfoy said, an expression on his face that Harry attributed to his discomfort with agreeing with Harry Potter. “All of that can be addressed later. For now, I want you to rest comfortably.”

Shortly thereafter, Healer Arden appeared at the door. “How’s everyone here, then? All sorted?”

“We’re fine, thank you,” Malfoy replied.

“Good, good. Scorpius, you’re fine to go home again, now. You’ll need to stay in bed for the next three days, take your potions, and try to sleep as much as you can. Mr. Malfoy, I’ve a healing salve for you for some of Scorpius’ lacerations. If you apply it each night, there will be no scars.”

“Thank you,” Malfoy repeated, taking the vial. “Scorpius, let’s go home.”

“Harry, how about that drink?” John looked at Harry hopefully.

“Mr. Harry, will you come home with us?” Scorpius asked. “Just to make sure things are okay? My dragon is calmer when you’re with me.”

Harry frowned a little, hoping that Scorpius wasn’t afraid to go home with Draco. “If your Papa says it’s okay, I can certainly make sure you get settled,” he said. “John, thank you for the offer, but I have some other things I need to do.”

“Rain cheque?” John asked, his face showing his disappointment.

“Sure,” Harry said, feeling a bit awkward. John was nice, really nice, but Harry just couldn’t muster up the interest. John made his leave, with an invitation for Malfoy to contact him if Scorpius’ condition changed.

Harry looked to Malfoy. “I’m certain that you can safely see Scorpius home, but I’m also more than willing to accompany you. I think we should begin discussing some additional supports to keep Scorpius’ 'dragon' in line.”

Malfoy smiled at his son, who was looking hopefully between them. “Well, you’re right that I don’t require any assistance in getting home, but I think Scorpius would be very pleased if you joined us for tea?”

“Alright,” Harry agreed, a little bemused that he and Malfoy were managing to be polite to one another. He looked fondly at Scorpius and realized that if it weren’t for him, they likely wouldn’t be. It seemed obvious that Draco loved his son, and Harry was essentially helpless to resist a request of a child. Besides that, another visit to Scorpius’ home would provide another opportunity to assess what was prompting Scorpius’ magical outbursts. Harry wasn’t ready to absolve Draco completely for making Scorpius feel unsafe, and he felt better being able to see more.

They settled in a sun-drenched kitchen, and Malfoy deftly put together a hasty tea. Scorpius, who was quite put out at the notion of three-bedridden days, was placated by a tea party with Mr. Harry before he settled down to sleep.

“Papa,” he said, his wide grey eyes looking up at Draco, “did you know that Hippogriffs are proud?”

Draco looked accusingly at Harry, who tried his best to look innocent, raising his hands in an ‘I swear this line of conversation has nothing to do with me’ gesture. “Yes, Scorpius, I actually did know that,” Draco said with dignity.

“It’s real real bad to insult a Hippogriff.”

“Yes, I think that’s true,” Draco said.

“It is,” Harry said, and pressed his lips together to keep hysterical laughter from braying out. Draco looked at Harry, who returned his attention, trying desperately to keep his composure. Draco’s face was impassive, but his lips finally quirked. Harry allowed himself a smile, a bit charmed.

“Mr. Harry,” Scorpius chirped. “It’s my birthday soon! I’m going to be seven!”

“I did think you had gotten taller,” Harry said.

Scorpius scoffed. “You don’t get taller just because your birthday comes!”

“Really?” Harry asked. “I always did. I used to always have to roll the cuffs of my trousers up, but just before my birthday, I could always roll them a little less.”

“Why were your trousers so long?”

Harry smiled, a bit sadly. “They belonged to my cousin first, and he was a lot bigger than me.”

“You should have gotten clothes that fit you,” Scorpius said indignantly. Harry was about to answer, but Scorpius continued, “Can you come to my party? It’s Saturday.”

“Scorpius,” Draco said stiffly, uncomfortable. Harry wasn’t sure whether it was a warning to Scorpius about being presumptuous, or a preference that Harry Potter stay far away from Draco's family.

“Please, Papa, Mr. Harry is my friend, and my dragon likes him. Please? Please Mr. Harry?”

“We’ll see,” Draco soothed. The potions that Scorpius had taken at St. Mungo’s took effect quickly, and he started to droop over his hot chocolate. “I’ll just take him to his bedroom, if you don’t mind waiting a moment?”

“Course,” Harry said.

Malfoy returned after a few minutes. Harry was exceptionally proud of himself for not getting up and poking around his kitchen during his absence. He’d wanted to, admittedly, but the embarrassment of being caught kept his rear firmly planted in the chair.

Malfoy slumped into the chair opposite Harry and put his head in his hands for a moment. When he looked up, his face was bleak. “I don’t understand what’s causing this,” he sighed. “I didn’t have problems with my magic like this.”

“It could be a lot of things,” Harry said neutrally. “It is becoming a problem, though.”

A look of genuine anguish crossed Malfoy’s face. “Bollocks,” he said softly. “It is. I’m going to have to pull him from school, aren’t I?”

“I think we’re reaching the outer edges of how many times the Obliviators are willing to intervene,” Harry replied, his voice gentle.

“You went to Muggle school, didn’t you?”

“I did,” Harry answered.

“And you had magical accidents?”

“I did, yeah. They handled things a lot differently, then.”

“How did your family manage?” Draco didn’t seem disdainful of his relatives at all, merely desperate for a solution.

“Well, they mostly locked me in my cupboard and threatened to beat me half to death, so…I wouldn’t recommend their methods,” Harry replied, surprising himself. He would have thought that Draco Malfoy was the last person he’d make a flip comment in front of, but it had escaped without thought.

Draco’s grey eyes were wide and he was staring at Harry in horror. “Potter,” he said, his voice choked, “I never knew.”

Harry chuckled. “Of course you didn’t. Can you imagine what it would have been like for me if you had?”

Draco’s expression changed abruptly. “I was terrible to you,” he said. “Now that I have Scorpius, I could curse myself for having been so cruel to a child.”

“You were a child, yourself,” Harry objected. “And yeah, I could have done without the taunts about my parents, but we were all a product of the machinations of the adults.”

“Why are you so…noble?” Draco spat. “I behaved unforgivably to you, and you pass it off as nothing.”

“It wasn’t nothing, Draco,” Harry argued. “I just don’t see the value in holding onto hurts from the past.” He took off his glasses and cleaned them on his shirt, unwilling to look Draco in the eye when he went on, “Let’s be honest, my childhood was terrible. If I continue to hold on to the grief and loss and fear, I wouldn’t be able to function at all.”

“But don’t you want people to make it right?” Having replaced his glasses, Harry could see that there was a deep furrow of confusion between Draco’s golden eyebrows.

“How would they go about doing that? Should I take a de-aging potion, and have someone raise me properly? Should I go find my relatives and hex them? Dig up Dumbledore and have a good shout at him for raising me to be a sacrifice? What would any of that gain?” Harry shrugged. “I’d much rather focus on what can be done now. Like finding a solution for Scorpius.”

“Oh, god,” Draco said suddenly. “It’s his birthday party this weekend. I can’t have his school friends here, can I?”

“You could,” Harry hedged.

“No, I can’t, not if Scorpius is so unstable. He’s going to be devastated. He’s been so looking forward to it.” He placed his hands over his eyes, looking uncharacteristically vulnerable. “God, I’m really cocking this parenting thing up, aren’t I?”

“You aren’t,” Harry said, even as the voice inside him, the voice that was perennially suspicious of Malfoy, suggested that he might be. “Doesn’t Scorpius have any friends who have magic?”

Draco removed his hands, and gave him a half-hearted glare. “Does anything about our lifestyle suggest that we have any contact with the Magical world?”

“Well, no,” Harry allowed. He thought for a moment, examining his hands. “I have magical friends,” he said suddenly.

“Good for you,” Draco sneered.

“No,” Harry said patiently. “I mean, I have magical friends for Scorpius. I have a six-year old, and a nine year old, and a four-year-old and a three-year-old, just off the top of my head. And, actually, I have another one, a little girl, who is about Scorpius’ age.”

“We don’t need your pity, Potter,” Draco said. Harry looked up. Draco’s face was in the same mocking expression that he used to carry back in school, but Harry was older now, and had seen more faces and more expressions. Draco was feeling vulnerable, and scared for his son.

“It isn’t pity,” he said. “It’s help. Scorpius is going to be so disappointed if he doesn’t have a birthday party, and that won’t help with his control of his magic. I have a pile of little kids that I know, who would love to make a new friend, and go to a party. Why wouldn’t we let them have fun together?”

“Who are these children?”

Harry smiled, knowing that Draco’s protests were now just a matter of saving face, and not agreeing too readily. “Well, one of them is your cousin, actually. Teddy Lupin. He’s the nine year old, and he’s a good sort. He’s well-used to being the oldest kid in the gang, and he’ll enjoy the cake, if nothing else.”

“Nymphadora’s child?”

“Yes, that’s him. And then there’s Rose and Hugo Granger-Weasley. She’s six, and he’s three.” Harry carefully watched Draco’s face, and was satisfied that his expression didn’t change at the surnames. “And then there’s Violet Powers. She’s seven. Muggleborn, just learned about magic a few weeks ago. I think she’d be a brilliant friend for Scorpius.”

Harry smiled. “And then there’s Malcolm. He’s littler than Scorpius, and he’s had a really tough time lately. He likely won’t say a word to anyone the whole time we’re here, but I’d really appreciate it if he could be included. So you see? Helping each other. That’s all.”

“Would their parents even let them come?”

Harry smiled wider. “Of course they would. I haven’t told anyone that I’ve been in touch with you, not Luna, who’s taking care of Malcolm, or Ron or Hermione, but they trust me. It’s been a long time, Draco.”

“I don’t think my Aunt Andromeda would agree.”

“Don’t be silly, of course she does. I actually did let a little more slip with Andromeda, because she’s a Healer, so she’s bound by the same confidentiality agreements I am, and I wanted her medical advice on Scorpius’ magic. She understands, better than anyone, Draco, about not letting little kids suffer because of prejudice.”

“So that’s all? You’ll just show up with a pile of kids?”

Harry laughed. “I’ll need to bring at least a few adults. Can you imagine me trying to get them all attached to a portkey at once? But yeah, that’s all. If you want to have guests to Scorpius’ party, and you can’t have anyone who’s non-magical, we’ll be there.”

Draco stared at Harry for a long moment, his gaze piercing. Suddenly, he smiled, and his face was beautiful and open, and happy. Having never had such a smile directed at him, it took Harry aback for a moment. “You’re something else, Scarhead,” Draco said.

Harry felt his cheeks heat. “Nah, just happy to help.” He quickly made his excuses and headed home. Once he arrived, after checking in with Kreacher (the battle with Mrs. Number 10 continued apace), he sat in front of the fire. Having grown up a very lonely little boy, Harry had gotten accustomed to answering the voices in his head. Today, his conscience sounded a lot like Hermione.

“Objectivity is very important when you suspect abuse, Harry.”

“I know that. I’m trying.”

“You should pass this on to one of your colleagues. You’re too emotionally invested.”

“Oh really? And who would give Draco Malfoy a fair shake?”

“Convenient excuse, Potter.”

“Shut up. This birthday party is a perfect chance to have a look around the house, get some more time observing Scorpius in different situations.”

“Perfect excuse to ogle Draco Malfoy too.”

“Shut up.”

***

Incident Investigative Report
Date: March 20, 2007
Investigating Agent: Harry J Potter
Subject: Scorpius H Greengrass

Narrative:

Summoned via Code Orange to subject’s Primary School. (Underage magic, magical explosion. Multiple non-magical signatures present. Multiple injuries including magical child.)

Upon arrival at the school, report of magical explosion was supported by visual confirmation of damage (broken windows, minor structural damage to the building). Muggle emergency response was on-scene, and Investigator Potter upgraded the event to Code Red. (Please see related Obliviation Department Reports, as well as Muggle-Worthy Excuse Department Reports)

The subject was located, and determined to be injured by the event, so Investigator Potter utilized a Portkey to transfer subject to St. Mungo’s Hospital, where it was determined that he suffered from magical exhaustion and some trivial lacerations. Scorpius’ Father was notified, and, upon his arrival, Scorpius was spelled awake.

The child’s first concern, upon awakening, was where his Father was, and Mister Malfoy’s reassurances and comfort supported the initial observation that his parenting skills are more than adequate. The child was duly released from care, and Scorpius requested that I accompany them home, stating that my presence subdues his wild magic. (Note: This, rather fanciful assertion should be interpreted as no more than a symptom of a development of trust between the subject and the Investigator, as no magical means are being used to restrain the subject’s magic at present.)

Follow Ups/Next Steps:
The custodial parent and I agreed that, at this time, the subject should not be permitted to return to his Muggle school, as the frequency of Obliviation efforts present undue hardship on his teachers and fellow students. Alternate arrangements shall need to be finalized post haste.

Additional time observing the subject will need to be scheduled most urgently. The origin of the magical outbursts must be isolated, and a strategy to manage Scorpius’ burgeoning magical talents must be established.

At this time, Investigator Potter continues to maintain that Legilimency on the custodial parent is not required, nor the use of Vertiserum, as there is not enough evidence to support the violation of personal privacy.

Due to recent Obliviation interventions at the Primary school, it will not be possible to interview Scorpius’ teachers and caregivers, however Investigator Potter will establish contact, both to explain Scorpius’ upcoming absence as well as to ensure that he continues to be provided with curriculum to support his Non-Magical education.

Chapter Text

Harry’s kitchen liked Draco. It liked him an enormous amount, based on the way the sink gurgled as he passed it, and the toaster oven dinged happily as it spotted him. Harry gave the room a baleful glare. Scorpius’ birthday party plans had gotten…a little carried away. It had begun when Harry had asked what sort of activities Draco had planned. When Draco had confessed that he had ordered a cake from the local supermarket, and thought he had some balloons in a cupboard somewhere, Harry had winced.

“What?” Draco asked, a little affronted. “Should I be baking a cake by hand or something?”

“No,” Harry replied, trying to be diplomatic. “What did you do for Scorpius’ birthday last year?”

“We went to the Opera.”

“Oh,” Harry replied lamely. “Is this the first time that Scorpius had planned to invite kids near his own age?”

“Yes,” Draco answered. “He didn’t really know many children before.”

“Listen, Draco, I don’t mean to be rude, but I spent most of my days with sprogs, and if I’ve learned anything, it’s that they need distraction.” He looked around. “You have a lovely home, and I suspect you’d like it to stay that way.”

“Potter, what sort of savages are you inviting to this event?”

“They aren’t savages,” Harry said, smiling. “They’re just children. They like to run around, and shout, and sometimes things get broken, or dirty.”

“Scorpius does nothing of the sort,” Draco sniffed.

“Scorpius is a little boy who will do anything in the world to make his Papa happy,” Harry said. “I’m sure that when he’s at school, or in the playground, he’s just as noisy and chaotic as any other child his age.”

“So what then,” Draco demanded, “shall we just invite a house full of monsters to come and destroy my things?”

Harry chuckled. “They aren’t monsters. Merlin, Draco, you’re just as dramatic as you were at eleven.” Draco gasped in insult, and Harry tried not to smile and resolutely ignored the warmth that burgeoned in his chest in response. He quickly thought through options. “What if you hosted Scorpius’ birthday at my house? It’s warded to prevent my neighbours from seeing what’s going on, so it’s a lot easier to repair anything that might get damaged, and the wards will also allow us to incorporate some additional activities to keep the kids occupied.”

“What sort of activities?” Draco asked.

“I know a guy,” Harry said, “who can bring a magical petting zoo. My back garden can accommodate it.”

Draco looked sideways at him. “I’m not sure this is a good idea, Potter.”

“Oh,” Harry said, trying to avoid showing that he was disappointed. “Yeah, okay. I didn’t mean to presume. Sorry. I got a bit carried away, I reckon.” His stomach was filled with the hot shame he recalled so vividly from his life at the Dursley’s. Every time he was stupid enough to try to fit in, his relatives were quick to remind him that he would never manage it. He faked a smile and turned away, eager to leave, terrified that the burning in his throat were tears threatening to escape.. “Whatever you think is fine, then, Draco. If you still want me to send over some kids, I can.”

“No,” Draco said, “Potter…” His voice sounded a bit helpless.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, and he realized that his voice didn't sound normal. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” He cast another longing look at the door, and completely missed the look on Draco’s face.

“Don’t be stupid, Potter, of course I want Scorpius to have a good birthday. You’re the expert on children.”

“I’m hardly an expert,” Harry muttered.

“It’s fine. I’m sure it will be fine,” Draco said. “We can have the party at your house. Just tell me what you’d like me to do, and what time to turn up.”

“Yeah, sure,” Harry replied, still embarrassed, but unable to prevent the flush of excitement from bubbling up. There was something about Scorpius, his desperation to get things right, and his longing to be good, that made Harry’s heart twist. He would produce the best birthday party ever.

And then, Harry admitted, his enthusiasm (and Kreacher’s), had gotten a little away from him. He’d arranged for Charlie to bring a collection of toddler-friendly animals from the magical animal shelter he’d opened after the war had ended. Charlie had known a woman who could produce splendid magical soap bubbles, and she’d been added to the list. When Harry had floo-called Luna to invite her (and Malcolm), she’d suggested a friend of hers who ran a magical acrobatic troupe, and they’d been excited to perform. Somehow, Ginny had caught wind of the party, and she’d arranged for the Holyhead Harpies to come and perform broom tricks. Kreacher, who had wept with joy when he’d learned that the Heir to House Malfoy was coming for his birthday, and that ‘dear Mistress Cissa’s son will be here’, had collected a handful of elves from Hogwarts, and they’d been cooking up a storm.

And now, with a bemused Draco, and an incandescently happy Scorpius standing in his kitchen, Harry found himself trying to downplay the level of spectacle planned, while making sure that Scorpius felt appropriately feted. He was just about to explain that the guest list had unexpectedly ballooned, the remainder of the Weasley children having caught wind and insisting that 'Uncle Harry would want them at his party'. Fortunately, the floo went, and a crowd of Weasleys emerged en masse, just as the doorbell rang. “I’ll…er…just answer that,” Harry said. “Make yourselves at home?”

The Powers family was standing at the door, a little surprised that the house had appeared as if from nowhere. Harry grinned, recalling his own stupefaction, the first time he’d seen 12 Grimmauld Place push the neighbouring houses out of the way. He still loved magic. “Welcome!”

“Thanks, Mr. Harry,” Violet chirped, peering around him to look inside.

“Please, come inside. Scorpius is very excited to have you as a guest.”

He ushered them through, and, after a quick tour to point out loos and carefully introduce the family to Kreacher (as well as deal with the predictable shocked reaction at seeing a house-elf for the first time), they proceeded to the backyard. The party was off to a bit of a dreary start, with a huddle of Weasleys in one corner, and a clump of Malfoys in another. “Hello!” Harry called. “I think introductions are in order!” He reached his hand out to Scorpius, who took it with a wide grin. “This is Scorpius, the birthday boy.” He sent a pleading look to Ron, who could be counted on to make the Powers feel welcome, and led Scorpius around to introduce him to the Weasley kids. Charlie had read the situation immediately, and seemed to recognize that the best way to get over the awkwardness was by cooing over fluffy animals. Luna and Malcolm appeared just as Charlie was producing a crate filled with kneazle kittens. As expected, the ice was broken immediately, the children helpless to resist the tiny, fuzzy creatures. Harry was watching as Scorpius touched noses with a ginger one when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Alright, Harry?”

“Hey Ron,” Harry said. “Hermione didn’t come?”

Ron looked uncomfortable. “We…had a bit of a barney this morning. I told her that she was out of line for going after you like she did.”

Harry winced. “I can imagine that she responded…strongly?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry, Ron. The last thing I want is for my stupid issues to cause problems with your family.”

“Don’t be mad,” Ron chided. “You’re my family too, and, to be honest, it doesn’t take much at all to spark the Third Wizarding War.”

“We’ll grab a beer this week and have a chat, yeah?”

Ron nodded gratefully, and raced off to intervene when Hugo started hugging one of the cats too aggressively. Andromeda took his place next to Harry, watching the chaos, Teddy beside her.

“Off to a good start,” Andromeda remarked.

Harry turned, a grin stretching across his face. “Nobody can resist Charlie’s friends,” he replied. Teddy accepted a hug with all the grace of a nine-year-old who felt he might be getting a bit old for such things, and said, “So that’s my cousin?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “That’s Scorpius. Shall I introduce you?”

Teddy rolled his eyes. “I think I can manage,” he replied laconically, loping over to the kids and crouching beside Scorpius. Harry chuckled.

“I don’t know how Remus’ child ended up being the embodiment of Sirius,” Andromeda observed. “Bold as brass, that one.”

Harry smiled. He thought that Andromeda was partially right. Teddy possessed more than his fair share of self-confidence, and an easy charm that caused people to instantly like him, but Teddy didn’t have the same tendency to pick on the weak. “He has a lot of Tonks’ kindness to balance him out,” was all that Harry said, and Andromeda smiled. True to his nature, Teddy had corralled all of the littler kids and was carefully guiding them to the next crate of animals that Charlie had brought. Even Malcolm, who was timid and silent, had allowed Teddy to gently take his hand.

Scorpius was watching his older cousin with enormous, awe-struck eyes. When Teddy had morphed his hair to a blinding platinum, the little boy was entranced. His gaze lit upon Malcolm’s hand, firmly tucked in Teddy’s slightly larger one, and, true to his nature, Teddy noticed. “Come, cousin,” he said sweetly, and took up Scorpius’ small hand in his free one. Harry chuckled again.

“That’s Theodore?” Draco had come to stand beside them. Harry had always thought that linen suits looked a bit poncy, but Draco was making his work, looking crisp and casual, and very pulled together. Harry sighed as he looked down at his cargo shorts and t-shirt.

“It is, Teddy Lupin, future Hufflepuff, Heir to the Noble and Ancient House of Black, all ‘round nice kid,” Harry said, which prompted a snort from the boy’s grandmother, and resulted in a wide grin from Harry. He explained the exchange to Draco. “Teddy’s gran is convinced that Teddy will be a Gryffindor like his dad. We’ve a wager going that seems to increase in stakes each year.” He blinked suddenly. “Oh, how rude of me, Draco Malfoy, are you acquainted with Andromeda Tonks?”

“Not in person, no. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Aunt.”

Andromeda smiled warmly, and whatever resemblance she’d had to her insane sister dissipated, to Draco’s relief. “Draco, it’s a pleasure to meet you as well. Your son is charming.”

“Thank you,” Draco said, his expression delighted at the praise for his child.

“Papa!” Scorpius screamed from across the lawn. “Look at me!” He was holding a pure white ferret against his cheek. Ron was in the grass, laughing hysterically. Draco looked at Harry and raised an eyebrow.

“No,” Harry said, taking a step backwards. “Total fluke, I swear.”

“Indeed,” Draco muttered, but then called, “It’s beautiful, Score! Noble animal, the ferret.”

Harry snickered, but hurriedly bit it back when Draco looked at him from the side of his eye. Deciding that he ought to escape while he could, Harry went to pick Ron up from his sprawl on the ground.

“Thank you for allowing Theodore to come today,” Draco said gamely to his Aunt Andromeda. It had been some time since he’d had to make polite conversation with someone who knew the sum total of his adolescent failures, and he was ill at ease.

“No thanks necessary,” Andromeda assured him. “Ted and I would do anything for Harry, and he was intrigued to learn that he had a cousin. He has a large family, but, other than me, he’s never met anyone he’s actually related to.”

Draco nodded in understanding. “Scorpius as well. He sees his Mother’s family about once a year, but they’re not especially warm. He’s still rather fascinated by the magical world, since we live almost exclusively Muggle.” He wasn’t sure why he was volunteering such personal information to a stranger, blood relations or no, but his Aunt seemed the type to invite such confidences.

“Has he had all of his boosters? Now that he’s playing with other magical children, he’ll be more likely to be exposed to Dragon Pox.”

“He hasn’t. He sees a Muggle Doctor, of course, but interactions with the magical world are a bit difficult for us, and I’ve been putting it off.”

“There’s an easy solution for that,” Andromeda said briskly. “Bring him by my office next week, and I’ll fit you in.”

“Really? You wouldn’t mind?”

“Of course not, Draco. You’re family.” Her face softened. “I didn’t really cope very well, when the War first ended. Other than Teddy, my entire family had been killed, and so I barely managed to take care of him. I wanted to reach out to you after the trials, but I put it off until I was feeling better, and by the time I was, Cissy was gone, and you’d disappeared. I’m sorry though. I should have tried harder to be there for you.”

“You had no obligation to do so,” Draco said, uncomfortable. “You didn’t owe me anything, after the way my family treated you.”

“Harry once said that it’s the obligation of everyone who survived the War to strive to be better than those who caused it.”

“No pressure,” Draco said dryly.

Andromeda laughed, reminding Draco once again of his Mother. “Indeed. He’s remarkably astute, for all that he’s oblivious of things.” She watched him fondly. He’d moved the children on from the animals, after a Billywig had stung Charlie and he’d begun to levitate amongst the trees. George appeared to be attempting to summon him back down as Harry did his best to wrangle the children into sitting in neat rows in order to watch the acrobatic troupe. It made Draco think of an attempt to keep kittens in a box. He’d get one settled down, sitting criss-cross-applesauce, and another would steal away, distracted by the large soap bubbles that were floating by. As he retrieved the escapee, another would make a desperate bid for freedom. By unspoken agreement, the adults present seemed content to leave him to it. Even Teddy was proving unhelpful, having surrendered to fits of laughter as his godfather darted around the yard after his errant charges.

Draco smiled. “He’s having a good time,” he observed.

“Harry? Oh, Merlin, he’s in his element right now. He loves children.”

“They seem to love him as well. I know that Scorpius is very taken with ‘Mr. Harry.’”

“He saved us,” Andromeda said, suddenly serious. “After Dora and Remus died. If he hadn’t been there to coax me out of bed, remind me of my responsibilities to Teddy, I suppose we both would have starved.” She chuckled, reminiscing. “We were a pair, I can tell you. Harry didn’t know the first thing about babies, and I was practically a ghost, but he didn’t give up on us, either of us, and we muddled through.”

Draco felt his lips curve into a smile, remembering his own struggles as a new parent. Harry was still struggling to organize his group of children. “Should I go help him, do you suppose?”

Andromeda replied, “No, he’s about three seconds away from giving up on keeping them contained and just letting things unfold. Harry always adapts.”

Sure enough, Harry looked increasingly harassed for a few minutes, then threw his hands up and shouted to Luna, “Just let the bloody acrobats do their thing. The parents can watch for all I care.”

The children scattered, seemingly content to amuse themselves, and Harry made his way to the drinks table. Draco joined him. He didn’t say anything, but clearly his smirk communicated enough, because Harry burst out laughing. “I know, I know, it was mad to think that they’d all sit still to watch sodding acrobats, but I didn’t want to hurt Luna’s feelings. I think she’s been sleeping with that bendy-looking one.”

Draco eyed the sky with increasing interest, and, sure enough, there was a particularly flexible looking man who was contorting himself around a magically suspended length of silk. “Lucky her,” he murmured. Harry glanced up as well, and made an appreciative sounding noise.

“I didn’t realize that you were inclined towards…bendy men,” Harry said, failing to sound casual.

Draco snorted. “I’m afraid it’s been quite a few years since I’ve had the freedom to be inclined towards anyone, bendy or not.”

“Offspring cramping your style?”

“Sadly, yes.”

They stood in silence for a little while, watching the acrobats, paying special attention to the fit bloke Harry had pointed out. Finally, Harry grinned. “Who would have thought, Malfoy, that one day we’d bond over our mutual appreciation of acrobatics?”

“Mad times we live in,” Draco agreed, his grin lighting up his face. He checked his wristwatch. “Do you suppose that it’s a good time to serve cake?”

“Yeah, I reckon that any time is a good time for cake,” Harry agreed. Draco disappeared into the house, and Harry watched as George enlarged a box and called the children over. He registered a mild sense of alarm, watching as George pulled out a number of plastic guns and handed one to each of the children. This hadn’t been discussed, and, knowing George, was a recipe for chaos.

His consternation grew as George patiently showed the children how to aim and fire. They seemed to be some type of magical paintball gun, and Harry winced. He hadn’t realized that George knew of such a thing. It didn’t take long for a ture battle to ensue. Many of the parents were unable to stop themselves from getting involved, and within minutes, brightly coloured projectiles were zinging around the garden.

Scorpius was paired with Teddy, the two of them having found a perch on a low hanging branch of one of the gnarled trees. Teddy’s hair was bright blue, a sure sign that he was happy. Scorpius was laughing joyously, clinging to Teddy to keep himself atop the branch. Malcolm and Luna were completely unprotected, allowing the brightly coloured splodges of paint to decorate them without any attempt to stop it. Luna’s face was alight with happiness, and Malcolm seemed torn between fear that he’d get into trouble for getting so messy and wonder that he was being naughty. The Weasley children seemed to have combined forces, and were fully engrossed in hitting their parents with as much paint as possible.

Kreacher hovered near the back step, clearly uncomfortable with the mess, but unwilling to chastise anyone. Occasionally, his hands would raise in the air, as if to cast a spell, only to fall limply by his side. Harry smiled sympathetically at him.

It was amidst this chaos that the door opened, and Draco stepped through, balancing an enormous sheet cake on his upturned hands. The movement caught a number of eyes, and it was as if in slow motion that Harry saw events unfold. He managed to shout, “Don’t-” before at least five combatants turned their paint guns and fired. The force of the blows sent the cake flying backward, spattering Draco with frosting, and his crisp suit was rainbow coloured.

Harry’s stomach sank. He heard Scorpius gasp, “Papa!” Everyone was silent, waiting for the inevitable explosion.

“Scorpius?” Draco said evenly. “To me, please.” Harry tensed. He’d seen ample evidence of Draco’s temper at school, especially when he felt embarrassed. Would he lash out at Scorpius, hurt him?

Scorpius crossed the lawn slowly, his head down. Harry reached for his wand. He didn’t intervene, not yet, but he was ready. As he approached his father, Scorpius’ lip trembled. “I’m sorry, Papa,” he whispered. “I didn’t know it was you.”

Draco replied in the same even tone. “You and your cousin have excellent reflexes,” he remarked. The absence of anger made Harry feel more tense. “You realize, of course,” Draco continued, “that behaviour like this will have consequences, serious ones.”

“Yes, Papa,” Scorpius whispered.

“Of course you do,” Draco replied. Before Harry could react, Draco seized his small son by the shoulders. Harry cursed. He should have acted more quickly. To his astonishment, Draco grabbed a handful of the frosting that was decorating his front, and wiped it onto his son’s shocked face. Then, Draco let out a rich, deep boom of laughter. “There,” he said gleefully. “Now we’re even.”

Scorpius’ giggles filled the silence, and Harry relaxed. He hadn’t expected this, but he nearly fell over with relief

“Harry,” Draco called, “I’m not sure whether a cleaning charm will be able to rescue this suit. Might I presume to borrow your facilities, and a change of clothes?”

“Certainly,” Harry said, giddy with diffused adrenaline, and led Draco up the stairs to a spare bedroom. He provided towels, directed Draco to the ensuite bath, and, moments later, stood in front of his wardrobe, wondering what he could possibly give Draco to wear. Draco was so much…prettier than Harry was, and he obviously put a lot more effort into his clothing choices than Harry. He finally selected a pair of khaki shorts and a light blue Oxford shirt, hoping that Draco wouldn’t be too dismissive.

His nervous dithering had taken a lot longer than he’d realized. By the time he reached the spare bedroom, Draco was emerging from the shower, a towel wrapped around his slim waist. Harry felt all the moisture in his mouth evaporate as he gawked shamelessly at the figure in front of him. He was lovely. His hair was still a bit wet, and a drop of water fell from one of the locks, making its tantalizing way down his chest to disappear beneath the towel. He seemed as frozen as Harry was, clearly uncomfortable at being ogled in his nearly-undressed state.

“I’m sorry,” Harry croaked. “I was just bringing you some clothes.” He thrust them forward awkwardly, and Draco made a quickly-aborted grab for them, nearly losing his towel in the process. “I’ll just leave them here,” Harry whispered, mortified. He threw the clothing on the bed, and spun quickly, slamming the door behind him and leaning against the nearest wall.

It wasn’t long before Draco emerged, looking rather fetching. I like the way he looks in my clothes, Harry thought, banishing the notion to the back of his mind before he could remember the way Draco looked out of his clothes. “Thanks,” Draco said, a little uncomfortably. Harry flushed, but rallied quickly. He smiled, shelved his pride, and said, “Sorry for ogling you. It took a minute for my mind to catch up with my hormones.”

To Harry’s amazement, he grinned widely. “No apologies necessary,” he replied. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t watch your arse as you climbed the stairs before.”

Harry’s brain seized for a split second before the thoughts resumed normal operation. A number of flirtatious responses presented themselves and Harry opened his mouth. Fortunately, he abruptly remembered that he was hosting a birthday party. A birthday party for his client. Who was a child. He straightened his shoulders. “We’re even then,” he said a little weakly. “Let’s return to the party?”

Draco laughed. “I’m not sure it will be much of a party,” he admitted. “I rinsed the majority of Scorpius’ birthday cake down your shower.”

“Not to worry,” Harry assured him. “Kreacher and the Hogwarts House Elves were awfully excited about catering a birthday party. If you look in the larder, you’ll find about five more cakes. I made Kreacher hide them because I didn’t want to offend you.”

“All’s well that ends well, I suppose,” Draco said.

A few hours later, the birthday party had finally wound down. The guests had departed, save the birthday boy, who was on Harry’s couch, arms and legs akimbo and mouth open, snoring softly, and his Father, who was in Harry’s kitchen, accepting a glass of wine. “Cheers,” Draco said. “I think that can be called a success.”

Harry nodded. “We’ve a kiddo snoozing off a cake bender in the lounge, which is always the sign of a good party.”

“I was surprised that your friends and family were willing to spend a day in the same backyard as me.”

Harry laughed. “Things change, Draco. I won’t lie, George was initially a bit shit about it, but he’s a sucker for little kids, and was more than willing to let the past stay where it belongs.”

“I didn’t say thank you, Harry, for doing this. Scorpius had an absolute blast today. I really appreciate it.”

“Not at all,” Harry said, awkwardly waving the thanks away. “Scorpius is a lovely kid, and he deserved a great day. Besides, my lot is highly opportunistic. They’re game for any sort of a party.”

“He was good today,” Draco observed. “With the other kids, and the strangers. No accidental magic.”

“I noticed,” Harry agreed. “I’m going to need to interview him, Draco. One-on-one.”

Draco’s back stiffened. “I see.”

“It’s part of our protocols,” Harry continued, trying to ignore the way that Draco’s voice had chilled. “Once I’ve built a bit of trust, I have to start trying to get to the bottom of things. It’s not that I don’t want you to be part of the interview, it’s just a hunch I have.”

“Oh?” Draco was looking at him very intently.

“There’s something that’s upsetting him, that’s obvious. But when I met him that first day, at his school, the first thing he said was that he was trying to be good, and that you were trying to be good, and then he begged me not to take him away from you.”

Draco groaned. “That sounds awfully damning.”

“It could,” Harry allowed, “but it also tells me that you’re Scorpius’ whole world, and if he’s afraid of something, he might not tell you. He’s protective of you, Draco.”

Draco sighed, scrubbed a hand across his face. It was so incongruous with the stiff posture he’d presented at all times growing up, that Harry felt obliged to gift Draco with one last thing. “Obviously, Draco, I can’t tell you everything about the investigation, not right this minute. It would likely get me fired, as I’m Scorpius’ advocate, first and foremost, and I have to consider every possibility. But I know, Draco, what it’s like to be afraid of your guardian, and I don’t think that’s what I’m seeing here.”

“I suppose that’s reassuring,” Draco said. “Ten years ago, you would have me in Azkaban already.”

Harry smiled. “I think that neither of us are the men we were ten years ago.”

“Fortunately,” Draco agreed, giving Harry a smile of his own.

Case Investigation Update
Date: March 28, 2007
Investigating Agent: Harry J Potter
Subject: Scorpius H Greengrass

Narrative:

Additional opportunities have been leveraged to interact with the subject. Scorpius is, on the whole, a happy, well-adjusted child, who forms relationships with others easily. Since his accidental magical outbursts prohibited him from having a birthday party amongst his non-magical friends, his birthday was celebrated in a magical home, with other children who share his abilities. (NB: As Scorpius’ custodial parent is currently living outside of a magical community, Investigator Potter provided the venue as well as an introduction to some children of similar age. Please see accompanying Form N46, Declaration of Confluence in Acquaintances.)

Although no specific progress has been made in determining the cause for Scorpius’ magical outbursts, the investigation proceeds as expected. At his birthday party, during which he encountered new people, and new experiences, his magic was quiescent, a fact that was later noted by his Father.

On a related note, there is no evidence to suggest that Scorpius’ Father, Draco Malfoy, is mistreating his son. He continues to display an appropriate amount of concern for his child, and is cooperating fully with uncovering the contributing factors. During Scorpius’ party, a mishap occurred, and Scorpius upset his birthday cake all over Mr. Malfoy. Rather than becoming upset, or punishing Scorpius, Mr. Malfoy laughed, reassured his son, and the party continued apace.

Next Steps:
Temporary alternate daytime care arrangements have been made for Scorpius. Until more permanent solutions are identified, Scorpius will be completing classwork at the home of Luna Lovegood, certified Foster Caregiver. Both Luna and Mr. Malfoy are in agreement to this arrangement, which will be re-evaluated in two week’s time.
As Investigator Potter has built sufficient trust with the subject, a one-on-one interview is to be scheduled in the coming days. The results of this discussion will likely isolate the origin of the incidents, and a plan to address will be formed accordingly.

Chapter Text

Two days later, Harry surveyed his cooling mug with distaste. His coffee maker had gone rogue again, and he was truly unsure whether the resulting brew was safe to drink. “Kreacher,” he said uncertainly.

“Yes, Master Harry, Kreacher already sent the owl order for a new machine.” Kreacher peered out the window, a murderous look on his wrinkly face.

“Brilliant, thanks, Kreacher. Listen, you have stopped antagonizing Mrs. Number Ten, haven’t you?”

“Kreacher only returns the treatment that he receives,” the elf said cryptically.

Harry opened his mouth, and then realized that he didn’t know what to say, so he banished the contents of his mug, and picked up the remainder of his slice of toast. His conscience wouldn’t let him fully condone Kreacher’s actions, even if he had no idea how to stop them. “No permanent injuries, though, right?”

“Nasty woman will live,” Kreacher muttered.

Harry felt a bit helpless, and so he crammed the toast into his mouth, and left via the back door, where he apparated to his first stop of the morning. The Powers had done very well for themselves since his first visit. Mr. and Mrs. Powers had rallied around Violet and signed up for some of the introductory Wizard Culture lessons, and were planning to join the next field trip to Diagon Alley.

When Harry rang the doorbell, Violet flung it open, her face wide and happy. “Mr. Harry!”

“Good morning, Violet.”

“Mummy and Daddy are in the kitchen,” Violet said, and left him to find his own way, her thundering feet providing a handy guide.

When he entered the kitchen, he found that the Powers were indeed all present. “Tea?” Mr. Powers looked happy to see him, and to his delight, Mrs. Powers also seemed much more comfortable with his presence.

“I don’t suppose you have coffee?” Harry asked hopefully.

“Of course.” Mrs. Powers poured him a cup, which he accepted gratefully. Taking a blissful sip, he pulled out his notebook and a biro.

“So, as you know, this is the last official visit I’ll be making,” Harry started. Violet made a disappointed noise, so he quickly continued, “Of course, I’m always available as a resource to you, and I’d be thrilled if you kept in touch. I just mean that today is the last time that I’m reaching out under the auspices of the Department specifically.”

“We can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done,” Mr. Powers said. “This is an awfully big change, and I don’t know where we’d be without your help in understanding it all.”

Harry smiled. “I’m glad to have helped. I have a couple of quick items to go through, and then I’ll leave you to your day.”

Violet pouted. “Can’t you stay and play with me, Mr. Harry?”

“I’d like to, but there’s another little boy who’s also expecting a visit today, so we’ll have to make arrangements to get together another time.”

“We were wondering,” Mrs. Powers said, “would it be possible to get Scorpius Malfoy’s contact information? He and Violet got along well, and I’d love to set up a play date.”

“I’m sure that will be fine, but I’ll ask his Dad,” Harry said. “If he agrees, I’ll send over his number by owl.”

They quickly worked through the close-off parchment, and it wasn’t long before Harry was out in the weak spring sunshine. He waved at Violet through the window, and found a discrete spot to apparate to his next appointment. He didn’t bother to knock, and simply called out, “Hello the house!”

Soft footsteps could be heard coming down the hallway. Squinting in the dark as his eyes compensated after the bright outside, Harry smiled. “Malcolm?”

“Mr. Harry,” a small voice said. “You came back.”

“I said I would,” he replied. “Are you having a nice time with Miss Luna?”

“I am,” Malcolm said, “but I think there might be something wrong with me.”

“Oh?” Harry asked. “Come and let’s sit, and you can tell me about it.” They made their way to the sun-drenched sitting room, and Harry lounged into one of the squishy armchairs. Malcolm approached him shyly. “Would you like to sit with me?”

The little boy nodded, and carefully climbed into the chair. Perched cautiously on Harry’s lap, he regarded his knees. “Now, you were saying that you thought that there was a problem?”

Malcolm nodded again. “I can’t see any of the creatures that she does. I know that you said I have magic, but I don’t think I do.”

Harry smiled. “Luna is very special. I’ll tell you a secret. I can’t see most of the things she does either.”

To Harry’s surprise, the boy’s face fell. “Oh,” he said.

“What else is bothering you, Malcolm?” Harry asked gently.

He was silent for a long time, but eventually, he raised his face to Harry’s. “I thought that maybe I didn’t have magic after all.”

“You don’t want to be a wizard?”

Malcolm shrugged. “If I don’t have magic, I could maybe go home. And my Mum and Da won’t be mad at me anymore, and maybe they’ll love me if I stop doing bad things.”

Harry sighed, made a mental note to move Malcolm’s referral to a mind-healer to the top of the pile, and said, “Malcolm, you deserve to be loved no matter what. Even if you have magic, and sometimes it gets away on you, nobody should be hurting you, or getting angry with you.”

Malcolm shrugged. “I need to try harder, that’s what Mum says.”

Harry recalled thinking something similar during lonely sessions in his cupboard. He took a deep breath in preparation for what he was about to say. “Darling, your Mum and Da have some things wrong. Do you remember I said that some of the people I worked with were taking them into my office to explain things a bit better to them?”

Malcolm nodded. “Is the explaining over?”

“Not exactly,” Harry said. “When my co-workers asked them some more questions, it turned out that there were quite a lot of things that they had wrong. They have made some bad choices when it comes to being your parents. It’s not okay for them to lock you up in your room, and it’s not okay for them to punish you in some of the other ways they did either.”

“Did they say sorry?”

“I’m not sure whether they did or not,” Harry said. In truth, Malcolm’s parents were nearly as despicable as the Dursleys were, and the Non-Magical Liaison Department was working with the court system to take them to trial. Harry doubted that they’d be released from custody anytime soon, and, even if they were rehabilitated, it would be quite some time before they were eligible to regain custody of Malcolm. “Some of the people from my office are working with your Mum and Da. It’s going to take some time to decide whether they’re going to be able to take good care of you.”

“So I’m not going home today?”

“No, Darling, you aren’t. I don’t know what will happen in the future, but for the next while, you will have other people to take care of you.”

“Miss Luna?”

“For now, yes,” Harry said. “Miss Luna is someone who provides care to kids who need a safe adult to care for them, but she usually only keeps them for a few days, or weeks. It’s likely that we’ll find a family who is ready to take in kids for longer periods of time.”

Malcolm’s lip quivered a little, but he squared his shoulders, sighed, and nodded. Harry hated having these conversations, with little kids whose world had just collapsed around them. He knew that he could promise no secure future. His instincts urged him to scoop Malcolm up and take him home with him, but Harry knew that his lifestyle didn’t support having a child of his own. With no partner prospects on the horizon, and only Kreacher to assist him, he couldn’t provide the sort of stability a child needed, especially one as vulnerable as Malcolm.

He patted the little boy on the shoulder. “Regardless of where you go, I will still be your caseworker, Malcolm. If you need anything, I’ll be around to help.”

“Promise?”

“I promise to do my very best for you,” Harry said. “Now,” he said, gently placing Malcolm on his feet, “we have things to do today!”

“We do?”

Harry nodded. “Miss Luna has told me that you’re still having some times when your magic gets away on you.” Malcolm shrunk away from him, his eyes widening. “It’s okay,” Harry reassured. “That happens, and remember what I told you? This isn’t your fault, and I’m here to help you. We’re going to go to a special part of London today, and we’ll get you some items that will help you. I think that you’re just the sort of kid who has a lot of magic about them, and that’s a great thing, truly. We just need to help it behave until you’re old enough to learn how to do so by yourself. Okay?”

Malcolm shrugged. Harry smiled. “Alright, go get your trainers on, and I’ll let Luna know,” he said.

He found Luna in the library, painting a woodland scene onto a canvas. “Hey Luna-lu,” he said softly, so as not to startle her. “I’m heading out with Malcolm.”

“Okay, Harry,” Luna replied, not looking up from her work. “Have you found him a long-term placement yet?”

“I’ll check in with the office to find out,” he promised. “We’ll be back before teatime.”

Since Malcolm had hated apparation so much, Harry had obtained a portkey to take them to Diagon Alley. He held the child firmly in his arms as he activated it, grateful that he’d finally figured out how to land gracefully. The Alley was busy, the upcoming Easter Break causing more people than usual to frequent the bookstore and the ice cream shop, which had been opened under new management after the war. Harry noted that Wheezes was also doing a bustling business, but headed the opposite direction.

The bell on the door chimed as he ushered Malcolm inside, and Harry squinted as his eyes adjusted to the dim interior. “A moment!” The voice came from the back room.

“No rush, Ambrose, it’s just Harry.”

There was a delighted squeal, and Harry soon found himself wrapped in a tight hug. “There’s my sugar,” a voice purred in his ear.

Harry laughed, and untangled himself from the embrace. “Ambrose, I want you to meet Malcolm. Malcolm, this is my friend, Mr. Ambrose.”

Malcolm seemed a little overwhelmed, and managed to wave shyly. Ambrose squatted down so that he could meet the little boy’s eyes. “Hello Darling,” he said. “Any friend of Harry’s is my friend too.” The corners of Malcolm’s lips curved upwards. Ambrose was a great deal taller than Harry, with dark, curling hair that reminded Harry a bit of Sirius’. He had laughing brown eyes, and his smile carried a trace of wickedness that sometimes unnerved people.

“This is a really special store,” Harry told Malcolm. “Ambrose is a very clever wizard, and he creates all sorts of neat things to help people.”

“Flatterer,” Ambrose gushed.

“Ambrose, Malcolm has a little trouble with magical control at the moment. His accidental magic is causing him a bit of inconvenience, and I was wondering if you had something that could help dampen it for a few years, until we can get him a wand.”

“Say no more, duck, I have just the thing,” Ambrose replied, leading Malcolm towards the back of the store, and holding out a tray of brightly coloured wrist coverings. “Have a look, and tell me which one you like best.”

Harry watched, a fond smile on his face. He’d met Ambrose a year or so after the war had ended. He was only a few years older than Harry, but since he’d been a Ravenclaw, Harry hadn’t met him in school. McGonagall had introduced them after Harry had been sent to Hogwarts for his stint of rehabilitation, and they’d become fast friends. Ambrose was everything that Harry wasn’t, loud, outspoken, and openly comfortable with his sexuality. After things had blown up with Ginny, and Harry had found himself feeling lost, he’d been grateful for the support. When Harry finally admitted that he wasn’t interested in women, Ambrose had cheered him on the entire way. He’d introduced Harry to aspects of LGBTQ2S+ Wizarding culture, and had, after some copious consumption of Fire Whiskey, talked Harry through the excruciatingly embarrassing questions he had about the mechanics of sex.

More importantly, though, he’d accepted Harry for who he was. He didn’t see the Boy-Who-Lived, or the Freak in a cupboard, or even a young man who was confused about his identity after vanquishing Voldemort. Harry adored him, and privately credited Ambrose with his continued survival, since he’d been in a fairly dark place when they’d met, and Ambrose had smilingly, stubbornly, refused to allow Harry to lose his will to go on.

Ambrose led a shyly incandescent Malcolm back to Harry holding his wrists out and viewing the coloured bands with delight. “We’ve got him all sorted, Harry. Just the standard dampening enchantments?”

“For now, yeah. As we go on, we may need to adjust things some, but this is brilliant to start. What do I owe you?”

“Darling,” Ambrose frowned. “You know your money’s no good here.”

“Don’t be silly, this is on the Ministry’s dime, not mine,” Harry protested.

“Ah, well in that case, it’s a million Galleons,” Ambrose replied, smirking.

Harry grinned. “Try again.”

“Alright, fine, spoilsport. Twenty Galleons for the pair.”

Harry paid him, and accepted a receipt, and made to leave. “Owl me, then, Harry, yeah? We’re overdue for tea.”

Harry grinned, and nodded as he ushered Malcolm through the door. ‘Tea’, with Ambrose, usually meant ‘copious amounts of gin, followed by Ambrose convincing Harry to put on eyeliner and a mad night of dancing at Ambrose’s favourite club’. “I’ve barely recovered from our last tea party, you menace,” Harry said, “but I’ll owl you.”

They emerged into the spring sunshine, and Harry led Malcolm in the direction of Fortesque’s. He suspected that the child had enjoyed precious few treats, and he wanted the day to be as positive as possible. When they’d settled at a table in front of the store, and tucked into their ice cream, Harry heard his name being called. He stiffened. A great deal of the furore surrounding being ‘The Man who Conquered’ had died down, but he still found himself politely dealing with strangers who wanted to talk to him.

He smoothed his face into a pleasant expression and looked up, but then his polite smile widened into a genuine one. “Cara!”

“Mr. Harry!” The girl in front of him was petite, with a slightly upturned nose and sparkling blue eyes.

“I think we can dispense with the ‘Mr.’,” Harry laughed. “How are you?”

“I’m good! I did my exams last year. You’d be proud of my grades.”

“I’m sure I would, congratulations!” Cara was one of Harry’s first clients once he’d begun working at DMAC. She’d been thought to be a squib, because she hadn’t gotten a Hogwart’s letter. Her family was mixed, her Father non-magical while her Mother was a Witch. While her older brother had attended Hogwarts, Cara had gone to a non-magical school. Once she hit puberty, however, her latent magic grew a little more powerful, and she’d had a few incidents of accidental magic. It still wasn’t powerful enough for her to attend Hogwarts, but she’d been able to get a wand, and her Mum had homeschooled her on the Magical aspects of her life. Since Harry often worked with kids who had less happy endings, he felt that Cara was a success story, and was delighted to see her looking so happy.

“I haven’t sorted out a job yet, though,” Cara continued. “I can’t decide whether I want to work inside the Magical world or out of it.”

“It’s a tough choice,” Harry agreed. “Any idea what sort of thing you’d like to do?”

“I’d love to teach,” Cara confessed. “Obviously, I’d never be able to teach magic, but I love working with kids.”

Malcolm began to shift in place, in the manner of all small children whose grownups are speaking of things that don’t involve them. Harry smiled. “Cara, I’ve got to get Malcolm here back to where he’s staying. Do you have a floo address you’d like to give me? I’d love to stay in touch.”

She did, and, having provided it, gave Harry a kiss on the cheek. “You changed my life, you know,” she whispered in his ear. “I’ll always be grateful.”

Harry smiled after her, pleased to have a reminder that he did good work, that he was helping people.

Later that evening, he floo called Draco. “Potter,” Draco said, sounding surprised.

“I’m sorry to contact you so late. I didn’t want to interrupt bedtime stuff.”

Draco smiled. “Just as well. If Mr. Harry had flooed while he was up, he’d still be climbing the walls at midnight.”

“I know that you managed to find short-term daycare for Scorpius, but I wondered if you’d managed to find anything longer term?”

Draco shook his head. “He’s doing well at Luna’s, but with Malcolm being moved to new care arrangements, she won’t be able to keep it up. There’s a lady down the street, but she obviously isn’t magical, and I’m afraid that Scorpius will do something in front of her. So no, I haven’t sorted out what to do. It’s a nightmare, honestly.”

“I have a suggestion for you, if you’re interested. One of my former clients is out of work at the moment, and wants to work with kids. I haven’t really spoken to her much in the past few years, but I ran into her in Diagon this afternoon. If you wanted to reach out to her, you could see what you think?”

Draco’s face, greenish through the flames of the floo, was suffused in relief. “That sounds good. Thanks, Harry.”

“Anytime, that’s what I’m here for. Speaking of, I need to set up a time to have a one-on-one with Scorpius. When would suit?”

Draco thought about it. “Tomorrow? You could come see him at lunchtime, and then I could feed you dinner afterwards?”

“That works. I’ll see you then.”

He disconnected the floo call, stuck his head into the kitchen to say goodnight to Gimple and Kreacher, and went to bed, hoping that Cara and Draco could find a mutually beneficial arrangement.

Case Investigation Update
Date: March 31, 2007
Investigating Agent: Harry J Potter
Subject: Scorpius H Greengrass

Narrative:

Although the client has not been directly observed since last update, some small strides have been made in his case progression. Scorpius’ current alternate schooling arrangements are no longer appropriate, and Agent Potter was able to suggest a potential replacement educator. The candidate does possess magic, but did the majority of her schooling in the non-magical system, and so will be well-suited to provide a sufficiently robust experience for Scorpius.

In addition, an appointment has been made by Agent Potter to conduct one-on-one session with Scorpius and attempt to identify any potential factors which might be causing the accidental magic. It is worth noting that Scorpius has not experienced a magical outburst since the last reported incident. Agent Potter to probe for information related to stress at school which might have been upsetting Scorpius and causing the outbursts.

Next Steps:

-Conduct one-on-one interview with subject and identify whether to eliminate Custodial parent as a potential cause. Also probe stress at school, and conduct standard magical measurements.
-Follow up on longer-term homeschooling arrangements

Chapter Text

The following morning, Harry found himself in the office. He’d just finished arranging a long-term foster arrangement for Malcolm when a familiar head of curly hair popped into his eye line. Setting a latte on the desk in front of him, Tamsin sat in the guest chair, a gusty sigh exploding from her.

“Long time, no see,” Harry greeted. “You good?”

Tamsin shrugged. Harry’s head tilted to one side. “Not so good?”

“It just takes me a bit to balance out after seeing my mum, you know that,” Tamsin said.

Harry smiled sympathetically. “Was it rough?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know,” Tamsin said. “It’s always a bit rough. She gets weepy, you know? And wants to start apologizing to me for my childhood.”

“I suppose her heart’s in the right place,” Harry said.

“It is,” Tamsin sighed. “But she doesn’t seem to understand that I don’t want to talk about it. It’s the past, and if we have any hope of having a relationship, we can’t keep bringing it up.”

“Guilt’s funny that way,” Harry said.

Tamsin shrugged again, making it clear that she didn’t want to talk about it. Harry reached into his desk drawer and, retrieving a bag of chocolate frogs, tossed one at her. A thin smile appeared on her face, and she ripped it open. She stuffed the frog into her mouth and looked at the card. When she let out a joyful crow of triumph, Harry sighed.

“Oooh, I got a Harry Potter card!” She laughed. “Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived is the only known survivor of the Killing curse, and is also known for vanquishing the Dark Lord Voldemort at the age of seventeen, which earned him an Order of Merlin, First Class. Potter enjoys Quidditch and is widely recognized for his child advocacy work.”

Harry groaned. “Stupid thing,” he muttered.

“Harry, it’s a special edition one!” Tamsin exclaimed. “Shirtless Harry Potter, oh my!”

“What?” Harry squawked, reaching to snatch the card from her hands.

Tamsin exploded in laughter. “Made you look,” she taunted.

“Merlin’s pants, could you imagine?” Harry said, relieved. “I’d have to leave the country.”

“It’s not that bad,” Tamsin said. “I’ve seen you without a shirt. A little scrawny, but not so embarrassing you’d have to immigrate somewhere.”

“Shut it,” Harry said, throwing another packaged frog at her. She snatched the bag and retaliated in kind, and there were soon packages of frogs winging around the room.

“Nice to see you’re working hard as always,” a voice from the hallway sneered.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Sod off, Nettle,” he said.

“So cocky, Potter, always have to be the centre of attention,” Nettle replied.

“Jealous, Linden?” Tamsin asked.

Nettle scoffed. “Hardly. Who’d be jealous of a washed up former hero who couldn’t hack it as an Auror? Had to have a job created for him to avoid a scandal.”

“Funny,” Tamsin said, “I heard from the DMLE’s admin that you’ve applied to be an Auror every year since you graduated Hogwarts. And you’ve never even gotten a tryout. Pathetic.”

“Fuck off, Applebee. You’re no better than Potter, you nutcase.”

Harry, having had enough, wandlessly gestured to the door, which slammed closed. He hoped it had caught Nettle on the nose, but he wasn’t often that lucky.

Tamsin groaned. “He’s such a miserable old bastard.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and he’ll retire.”

“I don’t think the Potter luck works that way.”

“True. Usually the Potter luck gets me into some sort of awful situation, and barely rescues me in the nick of time.”

“Handy, that.”

“Exactly,” Harry laughed. “I’ve got to file my reports, and then I’m headed to see Scorpius Greengrass.”

“How’s that going?” Tamsin asked.

“It’s proceeding. He’s been pulled from his non-magical school, and I’m hoping to figure out what’s triggering his outbursts.”

“And his Papa? I seem to recall hearing that the two of you had tension in school.”

Harry laughed again. “That’s putting it mildly. It’s going okay, though. Good. He’s different. I guess I’m different too.”

Tamsin regarded him for a long minute. “What?” Harry asked.

“You’ve caught feelings,” Tamsin accused.

“I haven’t!” Harry protested. She raised an eyebrow and he glared at her. “Tams, I couldn’t, you know that!”

She smiled. “It isn’t against the rules to have feelings, idiot. It’s only a problem if you act on them.”

“Well I haven’t. And I won’t.”

“Of course you won’t. But you like him, don’t you?”

Harry’s lips curved into a little smile. “He’s a lot nicer than he used to be. And he’s handsome. But I barely know him, and he’s still a potential suspect.”

“Aww, my little Harry’s making new friends,” Tamsin cooed, breaking into laughter when Harry threw a quill at her.

“I have to file my reports. Go do work, you layabout.”

She blew him a kiss, and, an hour later, he dumped his paperwork on the admin’s desk before heading to his appointment with Scorpius.

He decided that the back garden was a good place to meet. After Scorpius had kissed his Papa goodbye, making him promise to be home in time for dinner, Harry led him outside.

“Did you have a good morning?” Harry asked, hoping to ease into the conversation.

Scorpius nodded eagerly. “Papa and I read a book, and he did computer while I painted a picture.”

Harry smiled. “That’s good. Do you remember that I was going to help you with working on your accidental magic?” Scorpius nodded, looking far less eager at the change of topic. “Part of helping you is trying to learn more about what makes your magic rise up. When we learn the reasons that it happens, we’ll have a better idea of what to do about it.”

“I don’t know why it does. My dragon is just naughty,” Scorpius said, a bit sullenly.

“That’s okay if you don’t know right away. I’m here to help you,” Harry said. “Let’s talk about the last time that your magic had an outburst. Do you remember what you were feeling before it happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about that,” Scorpius said.

“I understand if it’s hard to talk about. Let’s not talk about the things that happened, I want you to think about how you were feeling.”

“I don’t know,” Scorpius whined.

Harry smiled. “It’s hard sometimes. Here, I have some things to help us.” He reached into his satchel and pulled out a set of small dolls, which he quickly charmed to have blond hair and big grey eyes. Each one had an overlarge head, and exaggerated facial expressions. “These dolls are all feeling something different. Let’s look at each one and we can name what the doll is feeling, and you can tell me if you’ve ever felt that way.”

Scorpius looked enthusiastic at the prospect, and reached for one of the dolls. It had a big smile on its face, and its eyes were squinted, with laugh lines clearly showing. “How does this one feel?” Harry asked.

“Happy,” Scorpius said immediately. “Loved.”

“That’s good,” Harry said. “Can you remember a time that you felt like that?”

Scorpius scrunched up his face while he thought about it. “Lotsa’ times,” he said finally. “When I’m with my Papa,” he continued, and then looked up shyly at Harry. “When it was my birthday, and we were at your house.”

Harry smiled. “I’m so glad that you feel loved and happy, Scorpius. That’s a good feeling, and I’m very happy that you enjoyed your birthday so much.”

“It was like having a family,” Scorpius said thoughtfully.

Harry watched his face closely. “You do have a family, don’t you, though? You and your Papa?”

Scorpius nodded. “I do. But it’s good to have extra people, just in case.”

“In case of what?” Harry asked.

“If the people take my Papa away, I won’t have anyone to be my family. So if I have extra, then I can be safe.”

“Safe from what?”

Scorpius shrugged. “Bad people. People who hate my Papa. People who hate me.” He was matter of fact, and it broke Harry’s heart. He hated that Scorpius felt unsafe, and was filled with anger that he’d fought, died in a war and there was still prejudice that punished children.

“Do you feel safe when you’re with your Papa?” Harry asked.

Scorpius’ head tilted to one side as he thought about it. He plucked some grass from the lawn and fiddled with it. “My Papa would do everything he could to keep me safe,” he said eventually. “But if a lot of bad people came at once, I don’t know if he could.”

Harry didn’t want to ask the next question, but he knew he had to. “Do you ever feel afraid that your Papa will hurt you?”

Scorpius looked incredulous. “My Papa? No. Mr. Harry, my Papa loves me bigger than the world.”

“I think he does,” Harry agreed. He purposely picked up the doll that looked scared. “How do you think this doll feels?”

“Scared,” Scorpius said. “I bet he’s going to cry.”

“Have you ever felt so scared you wanted to cry?”

Scorpius nodded. “When did that happen?” Harry asked gently.

“At school, sometimes,” he said. “I had to see the Head Teacher, and I thought I was in trouble. And sometimes in class, if Miss is angry with us. And I’m sometimes afraid of my magic.”

“Because it comes out so strongly?” Harry asked.

“I don’t like when my dragon is naughty, Mr. Harry.”

“Scorpius, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to do a spell on you, to measure your magical core. That will help us tell whether you have a lot of magic for your age, or if sometimes your feelings get too big and make your magic lash out.”

“Okay,” Scorpius said. “Will it hurt?”

“Absolutely not,” Harry said firmly. He ushered Scorpius inside, to avoid any curious neighbours seeing, and waved his wand in a pattern he’d grown familiar with. Scorpius’ core lit up, a sunny yellow, and Harry quickly took the measurements. Eyebrows crunching together, he did the arithmetic, and realized that Scorpius had a perfectly normal core size.

He and Scorpius were happily reading a story when the door opened, and Draco called, “Hello, Scorpius? Potter?”

“Papa!” Scorpius cried, dropping the book and racing to the door, where he leapt into Draco’s arms. Draco kissed the top of his head.

“Good day, Scorp?”

“Yes, Papa. We were in the garden, and I saw a snail, and we drew pictures, and Mr. Harry was reading me a story about dragons.”

“Wow, all of your favourite things,” Draco said. “Potter, you’re still free to stay for dinner?”

“Yes, if you’re still offering,” Harry replied.

“Papa, Mr. Harry’s name is Harry. You shouldn’t call him ‘Potter’. It’s rude,” Scorpius said.

“Cheeky,” Draco replied fondly. “Very well, Henry James Potter, Lord Potter of House Potter, would you honour us with your presence and dine with us this evening?”

Scorpius giggled. Harry wrinkled his nose. “I’ll stay as long as you never call me Lord Potter again. And how did you know my full name was Henry?”

Draco snorted. “Every child who grew up like I did knew the genealogy of every other Ancient and Noble House before they were seven years old. You’re named after your Great Grandfather, Henry, whose son, incidentally, married Dorea Black, who was my Great Aunt.”

“I never knew that,” Harry marvelled. “I knew my name was Henry, because I saw it on some paperwork that the Goblins showed me after the war, but I never knew my Grandparents' names. Or that we were related.”

Draco laughed. “Everyone’s related. The Magical community is really small.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Harry said. “Hermione did some research a while back that suggested that First Gen Magicals are actually descended from Squib lines.”

“That makes sense,” Draco said. “Scorpius, Darling, you have piano practice to do, as well as your homeschool workbook. Which would you like to do first?”

“Piano,” Scorpius sighed, but he dutifully left the room and, moments later, the laborious sound of scales being played came from the front room.

“Come,” Draco said. “I need to figure something out for dinner, and I need to drink a very large glass of gin.”

“Rough day?” Harry asked.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Rough defence barrister. He’s a right prick.” He eyed Harry, the hint of a smile on his face. “I don’t suppose you’d go kill him off for me?”

Harry laughed, but came out a bit forced. “I’m out of practice,” he said. “You’ll have to find someone else, I’m afraid.”

Draco winced and looked like he might curse himself for his tactlessness. He rushed to move the conversation on. “He’s an idiot, anyway. His client is guilty as sin. As if I’d plea bargain when I’m guaranteed a win.”

Harry grinned. “Still competitive, Draco?”

The corners of Draco’s mouth twitched. “I’ve a better chance of winning in the courtroom than on the Quidditch pitch, I’m afraid.”

“Do you still play?”

“Not in years. This house doesn’t present many opportunities for flying.”

Harry looked pensive for a moment. “Do you ever see yourself spending time in the magical community again?”

Draco shrugged. “I’m not sure I’ll have much of a choice. Scorpius is clearly a Wizard, and I can’t very well deny him access to that part of him. Even if it didn’t end up blowing my house apart with accidental magic, it’s unfair.”

Harry nodded. “It’s a big adjustment, having to figure out magical society on your first day at Hogwarts,” he said.

“It’s true then,” Draco said. “You really didn’t know you were a Wizard, growing up?”

Harry laughed, a little bitterly. “All true. I suppose in hindsight, it was rather obvious, considering the way my relatives were apoplectic any time someone said the ‘m-word’.”

“Just as well, then, that Scorp’s accidental magic is forcing my hand,” Draco said. “I don’t think I would have managed to venture into that world, otherwise, not until his Hogwart’s letter arrived, and I had no choice.” He had led Harry into the kitchen, and was preparing drinks. Passing Harry a tall glass, he continued, “I called your friend, about the tutoring.”

“Brilliant,” Harry said, after he’d swallowed a sip. “What did you think?”

“She’s wonderful,” Draco replied. “She’s going to spend the week with Scorpius, starting on Monday. We’ll try it out, and see how we go.”

Harry beamed. He was thrilled that Cara had found an opportunity that could bridge her into a teaching position, and he was sure that Scorpius would adore her. As he opened his mouth to respond, a loud, discordant banging of keys sounded from the other room.

“Piano practice is over,” Draco said with a smile. He pulled a roasting pan from the refrigerator, and stuck it into the oven, then flung some rice into a cooker, and some frozen corn into a pot on the hob. “This shouldn’t take long. I hope you don’t mind eating early, but Scorpius seems to get hungry at this time, and if I give him a snack now, I’ll never get dinner into him.”

“Not at all,” Harry confirmed. “Can I help?”

Draco reached into a bin within the fridge and tossed him a head of lettuce. “If you can throw a salad together, it would be great.”

They worked companionably in the kitchen. Draco had put a CD on, and the music filled the little silences. Harry was aware of Draco’s closeness as they weaved around one another in the kitchen. He informed his traitorous body that this was a client and he had no business watching the play of his muscles below his crisp white dress shirt.

A distinctive set of guitar notes filled the kitchen and Harry looked up, smiling. “I love this song,” he said.

Draco smiled back. “Me too.” He turned back to the hob, and a few moments later, he started singing, belting out the words to ‘A day in the life’ in a delightfully unselfconscious, off-key rendition. Harry told himself that it was okay to be charmed by it, since he was charmed in a very professional, 'client-agent interaction' way.

Dinner passed cheerfully. Scorpius was full of chatter, and Harry listened to him in bemusement. He looked a lot like Draco, he realized, now that he was looking for it. His large grey eyes were expressive, and, although he had impeccable manners, his enthusiasm for the topic he was discussing caused him to forget himself from time to time. Harry recalled that Draco, in his Hogwarts days, had been much the same. Not to Harry, of course. When speaking to Harry, he was reserved, cutting, guarded. Only his eyes ever gave him away. Harry had often watched him holding court amongst his friends, however, and Draco could get quite animated as he talked, only regaining his impassive facial expression when he caught Snape’s eyes.

Harry became aware of Draco looking at him with an almost fond look. “What?” He asked, self-conscious.

Draco blushed. “You eat every item on your plate in sequence. All of the meat, then the rice, the bread, then the corn, then the salad. I’ve never seen anyone eat so methodically. I remember you used to do it at Hogwarts as well.”

Harry smiled. “You watched me that closely?”

“Of course,” Draco replied, winking. “Had to keep my eye on you. Never knew what you might get up to.”

Harry decided not to tell Draco and Scorpius that the reason he’d gotten into the habit of eating that way was because as a child, he constantly had the, very realistic, fear that his plate might be snatched away without notice, if he broke some arbitrary rule. Eating in sequence prioritized the highest-calorie, most filling items first. It was easier to let Draco think that it was just one of Harry’s quirks.

There was a moment when Draco disappeared into the kitchen to fetch pudding. Scorpius gave Harry the most blinding smile, and said, “It’s nice that you’re friends with my Papa now, Mr. Harry.”

Harry, touched, was about to respond, but an ear-curdling shriek from the kitchen had him sprinting after it, wand ready, Auror instincts determined to apprehend the murderer that Draco had encountered. He was surprised to find Draco alone, clutching a spatula. “Er, Draco?”

Draco spun around, cheeks pink. “Need something?” Harry wasn’t fooled; hearing the slightest hint of a waver in Draco’s tone.

“No. I heard something.”

“Something?”

“A scream.”

“It wasn’t a scream, Potter,” Draco said with dignity. “I might have exclaimed. I was surprised.”

“Oh? By what?”

Draco’s blush deepened, and Harry could feel the beginning of a delighted smile curving his lips. “mdr,” he mumbled.

“Sorry?”

Draco sighed. “A spider, Potter. It was a spider, a bloody huge one.”

***

After dinner, Scorpius begged Harry to stay while they watched a movie. Harry looked uncertainly at Draco, who smiled, shrugged his shoulders and said, “You’re welcome, Harry. As long as you don’t have anything else to do.”

Harry, who truly had little else to do, save returning home and trying in vain to convince Kreacher to leave Mrs. Number Ten alone, acquiesced. Scorpius insisted on sitting next to Mr. Harry, and cast surreptitious little glances at him throughout, gauging whether Harry was enjoying himself. Harry felt his heart swell with affection for the little boy. He was so sweet, and Harry hoped fervently that he would continue through life as untouched by malice as he had been so far.

When the movie ended, Harry looked towards the door. “I should leave,” he said.

“You’re welcome to stay,” Draco said. “It’s Scorpius’ bedtime, but I’d appreciate a few minutes of your time, if you can spare them.”

“Certainly,” Harry said, accepting a high five from Scorpius, and helping himself to a glass of water while he waited.

“Mister Greengrass,” Harry heard Draco say from upstairs, in the affected, toffee-nosed tone he’d used as a boy.

“Mister Malfoy,” Scorpius said, mimicking his tone, but giggling as he spoke.

“Wouldst thou retire to the bathtub for thy libations?” Draco asked, and Harry could hear the smile in his voice.

“I’m afraid not, old chappie,” Scorpius giggled. “It doesn’t agree with my constitution.”

“I must insist, Lord Greengrass, for thou hast an incredibly stinky bum,” Draco intoned in a voice that could have passed for Lucius Malfoy’s. Scorpius’ riotous laughter echoed down the stairs, and Harry felt his smile growing wider.

He busied himself by examining the framed photographs on a bookshelf in the lounge. It seemed that every major milestone of Scorpius’ life had been captured on film. Harry smiled as he looked at the progression from a solemn-looking infant to a laughing-eyed toddler, and then, into the enthusiastic little boy that Scorpius was now. He lingered on a photograph of Draco and Scorpius. Draco lay on his back, with Scorpius atop his chest. It was clear that he’d toppled Draco over in an exuberant tackle. They both were laughing, Draco’s hand holding Scorpius steady to keep him from falling. Absently, Harry traced the line of Draco’s jaw, wondering what it sounded like when Draco laughed.

“That’s my favourite picture of us,” Draco said from behind him.

Harry turned. “It’s wonderful. You’re a delightful family.”

“Thank you,” Draco said, his face looking a little sad. “I didn’t expect that it would be just him and I, but we’re making do.”

“I think you’re doing a lot better than just ‘making do’,” Harry argued. “I see a lot of families in my job. My favourite ones are rarely made up of the typical structure. You know, Mom, Dad, couple of kids. It always seems like the ones that are a little different are the ones who truly appreciate what they have.” What Harry didn’t say is that he wondered, had things been different, if he and Sirius could have had a family like Draco and Scorpius. Would Harry be like Scorpius if he’d been raised differently? If Sirius had never gone to Azkaban, would his Godfather have been different? Of course he would, Harry realized. The haunted look in his eyes wouldn’t be ever-present, the stiffly tensed muscles, always restless, ready for flight would relax from time to time. He sighed. If, if. It was pointless, wondering what could be.

With effort, Harry forced his thoughts away from the melancholy turn they’d taken. “I wanted to talk to you,” Harry said, “about my conversation with Scorpius today.”

Draco instantly went from relaxed to alert, his bright eyes piercing Harry’s. “Yes?”

“I managed to eliminate one possibility, and I gained a fairly powerful insight, but I’m still not certain what’s causing his accidental magic outbursts,” Harry said. “I tested his core today.”

“What was it like?” Draco asked eagerly.

Harry smiled. “Lovely,” he answered. “He has a beautiful yellow core, and he has exactly the amount of magical power I’d expect at his age.”

“Yellow,” Draco breathed, his face completely unguarded for a moment. A brilliant smile lit up his features. A yellow aura represented an inclination toward peaceful, productive magic. It suggested that Scorpius would be ideally suited as a teacher, a Healer, someone in service to others. Harry again marvelled at the changes he could see in Draco. He’d bet his broom that, had Lucius Malfoy been told that his son had a yellow aura, he’d be furious. Malfoys, Harry imagined, had scarlet auras, or at least deep violet. He couldn’t imagine Draco’s father encouraging a career in anything other than some type of domination, whether that be in the boardroom or of the entire world.

“Yeah,” Harry confirmed with a grin. “That tells us something. It means that Scorpius isn’t acting out because his magic is uncontained.”

“But it doesn’t tell us what the problem is,” Draco said in frustration.

“True,” Harry agreed. “But eliminating a possibility means that we can focus on other areas. I mentioned that I also gained an insight into Scorpius’ motivations. I’ve mentioned before that Scorpius is very protective of you.”

Draco shrugged helplessly. “I imagine any child is protective of his parent.”

“Often they are, yes,” Harry said, “but when I asked him some more questions, I uncovered a fairly pervasive fear. Scorpius is terrified that ‘bad people’ will take him away from you.”

Draco’s face went pale. “He said that?”

“He did,” Harry said. “What do you think is motivating this fear?”

Draco scrubbed a hand across his face. He stood, went to the window, and stared out into the darkness. “I wasn’t in very good shape after my parents were killed,” he said finally, not turning away from the window. “Scorpius was born just before they died, and it was simply a lucky fluke that Scorpius, Astoria and I were out when the wards were breached. We’d gone to visit Astoria’s parents, who had moved to France after the War ended. We returned to the Manor, only to find Aurors there, and I learned that Mother and Father had been killed, exposed to harm by the very people who were meant to prevent it.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said quietly. “That must have been awful.”

Draco spoke, his face still pointed to the darkness. “Astoria returned to France that night, taking Scorpius with her, and I remained, settling up my parents’ affairs. Our marriage had been an arrangement, both of our Fathers wanted an Heir, and neither Astoria or I were happy. My parents’ murder seemed the catalyst that would force us to make a change. I decided that Scorpius belonged with his Mum, and I’d…figure out what happened next for me, I suppose.”

Harry made a vague noise, careful not to interrupt Draco’s story. He sensed that he’d likely not unburdened this information before.

“After I finalized things with Father’s estate, I went to France to visit Scorpius. I had a half-formed idea that maybe I’d settle there, somewhere close enough to the Greengrass Manor that I could visit Scorpius plenty. When I arrived, though, Astoria wasn’t home. Nobody was, except for Scorpius, and an ancient House Elf. She was half-senile, I think. She’d been Daphne and Astoria’s nanny elf, and she was so confused about what was going on. Scorpius…wasn’t very well cared-for.” Draco drew a long shuddering breath.

“I tracked down the Greengrasses a day later. They’d gone on vacation.” Draco barked a short, bitter little laugh. “They left my son, alone, with a demented House Elf, so that they could enjoy themselves in the countryside. I was furious.”

“Of course you were,” Harry said softly, his own temper rising at the neglect.

“I didn’t know what to do next. I…didn’t exactly have positive parental role models, you see. When Astoria and I agreed to have a child, it was understood that she’d take on the lion’s share of the parenting. Clearly, though, her judgement couldn’t be trusted, and I wasn’t about to leave my son in her care.”

He turned from the window, and Harry could see the pain etched across his features. “At first, Astoria and her parents fought me over Scorpius’ custody. Even though Astoria didn’t want to take care of him, they also didn’t want their Heir associated with the Malfoy name. I understood, if I’m being honest. Being a Malfoy wasn’t something to be proud of. I returned to England, not really knowing what to do next. A few weeks later, Astoria turned up with Scorpius. It seemed that her social life was being negatively affected by her association with me, and my son was no more welcome than I was. She left Scorpius with me, but refused to sign over full custody. I think she just wanted to have leverage on me, in case she needed something else from me in the future. I hear from her every year or two. Last time, she needed money. She didn’t even ask about Scorpius.”

“Draco,” Harry said, “I’m so sorry. That’s ghastly.”

Draco stared flatly at him. “It isn’t anything more than I deserve.”

“That’s not true, Draco. How long are you expected to suffer for things that happened when you were a child? It’s ridiculous,” Harry said angrily.

“You really believe that, don’t you?” Draco asked, his eyes softening as he looked at Harry.

“Of course I do. I hate how narrow-minded our society is. They so easily designate people as Dark or Light, when it’s so much more complicated than that. It’s stupid. You shouldn’t be persecuted. Your parents didn’t deserve what happened.”

“Who knows,” Draco said bleakly. “It’s not like I’m in any position to judge who deserves what.”

“Either am I,” Harry agreed. “I’m a bit confused, though. I know that Astoria’s behaviour during your separation was upsetting, but Scorpius was a baby then. I don’t really understand how that’s resulted in his protectiveness of you.”

Draco’s smile was wry. “Ah. I don’t suppose you can read between the lines and extrapolate from there?”

Harry grinned in return. “I could try, but, between you and me, I’ve always been pants at that. Add one and one and get ‘giraffe’ as an answer.”

Draco looked at him for a moment, as if he was considering mocking Harry’s analogy, but instead, he sighed, and said, “I returned with Scorpius to the Manor, and we stayed there for nearly a year. I was miserable, though, jumping at shadows, terrified that the people who had murdered my parents would return to take a crack at us, or that the Greengrasses would change their minds and turn up with Aurors. I don’t think I got a full night’s sleep the entire time we were there. I’d been working to get my Muggle credentials, since I was certain I’d never find a job in Wizarding society. It just made sense to move into this world full-time. I closed up the Manor, freed the few remaining elves, and I haven’t been back since.”

“That must have been difficult,” Harry mused.

“Difficult? It was bloody terrifying. I didn’t know anybody, and even though I’d gotten a good education on how Muggles do things, there was so much I wasn’t prepared for. But I managed. I found someone to care for Scorpius, and she was heaven-sent. I finished my study, and began my practice. We were coping.”

His gaze grew distant, remembering. “I was still on-edge, all of the time. I worried about Astoria and her parents coming to take Scorpius away from me, I worried that the Ministry would change their mind about me, and come arrest me. I worried that someone who still bore a grudge would come and kill Scorpius and I.” He blinked rapidly, and Harry was certain he was trying to keep tears at bay. “It turns out that non-magicals have made amazing strides in emotional health. There’s this thing called Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, you see.”

Harry nodded. “I’m familiar with that,” he said.

“My therapist has been incredibly helpful, and I’ve made a great deal of progress. However,” he sighed, “it’s hard to move past the trauma all at once. I’ve done my best to keep Scorpius insulted from it, but obviously I’ve failed at that.” His expression grew bleak, and in a tiny voice that wobbled a little, he said, “Will this mean that you need to take him away from me?”

“Draco,” Harry said softly, awash with compassion for this man who’d suffered, and fought, and whose son was the night star by which he set his course. “I’m only just realizing that this is your worst fear manifest, isn’t it?”

Draco shrugged, and the action was so incongruous with the poised, deliberate person that Harry was coming to know, he immediately realized that it was a reflection of how vulnerable he was. Harry continued, “I don’t think that you hurt your son, Draco, I’ve said that before. And the Ministry’s mandate is to support families, not break them apart. As long as you’re providing for Scorpius, physically and emotionally, there’s no justification to remove him from your care. Mental illness alone is not something that makes you an inadequate father. As long as you’re able to manage your illness and care for him, then you’re doing fine.”

Draco gave him an uncertain smile, and Harry plunged on, “I think we’ve uncovered a clue to help us understand why Scorpius’ magic is acting out. I’m nearly positive it’s triggered by fear, specifically the fear that the two of you will be separated. Now we just need to understand what’s causing these fears, so that we can reassure him. I suspect that, once we do that, his magic will settle down.”

“I wonder…” Draco said, and then stopped.

“What?” Harry asked.

“I don’t have anything concrete, just a gut feel, but it’s interesting that his magic seems to act out while he’s at school.”

“That is interesting, and something that I also noticed,” Harry agreed. “It’s a shame that the obliviators have destroyed the memories that would tell us more. I’d let Cara know what’s going on. She’s really clever, I’m sure that she can help us sort out whether it was the environment at his school, or the learning itself.”

“I’ll do that,” Draco said, and suddenly yawned, then looked horrified at his rudeness.

Harry looked at his watch. “Merlin, it’s later than I thought. I have to go.”

“Thank you for coming,” Draco said, following Harry to the door. “It was good, talking to you.”

“I enjoyed it,” Harry agreed. “Thanks for dinner.” He stood awkwardly on the threshold, unsure how to end a night that had been so emotional.

Draco suddenly swooped closer, and Harry stiffened. Before he could react, Draco kissed him. Harry had been kissed before, but he’d never experienced such a dramatic swooping of his stomach, or such an assault to his senses. Draco smelled wonderful, and his lips were full, and he tasted amazing…and he was the parent of one of Harry’s clients. Harry pulled away, reluctantly. “Draco,” he breathed, “I…I enjoyed that. You have no idea how much I enjoyed that. But I can’t…not while I’m involved in Scorpius’ case. It’s a conflict of interest, and it might put all of my reporting under scrutiny.”

Draco backed away immediately. “I’m sorry,” he said, his cheeks pink and an expression of terrible mortification in his eyes.

“I’m sorry too. Believe me, you have no idea how hard it is to have put a stop to that.” Harry put all of his effort into communicating his emotions through his facial expression. “I…I should go, and…I’m pretty sure I’m pushing the edges of the ethics agreement I signed by saying this, but…Draco. I won’t always be Scorpius’ caseworker. If you’re still single then, I’d really like to revisit this.”

Draco hummed uncertainly, and Harry’s heart sunk a little, but he didn’t have any other option. “Goodnight, Harry,” Draco said quietly, formally.

“Goodnight, Draco,” Harry replied, in much the same manner.

Chapter Text

When he arrived home, his emotions (and hormones) were swirling around in confusion. The kitchen was quiet, Kreacher and Gimple having retired already. “It’s just my luck,” Harry told the kitchen. The sink emitted a gurgling noise that Harry chose to interpret as sympathetic. “It’s been ages since I met anyone that I thought might see me as I am. And my stupid, stupid job with its stupid, stupid policies to protect children are cockblocking me.” He thunked his head against the wall, frustrated, and disappointed, irrationally angry at the entire world.

How had this happened? Of all of the people in the world that Harry had crossed paths with as part of his job, he’d never have dreamed that Draco Malfoy would be the one who tempted him to cross the line. The fact that he was tempted, in spite of his strong belief that his clients came first, and that the ethical standards in his department were vital, communicated a lot.

“I’ve already crossed the line,” he murmured. “That’s bad.” The light flickered twice, and Harry decided that the kitchen agreed with him. “Fuck. I’ll have to recuse myself from Scorpius’ case.” He groaned. “And I’ll still have to fucking wait until Scorpius’ case is closed before I can see if there’s anything there to pursue. Fucking fuck.”

The sink emitted another noise, and Harry turned towards it. “Listen,” he said. “I’ve had a bastard of a night. I know that we’ve got this rivalry thing going, but tomorrow, could you possibly not fuck with the coffee maker? Just this once?” The lights went dim, and then the kitchen went completely dark. Unwilling to participate in kitchen tarot reading any more, Harry took his disappointed self to bed.

The next morning, he woke early. In truth, he wasn’t sure that he’d really slept at all, except in small snatches, during which he dreamed vividly, and awoke gasping. He stumbled, blurry-eyed to the kitchen, where Kreacher was humming and waving his arms to direct something at the waste basket. “Master Harry!” Kreacher exclaimed delightedly. “Master Harry’s coffee maker is working!”

“Thanks,” Harry said to the kitchen, and one of the drawers banged closed. He gratefully took a cup of coffee, and climbed the stairs to his office. There, he completed Form N48 - Request for Reclusion from Case. As he spelled the ink dry, he sighed. He’d grown incredibly fond of Scorpius, and it felt like a failure, stepping away from him before his situation had been rectified. He knew, however, that the policies existed for a reason, and his credibility would be in question if he pursued a relationship with Draco later. It sucked though.

The office was suspiciously quiet when he arrived, an oddity, given that it was shift change. Harry stuck his head in Tamsin’s office, and felt his forehead wrinkle when he found it empty. He set off in search of a cup of substandard, break room tea, but, as he entered the corridor, a voice called after him. “Potter!”

He turned. Juniper Buckley stood behind him, and her expression was grim. “Morning, Ma’am,” he said. “Do you need something?”

“In here, Potter.” She didn’t return his smile, and Harry felt a sense of foreboding. She shut the door behind him, and commanded, “Sit.”

He complied, and waited for her to take her chair behind her desk. “Is something wrong? Something with one of my kids?”

“There’s no easy way to say this, Potter,” Juniper said. Harry felt his stomach start to ache. He’d always had a hair-trigger digestive system, and it had never really recovered from the stress of his school days.

“What is it, Ma’am?”

“I’m placing you on disciplinary leave.”

“What?” Harry asked, completely shocked. “I don’t understand.”

“Potter,” Juniper said, and then, seeing his stricken face, continued, “Harry. Last night, you were seen outside the home of one of your clients. You were witnessed kissing the boy’s Father.”

“I can explain,” Harry said. “Yes, Draco kissed me, but I stopped him, and explained that it was inappropriate while I was working Scorpius’ case. Look,” he said, frantically digging through his satchel, “I have an N48 right here. I was going to recuse myself from his case.”

Juniper’s expression was sympathetic. “I’m sorry, Potter, but my hands are tied. A senior member of staff saw the event. Since it happened in public, I have to do this, while we investigate your findings. You know that we can’t bend the rules, especially not for you. If the Prophet caught wind of things, the Department would never survive the backlash. We’d lose our funding.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Harry protested weakly.

“I believe you, Harry,” Juniper said. She looked as though she wanted to elaborate, but shook her head, and said, “I have to follow procedure. Leave me your case notes, Galleon and Casebook. We’ll try to get through the investigation as quickly as we can, and get you back.”

“I’m sorry, Ma’am,” Harry said miserably. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble.”

“I know. Harry, I’m sure this is going to be fine.” She patted his hand.

Harry shrugged, his mind buzzing with shock. He sifted through his satchel with shaking hands, finally unearthing all of the department property. The Galleon clattered across her desk as it slipped through his numbed fingers. He stumbled from Buckley’s office, barely registering as she said, “I’ll be in touch.”

As he traversed the corridor towards the door, the morning meeting was ending, and his colleagues were spilling out of the meeting room. He vaguely noticed Tamsin mouthing, “I’ll call you,” and nodded.

Linden Nettle smirked at him from the doorway. “Bye, Potter,” he called gaily.

Harry didn’t know how he’d gotten home, and he didn’t hear Kreacher croaking “Master Harry?” He made it up the stairs and into his bedroom, throwing himself onto the bed, casting a hasty locking charm before he gave in to the urge to cry.

A muffled pop drew Harry from his slumber. He blinked blearily in the dim light, finally focusing on Kreacher who was wringing his hands and watching him. “Master Harry,” Kreacher said urgently. “Master Harry hasn’t eaten.”

“I’m okay, Kreacher. Just a rough day at work,” Harry said, hoping he sounded reassuring.

“Kreacher will be bringing some soup,” he replied hopefully.

“I’m not exactly hungry, Kreacher, but thanks.”

“Kreacher’s soup is delicious,” the elf persisted.

With a weary sigh, Harry nodded. “Okay, that sounds good.”

“And then Master Harry is having a warm bath, and putting on proper night clothes and going to bed with a warming charm,” Kreacher said firmly.

The soup arrived in moments, and Harry did his best to eat it. The fact that Kreacher watched him steadily was a good motivator, and Harry ate automatically, putting the spoon between his lips long after his stomach had protested. The alternative was Kreacher trying to feed him, and Harry really didn’t want that.

Time passed. When he wasn’t sleeping, or being forced to eat, Harry stared listlessly out the window. His job had given him a purpose, something that he’d nearly given up on having after the War. Without it, Harry wasn’t sure what was left. He’d already fulfilled his destiny against Voldemort, and if he wasn’t able to help his kids, what was left that mattered?

He was mortified that his colleagues thought that he had acted in such an unprofessional way. Harry had always prided himself on his integrity. Although he’d gotten a reputation as a rule-breaker during Hogwarts, he followed his department’s regulations diligently. Too much was at stake. The policies existed to protect kids, and Harry wouldn’t dream of putting them at risk by cutting corners. It stung that his boss had suspended him, even though he knew she had no choice.

He wondered if, should the investigation prove his innocence, he’d even be able to come back to work. Would this allegation follow him throughout his career? Would his colleagues trust him? Would they whisper and gossip about him? Would his boss withhold assignments from him, since he could no longer be trusted?

“I can’t go back,” Harry said into the darkness. His resolve didn’t make him feel better.

“Master Harry.”

“What is it Kreacher?” Harry was sitting in a chair by his bedroom window. The chair was uncomfortable, and he didn’t know why he hadn’t gotten rid of it ages ago. There were other, more comfortable chairs. It suited his mood today, however, as punishment for his stupidity. He should have mentioned something to Draco earlier. He shouldn’t have allowed the lines between professionalism and friendship blur the way he had.

“The curly-headed demon is here.”

“Tell her to go away.”

“Kreacher did. She said that Master Harry has ten minutes to get downstairs before she comes up here.”

Harry sighed. Tamsin would indeed come up here, and would have no compunction about throwing him bodily into the shower. “Tell her I’m showering, and I’ll be right down.”

Kreacher bowed, looking pleased. Harry realized that maybe he’d been wallowing a bit too much. For an unknown reason, Kreacher hated Tamsin, and usually looked murderous when she was present. Harry dragged himself into the shower, soaped himself up listlessly, and threw on a pair of trackies and a t-shirt. He entered the sitting room, trying to smooth his unruly hair down, and was immediately engulfed in a tight hug. “Idiot,” Tamsin murmured against his chest. Harry shrugged, fighting off the tears that were threatening. “Okay, I’ve given you a day to wallow, time to bounce back.”

“I dunno if there’s any bouncing, Tams,” Harry said.

“Don’t be stupid. Of course there is. Now, what happened? There’s rumours going around that you were inappropriate with a client, which is, obviously, complete bollocks. Buckley won’t say anything, just reassigned your cases, and stormed out of the break room with a mouth like a cat’s bum.”

Harry couldn’t prevent the incredulous giggle that burst out at Tamsin’s analogy, but sobered immediately. Without thinking about it, the words spilled out, and her told her everything: his initial suspicion of Draco, how Scorpius had become more than just another client to him, how he’d seen a different side of Draco, and how his feelings had developed without his notice. He confessed the dinner, the kiss, how he’d completed the Recusal form, and how he’d arrived at work to be informed he was on investigative leave. When he finished talking, he chanced looking through his fringe to see Tamsin’s reaction.

“It isn’t your fault,” she said instantly. “I don’t think you’ve actually gone against a single guideline. I’ll admit, it looks bad without the backstory, but you have the truth on your side. I know what your casenotes are like. It will be fine.”

Harry felt like collapsing on the floor in a heap, so great was his relief. “I wasn’t sure,” he confessed. “I tried so hard not to fuck this up. This job is all that I’m good for.”

Tamsin glared at him. “Stop that,” she commanded. “I’m sick to death of hearing about it. You’re more than your job, just like you were more than your scar, and more than the boy in a cupboard. You’re such a hypocrite, you know?”

“What?” Harry asked, astonished.

“You’re the first one to insist that we look at kids as individuals, as inherently worthy of affection, support and respect, just by virtue of existing. As human beings, not a manifestation of their traume. But you refuse to give yourself the same concessions. Why are you so fucking special, Harry? How come everyone deserves a chance except for you?”

“Oh,” Harry said weakly. “I don’t know.” His forehead wrinkled as he considered Tamsin’s words. He’d have to think about that. Later. “So you’ve heard nothing about the investigation? And how my kids are doing?”

Tamsin grimaced. “No, not a word about the investigation. Your kids are fine, generally. I’ve taken on Malcolm and I’m pretty sure most of the others went to Mitchell. It’s just…”

“What,” Harry prompted, a sense of foreboding prickling the hairs on the back of his neck.

“Well, Scorpius Greengrass has been assigned to Linden Nettle. That fucker,” Tamsin said.

“Why? He barely ever does field work anymore,” Harry protested.

“I know. It’s weird. You know what else is weird?”

“No, what?”

“How the hell did someone see you in a private Muggle neighbourhood, snogging Draco Malfoy? What are the odds of someone stumbling across that?”

Harry’s breath caught. “That is strange,” Harry said. “You think there’s something else going on?”

“Who knows,” Tamsin said. “And before you get all Boy-Detective on me, take a breath. If you meddle in things now, you’re going to fuck up the investigation, and you’ll really be in trouble. Trust Buckley to take care of it.”

“Oh yes,” Harry said bitterly. “We all know my success record with trusting authority figures.”

Tamsin sighed. “Okay, fine. Let’s let the investigation proceed, until something else weird happens. If it goes to shit, we’ll intervene. Deal?”

“Deal,” Harry said, launching himself across the room and hugging Tamsin tightly. “I dunno what I’d do without you.”

“You’ll never have to find out,” Tamsin assured him. “Now, let’s go convince Kreacher to make us pudding.”

Two days later, Harry found himself ready to climb the walls. He’d never done well with purposeless time-wasting. It reminded him too much of summers with the Dursleys, desperate to do something…anything. Finally, he dressed, and shortly thereafter, found himself in Ron and Hermione’s back yard.

Ron, who was fiddling with a lawnmower, looked up and grinned. “Hullo, Mate! What a surprise!”

“Was going a bit mental,” Harry admitted, feeling a bit embarrassed to admit it.

“What’s happened?”

“I’ve…er…been put on leave from work.”

“You’re kidding. I hadn’t seen you around, I just thought you were in the field. What happened?”

Harry spilled the entire story. Since he’d been placed on leave, he realized that the privacy spells were no longer binding, and so, after swearing Ron to secrecy, he named names, bracing himself for a reaction.

“Malfoy? Huh. I guess I owe Seamus a sickle,” Ron mused.

“You’re not upset?” Harry asked.

Ron snickered. “Upset? Honestly, what kind of friend would I be if I told you what blokes you were allowed to kiss? I still think he’s a right git, but in hindsight, you always did have a lot of interest in the ferrety little arsehole.”

“I didn’t!”

“Well, tell that to Seamus. We all thought he was mad when he placed that bet in sixth year.”

“You were betting on me?”

Ron shrugged. “Relieved a bit of tension.”

Fair enough, Harry decided. “So, that’s what’s happening. I’m on investigative leave, and, knowing my luck, I’ll likely be sacked. Plus, that fucker Nettle has taken Scorpius’ case on, and I don’t like it.”

“Yeah, he’s a wanker,” Ron agreed. “Did I tell you about the time that we had a fight over the last bacon butty in the cafeteria?”

“You have,” Harry said, a little long-sufferingly. Ron had, in fact, told him about this repeatedly, and it was only because Linden Nettle was such an insufferable wanker that Harry hadn’t stopped him after the third time.

“Anyway,” Harry said, “how’re things here?”

Ron shrugged, his face clouding. “A bit the same. I can’t do anything right, of course. I always thought that Mum was a bit bossy, but at least I felt like she loved me.”

“Do you not think that Hermione loves you?” Harry asked sadly. He hadn’t realized just how unhappy Ron was.

Ron shrugged again. “If she does, it’s out of habit, I think.” He forced a more cheerful look on his face. “Kids are brill, though.”

“Of course they are,” Harry said, smiling.

“Are you and Hermione still fighting?” Ron asked. It occurred to Harry that, if Ron had to ask Harry, communication had truly broken down in his marriage.

“Yeah, I suppose I should make it up,” he answered reluctantly.

Ron looked at him. “Don’t do it on my account, mate. She was bang out of line, and if you apologize, she’ll never see that.”

“Are you happy, Ron?” Harry asked suddenly.

Ron laughed. “Happy, is anybody truly happy?”

“Yeah, I think so. Some people are.”

“Name one,” Ron challenged.

“Your Mum and Dad? Bill and Fleur? Neville and Hannah?”

“Yeah, alright, you’ve a point there,” Ron allowed. “No, I don’t reckon I’m very happy.”

“You deserve to be,” Harry said firmly. “When you imagine the perfect life, one where you’re truly happy, what do you see?”

Ron thought about it for a moment. “The kids,” he said with a smile. “The kids, happy, and…a bit of an easy life, I suppose, one without all of the griping.”

The silence lingered, and Harry dared to ask another question. “Do you see Hermione? In that perfect life?”

Ron blinked at him. “You know, I don’t think I do,” he finally said softly. He looked intently at the lawnmower, and Harry could see that he was trying not to cry. Although he’d come over to be distracted from his problems, it was obvious that Ron needed some space.

“I’ll go,” he said, squeezing Ron’s shoulder. “Are you okay here with the kids?”

Ron looked up distractedly. “Actually, do you suppose you could floo them over to Mum and Dad’s?”

“Of course I will,” Harry said. “If you need me back here later, Ron, you only need to ask.” Ron nodded. He went to the door and called, “Right then, Rosie, Hugo! Let’s go see if we can find an adventure with your Granddad and Grandmum!”

He returned home, after being stuffed full of dinner by Molly Weasley, and sat contemplatively in the sitting room, staring into the fire. His feelings were in a jumble, but for once, he wasn’t focused on himself, but on Ron and Hermione.

He wasn’t used to feeling so conflicted, but, then again, Ron and Hermione had been a unit, something he’d never have imagined could fail. Ron, he realized, hadn’t changed all that much since Hogwarts. He retained his easy-going nature, and, thankfully, had grown out of his tendency towards jealousy, but he still struggled with insecurity. He was a decent Auror, as far as Harry could tell, but he didn’t believe enough in himself to raise to the top of the pack. Harry, once again, was glad that he’d left the DMLE. He wasn’t sure what it would have done to Ron’s self-esteem if he and Harry had been forced to compete with one another.

Hermione had changed more, but in ways that were, in hindsight, unsurprising. She’d always been driven, and sure of herself, but her experiences during the War had spawned a hyper-vigilance and a need to control. She excelled in her career, which Harry had known she would, but she hadn’t made very many friends at the Ministry. She’d gotten a reputation as sharp-tongued and intractable, and Harry had heard through the gossip mill that she’d missed out on her last promotion because of her lack of people skills.

When his two best friends had started dating, Harry had wondered what Ron and Hermione saw in one another. They were such opposites, and they seemed to argue more than they got along. At the time, it had seemed that they each enjoyed the challenge that the other presented. Ron tempered Hermione’s type-A behaviour, and Hermione pushed Ron to succeed. Privately, Harry thought that Lavender Brown had done far more to boost Ron’s self-esteem than Hermione had, but he wisely said nothing. And, he admitted to himself, he’d been glad that there wasn’t someone new to bring a different dynamic to their friendship. At a time when they’d all lost so much, it was still the three of them, even if two of the trio went to bed with one another.

Harry never could have imagined that he would fall out with Hermione like he had. The fact that she hadn’t bothered to contact him since her insensitive comments had hurt, more than he cared to admit. He wasn’t sure whether she simply took his friendship for granted, or was too focused on her job to realize that he was upset, but he didn’t want to make the first move towards patching things up.

It grew late, as Harry sat, his heart hurting for his best friend, for his godchildren, for Hermione, working so hard that she’d lost sight of what she was working for. He didn’t know how things would turn out for the Weasley-Granger family, even if he had an opinion about what was for the best. He just knew that he’d be there for Ron, just as Ron had been there for Harry during every difficult thing he’d ever faced. Hermione had been there for him as well, and if she wanted his support, he’d give it to her, but it didn’t feel much like she cared about their falling out. He wasn’t going to choose, but he'd support whomever wanted him to be there for him. He knew this might mean a final fracturing of his relationship with Hermione, and he would grieve its loss, even if things had changed.

Two days later, as Harry was mournfully examining his newly-broken coffee-maker, an owl arrived. It was a bedraggled thing, past its prime, and, Harry knew, prone to getting its destination wrong. Only Luna would use such a creature for her post-delivery. He untied the parchment from the owl’s leg, with a muttered, “Thanks, Dan. There’s owl treats in the kitchen if you go to Kreacher.”

The owl flew off in wobbly arcs, in search of treats, and Harry read the letter:

Harry,

I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I know you’d want to know. Scorpius Malfoy arrived here this morning under an emergency protective order. Nettle wouldn’t share any background information. Scorpius is beside himself. I’m doing my best to help him. I’ll tell you more when I can.

Love,
Luna.

Harry very, very rarely lost his temper completely. He remembered doing so ages ago, back in Fifth year, after Sirius had died, and one particularly legion example after the War, when an especially vile article in the Prophet had laid Harry’s every insecurity bare for the world to view. Although he griped and grumbled as much as the next bloke, he, more often than not, was placid-tempered.

Thus, after reading Luna’s note, Harry found himself awfully surprised as the red mist faded, and he regained awareness of his surroundings. What had once been his sitting room, now looked as though a bomb had gone off. Every book on the shelf had its pages scattered around, and a pillow had somehow exploded, leaving feathers everywhere. The curtains had been pulled from the rod, and his Chesterfield had a giant scorch mark on one of the cushions. Even his wallpaper hadn’t emerged unscathed, having been torn from the walls in strips. Kreacher, smart enough to wait until the noise had subsided, popped into the room, made a mournful noise, and popped away.

Harry sat on the floor, surveying the damage in bemusement and wondering what to do next. He realized that, as he was still angry, (although no longer murderously so) it was foolish to speak to anyone. He recalled a breathing exercise that another social worker had once taught him, in an attempt to manage the panic attacks that plagued him after he quit being an Auror. He breathed in slowly, and allowed his mind to describe what he was feeling. I know that Draco isn’t harming Scorpius and there’s no reason to separate that family. He breathed out the tension, counting to seven as he did so. He breathed in. I feel as though I’ve broken my word to Draco. He breathed out. He breathed in. I feel betrayed by my employer. He breathed out. He breathed in. I feel helpless to fix this.

His breath escaped him in a whoosh. It was the helplessness that made him so angry. It was like fifth year all over again, with the papers slandering him, and Dumbledore ignoring him, and Umbridge cutting his hand up, and Harry completely unable to do anything about it. He had spent hours working through those emotions, and had channelled his ‘Saving People Thing’ into a productive outlet. It seemed that his progress had been eroded somehow.

Harry didn’t care that much about his mental health status, or about whether his involvement with Draco and Scorpius was healthy or not. He didn’t care that his suspicion that someone was ‘up to something’ harkened back to his obsession in sixth year. He’d deal with that as soon as he’d sorted things out, and gotten Scorpius back home.

Since it had been over a week since Harry had been to work, he had no idea what Tamsin’s schedule was. Deciding that he didn’t care in the slightest, he incanted his Patronus, and sent it off to find her with a message.

It was nearly two hours later when Tamsin arrived through his floo. “Idiot,” she said fondly. “I was with a client. Do you know how hard it is to explain a talking ghost deer to a nine year old Muggleborn?”

Harry found himself stifling a hysterical giggle. “Sorry,” he managed, and giggled again.

“What’s so important?”

“Do you know anything about Scorpius Greengrass?”

“No, why, should I?”

“He’s at Luna’s.”

“No he isn’t.”

“She told me that he is.”

“But it’s not on the board,” Tamsin protested. The department had a giant display board that tracked all active clients, and their statuses. If a child were to be apprehended from a home, it would be clearly spelled out on the board.

“It’s not really the sort of thing that Luna would make up,” Harry said. Luna had more than her fair share of fanciful ideas, but she took her role as an Emergency Foster Caregiver very seriously.

“No, you’re right,” Tamsin agreed. “She’s daft, but not about this sort of thing.” She tilted her head, thinking. “I thought you told me that you didn’t suspect Malfoy of abusing the kiddo.”

“I didn’t,” Harry said in exasperation. “Do you honestly think I would have kissed him if I thought he was hurting his son?”

“He kissed you,” she pointed out, and he glared at her in return.

“And it was a nice fucking kiss. If I wasn’t bound by the confines of the investigation, I would have enjoyed it a lot more. And, we’re straying from the point.”

“Yeah,” Tamsin sagged as she thought about it. “This isn’t right, Harry. My instincts are telling me that there’s something off. And…”

She didn’t need to finish her sentence. Tamsin trusted her instincts. The one time she’d gone by the book and ignored them, something catastrophic had happened. Harry had never really discussed Daniel Johnson with Tamsin, not in any detail. It had seemed a pretty normal instance of accidental magic. Daniel lived with his hard-working single Mum, who’d had a baby young, and subsequently been shunned by her incredibly strict parents.

Harry recalled that Tamsin had mentioned something seeming ‘off’ about the situation as Daniel’s outbursts continued, but there hadn’t been any evidence to support her feelings. And the departmental guidelines were clear about the use of Legilimency or Veritaserum…only when there was physical evidence of abuse, or the child had alleged that he was being hurt.

So Tamsin had waited it out, and looked for some additional supports for Daniel’s overwhelmed Mum, after she’d been upset to learn that he was a magical child. Because the departments within the Ministry weren’t terribly good at communicating with each other, it had been several days after the incident that Tamsin had learned what happened. Daniel’s Mum had been raised by parents who weren’t just strict, but deeply religious. When she’d learned that her child was a Wizard, she’d been terrified that he was possessed by a Demon and contacted her parents. The subsequent attempted exorcism had been brutal, painful. Daniel died in St. Mungo’s three days later. Tamsin didn’t learn of it in time to be there.

It had nearly broken her. Since Tamsin’s own Mum had been terrified of magic, it was especially upsetting for Tamsin, and Harry knew that she’d never forgive herself. Since then, Tamsin trusted her instincts, and when something didn’t seem right, she was relentless in finding the evidence she needed to uncover the truth. Harry knew that this would bother her steadily until she figured it out. She sat, perfectly still, in the window seat, starting out into the street, her thoughts completely occupied.

Harry, on the other hand, was vibrating with tension. He agreed that the circumstances seemed unusual, and he was worried for Draco and Scorpius. If they’d found reason to remove Scorpius from his home, Draco would likely be charged. And Scorpius’ worst fears had come true, and he’d been taken from his Papa. Harry found himself pacing the sitting room like a caged tiger until Tamsin said, “Enough, Harry. Go for a ride.”

Harry scrubbed a hand over his face, the stubble rasping against his hand. “Yeah,” he said. “Alright.” He grabbed his leather jacket from the hook by the door.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, be safe,” Tamsin said, disappearing through the floo.

Chapter Text

Harry left a note for Kreacher, exiting the kitchen through the back door. The moonlight bathed the small shed in its glow, and the door opened with a screech of hinges. In the corner of the shed stood Sirius’ motorbike, which Hagrid had given him after the war. Harry and Arthur had worked to restore it over the next few years, a labour of love that healed Harry unlike anything else. The bike was his pride and joy, and despite its antique status, the engine immediately purred to life.

The streets of London were quiet, and Harry’s notice-me-not charm allowed him to exceed the speed limit by a decent amount. He rode as though on autopilot, his body swaying into the turns, the noise and vibration of the engine lulling him into a meditative state. It seemed like a blink of an eye before he’d reached the outskirts of the city, and, after a quick glance around to confirm that he was alone, Harry flipped a switch and pulled back on the handlebars, soaring into the sky.

The landmarks became more familiar, and as he approached St Mary’s Bay, he carefully brought the bike down onto the grassy knoll by the beach. He killed the engine, pausing only to grab an ancient blanket from the pannier. He was unsure of the blanket’s origin, and he liked to imagine that it had once belonged to Sirius, that maybe his parents had enjoyed a picnic on it with their best friends. Spreading the blanket out, he sat down, his chin on his knees and let the sound of the sea occupy this thoughts. The earlier clouds had cleared a bit, and he instinctively searched the sky for the Dog Star.

“Things are all muddled, again,” he said to the star. “No need to act so surprised.”

He wanted to explain more, sort through his thoughts by talking them out, confessing to his absent Godfather, but the words didn’t come, and he lapsed into silence.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting when a familiar ghostly hare entered his field of vision. “Harry,” Luna’s voice said urgently. “I need you. Wear your cloak.”

With a muttered curse, Harry waved his wand, using the modified portkey he and Arthur had installed on the bike to send it home. He threw the Invisibility Cloak over his shoulders, grateful that he’d never really lost the habit of carrying it with him always, and apparated to the Rookery.

Every light in the house was on, he noticed, but they were flickering wildly. As Harry opened the front door, he felt an unusual sensation in the air, as though the space was briefly a vacuum, before it stabilized. “Luna?”

“Up here,” Luna’s voice, uncharacteristically tense, called down the stairs.

Harry raced up them, two at a time, whipping the cloak off. He found Luna in one of the bedrooms, her hands raised, a purple shield shimmering around her. In the corner of the room, Scorpius was huddled, sobbing. Every item in the room was vibrating, floating a few centimetres above its usual resting place. The lights flickered again, and Harry heard the distinctive ‘ping’ of a filament shattering in the hallway.

“Scorpius,” Harry said gently, sinking into a crouch in front of the child. “Scorpius, darling.”

“I want my Papa,” Scorpius sobbed. “I need my Papa.”

“I know,” Harry soothed. “Do you remember that day, Scorpius, a long time ago now, the day that I first met you? And you were a bit upset, and so we practiced breathing together? Do you remember, my brave little friend?”

A hiccuped sob, and a little nod was Scorpius’ response. “Of course you do,” Harry continued. “You were so brilliant that day, telling me things, even though you were afraid.”

“I wish I hadn’t,” Scorpius shrieked, the lights blazing suddenly. “You made my Papa go away!”

“I didn’t,” Harry said gently. “I promise, Scorpius, I didn’t want you to be separated from your Papa. I know how much he loves you, and how much you love him. I know that you’re a family.”

“I need him,” Scorpius cried urgently.

“Of course you do, darling,” Harry said. “I promise you, I am going to do as much as I can to get you back home to your Papa. Right now, though, we need to calm down a little. Your magic is upset, and it’s acting out, and we don’t want anyone to get hurt, right?” Scorpius drew another shuddering breath. “Breathe with me now, okay?”

Scorpius took a long time to gain control of his breathing. The moment he did, he wailed, “I’m sorry!”

“Hush now,” Harry said. “You know that it isn’t your fault. Nobody’s hurt.” He considered what to do next. His instincts were telling him one thing, and his training another. Fuck it, he decided. He was already likely sacked, this breach of protocol wouldn’t make much difference. “Scorpius,” he said. “You look like you need a bit of a cuddle.”

Scorpius launched himself into Harry’s arms. The tears, which had abated, came back in full force, and Scorpius clung to Harry and wept. Harry, his heart breaking, stroked Scorpius’ flaxen hair from his forehead, whispered soothing entreaties in his ear. “You’re so loved,” he said softly. “You’re so loved, Scorpius. Keep being brave, little one, your Papa is so proud of you, and I’m so proud of you.”

Emotion, in its rawest form, is truly exhausting, and it wasn’t long before Scorpius’ grey eyes fluttered shut. His hands, which had been clutching at Harry’s jacket, slackened, and his breathing slowed. A tiny wrinkle creased his forehead, though, and every so often, his breath hitched, as though he were still sobbing in his restless dreams. Harry kissed his forehead, sodden with affection for the child who had captured his heart in a way that no other of his kids had.

Harry gently lay Scorpius down into his bed, pulled the eiderdown up and conjured a plush hippogriff that he tucked under his tiny arm. Luna turned the light off, and Harry cast a little bluebell flame into a jar that had previously held some wildflowers.

They made their way into Luna’s sitting area, and collapsed onto the sofa. Luna tucked herself under Harry’s arm, and he stroked her long hair, in much the same way he’d just finished comforting Scorpius. “Thank you for coming,” Luna finally said.

“Thank you for calling me,” Harry answered. “I know that you’re in an awkward position, and I hate to make that worse, but I’m so glad that you let me come for him.”

“He’s hurting so deeply, Harry,” Luna sighed. “I can’t even help him, he’s so lost and frightened. I know I can’t allow his Papa to be here, but I think you’re nearly as good.”

Harry scoffed. “I’m nowhere close,” he said, “but I’m sure he appreciates having someone a bit familiar.”

“What’s going on, Harry? Why is he even here?”

“I don’t know,” Harry answered. “Nothing good. I would stake my life on the fact that Draco’s not hurting that child, though.”

“Poor Draco,” Luna sighed. “He must be frantic with worry.”

“And, since nobody seems to be following protocols, I bet nobody’s even updated him on Scorpius,” Harry said in frustration. “It’s so unfair.”

“You’ll get him home,” Luna said, her voice quietly confident.

“How?” Harry asked in frustration.

“Like you always do, silly,” Luna answered.

“Bumbling along and stumbling upon a half-arsed solution?”

“Something like that,” she said, smiling. Harry laughed.

“If all else fails, I can just kidnap Scorpius and Draco, take them far away from here,” he muttered.

“That’s the spirit.”

After Harry returned home, he paced the house some more. It was nearing dawn, and the sky was brightening, streaky pink clouds starting to appear on the horizon. Kreacher seemed thrilled to see him, and happily unboxed the new coffee machine that had arrived the previous day. “This one is being a good one, Master Harry,” he enthused, his croaky voice sounding hopeful. “Kreacher is ordering the most expensive one.”

“Maybe you’re right, Kreacher,” Harry said, watching with trepidation.

Ten minutes later, after Kreacher had put out the fire, Harry sighed gloomily. “Thanks for trying, Kreach,” he said. “I reckon I’ll just pop by Ron’s, see if he can’t make me one.”

Kreacher looked menacingly at the kitchen cabinets, as if even he were no longer amused by the house’s vendetta against Harry. Perhaps it was just that Kreacher knew, in the strange way that house elves knew things, that Harry was going through a hard time and had less patience than usual for the kitchen's antics.

He apparated into the Granger-Weasley backyard, and rapped on the back door. “Uncle Harry!” Rose flung the door open and threw her arms around him.

“I didn’t think you were allowed to answer the door by yourself,” Harry said, squeezing her hand affectionately.

“You’re the only person who can get into the back yard,” Rose said reasonably. Harry grinned. Clever little thing.

“Where are your Mum and Dad?” Harry asked.

“Mum’s at work,” Rose said, and Harry felt a guilty stab of relief. He wouldn’t have to confront their conflict today.

“And your Dad?”

“Right here,” Ron said from behind him. “Not that it isn’t nice to see you, but is everything okay? You look a bit shit, mate.”

“Da-ad,” Rose chimed.

“Right, sorry, love. You look a tad under the weather,” Ron corrected, kissing Rose on the forehead.

“I came in hopes of caffeination,” Harry said honestly.

Ron looked closely at his face. “Rosie, my petal,” he said, “do you suppose you could help Hugo get dressed?”

Rose rolled her eyes. “You could just say you wanted to talk without me,” she sighed, but obediently left the room.

“She’s a marvel,” Harry said fondly.

“Six going on sixteen, that one,” Ron muttered, but his face belied how proud he was of his daughter.

“Coffee?” Harry begged hopefully.

No sooner had a steaming mug been placed in front of him than Ron said, “Right, what’s up?”

“I’m no longer worried about being sacked,” Harry said bluntly.

“Yeah? What happened?”

Harry updated Ron on all that had happened since he’d last seen him, and Ron frowned. “No good,” he summarized.

“Yeah?” Harry was glad to have Ron's reliable instincts backing up Harry's own suspicions.

“It sounds like someone’s setting Malfoy up.”

Harry nodded. “And you’re sure you don’t care that I might have…feelings? About Malfoy?”

“He didn’t kiss me. I’m not the one who’s shagging him.”

“We aren’t shagging!” Harry hissed quietly, aware that Rose had the ears of an owl.

“Whatever,” Ron said, waving his hands in impatience. “Foregone conclusion, I reckon. It’s not like I’m any sort of authority on relationships, now am I?”

Harry’s face fell. “Things aren’t any better?”

Ron shrugged. “Dunno, really. We aren’t picking at one another anymore, but that’s because we barely talk.”

“I’m sorry.”

Ron shrugged again, and then looked at Harry with such heartbreaking chagrin that Harry reached out to grab his hand. “Things didn’t turn out like I expected, that’s all. It’ll be fine.”

“It will,” Harry said. “And you’re my best mate, Ron. We’ll get through this.”

For a terrible moment, Ron’s eyes filled with tears, but he blinked them back, and said, “Nice change of subject, but we were talking about you. What are you going to do about Malfoy?”

“Dunno,” Harry said. “We don’t have anything other than suspicions, right now.”

“I can check at work, though, see if Malfoy’s been formally charged.”

“Yeah, that would be good. Listen, do you suppose I could borrow Pig?”

“Course,” Ron said. “Wait, why? You’re not going to owl him, are you?”

“Ron,” Harry said, hearing the whine in his voice, and not caring especially. “Imagine if someone had taken Rose or Hugo away from you, and you didn’t know anything about how they were.”

“You don’t know that, though,” Ron argued. “They might be updating him daily, just like protocol.”

“Yeah,” Harry muttered. “The Ministry might be updating Draco daily. How much do you think he trusts the Ministry, after what happened to his Mum and Dad?”

Ron threw his hands up. “I know better than to try to tell you not to. Just don’t be stupid, yeah?”

Harry ginned grimly. “You know me, Ron, when have I ever been?”

Ron rolled his eyes, but left it alone, and went upstairs to make sure the kids were dressed. Harry grabbed a parchment and quill, and sat down again at the table.

Draco, he wrote

I’m sure you’re going mad with worry right about now, and I’m so sorry. He’s doing fine, he’s unhurt, and misses you terribly, but he’s being cared for by someone I would trust with my life, Draco, honestly.

Please know that I had nothing to do with this. Things were taken out of my hands. I can’t say too much in an owl, and I can’t come see you right now, but I have people looking into things. We’ll get to the bottom of it, I swear, and I’ll keep my eye on him.

H

It didn’t say enough. Hell, it didn’t say anything, but Harry was terrified for Draco’s safety. If someone had watched them kiss, it meant that they could be surveilling him in other ways. It wasn’t even really safe to send this, but Harry couldn’t bear not saying something. He rolled the parchment up, and tied it to Pigwidgen’s eager leg. The bird flew out the open window, nearly braining himself on the frame as he went, and Harry sighed.

There was nothing worse than helplessly waiting for an unbearable situation to resolve. Harry had always been terrified of being helpless, nothing put him in poor humour more quickly. Ron disappeared with the kids to the Burrow, and Harry knew he’d head straight to work from there. He prepared himself for another day of waiting impatiently.

Sod this, he thought. He had apparated to the employee entrance of the Ministry, and was preparing to flush himself inside when his common sense prevailed. It took a fair bit of willpower, but how was he supposed to convince anyone that he wasn’t the impetuous Gryffindor he once was, if he charged in, wand blazing?

With an enormous sigh, he apparated instead to Diagon Alley. It was too early for Wheezes to be open, but he had somewhere else where he’d always be welcome. He stopped to pick up a cup of strong coffee, and, with a disgusted shudder, a cup of builder’s tea and walked to his destination. The sign outside was not yet lit, but Harry tapped on the door anyway. He was keyed into the wards, but he still felt awkward about unannounced visitation.

It wasn’t long until a shadow moved behind the shade on the door, and it was flung open unceremoniously. “Just the boy I’d hoped to see,” Ambrose said with delight. He seized Harry by the shoulders, and pulled him inside. Harry barely kept the takeaway cups from spilling, setting them carefully on a nearby counter before being enfolded into a tight hug. Ambrose’s hugs were firm, and lasted longer than was typical, but they never failed to make Harry feel cherished. “Come into the back, ducks.”

Harry obediently trailed after Ambrose, carrying the hot drinks, and sank gratefully onto the purple velvet sofa that took up most of the space in Ambrose’s office. Ambrose reached for his tea, making grabby hands, and emitting a pleased little murmur. Harry sipped some of his coffee, and accepted a Ginger Newt from the biscuit tin on the desk.

“How’s my little friend Malcolm?” Ambrose asked, after consuming half of his drink. Harry was amazed at how Ambrose could drink a scalding hot beverage without a single wince. He needed to cast a cooling charm on his own cup before he could stand it.

“He’s good, I think,” Harry said, a little gloomily. “He was sent to a longer term foster a bit ago, and I can’t really get an update.”

Ambrose frowned. “That’s not like you,” he remarked. “Normally you keep track of your little chickens.”

“I’m on disciplinary leave,” Harry confessed.

“You? How is that even possible?”

“It’s stupid,” Harry muttered. “One of my clients’ Dad is a former classmate, and there were…sparks. Before I had a chance to get the case reassigned, the bloke kissed me, and someone saw it, reported me, and next you know, I’m about to be sacked.”

“They’d be mad to sack you,” Ambrose said.

Harry shrugged. “Maybe. It looked bad, no question.”

“But have they taken a memory? Questioned you under a potion?”

Harry shook his head. “It’s strange. They put the kiddo into temporary protective care.”

“So it’s a frame up,” Ambrose said.

“Maybe? Probably? It’s bollocks, though. I know that D…The Dad isn’t hurting his kid.”

“So what are you going to do about it?”

“I dunno. I need more information. Ron’s going to see if they’ve laid any charges. Tamsin’s going to look around a bit.”

“And in the meantime, you’re a cranky little hamster running on its wheel.”

Harry smiled, but it lacked its usual joy. “Something like that.”

Ambrose looked at him, his head tilted and a little smirk curving his lips. “How was the kiss?”

Harry’s smile widened a little. “Nice,” he said.

Ambrose cackled. “My little Harry-bear is smitten!”

“Shut it,” Harry muttered, his cheeks growing hot.

“Honestly, darling, I’m delighted for you. You deserve someone lovely.”

“Well, he probably loathes me now. I got his kid taken away from him.”

Ambrose snorted. “Poor little Potter, everything’s his fault.” Harry bit his lip, his feelings hurt. “Oh, come now, Harry. You know I’m not going to allow you to wallow like this. Can’t we just delight in a cute boy who has a crush on us for a bit?”

“I s’pose,” Harry allowed, and Ambrose smiled at him, his eyes crinkled, and warm, and fond. Harry was so lucky to have a friend like Ambrose, who always seemed to know exactly what Harry needed, who drew Harry out of his head when the thoughts grew too heavy. Ambrose had never asked anything of Harry other than that he be happy, and despite the fact that they were both attractive, both gay, and both single, the relationship had never gone beyond camaraderie. Although on paper, Ambrose was an excellent match for Harry, the reality remained, that Harry would rather have him as his close friend.

The day passed quickly, with Ambrose entertaining Harry between customers, and sending him on endless drink expeditions. Ambrose was convinced that it was impossible to make tea properly at home, and only tea purchased from a shop was any good. Since it gave Harry an opportunity to refill his coffee cup several times, he was more than happy to fetch them.

When the day waned, and Ambrose locked up the shop, he tilted his head and grinned at Harry. It could be said that his eyes glistened with a little too much mischief to be fully trustworthy, but Harry was more than happy to follow Ambrose to his flat, and cook him dinner. As they sat on the balcony, drinking large glasses of gin on which Harry had cast a too-enthusiastic cooling charm, Ambrose studied Harry carefully. Without fanfare, he blinked rapidly and said, “Right, time to go for a dance.”

“Truly?” Harry asked, but his hesitation was largely rote, and, being familiar with the expression he’d seen in his friend’s eyes, he knew that any resistance was pointless. Ambrose floo called a few people in rapid succession, and it wasn’t long before Harry stood outside Ambrose’s bedroom, allowing four people to groom him. He amused himself by watching a woman named Kat try to tame his hair. When she finally gave up in despair, he grinned, tousled it on top, and shook his head a little. His hair behaved ever so much better when it was allowed to its own devices. There was a rapid fire discussion about the merits of eyeliner, or whether it was ‘too much’, and, in the end, Harry dutifully allowed Ambrose to trace his lids with a stubby stick of Kohl, before he declared that if they didn’t leave at that exact moment, Harry would go home.

They trooped, en masse, to the floo, emerging at a club with the doubtful-sounding name of ‘The Old Vic’. It was a club that had a wizarding section, hidden by Muggle-repelling charms, but Harry usually found himself in the non-Magical section, where he wasn’t Harry Potter, but simply another bloke wearing tight jeans and Doc Martins. The gin flowed like water, and Harry danced and laughed, and forgot about his troubles for the night. He forgot them so thoroughly that he was surprised and disoriented when he cracked his bleary eyes open and found himself in Ambrose’s bathtub. It had become morning, and Harry felt as though an owl had shat in his mouth. He scrabbled for his wand, and cast a mouth-freshening charm, only for his stomach to revolt violently against the action.

Ambrose, who had a sixth sense about these sorts of things, bustled into the room, a hangover potion in one hand, and a cup of coffee in the other. Harry nearly wept with gratitude. After downing the potion, he croaked, “Time’s it?”

“Two,” Ambrose said. “Thank Merlin it’s Gregory’s day in the shop, can you imagine?”

Harry couldn’t imagine. He could barely imagine crawling out of the bathtub, but he valiantly struggled as far as the lounge, and sipped coffee steadily until the haunted feeling of having forgotten something dissipated. Harry didn’t really drink that often, and it was because of the horrors he suffered the next day.

The day was slipping into dusk when Luna’s Patronus appeared in front of him. “Harry,” it said urgently. “They’ve taken him, but I don’t know where. He was inconsolable. Thought you’d want to know.”

Harry cursed. He’d been grinding against strangers and taken his eyes off the main problem, and things had gone pear-shaped. Guilt swamped him. “Stop,” Ambrose said sternly. “Don’t be a prat about this. You couldn’t have stopped it anyway. Use your head, git.”

Harry pointed a pained face in Ambrose’s direction, but accepted his words for what they were worth. He’d accomplish nothing languishing in his guilt. He stood, the room spinning a bit, and took a deep breath. “Fuck,” he said, “I can’t apparate like this.”

“Take the floo. Go home, call Tamsin, call Ron, call whomever can help you fix things. Go be a hero, Hero-boy.” Ambrose pulled him in for a hug, and Harry buried his nose into the larger man’s chest. Ambrose held on for longer than usual, and when he finally let go, Harry felt stronger. He pressed another potion vial into Harry’s hand. “And take this so you don’t sick up in the floo network.”

He gratefully swallowed the stomach soother, blew a kiss in Ambrose’s direction, and flooed home to Grimmauld Place.

Kreacher and Gimple were in the sitting room when he arrived, and Kreacher looked up hopefully. “Is Master Harry wanting to eat?”

As his stomach roiled, Harry bit his lip, hard. “Not right now, thanks, Kreacher. I need to call Tamsin and Ron over.”

“Master Weezy will eat Kreacher’s cooking,” the elf muttered, giving Harry a dark look and heading towards the kitchen.

Ron arrived within minutes, although Tamsin was still on duty and would join them later. As predicted, Ron was more than ready for a meal, and Kreacher was beside himself with glee as he brought platter after platter to the table where Harry and Ron had settled. He suggested that they wait for Tamsin, rather than go through things twice, but Harry was vibrating with nervous energy.

“Glad to see some things never change,” Ron remarked, his eyes dancing bright blue.

Harry rolled his eyes at Ron, which prompted him to continue, “You’ve always been a bit weird about Malfoy.”

“Be that as it may,” Harry sniffed, “I’m a bit more worried about a defenceless child who’s Merlin-knows-where.”

“Yeah, okay,” Ron soothed. “Well, as I suspected, Draco hasn’t been charged with anything. He hasn’t even been formally questioned. The last record in his file is his probation record from after the war.”

This was far from comforting. Harry tried to ignore the dangerous burn of anxious tension in his belly. This feeling was a precursor to ill-thought-out actions, and he’d tried, in his adult years, to turn over a new leaf.

“That’s no good,” a voice said from behind them. Ron whirled around, pointing his wand, but Harry didn’t flinch.

“Merlin, Tamsin, why do you have to sneak up on a guy?” Ron demanded, lowering his wand. His face had flushed a bright red.

“It’s fun watching you nearly piss yourself,” she answered, coming up behind Harry and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. He patted her head absently, but was too distracted to remove his gaze from a fork that was lying on the table. Ron watched him with concern. Disassociating, Hermione had said it was called. When he was particularly fragile, after the war, he’d get like this, a bit empty-eyed, staring at something without really seeing it.

“Oi!” He said sharply. “Harry.” Harry’s eyes snapped to meet his. “You’re doing the thing.” Harry nodded shortly, and Ron could see his fingers tapping a rhythm on the inner part of his elbow. Grounding, it was called. Harry took a deep breath, and bit his lower lip.

“Okay,” he said softly. “I’m alright.”

Tamsin had seated herself at the table across from them, and was picking apart a slice of jam roly poly. She licked her fingers, and said, “So what do we know?”

“We know that Malfoy, Draco, hasn’t been questioned or charged with anything according to his record.”

“And Scorpius has still been removed from the home, and from his temporary foster care, without following the usual protocols,” Tamsin added.

“Luna did confirm that the agent who picked up Scorpius showed her an official Ministry Order to transfer him. What have you learned at the office?” Harry asked.

Tamsin’s face grew thunderous. “Fuck all,” she spat. “Scorpius Malfoy's case has been removed from the open files list. I tried to summon his file yesterday, and got one of those automated airplanes that informed me that the case is security protected, and to speak to my superior if I needed more information.”

“So we’re agreed then, that whatever is happening isn’t a legitimate act of child protection, despite it looking like one on-paper?” Ron asked. Tamsin nodded.

“I think that child protection is the last thing that this is,” Harry said, his magic sparking under his skin. “It's possible that Scorpius is in danger, but somehow I don't think so.
It feels more like someone's using him to get something out of Draco."

Tamsin nodded. "If they'd wanted to kidnap Scorpius and hurt him, they wouldn't have needed to put him in emergency Foster Care with Luna. They'd just have grabbed him from Draco's house. What about Buckley?”

Tamsin shook her head, frustrated. “Someone’s gotten to her. Either she’s confunded, or she’s dirty, but she gets right stroppy if questioned. I asked her about the status of your suspension this morning, and she said that it was confidential, which I expected, but when I asked about Scorpius' case, she closed right off. When I pushed her, she got angry, told me to mind my business if I wanted to keep my job.”

“And do we have any suspects?” Ron asked. “Buckley, I suppose, but anyone else?”

“Fucking Nettle,” Harry said, and Tamsin nodded.

“He’s always a git, but he’s been absolutely gleeful since you got suspended, Harry.”

“It could be that he’s just pleased that his rival is being punished,” Ron said, playing the devil's advocate.

“Maybe,” Harry said, “but we have to consider that he is someone who hates me, and has the opportunity to interfere here. It’s someone in our department, no question, and Nettle is the only fucker who doesn’t like me.”

“And, he took Scorpius’ case, whether it's still assigned to him or not,” Tamsin added.

“Right,” Ron said. “It’s just that, if I were plotting to take you down, or to fuck with Malfoy, I don’t think I’d give myself away so easily. If he were smart, he'd have been less obvious about it all.”

“Harry,” Tamsin asked suddenly, “what does your gut say?”

“Nettle,” Harry answered promptly. “Not sure how, or why, but pretty sure it’s him. You?”

“Same,” Tamsin said. Harry turned to Ron with a shrug, as if to say, ‘there you have it.”

“Well, I’m still going to keep my mind open to other suspects, but Harry, your gut is rarely wrong,” Ron conceded.

Harry nodded. "Tamsin's too." She gave him a look that spoke volumes. "It's going to be different," Harry said. "We're not going to ignore this."

She nodded shakily. “So what do we do about it?”

“I don’t think that we do anything, tonight,” Harry said firmly. “The two of you are still employed, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

Tamsin emitted an enormous sigh. “This is the part where you go off half-cocked because of some self-sacrificing need to protect us?”

Ron snorted. “Something like that, right Harry?”

“No,” Harry protested, but then relented, “sort of, yeah. But if we go to the Ministry right now, and try to find out where Scorpius is, it's a lot more likely that we'll get caught.
We have to be smart about this, and right now the two of you have the ability to operate within the Ministry, and see what they're doing.”

“But the Ministry isn’t doing anything,” Tamsin said.

“We don't know that. I mean it. I don’t want the two of you to lose your jobs,” Harry said firmly. “Besides, I don’t really have a plan, not yet.”

“What has that ever stopped you?” Tamsin asked under her breath, and Ron looked at her, amused, before his expression grew inexplicably sad.

“Ron?” Harry asked.

Ron shrugged. “Five years ago, it would be Hermione here, plotting with us.” Harry made a sad little noise. “It’s fine,” Ron continued. “Just a reminder that things are different now.”

“Should I go?” Tamsin asked.

“No,” Ron said, “I need to grab the kids from Mum and Dad’s anyway. Tamsin, good to see you again, Harry, I’d say ‘behave yourself’ but it would be a waste of breath. Tell Kreacher thanks for the nosh.”

After he’d gone, Tamsin watched Harry closely. “What do you need?” She asked evenly.

“Are you still friendly with that bloke in Records?”

“Yeah.”

“I need Linden Nettle’s home address.”

“Tomorrow,” she answered. “No later than lunchtime.”

“I adore you, you know that?”

“Of course,” she replied lightly. “And, after you’ve had delicious makeup sex with Malfoy, you’re going to tell me all about it, because you adore me so much.”

Harry laughed, and lay his head on her shoulder. Tamsin squeezed his hand, and got up to stand in front of Harry’s magicked CD player. “Coldplay or Spice Girls?”

“Blur,” Harry replied, and they soon were hopping around the sitting room, sing-shouting the words to ‘Girls and Boys’.

Chapter Text

The following morning, Harry was ‘reading’ the Prophet, which consisted of, as usual, a series of angry exclamations and a bit of accidental magic. Kreacher patiently replaced the lightbulbs and brought Harry a cup of tea. Harry looked at it and sighed.

He was about to break down and order another coffee maker when Tamsin’s patronus appeared. He scrambled to note down Nettle’s home address. Kreacher looked at him with a wrinkled brow. “Master Harry is scheming,” he said disapprovingly.

“He is,” Harry agreed, “but it’s because I need to help Draco and Scorpius Malfoy.”

Kreacher’s countenance changed immediately. “Kreacher will assist.”

“Thanks, Kreacher. Just come if I call you, yeah?” The kitchen sink gurgled and Harry assumed that the house also approved of Harry’s stupidity, as long as it was in benefit of an Heir of the House of Black. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, too focused on his mission to be jealous of the house’s obvious preference for someone who’d visited once.

By mid-afternoon, Harry was seated comfortably in a small magical tent outside Nettle’s house, wearing his cloak, and waiting for Linden to come home from work. He needed Nettle’s magical signature, and he’d deemed it too risky to try to breach the Ministry’s wards to obtain it. Security had been increased since Harry, Ron and Hermione’s last illegal foray, and the Department of Ministries, who truly held a grudge, had learned to detect and detain those who had been blocked from entry.

Earlier in the day, he’d stopped by Wheezes, where George was happy enough to share some of the devices he’d developed for Ron. George had, understandably, become rather protective of his remaining family members, and so had devised a number of objects designed to track magical signatures. He’d proudly opened a blood-warded cabinet and displayed a shelf full of tiny items that reminded Harry of the things he’d broken in Dumbledore’s office in fifth year. Each was labelled with a name…Mum, Dad, Ron, Gin, Perce, Bill, Charlie, Harry, Fleur, Victoire, Teddy, ‘Mione, Rosie, Hugo. Harry was touched to see his own name. “Just in case, yeah?” George had said, his eyes a little unfocused.

“I get it, Georgie,” Harry had said, and he did. They’d all coped with the trauma from the War differently. Ron had become an Auror, determined to rid the world of bad wizards. Harry had, eventually, found his way towards protecting children. Hermione had attacked the Ministry itself, working tirelessly to root out corruption and change the laws that had allowed Voldemort to rise to power. And George, who was never the same without his twin, had, alongside his jokes and pranks, developed an entire line of protective items. Wheezes now sold Shield charms, wardstones and armoured cloaks alongside the Skiving Snackboxes.

Harry had, after swearing George to secrecy, explained what he was up to. After teasing him about his crush on Malfoy, (“I always knew that you were obsessed with him, Harrikins!”), he’d produced a device that looked like a smaller version of the clock in Mrs. Weasley’s kitchen. Instead of simple locations like ‘home’ and ‘work’, however, the device provided apparation coordinates, and a real-time scan of the spells being cast at the location. “I’ve already given one to Ron,” he explained. “Saves him from apparating into the middle of spellfire.”

“It’s brilliant,” Harry said admiringly. “What do you call it?”

George’s eyes swam with tears before he blinked them away and smiled. If Harry didn’t know him so well, he’d say that the smile was genuine, but his heart twanged as George said, “Dunno, Harry. I don’t really name things anymore. That was Freddy’s department.”

After thanking him, Harry was preparing to floo away when George stopped him. “Why are you going to all of this trouble Harry? I know you have a crush on Malfoy, but you’ve rather gotten out of the habit of taking down the Ministry by force.”

Harry thought about it. “It’s a lot of things, I s’pose. You met Scorpius Malfoy. He’s an innocent, and all he wants is to go home to his Papa. And Draco…I reckon it’s always been him, for me, even if I didn’t realize it. And it’s for me, too. The me I once was, anyway.”

“You’re saving this kid because nobody saved you?”

Harry’s smile had a sad little twist to it. “Who said nobody ever saved me? I recall three boys and a stolen Ford Anglia that beg to differ.”

“Where were the fucking grown ups, Harry? They let a bunch of children fight their war for them.”

“I know,” Harry said, and his smile grew a little feral. “But we’re the grownups now, and I’ll be buggered if I don’t do a better job at it.”

Surveillance had been, Harry maintained, the absolute worst bit about being an Auror. It was boring, uncomfortable, and, due to Harry’s tendency to allow his mind to wander, difficult. Still, there was nothing for it, and so Harry contented himself with imagining all of the ways that he’d like to make Nettle suffer, should it turn out he was involved.

He’d drifted into an indulgent daydream about Draco showing him his utmost gratitude, when his alert wards pinged. Harry snapped to attention, and confirmed that, yes, Nettle had finally come home. He breathed a sigh of relief as George’s device captured Nettle’s magical signature. Since he’d deemed it too risky to attempt to watch the traitorous fucker from inside the bastard’s house, Harry apparated to his own home, resigned to a long night of watching the device for a change in location.

Linden Nettle, it turned out, was not only a tremendous arsehole, but also the most boring fucker to ever exist. Harry had tracked his every move for nearly a week, following him to such scintillating locations as the Ministry, a local supermarket, a library, and a park. Harry had gotten excited about the park, thinking that perhaps Nettle was going to meet someone shady, but instead, the man had sat on a park bench, read a newspaper, and fed some ducks. It crossed Harry’s mind to enchant one of the ducks to bite him, but he restrained himself in favour of remaining undetected.

Harry was beginning to suspect that Nettle had somehow tricked Harry with the world’s most dull golem, when George’s Amazing Device, as Harry had mentally dubbed it, gave a cheerful ping, denoting a new location. Expecting very little, Harry cracked one eye open and peered at the screen. The apparation coordinates were indeed new ones, and the conditions were benign, so Harry doffed his cloak, fetched his mokeskin bag, and apparated silently to the coordinates.

He stood in front of a house, or Manor, he supposed. It was a fairly standard old Pureblooded-Wizardy sort of place, surrounded by hedges, and more wards than Harry himself had on his own house. Considering that the Blacks were one of the more paranoid Ancient and Noble families, that was saying something indeed. Harry idly wondered whether this family also had peacocks roaming the grounds, or if that was strictly a Lucius Malfoy affectation. He thanked Merlin for the detection spells he’d learned as an Auror, and plucked his wand from his sleeve. He detected four magical signatures, and then carefully picked a small hole in the network of wards. This was an uncommon skill, one that Severus Snape had taught him after an Order meeting during which his Potions professor had consumed too much firewhiskey and was unable to apparate home. Not for the first time, Harry mentally thanked the man who’d died just as Harry had realized how brave he’d been. With only a brief pause to send a quick Patronus to Ron, Harry proceeded.

Once he’d made his way to the other side of the wards, Harry surveyed the grounds. There didn’t appear to be any dangerous beasts or other impediments, but he cast scent-masking and silencing spells just in case, and snuck towards the Manor. He experienced a frustrating few minutes as he couldn’t find a window or door he could unlock. He considered simply blowing a hole in the building with a Bombarda, but dismissed the idea for its lack of subtlety, and kept looking. He struck it lucky when he reached a nondescript door at the back of the building. As he opened the door, and carefully stuck his head inside, he realized that he was in a kitchen, and immediately tensed.

Seven house elves all stopped what they were doing and looked towards the door. Cursing inwardly, Harry drew the hood of the cloak away from his face. “Hello,” he said genially, preparing himself for an onslaught of painful spells.

“Harry Potter!” One of the elves drew near, straightening the ragged tea towel it was wearing and wiggling its ears. “Harry Potter is in the kitchen!”

The other elves approached as well, their squeaky voices filling the room. “It’s nice to meet you all,” Harry whispered. “I am doing my best to be quiet, though.”

“Why is Harry Potter being in the kitchens?” The elf who had first approached seemed to have decided that it was the spokesperson, but it lowered its voice considerably, and Harry relaxed a little.

“It might sound a bit strange,” Harry said, “but I followed someone I know, someone who I think might be hurting a little child.”

“Harry Potter knows of the child!” The elf was immediately more alert, and its goggle-eyes scrutinized him more closely. “Is Harry Potter here to protect the child?”

“I think so,” Harry said. “Do you know the child’s name?”

“They is calling the child Malfoy, or Baby Death Eater,” another elf piped up helpfully. “Only I is not thinking that those are the right names.”

Harry sighed. “No, you’re right. His name is Scorpius, and he’s just a little boy. He doesn’t deserve to be separated from his Papa.” Something occurred to him. “How do you know my name?”

The spokes-elf smiled widely. “Everyone is knowing Harry Potter, friend of House Elves! I is Tipper, Head Elf.”

Harry hadn’t realized that he’d gained a reputation, but, since he hadn’t been hexed by the elves in an attempt to protect their Masters, he wasn’t going to protest. He wondered how the elves were allowed to be so helpful to him, but realized that, like many old Wizarding families, their Masters had likely forgotten that elves had abilities far beyond cooking and cleaning, and it hadn’t occurred to them to order them to protect their secrets or their property. Not one to look a gift-horse in the mouth, Harry smiled at the assembly, and said, “It’s nice to meet you Tipper. It’s nice to meet all of you. Do you know, is Scorpius okay?”

Tipper looked distressed. “The little one is not being hurt, exactly. He is being fed, even if the little one is not eating enough. He is being frightened, though, and Master is shouting at the little one day and night.”

“I’d better go see if I can sort things out,” Harry said. “I may need to call another friend, an elf named Kreacher, if things go poorly. Will you allow him entry?”

“Of course, Harry Potter! Any friend of Harry Potter’s is a friend of Tipper’s!”

Harry smiled, and reached for his hood. Tipper interrupted him before he could do so. “Would Harry Potter like a cup of coffee before his rescue mission? Tipper’s coffee is the finest!”

It must be admitted that Harry hesitated, if only for a split second, before saying, “No, thank you Tipper. Perhaps another time.” Tipper nodded, and Harry replaced his hood and crept from the kitchen. It took him some time to track down Nettle’s magical signature, but eventually, he heard his whining voice from behind a door on an upper floor.

“Listen, you brat, I don’t have all day! Tell us what your Death Eater Father did to you!”

Harry’s heart stuttered when he heard Scorpius’ voice ring out defiantly. “No! My Papa is a hero!”

“He hit you, beat you, didn’t he?”

“No! I want to go home!”

A woman’s voice interceded. “Linden, this is getting us nowhere.”

“Well you try, then!”

“Scorpius, dear, would you like to ride one of our ponies?”

“I want my Papa!” Scorpius’ voice had reached unprecedented pitch and volume.

“Of course. We’ll let you see him very soon, as long as you cooperate. Tell us what your Father did, and we can take you to see him.”

“You’re a liar! You better take me to my Papa right now, or I’ll…I’ll…”. Scorpius clearly couldn’t think of what to do next, and Harry quelled the urge to charge in and scoop him up.

“You’ll what?” Linden snapped. “I don’t want to get rough with you, kid, but if you don’t work with us, you won’t like what happens.”

Harry could hear Scorpius voice hitch with a sob. “When Mr. Harry gets here, he is going to take me back to my Papa. He’ll protect me!”

“Mr. Harry is a fool, and if he comes here, it will be the last thing he does!” Nettle’s voice rose to a shout, and Scorpius screamed, a high pitched thing that sounded startled and full of pain. Harry reached for the doorknob.

“No! Mr. Harry will put you in Time Out!” Scorpius bellowed, and Harry’s heart warmed at Scorpius’ faith in him.

“Linden, stop!” Another man’s voice said. “This isn’t working.”

“Just cast the fucking Imperio on him, and compel him to testify, you moron!” Nettle yelled.

“What? Are you mad? That will break his mind!”

“I don’t give a fuck what it breaks, I need that testimony! Malfoy’s headed straight to Azkaban, and the Dementors Kiss.”

“You won’t!” Scorpius shrieked, and as the air began to thicken with magic, Harry flung the door open. He grabbed Scorpius just as the child’s magic lashed out. There was a flash, and a great rending noise, and the sound of glass breaking, as well as screaming. Harry threw himself around Scorpius’ body to shield him, but they were falling and Harry felt an enormous impact before the noise started to dampen, as though someone were turning the volume knob down.

Harry had lost his glasses, and the blurry world around him started to go dark. He managed to croak, “Kreacher,” just as everything faded away.

Harry returned to awareness, but found that his eyes were too heavy to open. He tried to open his mouth to speak, but that seemed impossible as well. Attempting to move any part of his body resulted in pain, so he quickly dismissed that idea. Resigned to his fate, Harry lay prone, wondering whether he and Scorpius were still in danger. He listened carefully, straining to hear anything from Scorpius. There were voices, but they were too far away to make any sense, and no evidence of Scorpius’ crying, or even breathing. In sudden terror, Harry strained to move again. Heavy hands pressed him back down, and then Harry was in too much pain to do anything. He desperately strained to hear Scorpius, but couldn’t. Devastated, Harry sunk into oblivion.

The next time the fog lifted, Harry found himself in a similar situation. He was in slightly less pain, but, taking an inventory, he realized that he couldn’t actually feel any of his body parts. He worried that all that remained of himself was his head, and the thought filled him with terror. He smelled the scent of citrus, and something that reminded him of fresh linens, which didn’t seem exactly where he’d been the last time. He remembered that, last he’d been aware, he’d been holding Scorpius, and if he was just a head, there was no way that he was still holding him. His mind skittered, terrified, away from the notion that he’d lost Scorpius, and he gratefully flung himself back into the darkness.

This pattern repeated itself again and again. Harry would regain some awareness, be unable to feel his body, or open his eyes, or speak. He’d remember Scorpius, and fling himself back into unconsciousness, unwilling to face it.

Finally, something changed. Harry swam towards the surface of the dark abysm and he could swear that he heard a voice he recognized. He desperately tried to call to it, but the effort was too great, and he slipped back. To his surprise, the next time the fog cleared, he was able to open his mouth. He tried to follow suit with his eyes, but they seemed glued shut. “I don’t want to be a head,” he said desperately, and there was a noise from beside him, followed by a lot of other noises, and, to his frustration, Harry slipped away again.

In his next foray into awareness, Harry was surprised to feel that someone was holding his hand. He was swamped with relief to realize that he still had hands. Then he remembered that he’d lost Scorpius, and a keening wail escaped his cracked lips. He felt moisture on his tongue, and he reached desperately for more. Something that felt wet and soft covered his entire face, which was terribly confusing. It was as though an enormous dog were licking his face. “Fang?” He croaked.

“Harry,” a voice said, one that he knew, but couldn’t place, and before he could do anything, he slipped away again.

No time passed, or some time passed, or a lot of time passed. Harry smacked his lips, wishing for more of the delicious water that had slipped between his lips, but remembered that he really, really wanted to open his eyes. He wasn’t sure if he was safe, and he needed to see with his own eyes that he wasn’t still holding Scorpius. He focused all of his attention and energy on wrenching his eyelids open. When he succeeded, he nearly screamed as the light assaulted his senses, but he remembered his mission, and squinted through the brilliance. He thought he could make out a familiar shock of bright white-blond hair, but his myopia worked against him, and he wasn’t sure. “Scorp,” he pleaded, and reached out his arms towards the blur. The effort nearly undid him, and, as quickly as he’d became aware, he slipped away again.

Harry tried to reason through his circumstances. He was pretty sure that he’d been drifting in and out of consciousness for some time. Since he hadn’t been killed, he was pretty sure that he was safe enough. Moving his body parts seemed to produce enough pain to send him swirling away into nothingness again, so he resolved not to try it again. Similarly, opening his eyes seemed a fool’s errand. He knew that he was able to listen to his surroundings a little, and maybe if he tried to whisper, he’d stay awake long enough to see if there were someone nearby.

“Hello,” Harry breathed. “Someone there?” His voice was reedy and thin, and Harry barely recognized it. It didn’t really bode well as an indicator of his overall health.

“Harry? Christ, you’re awake!” Harry recognized the voice, through the fog, but decided that it was his mind playing tricks on him. There was no way that it could be who he thought it was.

There was a great clatter beside him, and then footsteps and the banging of a door. Harry was awash with frustration. He had limited amount of coherence, and whoever was serving deathbed vigil had fucked off, Merlin knows where. He tried, truly tried, to hold on until someone returned, but it was a futile effort, and Harry felt his metaphorical fingers slipping from the cliff’s edge as he disappeared into the void below.

It had been, Harry thought, the next time he regained awareness, a decent strategy, so he tried it again. “Hello?”

“Harry!”

“Don’t leave!” Harry whispered, aiming for a tone of urgency in his voice, but delivering merely a frightened one.

“Okay, relax. Oh Merlin, your timing is shite, Harry, honestly.”

“Ron?”

“Of course it’s me, you tit. Where else would I be after you attempt some sort of hare-brained rescue with no backup? Oh, Merlin, Malfoy’s going to do his nut. I made him go home and sleep and you wake up now?”

Harry hesitated. He wanted desperately to know, but was so terrified of the answer that he considered not asking. Finally, his voice wobbling, he said, “Scorpius?”

“He’s okay, mate. Kreacher got him out of there. He’s going to be fine.”

Harry couldn’t stop the sob of relief that escaped him. He felt hot tears slipping down his face. Ron, always uncomfortable around displays of emotion, leaned closer, and Harry felt him clumsily poking at his cheeks with a cloth. “Don’t be such a baby. I said he’s fine.”

Harry’s tears abruptly turned to a startled laugh, but the effort was too much, and he disappeared again.

“Hello?” This time, Harry wasn’t wasting time doing any sort of planning.

“Mr. Harry!”

“Scorpius? That you?” Harry croaked.

“It’s me, Mr. Harry! You were a hero too! Just like my Papa!”

“Just like,” Harry replied, feeling tears springing up again.

“Don’t cry, Mr. Harry. It’s over. The bad men are gone.”

“You’re okay?”

“Yes! And guess what? I’m back with-”

To his enormous frustration, Harry slipped away before he could hear Scorpius’ news.

“Hello?”

“Oh God, Harry!” A soft hand touched his face, so gently that it nearly undid Harry.

“...Draco?” Harry was terrified to ask, but if his mind was playing tricks on him, he’d rather know sooner than later.

“Yeah, it’s me. Harry, fuck, I almost lost you.”

“‘m sorry,” Harry said. “‘Bout Scorpius.”

“Are you kidding? Harry, you saved him. You saved my son. I’ll never be able to thank you for this.”

“My fault.”

“You really do have a twisted little hero complex, don’t you? Of course it wasn’t your fault. It was that fucker Nettle.”

“Fuckin’ Nettle,” Harry muttered.

“Yes, indeed. He’d masterminded the whole thing, Harry. He’d imperio’d Scorpius’ Head Teacher to threaten him with being taken away from me, and then he framed you. Well…he didn’t actually frame you. I did kiss you, which was stupid.”

Harry, as interested as he was in hearing the story, felt stung at Draco’s words. He figured that soon he’d disappear into the void again, and so he wouldn’t need to listen to Draco talking about how stupid it had been to kiss him. Potter luck prevailed, however, and Harry remained coherent. Of course.

“Hey,” Draco said. “Why do you have that little wrinkle between your eyebrows?” Harry felt a soft press of lips to his forehead.

“Thought you said it was stupid, kissin’ me,” he said mulishly.

Draco laughed, startled. “I meant that it was stupid to have caused a massive conflict of interest, in public no less. Of course I don’t regret kissing you, prat.” Harry felt a gentle pressure on his lips, and tried desperately to open his eyes, or, at least, participate in the kiss. In an enormous bolt of Potter luck, that was when he passed out again.

“Hello?”

“I could smack you,” a voice hissed beside his ear. “I’ve been waiting here for days to do exactly that.”

“Okay,” Harry said, resigned.

“Well, you’re too pitiful, still. But I’m waiting,” Tamsin said angrily. “Jesus fuck, Harry, would it kill you to get help sometime?”

Harry struggled to open his eyes, and this time, it worked, to his great surprise. He saw Tamsin’s blurry form leaning close to his. He blinked hard, trying to see more clearly, and Tamsin took pity on him, and placed a pair of glasses on his face.

To Harry’s surprise, Tamsin’s eyes were swimming with tears. “You stupid git,” she sniffled. “We nearly lost you.”

“Sorry,” Harry sighed. “But Scorpius…”

“Yeah, I know. You listened to your instincts. I’d have done the exact same thing, Harry.”

Harry smiled wobbly at her. “He’s okay, yeah?”

“He is,” Tamsin beamed back at him. “Scorpius is home with his Papa, and better yet, Fucking Nettle is going to Azkaban.”

“Good.”

Tamsin laughed. “That fucker. I guess he was holding some sort of grudge. Draco’s Father participated in a Death Eater raid that killed his sister, and Nettle never forgave him. Which, frankly, is fair, because Lucius Malfoy did a bunch of terrible things. But what an asshole. He was going to ruin Draco and you in one fell swoop.”

“Wonder what he had against me,” Harry said softly.

“Professional jealousy, I imagine. He was well respected in the Department until you came along and changed the way we look at early intervention.”

“Tosser,” Harry said, with feeling.

“Exactly so,” Tamsin agreed, and Harry closed his eyes for a moment and drifted away.

“What’s wrong with me?” He demanded, the second he regained consciousness.

“Magical exhaustion, broken spine, broken ribs, collapsed lung, concussion, magical backlash,” Draco rattled off instantly.

“Oh,” Harry said. “No wonder I’m tired.”

“Yeah. It’s a bit boring, though. I’m starting to take it personally, since every time I kiss you, you either abandon me or fall unconscious.”

“They’re good kisses,” Harry said, and felt his cheeks redden.

“Are they?” Draco sounded amused. “Hurry up and get better so that I can really knock your socks off.”

“You still want to?” Harry asked, feeling a bit unsure. “Even though I nearly lost Scorpius?”

“Fuck, Harry, stop that. You didn’t. And yes, of course I still want to kiss you. I have since Hogwarts, you imbecile. I also want to take you on dates, and let Scorpius tell you about magical animals, and do unspeakable other things to you as well.”

“I’d like that,” Harry admitted. Something occurred to him. “How long have I been here?” Here, he assumed, was a hospital of some sort, given the sterile smells.

“Three weeks,” Draco said, brushing Harry’s hair back from his face.

“Have you been here a lot?” Draco nodded. “What about Scorpius? What about your job?”

“Harry,” Draco said fondly, “You’ve proven that you’re still a reckless Gryffindor. If you think I’m letting you out of my sight now, you’re mad.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “I suppose that’s alright then.”

Final Investigation Report
Date: May 17, 2007
Investigating Agent: Harry J Potter
Subject: Scorpius H Greengrass

Narrative:

Scorpius Hyperion Greengrass came under the auspice of DMAC earlier in the year, after a number of minor accidental magic events.

*Note- It is unknown how many interactions the child had with DMAC prior to this Agent’s first investigation on March 12, as these investigations were performed by an Agent who is no longer employed by the Ministry of Magic, and, due to his status as an inmate in Azkaban Magical Prison, is unwilling to cooperate with the Department. Previous investigation reports have been unable to be found, and it is likely they were destroyed.

Upon Agent Potter’s engagement with the child, Scorpius was found to be a bright, normally developing child, but one who was overly fearful that he would be removed from his Custodial parent. A number of follow up investigations were initiated, and Scorpius also experienced more than one additional outburst of accidental magic.

As an investigation was instigated into Agent Potter's conduct, the case was temporarily re-assigned to Agent Nettle, who removed the child into temporary care, and subsequently, to a longer-term care placement.

*Note - It was determined that Agent Nettle was acting inappropriately, and that there was no basis for removal of the minor child from his Custodial home. Reports were not filed within procedure, and it was determined that Senior Manager Buckley was repeatedly confunded in order to obfuscate these breaches in protocol. Upon further investigation, the child’s Head Teacher was found to have been placed under the Imperius Curse, and was forced to threaten the child that his home placement was at risk. It is believed that this was the contributing factor which prompted the magical outbursts.

While under his long-term foster care placement, Agent Nettle attempted to coerce Scorpius to testify that his Father was abusing him. Scorpius refused, and, when Agent Nettle threatened that Draco Malfoy (Custodial Parent) would be administered the Dementor’s Kiss, Scorpius experienced a violent magical outburst that caused a great deal of property damage, as well as injuries to those present. It is to be noted that the long-term care providers, Greta and Anderson Wilkinson have been charged with Accepting a Bribe, and are no longer eligible to participate in the Foster Care system.

Scorpius was returned to his home, and was subsequently provided with Magic Dampeners, to prevent any additional outbursts in an abundance of caution, however, it appears as though, with the removal of the stressors, Scorpius’ magic is now performing within acceptable parameters.

For more information, please see Auror Report DMLE-767, filed by Senior Auror Ronald Weasley.

Chapter Text

Epilogue

It had been a long day, and Harry wanted nothing more than an enormous glass of gin and a foot rub. As he flooed home from the Ministry, however, the sound of raised voices had him sprinting to the kitchen.

He was relieved, however, when it turned out to be Cara, leading Scorpius and his friends in a rapid fire Latin grammar drill.

“Queen!” Cara bellowed.

“Regina!” The children shouted back.

“Daughter!”

“Filia!”

“Eagle!”

“Aquila!”

“Feather!”

“Penna!”

Kreacher was hovering in a corner, uncertain. He approved of Latin lessons, and approved of schooling, but a child of the House of Black never shouted, and a child of the House of Black didn’t consort with the children of Traitors and Mudbloods. Harry had done as much as he could to change Kreacher’s prejudices, but old habits died awfully hard, and Kreacher had a hard time reconciling his beliefs about how Mistress Walburga would react to Scorpius’ education.

“Friend!” Harry yelled at the top of his lungs. The assembled children jumped, all except for Scorpius who screamed “Amicus,” as he leapt into Harry’s arms.

“Uncle Harry!” Rose and Hugo approached at a run, followed closely by Malcolm and Violet. Harry found himself underneath a sea of wriggling, laughing children.

“Go easy!” Cara commanded. “Mr. Harry just got home and he needs to get his bearings.”

The children scrambled off, and assembled in a line, well-behaved, if for a moment. The sound of apparation in the backyard distracted them, however, and they disappeared in a shouting mass to see who’d arrived.

To Harry’s delight, it was Ron and, to Harry’s utter joy, he was accompanied by Tamsin. Harry had suspected that there’d been a frisson of interest developing between the two, and their simultaneous arrival confirmed it. Harry widened his eyes at Ron, who grinned in return.

He and Hermione had divorced, mostly amicably, in the months following Harry’s hospitalization. The final straw, for Ron, had been when Hermione had skipped Ron’s birthday at the Burrow because she had work to finish. Ron kept the kids most of the time, with Cara and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley helping out when he was working.
The front door opened, and Harry’s heart lifted as he heard Draco’s voice. “Family?”

“In here,” Harry called.

Draco swept into the kitchen, kissing Harry’s cheek and hugging each of the children who clamoured around him in turn. He returned to Harry, nuzzling his neck. “How was work?”

Harry had been reinstated into the DMAC, and was surprised when he was offered the Senior Investigator position that Nettle had vacated. Rumour was that Buckley was retiring in the next few years, and she had her eye on Harry to replace her. “Brilliant,” Harry said. “I found a perfect solution for one of my clients. You?”

Draco grinned and his eyes sparkled. “Brilliant also.”

Harry’s breath caught. “Did you…”

“Got it today, signed and sealed,” Draco confirmed. Harry touched the side of Draco’s face, admiring the glint of the simple platinum bonding ring that newly adorned his finger.

“So we’re having a party?” Harry asked.

Draco groaned. “This suit is dry clean only. I don’t think it could stand a party.”

“It’s something to celebrate,” Harry wheedled.

Draco sighed. “Why is it that I can’t say no to you?”

Harry shrugged. “Potter luck?”

It was a matter of minutes to invite Ambrose, Violet’s Mum and Dad, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley to come. When they were all assembled, Draco cleared his throat. “I had a rather important bit of paper cross my desk today,” he said. Harry felt his heart thump wildly, the joy bubbling up inside him. “Malcolm, do you remember what we asked you a while ago?”

Malcolm gasped in surprise. “Is it…”

Draco smiled warmly. “I’m thrilled to be the first to officially welcome Malcolm Potter to the family, even though he’s already been part of it for ages now.”

Scorpius crowed with delight. “Mal!” He shouted excitedly. “You’re a Potter like me, now!”

Malcolm’s face glowed. He looked over at Harry, who opened his arms. He ran into Harry’s arms, and Harry hugged him close. “Can I call you Daddy now?” He asked shyly.

“Yeah,” Harry said, “even though I told you ages ago that you could. And you can call Draco Papa, like Scorpius does.”

Everyone cheered, and Kreacher and Mrs. Weasley bickered over dinner. As the night grew late, Scorpius sidled up to Harry’s side. “You good, Score?” Harry asked.

“Daddy,” he whispered, “do you remember what I said, a long time ago? About family?”

“How you needed extras, just in case?” Harry asked.

Scorpius nodded. “I think that this is enough,” he said, and Harry, wrapping his arms around him, could only agree.