Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Scorpius sighed. It had been a lovely afternoon with the Potters, yet he couldn't help but feel sad. Why was James allowed a second sibling already, while he didn't even have one? It was utterly unfair. It had to be because James’ Mama was a Weasley. Papa always said they were like rabbits. Scorpius had no idea what that actually meant, but Mama always cuffed Papa's arm for saying it. Still, it had to be true. Every single Weasley had more than one baby. But no second Malfoy baby.

Grandmother said the Malfoys only ever had one son. For a very, very long time. But Scorpius didn't see why that should be. He had asked Papa. There was no curse or anything of the sort. So, it had to be something else. He was determined to get to the bottom of it.

Scorpius glanced up at the clock in the entrance hall. He knew it was six o’clock in the evening. Mama had said it would soon be bedtime, which was why they had driven home. In the car, no less. Scorpius loved it when his Papa got behind the wheel of the grand black motorcar and drove them places. It didn't really matter where they went – to London to visit James, down to the coast to see Victoire, or simply out to do the shopping. All that mattered was, that Papa was driving the big black car, pretending to be a racing driver. It was much better than Floo powder. Floo powder always left his clothes covered in soot.

Scorpius trotted along behind his Mama. She was going to change him into his nightclothes and tuck him in. Dinner was already over, which meant the nightly ritual of bedtime stories was fast approaching. Mama and Papa always read to him together. Well, usually Mama did the reading, and Papa would add his own commentary until Mama couldn't help but laugh. Scorpius’s Papa was wonderful at spinning yarns. Sometimes Scorpius only realised through Mama that the fairy tales didn't actually end the way Papa claimed they did. But more often than not, Scorpius preferred Papa's endings anyway.

Tonight, Scorpius was going to seize his chance. He would ask his parents why he didn't have a sister. Or a brother. Though he would rather like a sister...

Once he was freshly washed and tucked up in bed between his parents in his favourite pyjamas, he waited for just the right moment. His Mama had brought an old, rather battered book under the covers with them. She helped him sound out the word printed in large letters across the cover.

Rapunzel.

"My parents read this to me every so often when I was small," Mama said. Papa grinned.

"It’s a Muggle fairy tale, Scorpius," he explained. "About an old witch who hadn't the foggiest how to guard a tower, and a prince who, unfortunately, wasn't quite bright enough to use a ladder."

"Draco!" Mama chided, though a smile played on her lips. She cleared her throat and began to read: "Once upon a time, there lived a man and a woman who had long wished for a child in vain. At last, the woman began to hope that the Good Lord would grant their desire..."

Scorpius pricked up his ears. Wishing for a child in vain. That sounded exactly like his predicament! He scooted closer to his Mama.

"Why was it in vain, Mama?"

"Well," Mama explained gently, "sometimes it simply takes time for a baby to arrive. In the story, there was a beautiful garden right next to their house, which belonged to a powerful enchantress. And in this garden grew the most wonderful rampion – which was also called rapunzel. The woman saw it from her window every day and longed for it so terribly that she fell quite ill. She believed she would die if she couldn't have some of that salad."

"Women are complicated, shorty," Papa grinned. "Your Mama had me out fetching raspberries in the dead of winter when she was expecting you."

"Draco, please!" Mama chided once more, and much as Scorpius loved his Papa, he wanted to know more about this herb. Or rather, lettuce. It was lettuce. Yet the fairy tale revealed little else. As a source of information, it was entirely useless. Hmm... Where could he get hold of this rapunzel? And perhaps it wouldn't even work for his Mama. If she preferred raspberries... But she ate those often enough, and still, there was no baby. Perhaps raspberries had only worked for him? Perhaps one had to eat something completely different for every baby?

"Mama, do you not actually like rapunzel?" he asked, just as Hermione closed the book. That silly prince really hadn't had a ladder. Papa had been right. Rapunzel must have had a dreadful headache from hoisting someone up the entire length of the tower by her hair. Scorpius wasn't allowed to pull girls' hair at all. He had done it once to Victoire, and his Mama had given him a proper scolding for it. No, that prince really was an idiot.

"I don't think I’ve ever knowingly eaten lamb's lettuce," Mama replied thoughtfully. "I much prefer rocket or spinach."

"Then why don't you eat that instead?" Scorpius pressed further. "Perhaps it would do the trick!"

"Do what trick?" Papa asked. He still looked as though he were teasing. This was serious business!

"Well, the thing with the babies."

"Scorpius, is this about little Lily?" Mama asked. She sighed, the way she always did when she had to explain something difficult. "We’ve already been over this, darling..."

Of course they had discussed it before! But it was hardly his fault if his parents didn't understand the heart of the matter, was it?

"But James has two now." He began to count on his fingers. "Victoire does too." Another finger. "Uncle Charlie has a dragon." He paused to consider. "Perhaps that doesn't count."

"No, sweetheart, that doesn't count."

"Anyway, everyone has more than me," he sulked. "Why?"

Papa wasn't laughing anymore. Instead, he fondly ruffled Scorpius’s hair.

"You see, little man, the thing with babies is complicated."

"Yes, it requires a great deal of energy and time," Mama explained. "And both are in rather short supply for the two of us at the moment."

"But is it really that hard?" Scorpius inquired. "After all, the baby gets into Mama's tummy by magic!"

Papa laughed again, though only briefly. His parents exchanged a look. One of those strange looks that Scorpius never quite understood. James always gagged whenever his parents gave each other that look.

Mama turned a deep shade of crimson. "Darling, the magic... it has to... happen between Papa and me." The blush in her cheeks deepened. "Merlin, Draco, do say something!"

"Me?" Papa asked, sounding borderline panicked as he pointed a finger at his own chest. "Who here is the First Undersecretary to the Minister?"

"He is your son!"

"Just as much as he is yours."

"So, what kind of magic is it then?" Scorpius interrupted his parents. He knew it was bad manners to interrupt. But Mama and Papa weren't supposed to argue; they were supposed to give him information, damn it. Scorpius bit the inside of his cheek. It wasn't nice to swear. "You both went to Hogwarts! Surely, they teach you that there!" It simply couldn't be. His parents had gone to school for seven years. And they had both been top students. Aunt Ginny always called his parents brilliant. If you were that clever, you ought to be able to manage it. After all, they had managed to have him!

"It is advanced magic," Papa explained calmly. "Very advanced."

"Grown-up magic," Mama added quickly.

"Very grown-up magic," Papa agreed, his eyes still fixed on Mama. "One needs the right sort of mood, you see?"

"Hmm..." Mama hummed in agreement, though her expression was rather grim. "For instance, Papa mustn't grin so wickedly, or else Mama might not feel terribly inclined to... practise grown-up magic."

"Exactly, Papa, stop grinning!" Scorpius cried out in indignation. It was a serious matter, after all!

Papa immediately pressed his lips together, letting out a rather strained cough, while Mama triumphantly crossed her arms over her chest. "Thank you, darling," she said, throwing Papa a look that clearly meant: One point to me.

"Right then," Scorpius summarised, trying to file the whole matter away logically in his head. "You need energy, time, the right mood, and... you mustn't grin wickedly."

"That... pretty much hits the nail on the head, little man," Papa admitted, his voice suspiciously shaky. He was still looking at Mama, whose face was still bright red and who was wearing a rather peculiar expression. She was probably cross that Papa was sabotaging the plan.

"Goodnight, little man," Papa said, leaning forward to press a kiss to his forehead. "Time for sleep now." Scorpius knew there was no arguing with that. Besides, he believed he now understood the problem perfectly. Mama kissed him too, extinguished the lamp with a gentle flick of her wand, and quietly closed the door.

Once the sound of his parents' footsteps had faded down the corridor, Scorpius threw back the covers and stared up at the illuminated canopy of his four-poster bed. Uncle Theo had enchanted the ceiling. Whenever it grew dark, a myriad of lights would begin to dance across the fabric. Scorpius loved it, and if he were entirely honest, he liked it even a little better than the bedtime stories. Dragons and hippogriffs soared across the fabric sky. An otter leapt from the water. That was Scorpius’s absolute favourite animal. Uncle Theo said that when Scorpius was a baby, Mama had sometimes floated in the water with him, just like a mother otter.

His eyes grew heavy and he yawned. Determined, he snuggled deep into his duvet. Tomorrow, he would tackle the project. If Mama and Papa couldn't manage it on their own, then someone simply had to help them.

When Scorpius woke up the next morning, he scrambled out of bed, brimming with purpose. He was just about to dash off when he skidded to a halt in the middle of his room and scratched his head. There was a problem. A rather massive one, in fact. Papa had said one needed the right sort of mood. But what exactly was that? Was a mood something you could touch? Did it smell nice? Could you cast a spell for it? He could hardly ask Mama and Papa; they’d already started bickering yesterday when it was only about lettuce. He needed an expert.

At that exact moment, Scorpius heard a faint, familiar ding from the entrance hall – the sound of the Floo Network announcing a visitor. Scorpius crept out onto the landing and peered down through the banisters. There stood Uncle Theo. He was just brushing ash off his elegant, deep green robes, holding a small wooden box in his hand. He must have come to drop off the Mandrake seeds he and Papa had been discussing yesterday.

Uncle Theo! Scorpius’s eyes went wide. Uncle Theo was perfect. He always laughed a lot, smelled of nice things, and just the other day Papa had sighed to Mama that Theo "unfortunately knows far too much about women." If anyone knew what women needed for a good mood, it was him!

Swift as Papa’s new Thunderbolt 216, Scorpius flew down the stairs in his pyjamas. He intercepted Theo before the man could even head towards the study, catching him firmly by his robes.

"Shh! Uncle Theo! Over here!" Scorpius hissed, dragging the visibly startled man behind a grand suit of armour in the corner of the entrance hall, which rattled in a rather piqued manner.

Theo looked down with amusement at the blonde mite who was steering him into the shadows with an expression of deadly seriousness. He set his box down and crouched in front of him, grinning. "Well now, young man? Why all the secrecy? Are we planning a raid on Mipsy’s biscuit stash? Count me in."

"Forget the biscuits," Scorpius whispered, looking around suspiciously to ensure the coast was clear. "This is much more important! It’s about grown-up magic and the baby."

Theo’s eyebrows shot up instantly. He pressed a hand over his mouth to stifle a loud laugh. "Oh, really? Do tell."

"James has two siblings already, and I don't even have one!" Scorpius wanted to stomp his foot, but he didn't want to make a racket either, so he decided against it.

"Ah, I see. That is indeed a problem to be taken very seriously. Quite so." Scorpius had known it. Uncle Theo understood him. He would help! "So, have you put this dilemma to Mama and Papa already?"

"Yesterday." Scorpius shook his head. "But I don't think they understood how serious it is. They only said silly things."

"Not much help then, were they?" Theo grinned. "Right then... what do you need?"

"Papa says you need energy and the right sort of mood for the magic to work on Mama, but I don't know what the right mood is." He looked down at the floor. He really was in a proper pickle. "Will you help me, Uncle Theo?"

"You have come to the absolute right authority on the matter, Scorpius," Theo declared. "If anyone understands women, it’s me."

"Papa said that too," Scorpius let slip. "Why doesn't he just ask you himself how to make a mood?"

Theo opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. "Do you know, that is actually an excellent question." He crouched even lower beside Scorpius in the shadow of the suit of armour, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "You see, Scorpius, your Papa is a proud man. He would never admit that he needs a bit of tutoring when it comes to mood-making. But luckily for you, you’ve got me."

"Perfect. So, how do you make the right mood?"

"Women are demanding creatures, Scorp. The right lighting, a pleasant scent, flowers... all of that can help your Mama... see the magic. Perhaps a lovely dinner, just for Mama and Papa."

"But what about the energy?" Scorpius wanted to know. It wouldn't do any good if his parents stuffed themselves with food and then simply fell asleep. No magic happened in one's sleep. Though Mama did say that dreams were a kind of magic, too.

"What does your grandfather do when his back starts playing up again?" Theo asked with a knowing look. Scorpius thought about it.

"He takes one of your potions." Scorpius giggled. "Secretly. Because he thinks no one notices."

"You see? There’s your answer. You know where Papa keeps the potions I always bring over, don't you?"

Scorpius nodded eagerly. Yes, he knew. In the little cabinet in the bathroom. And if he pushed his small stool up to the basin, he could just about reach it.

"Oh, and as for the scent." Theo dipped a hand into his satchel and pulled out a small glass bottle. "I was actually planning to give your Mama this for her anniversary with your Papa, but you can have it if you like."

The bottle was delicate, with a little pump dispenser, and it looked terribly expensive. Scorpius took it reverently in both hands, trying to sound out the label. La... N u i t... B e l l e... La nuit belle. French for the beautiful night. It was absolutely perfect!

"Oh, thank you, Uncle Theo!" He flung himself against Theo’s chest, taking agonizing care to press the bottle tight against his own ribs. Scorpius knew that Theo wasn't his real uncle. Papa didn't have a brother. But Mama said it didn't matter whether you shared the same blood. Family was family.

"Think nothing of it, my dear chap. Now run along before your Mama catches us. I’ll go and find your Papa in the study," Theo grinned, pushing himself up. He snatched up his wooden box and strolled away, whistling a tune.

Scorpius remained behind the suit of armour, his heart hammering with excitement. He had the scent! He had a perfume from Uncle Theo himself! Now, all that was missing was the liquid energy for Papa's breakfast...

The little vial of Strengthening Solution was easily pinched. Mama hadn't even noticed him using his stool, for he took it out from under the bathroom cabinet every single morning to brush his teeth anyway. Absolutely brilliant.

Most mornings, Mama and he would fetch Papa from his study so they could all have breakfast together. He always started work so very early! Mama said he had learned that from Great-Grandfather Abrax... Abrax... Abraxas. Scorpius not only found the name difficult to pronounce, but he also thought it immensely silly. Honestly, who named their baby that? Naturally, he didn't tell a soul. Except Uncle Theo, who thought the name was just as daft...

A name. A name was important for the new baby. Scorpius knew that Nanna and Grandpapa's families had a tradition of naming their babies after stars or flowers. Or Roman generals. Scorpius shook his head. No, he wouldn't allow that. It was bad enough that Papa had given him Hyperion as a middle name. That must not happen again. Perhaps a lovely flower? Rose?

Scorpius decided he would have to postpone the naming dilemma. For now, he had to figure out how to slip the Strengthening Solution into his parents' drink without being seen. It was a tricky business. Mama noticed everything. Even from behind her newspaper, she noticed when Uncle Theo tried to slide his broccoli onto Papa's plate. Scorpius had to be quick. Very quick.

Papa yawned as he poured himself some coffee. Mama tutted.

"Draco, you know you’re supposed to be off coffee for the time being," she said chidingly. Oh! Right. Papa had been hit by a curse during his work, and it made his heart beat terribly fast sometimes. Perhaps it wasn't him who lacked the energy... Scorpius studied his mother. Her work was just as important as Papa's, but Papa always said that Mama's job was much more exhausting than his. Papa hunted Dark wizards; Mama made laws so the Dark wizards couldn't come back to power. Only... laws were boring. And they took up a great deal of time. Mama's time.

Mama always drank that bitter tea. Earl Grey. Scorpius found it utterly foul and was grateful his Papa had told him that particular tea was only for grown-ups. But... the tea would mask the slightly bitter taste of the potion. Scorpius knew the potion tasted bitter because Grandpére always winced after drinking it.

Papa snapped his newspaper open with a loud rustle.

"I shall drink coffee whenever I see fit," he declared solemnly, taking a demonstrative sip from his cup. "Those quacks can take their—"

"Draco!"

Mama always said it exactly like that. For as long as Scorpius could remember, she used that very same tone whenever she chided Papa. Aunt Pansy sometimes said it was all due to Uncle Theo’s bad influence that Papa always managed to drive Mama up the wall. Scorpius didn't quite know what wall she was talking about, but he thought it was rather funny.

Mama muttered something about how it would be Papa’s own fault if he ended up in St Mungo’s, and that she certainly wouldn't be nursing him. Papa winked at Scorpius and kept right on drinking his coffee.

Scorpius was growing fidgety. This was already Mama's second cup of tea. And she rarely drank more than three cups in total.

"Is everything alright, sweetheart?" Mama asked. Dash it, he had given himself away.

"Yes, Mama," Scorpius replied politely.

"Do you need to use the loo?" she inquired, running a hand through his hair. "You know you can always excuse yourself and go. You don't have to cross your legs just because Grandpère doesn't like you leaving the table during meals."

Papa grunted and set his newspaper aside.

"Does he still not allow that? Scorpius?" Papa pressed. "Do I need to have another word with my father about this?"

"No, no, it's fine." Scorpius didn't want Grandpére getting into trouble. He was always rather nice to Scorpius. Especially when there were no visitors around and Mama was with them. Uncle Theo said Grandpére had a soft spot for Mama. Papa didn't like it when Theo said that. Papa claimed it sounded wrong, though Scorpius didn't understand why it should be wrong for Mama and Grandpére to get along well.

"Won't you have another cup, Mama?" Scorpius tried to sound just like Papa when he was being gallant towards Mama. "You do need your strength for work, after all!"

Mama laughed. "Oh, Scorpius."

"The boy is entirely right," Papa chimed in. "You look particularly tired this morning."

"Charming, Malfoy," Mama hissed. "Just like old times."

Papa rolled his eyes.

"You simply cannot admit that this entire business is starting to get the better of you."

"I am perfectly fine. I can manage. I am so close now, and I won't have it ruined. Not by Travers, and certainly not by you."

"I am not trying to make you give up."

Scorpius looked back and forth between his parents. Small wonder they lacked energy. They were bickering again over strange things from Mama's work. Whenever the name Travers came up, something always went wrong with Mama's job. Whoever he was, Scorpius didn't like him.

"Then why don't you support me?" Mama asked. Papa reached his hand across the table-top.

"I am worried about you," Papa said. "That doesn't mean I don't support you. I have always supported you. Do you remember the look on my father's face when we told him you wouldn't be giving up your career?"

Mama took Papa’s hand. Thank Merlin. Scorpius couldn't bear it when they bickered. She smiled softly.

"I thought you would want that too," she reminisced. "But you said: 'My wife is brilliant, and I shall not—'"

"—allow her to give up a single thing,'" Papa finished her sentence. "But right now, I simply believe you are taking on too much, and it worries me. Is that so hard to understand?"

"Of course not." Mama sighed. Then she smiled at Scorpius. "Well, I suppose I shall have another cup of tea, then." She reached for the teapot, and to Scorpius’s immense relief, he watched her pour a third cup of Earl Grey. Now, he only needed a small distraction.

"Papa, is that Uncle Theo at Nanna’s roses?" Scorpius asked innocently, pointing out of the grand windows of the conservatory. Outside, now that it was June, Nanna’s roses were in full bloom. Both grown-ups turned sharply toward the window.

"Where?" Mama asked.

"I’ll murder him," Papa said.

With a swift, well-practised movement – after all, he had watched James slip frogs into Albus’s pumpkin juice often enough – Scorpius leaned forward, pretending to reach for the strawberries, and let the glittering golden potion slide into Mama’s cup. There was a quiet zhhh, a brief shimmering swirl passed through the Earl Grey, and then it was gone. Perfect! No one had noticed a thing. Heartened, Scorpius let the empty vial slip back into his pocket and took a large, innocent gulp from his glass of cocoa.

"I don't see him, sweetheart. Are you sure you saw him?" Mama asked, sitting back down, though her eyes remained fixed on the garden.

Papa stood up and paced back and forth along the expanse of windows. Scorpius’s tummy was quite aching from trying not to laugh. Papa looked exactly as he did when he was working.

"If I catch him raiding my mother's roses for yet another of his conquests, I shall permanently hex his shoes to his feet and transfigure them into flesh-eating slugs."

Mama laughed.

"Oh, come now. They are only flowers."

"Only flowers?" Papa narrowed his eyes into slits as he peered behind the curtain into the western part of the garden. "That is a floral heritage of national importance!"

Behind his back, Mama nodded, pulling a playful face and silently mouthing the word 'obviously'. She grinned at Scorpius, who grinned right back. His Mama was the absolute best. She reached for her cup.

"Come along now, my terrifying Auror husband. Leave the national floral heritage be and drink your coffee. Harry won't forgive me if you’re late yet again because of Theo." Hermione set her empty teacup down upon the saucer with a soft clack. She blinked twice, rapidly.

"Everything alright, Mama?" Scorpius asked with an angelic face, biting into his toast with extra care to appear as innocent as humanly possible.

"Yes... yes, everything's wonderful," Mama murmured. She shook her head as if to clear away cobwebs. Her eyes, which only moments ago had been tired and rimmed with dark shadows, suddenly widened. A tiny golden spark seemed to flash within her irises. All at once, she sat bolt upright in her chair. "In fact, I feel... astonishingly awake. Marvellous, to be precise."

Papa, who was still peering suspiciously through the window-pane at his mother’s rose bushes, turned around. He arched an eyebrow. "That was quick. Did the Earl Grey come with an extra dollop of caffeine today?"

"I haven't the foggiest." Mama practically leaped up. Her movements were suddenly possessed of an almost terrifying efficiency. She snatched up the butter and the knife and began to butter Scorpius’s next piece of toast at a speed that made it quite impossible for Scorpius to finish eating his first piece in time. "Do you know what, Draco? You’re entirely right. I’ve let Travers and his bureaucratic blockades hold me back for far too long! I shan't wait until this afternoon. I’m going to the Ministry this very instant. No, I shall Apparate straight into his office!"

Papa blinked. He looked from Mama to the empty teacup, and then to Scorpius. Scorpius stared in fascination at Mama's hands, which were now setting about sorting out the entire breakfast table at a breakneck pace – and without a wand, at that.

"Hermione..." Papa said slowly, taking a step closer. "You have just sorted the jam jars in the span of three seconds. By colour."

"It is simply more logical that way!" she bubbled over. Her cheeks were flushed, and she was breathing rather faster than usual. "And once I’ve made it quite clear to Travers that clause four of the Werewolf Rights Charter is absolutely sacrosanct, I shall... oh, Merlin’s beard, I have so much energy! I could redecorate the entire Manor. Why are the curtains in the drawing room quite so dreary, anyway? We ought to change their colour! Right now."

"Absolutely not," Papa said, defending the interior decor. "Those curtains belonged to my great-grandmother. They stay exactly as they are."

Scorpius felt himself breaking into a sweat, and it wasn't from his cocoa. He had made a blunder. His Papa was an investigator. Papa had once tracked down a Dark wizard even though the man had disguised himself as a postbox for an entire year. At least, that was what Uncle Harry had said. If Papa could find out something like that, he would surely figure out the business with the potion. He was already eyeing Mama's teacup rather peculiarly.

"Merlin, I’m boiling." Mama tugged at her blouse, fanning herself. "Has it been this warm in here the whole time? Should I send Travers an owl? Perhaps a Howler, just to express my standpoint with absolute clarity?"

Papa wasn't really listening. At least, he looked as though he weren't. He crept towards the table as if expecting an explosion and picked up the teapot. He lifted the silver lid, peered inside, and sniffed at the contents exactly like Hemingway, Uncle Blaise's dog.

With an expert air, he let the lid snap shut again.

"Mipsy, did anyone have access to the teapot?" he asked Mipsy, who was anxiously wringing the little red dress Mama had given her for Christmas.

"No one, no one was near the pot, Master Draco, Mipsy swears!" Scorpius felt rather sorry for the elf. He hadn't meant for this to happen. Mipsy hadn't done anything wrong, after all! "Only the Mistress and the young Master Scorpius."

Oh, dear. Scorpius resisted the urge to duck his head. There was bound to be a proper row now. Was it actually a punishable offence to slip a potion into one's Mama’s tea? He hadn't poisoned her, had he? He had only wanted to help! He wondered if the gentlemen in court would believe him if he explained about wanting a sibling.

"Hmm..." Papa murmured. Taking hold of Mama's face—not altogether gently—he looked deep into her eyes. "Are you sweating? Do you have a headache? Is your vision clear?"

"Draco, let go of me, it really isn't that bad!" Mama brushed him off. "I’m just rather warm and... simply bursting with energy."

"This cannot be the caffeine." Papa looked about. "First he brings me the wrong roots, then he prowls around the garden, and now this. Theo is plotting something..."

"But Master Theo was most certainly not near the pot, sir. Mipsy watched ever so closely!"

"Perhaps it's because of our anniversary?" Mama conjectured. "He always goes completely over the top for that. Is that dust on your shirt?"

She began to pick at Papa’s sleeve.

"That settles it. You are going nowhere," Papa decreed. "At least, not until this wears off. Otherwise, Travers will sue us. And the last thing I need is a legal battle with a fanatic."

"But Draco..." Mama tried to protest.

"No buts. You’ll do as I say," Papa insisted. Then he grinned, and Scorpius began to feel properly nervous. "Perhaps we can put your energy to good use. I mean, I can think of a few things we could rearrange..."

Mama blushed. Scorpius shook his head. Now they wanted to rearrange furniture! That had gone swimmingly, hadn't it? The plan seemed to have failed entirely. Then he remembered the perfume Uncle Theo had given him. Perhaps Plan B would do the trick...

"Mama, may I excuse myself?" Scorpius asked. "I really do need the loo now."

"Of course, sweetheart," Mama said. She was still bright red. Papa had a rather peculiar look on his face now. He was probably plotting his revenge on Uncle Theo. It wasn't entirely fair, but Scorpius was rather glad that suspicion had shifted away from him.

He slid off his chair and didn't look back. Quick as a flash, he bolted up the stairs toward his parents’ bedroom. Surely they wouldn't hit upon the idea of rearranging the furniture up here. But after the missed opportunity, Scorpius couldn't afford to take any risks. Mama had left the bedroom door ajar. She did that often, for it was a sign to Scorpius that he was welcome to come in. Papa had forbidden him from entering the bedroom when the door was shut. Then, Scorpius had to knock, and even that was something Papa didn't care for. But the door was ajar, so it was perfectly fine.

Scorpius slipped through the open door. He liked his parents' bedroom. Mama had decorated it beautifully. There were ever so many cushions and duvets, and everything was bright and welcoming, not at all like Nanna and Grandpère’s bedroom. Everything was terribly dark over there. Though Scorpius supposed it probably made it easier to sleep.

He pulled out the perfume bottle. How much of it did one actually need? And where was one supposed to spray it? Where were they most likely to make a baby? Scorpius looked around. There was the writing desk where Mama often wrote when she stayed up late into the night. Papa used that desk a great deal for his work, too. But did one make a baby at a writing desk? Did it require a form? Scorpius hadn't considered that. What if one had to notify someone at the Ministry first? Was everyone allowed to have a baby? Surely they were. After all, Mama and Papa had him. A second baby shouldn't be an issue, should it?

Scorpius’s gaze fell upon the bed. There was certainly enough room there. But he had never seen Mama or Papa use their wands in bed. Then again, they could both perform wandless magic. Scorpius knew just how talented his parents were.

He decided to play it safe. If the entire room was filled with the scent, he wouldn't have to worry. Scorpius pressed the pump dispenser. Ooh, it smelled terribly strong. A bit like the flowers in Nanna’s garden, but much more potent. It smelled of... well, Scorpius thought it smelled like the brandied cherries Papa secretly snacked on in his study.

Pfft. Pfft. Pfft.

Scorpius fired the pump unmercifully in all directions. He sprayed Mama’s pillow, he sprayed Papa’s side of the bed, he gave the light-coloured curtains a thorough dousing, and he even ran in a circle to leave a proper cloud of perfume right in the middle of the room. He pressed the button until his little index finger went quite numb and a fine, rose-coloured mist had settled over the entire matrimonial bed. If the mood wasn't right now, then perhaps Uncle Theo didn't know quite as much about women after all.

Scorpius froze as he heard Mama's voice coming from downstairs.

"...and if Travers thinks he can fob me off with a simple committee meeting, he has another think coming, Draco! I need parchment, lots of parchment! Why are we going upstairs, anyway? My study is downstairs!"

"Your activism is going to start a revolution," Papa said, sounding thoroughly amused. "No, you’re coming with me. I am the only one you are allowed to vent all this energy on."

"Draco!" Mama said. "Not in broad daylight! What about Scorpius?"

"He's bound to be in his room by now. Come along."

Mama laughed. Scorpius panicked. There was no earthly way he could slip past them now without being spotted. He looked around. Where to go? The balcony? That led nowhere, and if they opened the balcony door, they would see him instantly, even if he stood in the corner. There was just enough room for him under the writing desk, but with all of Mama's energy, the risk of them wanting to rearrange it was far too high.

The bed. There was plenty of space, and no one would see him. Swift as an arrow, Scorpius slid onto his belly and scrambled under his parents’ grand bed. Mama was still laughing, but it sounded strange and muffled now, as though someone were covering her mouth every now and then. The bedroom door was flung open. Scorpius’s heart hammered furiously. His parents were kissing.

"Draco, this is utterly unreasonable," Mama said, even though Papa had his face pressed against her neck. What was he doing? Was he nibbling on Mama? How peculiar. "We ought to check on Scorpi... Eurgh, what is that?"

Papa grimaced.

"Merlin, it smells in here like..."

"...a French strumpet." Mama glared at Papa. She certainly still had plenty of energy. "Draco Lucius Malfoy, why does it smell like this in here?"

"How on earth should I know?" Papa asked impatiently. "I was downstairs having breakfast with you and our son!"

"And before that?" Mama poked Papa in the chest with her index finger. "Were you in your study?"

"Of course! Theo can vouch for me!"

Mama didn't seem to care for that answer. Nor for the mood, for that matter. Somehow, Scorpius doubted they were going to make a baby now. They didn't seem to like the scent at all. And if Scorpius were entirely honest, he didn't like it much either. It gave him a headache.

"Theo," Mama scoffed. "Theo would swear black was white for you!"

"Are you implying I had a paramour in here while you were getting our son dressed, and that I'm using Theo as an alibi?"

Papa sounded genuinely cross now. What was a paramour? It sounded rather French. Was it something to eat? But Scorpius didn't know of any food that smelled like that perfume.

Mama crossed her arms over her chest.

"Well, it certainly isn't my perfume," she stated.

"I know that," Papa said. "As if you would ever wear such cheap..." He trailed off. His eyes narrowed into slits once more. "Theo..." he growled. Oh no, Papa was starting to search the room! He checked inside the wardrobe. He opened the bathroom door, came back, and flung the balcony door wide. Thank Merlin Scorpius had decided against the balcony.

"If I get my hands on you..." Papa said. Oh... he was approaching the bed. Mama rolled her eyes.

"Don't be ridiculous," she said. "Theo doesn't fit under the bed."

Papa straightened up again before he could look underneath. Scorpius held his breath.

"It was him. I just know it."

"Oh, honestly. Don't go pinning everything on Theo."

"Of course it was him! Think about it. He probably thought it a grand idea to turn our bedroom into the Moulin Rouge for our anniversary."

"That is absurd..." Mama seemed to consider this. She and Papa shared a long look, and then Mama sighed. "It does sound exactly like something your best friend would orchestrate."

"Precisely what I'm saying. Now, where is that scoundrel?"

"Most certainly not under the bed."

"Let's go find Scorpius, perhaps he’s seen his uncle..."

"What about all my energy?" Mama wanted to know.

Scorpius’s nose began to tickle. Oh no...

Papa pulled Mama close to him.

"Perhaps... we can still put it to use after I’ve murdered Theo."

"Murders are highly unromantic, Draco."

"A little light torture, then?"

Mama slipped from Papa's embrace and disappeared toward the corridor, laughing. Papa turned around in the room once more. He was listening, Scorpius knew. But he must not have heard anything suspicious, for he followed Mama out. Scorpius pinched his nose as hard as he could, but it was no use. He couldn't stop it anymore. He had to sneeze.

"Mmph-tshoo!"

His heart thudded wildly. He had muffled the sneeze as best he could, but he heard his Papa's footsteps stop dead.

"Did you hear that?" Papa asked.

"Oh, do drop it. That sounded like Crookshanks."

"I never did like that ball of fluff."

"And yet he cuddles up to you suspiciously often..."

Mama’s and Papa’s voices grew fainter and fainter, until Scorpius could no longer hear them. He lay flat against the floor. The carpet scratched his cheek. Perhaps Uncle Theo wasn't such an expert after all. Perhaps he had to find someone else to help him.

Two days later, Scorpius strolled into the Manor's kitchen. Mama had moved the room from the cellars to the ground floor when she married Papa, and now it was a bright, open space with access to the garden. Mipsy was already bustling about the kitchen. Today was Mama’s and Papa’s special day. Seven years ago today, they had married. And today, Scorpius was going to put a new plan into action.

Mipsy was just retrieving a steaming pie from the oven when Scorpius climbed onto one of the chairs and sat at the table mostly used for baking.

"The young Master is getting no biscuits," Mipsy decreed strictly. "Not even if he does the big eyes. Mipsy must remain strong."

"I don't even want biscuits, Mipsy," Scorpius sighed. Dejectedly, he rested his chin upon the cool tabletop. "I need help."

Mipsy’s ears twitched. She set the baking tray aside and pulled off her oven gloves. Then she padded over to Scorpius.

"Is the young Master ill? Should Mipsy inform the Mistress?"

"No, no," Scorpius said. "It’s just... Uncle Theo wanted to help me. But it didn't work. Mama and Papa didn't make a baby."

"A... a baby?" Mipsy stammered. The elf’s face turned bright red, and she began to tug at her ears. "Oh, what has Master Theo been telling the young Master?!"

"Not much..." Scorpius sighed. "Only that parents need a certain sort of mood, but the business with the perfume was a complete flop..."

"Oh, oh, oh..." Mipsy tugged even harder at her ears. "Mipsy suspected it. Mipsy has always said Master Theo is a terrible godfather to the young Master! Only fills his head with nonsense! Master William is quite bad enough!" Her eyes grew even wider than they already were. "Did Master Theo give the young Master a potion? Did he tamper with the Mistress’s tea?"

"No, I did that all by myself," Scorpius confessed, sounding almost a little proud. "I took it out of Papa’s cabinet myself."

"Oh, Master Scorpius, why?"

"Well, because I want a baby! A sister, preferably. But it only made everything worse! Papa thought Uncle Theo was to blame..."

"...which he was."

"And Mama said it smelled like a peramor? No, a paramour. Mipsy, what is a paramour?"

She tugged at her ears again. Mama didn't like it at all when the house-elves did that, but Papa said it was an old habit, and old habits weren't easily broken. Not even if you were a house-elf.

"The young Master must not ask Mipsy such things!" she squeaked frantically. "No, not at all!"

"Why not?" Scorpius didn't understand what all the fuss was about. What was so dreadful about it? It was only a word. "Is it something bad? Is it dangerous?"

"No!" Mipsy squeaked instantly. Then she reconsidered. "Well... sometimes it is."

Scorpius furrowed his brow. That wasn't helping at all. "Is it an animal?"

"No!"

"An illness?"

"No!"

"A Dark curse?"

"No!"

"Just tell me what it is!" Scorpius demanded. Mipsy shuddered. She sat down beside Scorpius and pulled the biscuit tin closer.

"Would Master Scorpius not care for a biscuit after all?"

"I don't want a biscuit, I want answers!"

Mipsy let out a sound that, to Scorpius, resembled the desperate squeak of a rubber duck being squeezed far too hard. She looked frantically around the bright, clean kitchen, as though Hermione might step through the patio doors at any given moment and wring her neck with her own two hands if she dared reveal to Scorpius what a paramour was.

"A paramour..." Mipsy whispered so softly that Scorpius had to lean in even further, until his nose almost touched the tabletop. "A paramour is... a woman, Master Scorpius."

"A woman who... who gets very expensive jewellery and very fine dresses, but she doesn't live in the Manor. And she belongs... she doesn't really belong to the family."

Scorpius narrowed his eyes. "Like Aunt Pansy?"

"No, no, not Aunt Pansy!" Mipsy cried in horror, waving her hands about wildly. "Aunt Pansy is a lady! A paramour is... a secret friend. For married wizards. In the old days, the Lords had many paramours if they didn't care for their wives. Master Lucius would say it was a matter of... of prestige. But the Mistress thinks that is terribly old-fashioned and mean. And if Master Draco had a paramour, the Mistress would probably give him a very big smack. And perhaps she wouldn't even want to be Master Draco’s wife anymore." Mipsy assumed a weighty expression. "A man should only have one lady, young Master."

"Oh," Scorpius said. A light dawned on him. That was why Mama had been so cross. "So Mama thought Papa had a secret friend hidden in the wardrobe who smelled of cherries."

"Yes! Exactly!" Mipsy piped up. She nudged the biscuit tin a fraction closer. "That is why the young Master must not smuggle potions anymore, or spray perfume all over the place. It only causes the Master and Mistress great heartache. And then Master Draco has to sleep on the sofa in his study, and Mipsy does not care to think about what a dreadful mood he is in then."

So Uncle Theo truly was a terrible adviser. Scorpius was beginning to think that Papa was mistaken. Theo didn't understand the first thing about women! Mama had been so angry, and she had almost been sad, too, because she believed Papa had another friend... No, Papa would never do such a thing. He didn't have many friends to begin with anyway, and the only lady friend he had was Aunt Pansy. And she wasn't a paramour, Mipsy had said. After all, she was married to Uncle Neville. Could a lady with a husband be a paramour too? Oh, it didn't matter. The only important thing was that he needed a new plan.

"But how do you make babies, then?" Scorpius asked. "Mama and Papa can't manage it on their own!"

Mipsy’s ears flapped dangerously. "The young Master must not ask Mipsy! Mipsy cannot say how... wizards and witches make babies!"

"Why not?" A suspicion struck him. "Do you not know either?"

"Oh..." She pushed the biscuit tin closer to Scorpius once more. "Really no biscuit?"

"Mipsy!" Right, that was quite enough. It was time to bring out the heavy artillery. Mipsy was going to tell him what it took for him to get a sister, here and now! He slid off his chair and raised his index finger, exactly like Grandpère did when he was telling someone off. "You are going to tell me right now what Mama and Papa need to get a baby! Nanna and Grandpère would like more children in the house too! You wouldn't want to disappoint them, would you?"

"Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear." Mipsy was visibly wrestling with herself. "The old Master and Mistress said that?"

"Yes," Scorpius claimed. Nanna had never actually said she wanted that, but Grandpère had mentioned once that he and Nanna had always wanted a girl but had never had one. That counted, didn't it?

"Oh dear... Very well then." Mipsy smoothed down her ears. "But the young Master must promise that he won't go stealing potions out of the blue again!"

"I promise," Scorpius said, looking at her with his large, solemn grey eyes. "Today is their anniversary. Seven years. And they are fond of each other again, I saw it. Papa hugged Mama in the corridor earlier when they thought I wasn't looking. So, how do we make the right mood now?"

"In the old days... in the old days, witches believed that they and their wizards should eat certain things if they wanted a baby."

"Eat? Oh, eating is good!" Scorpius nearly slapped his own forehead. Nanna always did the cooking herself whenever Grandpère was in a foul mood. And Nanna was intelligent and a wonderful cook! On the other hand, they had only ever had one baby... but at least it was good for the mood. And perhaps Grandpère was a particularly difficult case. Papa wasn't nearly as difficult. "What are we cooking? You hasn't got anything ready for tonight yet, have you?"

"Mipsy was thinking of walnut parfait for dessert, which Master Draco is very fond of." The elf used her magic to float a very tattered, ancient cookbook over from the kitchen counter, where it sat wedged between the new ones Mama was always buying. Papa said no one needed that many cookbooks, but Mama insisted she did. Even though Scorpius had never actually seen Mama cook anything from a recipe in any of those books. Once, she had told Scorpius that the books were there for 'inspiration'.

With her long, trembling fingers, Mipsy flipped through the yellowed, stained pages of the ancient book. On its cover, in peeling gold lettering, one could just about decipher: Culinary Secrets for the Pure-Blood Marriage (1742 Edition). Scorpius tilted his head.

"Wait, Mipsy! Is that book meant for Mama too?" He couldn't read terribly well yet, but he could make out the word 'pure-blood'. It appeared ever so often on books in the library that he wasn't allowed to touch. "She isn't a pure-blood, after all! Gramps and Granny are Muggles!"

Mipsy smiled and stroked the cover affectionately.

"Mipsy asked herself that very same thing, young Master. Eight years ago, when Master Draco first brought the Mistress home! Mipsy was terrified of poisoning the Mistress! But the young Master’s Mama is a clever lady. And so that Mipsy would always remember, the Mistress even wrote it in the book."

She turned the page and tapped a small postcard she had glued inside. Scorpius looked at her questioningly.

"What did Mama write?"

"'Do not worry, Mipsy. Recipes are for everyone,'" Mipsy read aloud, puffing out her chest with pride. "'The lamb was superb, and I look forward to many more culinary adventures with you.'"

"But why does it say there that the recipes are only for pure-bloods?"

"Wizards weren't so clever in the old days," Mipsy explained, shaking her head. "They thought magic only worked well if one was pure-blooded." She scoffed. "But Mipsy has never seen a witch with more magic than Mistress Hermione. Nor a wizard, for that matter. Not Master Draco. Not Master Lucius. Not even the old Master Abraxas. And he was a very powerful man."

Mipsy flipped through the old cookbook with purpose. The pages rustled dryly as minor annotations from previous generations flashed past. At last, she nodded contentedly and opened to a page bearing a faded watercolour illustration.

"Here, young Master," Mipsy whispered, tapping a sketched fruit that looked like a wrinkled red apple wearing a tiny crown upon its head. "This is it. The old families swear by it. When a witch and a wizard desire a child, they must share one of these fruits."

Scorpius leaned so low over the book that his forehead nearly brushed the paper. He painstakingly sounded out the cursive script beneath the picture: "The... pome... gran... ate. Pomegranate? I’ve never heard of that before."

"A fruit with ever so many seeds," Mipsy explained.

"Do we have a pome..." Scorpius needed a second attempt. "Pomegranate?"

Mipsy’s ears drooped, and she looked sheepishly around the bright kitchen. "No, young Master. Mipsy has none. They do not grow in Mistress Narcissa’s garden. They come from the South. From warm countries."

Scorpius’s shoulders slumped. Splendid. No baby again. The anniversary dinner for Mama and Papa was tonight, and the South was much too far away, even for Papa's fast motorcar.

"But..." Mipsy raised a finger conspiratorially, "Professor Neville might have some!"

Scorpius's eyes widened. That sounded like a major breakthrough! Neville was a teacher at Hogwarts and he had grand greenhouses, at home as well. Aunt Pansy always said she knew no one who could love a few silly old flowers as much as her husband did. He was bound to know about pomegranates. And he wasn't like Uncle Theo. Papa would never suspect him!

Besides, he was married to Aunt Pansy. And Aunt Pansy knew everything. Just like Mama. If anyone possessed a pomegranate or knew how to lay their hands on one in five minutes, it was her. "Do you really think so?"

"Mipsy knows that Professor Neville told Master Draco he has started growing ever so many things from the South here in England," Mipsy explained with a meaningful nod. "Perhaps a pomegranate is among them."

"But Mipsy," Scorpius whispered conspiratorially, scrambling hastily down from his chair. "We must not tell Papa a single thing about this. Not a word. If Papa finds out we are looking for a pomegranate, he’ll go blaming Uncle Theo again. Or Professor Neville, and I don't want that."

"Oh, no, that would be quite dreadful." Mipsy tugged at her ears. "And if Master Draco discovers that Mipsy told the young Master, he will threaten Mipsy with more money again! And Mipsy only just managed to prevent that at Christmas when the Mistress wanted to pay a bonus!"

Scorpius nodded solemnly. "Then we shall do it secretly."

Mipsy blinked. "Secretly?"

"Papa is at the Ministry today. Mama too." He began counting on his fingers. "We shall fetch the pomegranate from Professor Neville and Aunt Pansy. Then we shall cook the dinner, and Mama and Papa will eat every last bit of it tonight. And tomorrow, the baby will be in Mama's tummy."

Mipsy’s eyes widened.

"It... it might not happen quite so quickly, young Master."

"Why ever not?"

"Because..." Mipsy scrambled for words. "Because grand wishes sometimes require a little bit of time."

Scorpius considered this for a moment. That was true. He had wished for a pony for such a long time, but it wasn't until a few months ago, for his birthday, that Papa had finally allowed Uncle Theo to give him one of his. Uncle Theo had ever so many horses, after all, and Scorpius had always wanted one of his own.

"Very well." He nodded magnanimously. "The day after tomorrow, then."

Mipsy opened her mouth, closed it again, and finally gave a resigned nod.

"For the baby," she whispered. "Mipsy only hopes she does not end up requiring a Gringotts vault. No elf will ever speak to her again!"

"Papa won't find out," Scorpius promised. "It’s an..." what was it Papa sometimes called it? "An undercover investigation."

Mipsy let out another heavy sigh and held out her hand to Scorpius. Scorpius did not care for Apparating, but there was no other way to get to Professor Neville's secretly.

Scorpius liked Neville. He was a kind man, even if Aunt Pansy always said he was far too nice for this world. Even so, the plop with which Scorpius and Mipsy materialized out of thin air beside one of his potting benches made Neville swear so loudly that Mipsy instantly clapped her hands over Scorpius’s ears. Scorpius heard the outrageous words anyway.

"...by Merlin’s beard!" Neville gasped, dropping the small silver shears, which landed upon the stone floor of the greenhouse with a loud clatter. He pressed a hand to his heart while his eyes grew almost as large as Mipsy's. "Mipsy! Scorpius! Are you trying to kill me? I nearly hit you with a Engorgement Charm!"

Mipsy slowly pulled her hands away from Scorpius’s ears, curtseyed deeply, and looked utterly guilt-ridden. "Mipsy begs Professor Neville’s forgiveness a thousand times over! But the undercover investigation brooks no delay!"

Neville blinked, took a deep breath, and wiped his soil-stained hands against his apron. The initial panic upon his face gave way to an amused, if thoroughly bewildered, smile. Scorpius, who stood in the warm, humid greenhouse—which smelled richly of earth and exotic blossoms—with his arms firmly crossed over his chest, looked up at him demandingly.

"An undercover investigation?" Neville asked, arching an eyebrow. "In my greenhouse? Has Draco suddenly developed an issue with my orchids and sent in the cavalry?"

"No, Professor Neville," Scorpius said with deadly seriousness, taking a step closer to the potting bench. He cast a scrutinizing glance to his left and right to ensure Aunt Pansy wouldn't suddenly emerge from behind a giant fern. "Papa doesn't even know we're here. We need a pome... a pomegranate."

"A pomegranate?" Neville asked, promptly smudging a streak of dirt across his forehead. "Well... I actually have cultivated some, but..."

"But?" Scorpius felt a sudden pang of anxiety. Professor Neville was his only hope.

"Well, they haven't undergone a taste test yet," Neville explained. "You see, normally they don't grow in England, and even if they do, they don't ripen until very late in the year. Even in the South, there aren't any ripe fruits in June."

"But Professor Neville has some, does he not?" Mipsy pressed. It was perfectly clear to Scorpius that she wanted to return home as quickly as possible.

"Yes, but as I said, I don't know if they taste any good," Neville said. "They are meant for eating, aren't they? You aren't planning to do anything else with them?"

"That’s a secret!" Scorpius hissed hastily, pressing his index finger to his lips. "Papa must not know under any circumstances. And Mama mustn't either. It's for the anniversary dinner tonight."

In the background, Mipsy nodded so vigorously that her ears flapped wildly. "It is for family magic, Professor Neville. The young Master desires a—"

"Mipsy, shh!" Scorpius interrupted her sternly. An investigator never revealed his sources or his true objective; he had learned that much from Papa.

"Very well, young Master Malfoy," Neville said, raising his soil-stained hands in surrender. "A proper professor will naturally ask no questions regarding ongoing investigations. Come along."

He turned and led the two of them deeper into the glass labyrinth of the greenhouse. The air back here was noticeably warmer still, smelling intensely of sweet earth and distant lands. And there, sheltered beneath a grand glass dome that shimmered with magic, stood a small, gnarled tree.

Hanging from its branches were indeed three heavy, deep red fruits. They looked exactly like the ones in Mipsy’s drawing—wrinkled, plump, and bearing a proud little crown at the base.

Scorpius held his breath. His eyes shone. This was it. The magical key to Mama’s tummy!

"I used a bit of Growth Spurt and special Sunlight Charms to get them this far along by June," Neville explained as he picked up a clean pair of golden shears from the table. "Which is why I can't guarantee the flavor. They might be a bit sour. But for... well, for family magic, I am sure they will serve their purpose."

With a soft snip, Neville severed the most magnificent pomegranate from its twig. He caught it deftly and handed it to Scorpius. The fruit was surprisingly heavy and felt quite warm from the greenhouse sun in Scorpius's small hands.

"Here is your corpus delicti, little investigator," Neville chuckled, giving Scorpius a gentle pat on the shoulder. "Would you like to take another one as a spare?"

"Yes, please."

Mipsy caught the second fruit. Neville pursed his lips.

"Now, I am more than happy to be helpful in such an important endeavour that I don't quite comprehend, but... it is perhaps for the best if your Papa doesn't find out about this."

"This stays between us, Professor Neville!" Scorpius promised solemnly, pressing the pomegranate tightly against his jumper as though it were the most valuable artefact in the world. He shot Mipsy a triumphant look. "We’ve got it. Quick, Mipsy, before Aunt Pansy comes!"

Mipsy gave another hasty curtsey to the grinning Neville. "Mipsy thanks Professor Neville! We are gone already!"

With a loud plop, the two vanished from the humid greenhouse, leaving behind only the faint scent of distant lands and a very amused Hogwarts professor, who wiped the dirt from his forehead and wondered just how long it would take for the Deputy Head of the Auror Office to kick his door in because Neville had supplied his son with illicit fruit.

Scorpius was ever so excited. Mipsy clung to him. Through the narrow crack of the dining room door, they could see Mama and Papa sitting at the dinner table, tucking into the dessert.

The entire ground floor smelled heavenly. Of braised meat, rosemary, and now the sweet, slightly tart note of the pomegranate, which Mipsy had expertly seeded in the kitchen before scattering the seeds over the dessert.

Scorpius held his breath, pressing himself as flat as humanly possible against the doorframe. His small fingers clutched Mipsy’s soft hand. This was the decisive moment of the entire operation.

Papa sat with relaxed shoulders in his chair, his shirt elegant as always, as he watched Mama. He balanced a few of the deep red, glistening seeds along with some ice cream upon his spoon. "I must say, Granger... I haven't the foggiest where Mipsy managed to find these fruits in the middle of June, but the dessert is exceptionally good."

Mama smiled, taking a deep breath and seeming to completely forget the exhaustion of the past few weeks for a moment. "Still Granger?" she asked with a laugh.

Papa shrugged his shoulders.

"You know I save that for our special moments."

Mama took a spoonful of the pomegranate ice cream herself. "We really ought to make time for evenings like this more often, Draco. Just the two of us. Quite without any talk of bureaucracy or assassination attempts."

Scorpius had no idea what an assassination attempt was, but he was certain that it was working. Mama and Papa were beaming, and they didn't look tired at all! Mipsy seemed pleased as well.

"It is high time for the young Master to go to bed now," Mipsy whispered as Papa stood up, walked around the table, and leaned down to Mama. Scorpius tried to peer around Mipsy, but she firmly blocked his view. He heard a smacking sound, and Mipsy decisively ushered him toward the stairs.

"Do you think it’s working, Mipsy?" he asked earnestly once he was in bed, pulling the duvet right up to his chin.

"Most certainly, young Master," Mipsy assured him, turning out the light. "Just have patience."

Two months later...

"I simply don't understand it!"

Frustrated, Scorpius kicked his legs to get a higher swing. He was sitting on the swing Papa had hung for him from the grand cherry tree in the front garden, just below the terrace.

Victoire was perched on the edge of Scorpius’s old sandbox. James hovered beside her on his broomstick, occasionally flying in lazy little circles. The broom didn't go much higher than a metre, but their Papas insisted that James and Scorpius were still far too small for proper racing brooms.

"I tried everything!" he lamented. "The perfume, the potion—I even fetched the pomegranate!"

"And they really ate all of it?" Victoire asked sceptically. Scorpius brought the swing to a halt with the tips of his shoes.

"Mipsy says there wasn't a single crumb of food left." Dejectedly, he stared at the ground. "But it's August already! I know Mipsy said I have to be patient, but it's been such a long time now!"

"And Aunt Hermione still hasn't got a baby tummy," James remarked. "That's impossible."

"Exactly what I'm saying." He felt genuinely sad. Lately, Mama seemed even more tense than before. Nowadays, she swore about that Travers man nearly every single day. True, he hadn't sued them—since Papa hadn't let Mama back into the Ministry until the potion had entirely worn off—but he seemed to be getting dreadfully on her nerves. And that was draining her energy all over again, not to mention ruining the mood.

"Perhaps we could ask my Dad," James suggested. "He's bound to remember how he and Mum got Lily."

"Or Maman," Victoire interjected. "Papa always says the French understand love far better than the English. And you need a great deal of love for a baby. I know that much."

"Rubbish." James pulled a face. Victoire stuck her tongue out at him. "We simply need to ask more grown-ups. Grandpa and Grandma ought to know. They have loads of babies!"

Scorpius shrugged his shoulders. "Papa says that's because they are Weasleys."

Victoire pondered this for a moment. "My Papa is a Weasley, too," she noted. "And James's Mum." Slowly, she turned to face Scorpius. Her expression became quite solemn. "You haven't got a single Weasley in your family."

"No." Scorpius’s shoulders slumped. "And Gramps and Granny only have Mama. No uncles. No aunts. Not like you lot."

James scratched his head. "Hmm. Perhaps you really do need a Weasley."

"Do you think we could perhaps ask Uncle Ron to come over? I know he doesn't care much for Papa, but he loves Mama. Surely he’ll help her..." Scorpius asked hopefully. He sat down beside Victoire on the edge of the sandbox. She rested her head upon his shoulder.

"But that's silly," she said. "Other people have more than one baby, too. And Papa can't very well go about helping everyone with their babies just because he's a Weasley."

"You're right." James gave Scorpius an encouraging nudge in the shoulder. "You're a Malfoy, and Malfoys always get what they want—my Dad says so." He scratched his head and sank onto the grass, crossing his legs. "Usually when he's cross with your Dad."

Scorpius sniffed back his rising tears. James was right. A Malfoy never gave up! The business with the pomegranate had been correct, after all! Mama and Papa had been in love and they had gone to bed early... Perhaps it simply hadn't been potent enough. Perhaps one wasn't supposed to eat the pomegranate at all. Perhaps one had to do something else entirely with it?

Suddenly, he straightened up. Victoire clicked her tongue in annoyance, just like her Maman did sometimes, because her headrest had vanished all at once.

"I know who might know," he whispered.

"Who?" James and Victoire asked in unison.

"Grandpère," Scorpius whispered conspiratorially. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward the Manor. He knew that Nanna and Grandpère were still sitting on the terrace with Mama and Papa, having tea.

Victoire gasped. "Are you mad, Scorp?" Looked startled, she glanced behind her, checking to make absolutely sure they weren't being overheard. "Lucius is... scary! He always looks as if he’s about to turn us into toads if we're too loud!"

"Mama says he's only... old-fashioned," Scorpius explained. True, his Grandpère was a bit scary at times. Victoire wasn't wrong there. He practically never laughed and always sat as though he had swallowed a broomstick, as Uncle Theo called it. But he knew so much. Sometimes he made time for Scorpius and told him stories about the people in the portraits in the long gallery on the fourth floor, or about kings and queens who had received help from the Malfoys. He was even the second Lucius Malfoy! The first one had very nearly married a queen!

"Don't you think he'll tell your parents everything?" Victoire asked anxiously. Scorpius stood up and tugged down his T-shirt.

"I don't care," he declared solemnly. He was going to go over there right now. And he would get answers from the only adult left he could trust. Malfoy honour was at stake. Grandpère would say that he mustn't give up. If Papa had given up, Mama wouldn't be his wife. And then she wouldn't be Scorpius’s Mama either. No, a Malfoy man had to be persistent. Scorpius was nearly five now. It wasn't as if he were still in nappies!

"Well, I'm not coming," Victoire announced. "It's far too dangerous. I cannot be a toad!"

"Fine." James scrambled back to his feet and hitched up his trousers. "I'm ready. I want to be an uncle, and 'nothing ventured, nothing gained', Mum always says." He looked up toward the terrace. "But you do the talking, all right?"

Scorpius nodded, and with determined strides, he set off toward the terrace. Braving death, James marched right behind him. The closer they drew to the shaded west terrace, the more clearly they could hear the delicate clink of porcelain and the low murmur of the adults. They were all seated around the grand garden table made of white wrought iron. Nanna was just passing around a bowl of strawberries. Mama held a piece of parchment in her hand, while Papa stirred his coffee cup with a disgruntled expression—he was still forbidden from drinking too much of it, which left him in a foul mood.

And at the head of the table sat Grandpère. Straight as a poker, his long, silver-blonde hair perfectly styled, just like a proper Lord. Despite the warmth of the August day, he wore a waistcoat over his white shirt.

"Grandpère?" Scorpius said, with as much Malfoy pride as his little voice could muster. He swallowed hard. James decided, after all, to remain one step further down the stairs.

The clatter of teacups ceased instantly. Every head turned toward him. Papa arched an eyebrow at once, and Mama immediately set her parchment aside, a slightly worried smile upon her lips.

"Scorpius, darling?" Mama asked. "Is everything all right with you and the others?"

"Yes, all fine, Mama," Scorpius assured her. He marched right up to Lucius’s chair, placed his small hands upon the stiff armrest, and looked his grandfather deeply in the eyes.

"Grandpère," Scorpius whispered with deadly seriousness, yet loudly enough for the entire terrace to hear. "I must speak with you about tradition."

Grandpère took a leisurely sip from his teacup. His pale eyes scrutinized Scorpius over the porcelain rim.

"Is that so?" he drew out.

Mama picked up her parchment once more and hid her face behind it. Papa stared at Scorpius. Nanna smoothed down her summer dress. Grandpère calmly set down his teacup and dabbed his mouth.

"And your friend?" he inquired, glancing over Scorpius’s shoulder. "Does he have a question as well? Or is he merely here for moral support?"

James slipped another step lower, so that only his eyes and his wild, dark hair peeked over the edge of the stone terrace. Scorpius shook his head.

"He was only... bored. That’s why he came along," Scorpius attempted to explain.

Grandpère gave a pregnant nod. "Ah, I see." He let his gaze wander across the lawn toward the sandbox where Victoire was still perched, picking daisies with an air of feigned indifference, though she peeked over at the terrace every few seconds.

"You know, Mr Potter," Grandpère said quietly, "it is exceedingly impolite to leave a lady sitting alone upon a sandbox."

Scorpius didn't need to turn around. He merely heard the hasty rustling amongst the rhododendrons. So much for moral support.

"Lucius," Nanna chided with a smile. Grandpère looked at his wife with complete innocence.

"What?" he asked. "If the boy isn't taught any manners at home, it is hardly my fault."

Scorpius sensed another discussion brewing amongst the adults. He really had no time for that sort of thing. He launched his attack.

"Grandpère, please!" Scorpius pleaded. He knew Grandpère didn't care for whining, so he tried to put a certain sternness into his voice. Just like Mama did when she wanted Papa to finally hang the new curtains she had picked out. Desperate days required desperate measures—or something rather like that, as Mama always said. Scorpius did something he had never dared do before. Gently, he reached for Grandpère’s sleeve and gave it a tug.

The terrace fell abruptly silent. Mama’s eyes, peeking over the top of the parchment, fixed upon Scorpius. Grandpère stared silently at the small hand grasping his sleeve. Oh dear... there was bound to be a row now. Only Nanna was ever allowed to touch Grandpère. Sometimes Grandpère clapped Papa on the shoulder, but other than that...

"Well..." The corner of Grandpère’s mouth twitched briefly. "I see you are in earnest. It must be a very important tradition indeed, if you wish to discuss it so urgently."

Scorpius nodded. How glad he was that Grandpère hadn't turned him into a toad! Where on earth would he have found a princess at such short notice to turn him back into a boy?

"Yes, but we cannot... not here." Mama and Papa mustn't get wind of any of it, after all. He had to lure Grandpère away from here!

Papa had leaned back, scrutinizing Scorpius with a mixture of acute suspicion and poorly concealed impatience. One of his hands rested beside his coffee cup, his fingers drumming against the white metal table.

"Scorpius..." Oh no. There it was. The voice Papa used when he interrogated Dark wizards. "Whatever it is you are up to..."

"Draco, can you not see that the boy wishes to have a word with his grandfather?" Nanna interjected, and Papa fell silent instantly. Scorpius smirked. Nanna was his wild card. No one ever contradicted Nanna. "Man to man. A boy needn't always discuss everything with his father."

With a majestic slowness that nearly caused Scorpius's heart to sink into his boots, Grandpère leaned upon his silver walking cane and rose to his feet. He smoothed down his waistcoat and looked down at his grandson, whose small fist was somehow still curled around the fold of his shirt sleeve.

"If the matter must be handled with such... discretion that the terrace is not deemed an appropriate setting," Grandpère spoke in his deep, drawling voice, "then I suppose we ought to consider a stroll in the rose garden. Adults have a tendency to interfere in matters that do not concern them anyway."

Papa let out an incredulous scoff. "Father, surely you aren't falling for his—"

"We shall return in ten minutes, Draco," Grandpère interrupted Papa with a brief, imperious wave of his hand that brooked absolutely no argument. Then he looked down at Scorpius and used the snake-head of his cane to point toward the stairs. "After you, young Master Malfoy. I am all ears."

Scorpius exhaled in sheer relief. He had done it! He let go of the sleeve, shot James and Victoire a triumphant look, and marched down the stone steps onto the lawn, proud as a little prince in his trainers.

Grandpère followed him, pacing each elegant step with his walking cane. Mama burst into a fit of laughter that echoed across the lawn as Scorpius and Grandpère turned through the grand archway into Nanna’s rose garden.

"Your mother appears to find your endeavour amusing, my boy," Grandpère remarked. Scorpius shook his head.

"She doesn't know how serious the matter is."

They walked on in silence until they reached the small pond, where Nanna often lay on the bench to read on warm afternoons. The fish swam in lazy circles amongst the water lilies.

"Well, my boy," Grandpère said at last, "if the matter is indeed so grave, I suppose we ought to get to the heart of the problem."

Grandpère was truly taking him seriously. Scorpius felt the tension lift from his shoulders just a little. Grandpère was bound to have a solution.

"Mipsy said that having many babies used to be important. For the..." He furrowed his brow. "The pres... prestishe of a family."

Grandpère raised an eyebrow imperceptibly.

"Prestige," he corrected calmly.

"Exactly." Scorpius nodded eagerly. "Is that true, Grandpère?"

"So Mipsy told you that, did she?" Grandpère asked in his customary deep voice. He inclined his head slightly toward Scorpius. "Well... at its core, the good elf is not incorrect. In the ancient, venerable families, the continuation of the name and the splendour of the family tree were always of the utmost importance. Numerous descendants meant influence. Power. And with that, yes, prestige as well."

He paused briefly, and his voice took on an even more measured cadence.

"However, my boy, Mipsy is forgetting a crucial detail of history. The Malfoys have never been like... other families." There was a subtle, aristocratic undertone to the word other that Scorpius had heard many times before whenever Grandpère spoke of tradition. "We have never defined ourselves by sheer mass. A true Malfoy heir is characterized by quality, not quantity. A single, perfect diamond is far more valuable than an entire sack of ordinary pebbles."

Scorpius looked up from the fish and tilted his head. "A diamond? Like Mama's ring?"

"Precisely," Grandpère nodded majestically. "Just like you. You are the heir to this house, Scorpius. And your father was before you."

"But I don't want to be a diamond, Grandpère! I want a baby sister!" Scorpius cried out, momentarily forgetting his stern posture as he nudged a small stone on the bank with the toe of his shoe.

"A sister?" Grandpère inquired with a slight smile. He sat down upon the bench and patted the seat beside him. Scorpius clambered up next to him, his legs dangling over the edge. "I see, I see. And... have you mentioned this to your parents?"

"Yes. But they say they haven't got the energy or the time, and that makes me ever so sad."

Grandpère scrutinized him. Scorpius looked up at him.

"Why do Mama and Papa only have me? Everyone else has siblings, but I don't."

"Your father, unfortunately, holds some very modern notions about how a marriage ought to be conducted," Grandpère explained, his voice as smooth and sharp as a freshly honed blade. His gaze drifted across the rose garden back toward the Manor.

"A lady of our house should not have to fight the battles of the outside world on a daily basis. She requires the protection of her husband. Peace. Security. Sanctuary. Only then can a family truly flourish."

He let his walking cane tap lightly upon the gravel.

"Draco, however, sends your mother into the Ministry day after day. He allows her to battle politicians, fanatics, and fools, and then subsequently wonders why she returns home exhausted, unable to be there for him."

In Scorpius’s small head, the cogs instantly began to whirl at a furious pace. Most of what Grandpère had just said went entirely over his head, but one thing was now perfectly clear to him.

Of course! Papa wasn't protecting Mama properly! He hadn't placed any Shield Charms around her bed, nor had he painted protective runes upon the front door to keep that stupid Travers man and the entire Ministry outside! And that was why Mama was so stressed, and why there was no baby in her tummy!

Grandpère was right. It was so logical. Papa was completely distracted being an Auror at the Ministry and forgot the most important spells for back home.

Only... who else apart from Papa knew about that sort of thing? Uncle Blaise owned a restaurant, Aunt Pansy wrote pieces... Uncle Theo was out of the question anyway. And even if Scorpius took his thick wax crayons and drew a banishing circle himself... he didn't know how. He looked back up at Grandpère. Did he know anything about it? No, he had never worked with that sort of thing. He was clever, but someone else was needed here...

It had to be someone who dealt with powerful protective barriers all day long. Someone whose very job it was to secure things. Scorpius chewed on his lower lip.

Mama needed a protection spell. A very powerful one. One that worked even when Papa was away at work.

Gringotts! The goblins possessed the strongest curses and protective wards in the world to guard all their gold. And Victoire’s father worked for Gringotts!

Victoire’s Papa was constantly travelling all over the world to break into ancient pyramids and tombs, or to place the most powerful protective wards upon them. James had mentioned once that Uncle Bill had even painted a few ancient Egyptian runes onto their house in Cornwall so that no nasty curse could touch the family. It was perfect! If anyone knew how to secure a bed or an entire room so tightly that no stress in the world—and certainly no stupid Travers—could breach it, it was him.

A triumphant smile stole across Scorpius's face. He needed Victoire’s help. She had to ask her Pa for the secret protective runes of the Curse-Breakers!

"Thank you, Grandpère," Scorpius said eagerly, puffing out his chest and making a short, stiff bow, just as he had learned to do from the portraits. "You’ve been a grand help. I shall... remind Papa of his duties."

Grandpère looked somewhat nonplussed, but he smiled.

"I am pleased to see that family matters lie so close to your heart," he said, and actually placed a hand upon Scorpius’s shoulder. Scorpius felt ever so proud! "Your mother has made a fine boy

"And Papa?" Scorpius tilted his head. One always needed a Papa, didn't they?

Grandpère fell silent for a moment.

"He is... undoubtedly doing his best." Grandpère laughed. He actually laughed. Scorpius had never seen such a thing before! Perhaps he wasn't so scary after all. Perhaps Grandpère simply had too few people with whom he could discuss important matters. He absolutely had to tell Victoire about this! He spun round on his heel and dashed off at a run, straight back through the grand archway.

"Thank you, Grandpère!" he called back over his shoulder as he ran. There was no time to lose.

"But that's impossible!" Victoire really was a stubborn girl. "Papa will never allow me to bring a protection spell! It’s dangerous!"

James let out an annoyed scoff and continued plucking blades of grass from Nanna’s immaculate lawn.

"But Mipsy said that pomegranates are used for protection as well." Scorpius was glad that at least his best friend was on his side. He was even gladder that Mama had allowed him to simply go back to playing with Victoire and James without being interrogated by Papa! "So you only need to look into his books and find a spell involving a pomegranate! Completely harmless!"

Victoire did not seem convinced. "And what if there isn't one?" She chewed on her lower lip. She simply had to help him! Usually she was so kind... and pretty. And kind. Above all, she was kind.

"Please," he said, shifting closer to Victoire. He took her hand. Papa always did that when he wanted to persuade Mama not to go back to the Ministry when it was well past dinner time. Victoire blushed instantly. She blinked at him as though Scorpius had caught her completely off guard.

"Scorpius, qu’est-ce que tu fais?" she asked. James made a gagging sound.

"You lot are disgusting," he said. Scorpius didn't care. Victoire was his friend, and he needed her help.

"Aide-moi," Scorpius pleaded.

Victoire looked up from their hands into Scorpius’s grey eyes, which were gazing at her so imploringly. The French he had learned from Nanna worked wonders on her—Scorpius knew that much for a fact. She let out a long breath, and the stern, grown-up expression she had worn just a moment ago melted away completely.

"Bon allez," she finally conceded, giving his hand a quick squeeze before letting go with a self-conscious glance toward James. "On fait ensemble."

"Could you stop with that gibberish?" James grumbled. "I don't understand a single word."

Victoire stuck her tongue out at her cousin once more. She pulled away from Scorpius and stared down at the back of her hand.

"But if Papa catches me, I shall tell him everything!" Victoire threatened. Scorpius nodded eagerly. That was fair. He didn't want Victoire getting into trouble on his account either.

Three days later, Scorpius waited patiently while Victoire carefully retrieved a rolled-up piece of parchment from her satchel. She cast a scrutinizing glance out of the window. Down below, James and Albus were tearing through the garden, screeching loudly. That ought to be enough to keep every single adult occupied.

Scorpius knew that Papa’s nerves were stretched to their absolute limit because the entire Potter family, along with Victoire’s family, were staying at the Manor. Thank Merlin Grandpère and Nanna had gone to France. Grandpère loathed noise even more than Papa did.

"Right, it wasn't easy..." Victoire explained. "Papa always locks his study. But I found something." The parchment was old and kept rolling itself back up, but Scorpius had the solution ready. He fetched his old wooden building blocks from the box under his bed and placed a brightly coloured block on each corner. Scorpius's eyes widened. Indeed. In the centre of the drawing, there was a pomegranate once more, just like the one in Mipsy’s cookbook.

"You see?" Victoire said proudly. "I told you the pomegranate must be important. It’s on here too."

"Where did you get it?" Scorpius asked in reverent awe.

"It was in a book about family magic from ancient Egypt." Victoire tucked a blonde lock of hair behind her ear. "Papa had made notes all over it. It said that the circle is meant to protect a house. And since there's a pomegranate in the middle again, I thought... it must be the very same spell Mipsy was telling us about."

She beamed. It reminded Scorpius ever so much of his Mama whenever she had finally found the solution to a difficult problem.

"There are ever so many lines and... triangles around it," Scorpius whispered, painstakingly tearing his gaze away from Victoire to focus on the parchment.

"Those aren't triangles, those are protective runes," Victoire explained in a knowledgeable tone, tapping one of the faded drawings. "Papa says the Egyptians used these symbols to protect the chambers of the queens. When you draw it out, you create a protection like... a wall!"

"And the pomegranate in the middle?" Scorpius asked, gently running his index finger over the symbol. Beside it, Uncle Bill had scribbled something, but Scorpius couldn't read it—like so many things. Fortunately, Victoire could!

"Papa wrote there that you have to place the seeds of a pomegranate in the very middle to make it work better. Then nothing can get inside anymore!"

Scorpius’s heart hammered with wild anticipation. It was perfect. Papa would be absolutely amazed when he saw just how well his son could protect the Manor and Mama!

"We must draw this right away," Scorpius decided, scrambling onto his knees. He pulled a wooden box from beneath his bedside table and lifted the lid. Inside, neatly sorted, lay his thick coloured pencils and wax crayons. He rummaged through them for a brief moment until he found the two most important colours: a deep red for the pomegranate, and a glittering gold for the triangles.

"Are you certain we are allowed to simply draw this onto the wall?" Victoire asked suddenly, casting a worried glance at the elegant, cream-coloured wallpaper in Scorpius's room. "Uncle Draco will scold us dreadfully if it won't come off."

"It's for the baby, after all," Scorpius defended his plan courageously, though the thought of Papa's stern face did make him feel a tiny bit uneasy. But a true Malfoy man mustn't back out now. "And we aren't drawing it in my room anyway. Nor on the wallpaper. We must draw it directly beneath Mama and Papa's bed. You won't be able to see it at all from the front, but the magic will still work!"

Victoire chewed on her lower lip again, but then she looked at the parchment and took a deep breath. "Bon. But we must hurry. I don't want to get into trouble!"

Scorpius nodded firmly, pressed the golden wax crayon into Victoire’s hand, and took the red one for himself. "Come along. Mipsy is keeping watch in the corridor."

Draco massaged his temple. This racket in the house was truly intolerable. Thank Merlin he had stood his ground and limited the visit of this unruly pack to a single week, no matter how much Hermione had pouted. He loathed it when she did that. When she pushed out her lower lip and those doe eyes looked at him...

Draco groaned. It was a crying shame that they had found so little time for one another of late. Since their anniversary, they had shared only a few passionate moments; far too few for Draco's liking. Theo had suggested paying an assassin to dispose of Travers, which would be half the battle won, but Draco knew better. In the long run, they both needed to cut back on work. The fact that Scorpius had seemed somehow increasingly downcast over the past few weeks didn't exactly help Draco feel like the Family Man of the Year at the moment.

In truth, he only wanted to change into a fresh shirt. The summer weather was oppressive, and the prospect of another dinner during which Arthur Weasley would attempt to explain the inner workings of a Muggle lawnmower demanded a flawless appearance. Simply so that Draco might remind himself that while he cared not a whit about how a lawnmower functioned, he would listen nonetheless because he loved Hermione. And because Arthur was actually quite a decent chap.

A pleasant side effect of his objective was that he would find a bit of peace and quiet in the bedroom. No child, no father-in-law, no Ron Weasley to watch as he attempted to teach the children how to fly.

Draco took a deep breath in and out. His bed beckoned him, and he yielded. Hermione had things well in hand. What harm could a short nap do? Bill wasn't going to light the barbecue until around six (though Draco sincerely hoped it had been a joke when Charlie explained he had brought along a miniature dragon to start the fire) and the children never listened to him anyway.

He slipped out of his loafers and began to unbutton his shirt. With a purposeful stride, he headed for the soft mattress... but then he noticed that the bed had been shifted slightly away from the wall.

Draco paused. That was... unusual. Had Penny been cleaning beneath it and neglected to push it precisely back against the wall? Or had Scorpius perhaps been playing in here? The door had been left ajar. Draco rolled his eyes.

The boy had his own playroom and yet here he was, romping about in his parents' bedroom. Knowing his son, there was likely some toy or other left under the bed.

With a groan (Draco had turned thirty two months ago, after all), Draco bent down to peer beneath the bed. Nothing. Only dust. Dust and... Salazar, was that a... half-eaten pomegranate? He hunkered down to get a better vantage point. Beside the split pomegranate lay several seeds, meticulously piled into a neat little heap.

But that was not all. Encircling the still-dripping stone fruit and its seeds was a wild, almost maniacal web of golden triangles, crooked lines, and scrawled symbols. It looked as though someone had drawn a banishing circle—almost as if with a ruler, using precise lines. Right beneath his and Hermione's bed. Crumbs that reminded Draco of chalk lay scattered everywhere. And beside the whole disaster sat one of Scorpius’s little soft toys. A miniature snake that Hermione had bought him at the London Zoo some time ago.

A stone-cold shiver ran down his spine. The snake had not simply been dropped carelessly and forgotten. It had been placed there deliberately. This was something serious.

He banged his head as he attempted to crawl out from under the bed.

"Damn it—"

"Draco!"

Hermione's voice came so suddenly from behind him that he banged his head a second time.

"Whatever are you doing down there?" She laughed, her tone warm and entirely unconcerned. "I thought you were going to change your shirt!"

"Stay back!" he barked at her. Hermione froze. Instantly, her laughter died, and she stood rooted to the spot, her hand still resting upon the doorknob of the half-open door.

"Good heavens, what is the matter?" she asked, startled.

"Close the door."

The subtle prickling upon his skin was magic. He was not mistaken. Someone had gained entry to his inner sanctum. Someone had drawn a magical barrier—or a curse—directly behind the head of his bed. Precisely where he and Hermione slept defencelessly every single night.

"Can you feel that?"

"Draco, you are frightening me."

Who could be behind such a thing? Travers? Was he trying to murder Hermione? Did his schemes truly go that far? Or was it one of the old Death Eater sympathizers who still had a score to settle with him? Not everyone had taken well to his marriage to Hermione. And the Manor was teeming with children this week; Draco had relaxed the security wards so they could romp about undisturbed. Had someone spied on them? Who knew they had company?

Hermione tracked his every move. His eyes scanned the room for anomalies, but he found none. Everything was as exactly as it was.

"You stay precisely where you are," he commanded, and Hermione obeyed. She might well be the absolute authority in this house, but he was the one responsible for security. And where that was concerned, he brooked no argument.

Draco knelt down once more and thrust his head beneath the bed. Wand raised, he attempted to decipher the magic at work under his bed.

It was no common British curse-magic. It looked like... African or ancient Egyptian necromancy.

Draco’s breaths came shallow. Someone was in the house. Someone powerful enough to bypass the Manor's outer wards, and ruthless enough to scrawl an occult glyph inside the bedroom of an Auror.

He could not afford to lose a single second. If this was a coordinated attack, Hermione and the children in the garden were in imminent danger. The loud screeching of James and Albus echoing from below suddenly no longer sounded like carefree play. Where was Scorpius?

Lightning fast, he hauled himself back out from under the bed and sprang to his feet. He did not bother finishing the buttons on his shirt. With three grand strides past his still-startled wife, he was at the door, flung it open, and stepped out into the corridor. His eyes scanned every niche, every shadow in the hallway.

"Mipsy!" he called out in a cutting, authoritative voice that brooked no argument.

With a soft plop, the house-elf appeared before him, her ears low, her large eyes wide with fright. "Master Draco calls Mipsy?"

"Lock down the Manor. Immediately," Draco ordered. "No one goes in, no one goes out. Find Potter and Weasley in the garden. Tell them we have a Code Osiris up here. They are to secure the children. No one enters or leaves until I give the word! Straight away, Mipsy!"

"Yes, Master! Mipsy is hurrying, Master!"

Hermione stepped up behind Draco. She had drawn her own wand by now. "Draco, what is going on? What did you see in there?" she demanded to know, her voice trembling slightly.

"Beneath the bed, there is an ancient Egyptian banishing circle on the floor. And a pomegranate. The symbol of death and the underworld."

Hermione blinked, utterly flabbergasted. "Ancient Egyptian? Draco, that's impossible. The Manor's wards would have instantly detected curse-based runes of that magnitude—"

"But they didn't!" he cut her off sharply, grasping her upper arm gently but firmly to usher her behind him. "Hermione, one of our son's soft toys is lying right beside it. I swear to you, if I catch whoever is trying to target my family..."

Before Hermione could give him an answer, the low, heavy rumble of the magical lockdown echoed from below. The Manor was shutting itself off. The heavy iron fittings on the windows clapped shut, and the thick oak doors slammed into their locks with a resounding crash.

At the same time, hurried, heavy footsteps echoed up the stairs.

Harry Potter came charging up the steps, wand already raised, his hair even wilder than usual. Close behind him followed Bill Weasley, whose relaxed barbecue attire—a loose summer shirt and shorts—stood in stark contrast to the hardness in his eyes.

"Draco! What’s happened?" Harry called out as he came to a halt at the top of the landing, instantly positioning himself with his back to the wall. "Mipsy says we have a Code Osiris? The children are downstairs in the drawing room with Ginny and Ron; the room is locked down. I brought Bill along because I thought it couldn't hurt."

"No, he's precisely the man we need." Draco pointed his wand toward the open bedroom door. "In our bedroom. Someone has placed an occult, ancient Egyptian glyph directly beneath our bed."

"A glyph?" Bill repeated, his expression changing instantly. The relaxed holiday mood had vanished entirely. "Draco... ancient Egyptian magic is nothing to make light of."

"My thoughts exactly."

Bill brushed past him into the bedroom, Harry and Draco following close behind. Hermione remained standing by the door, arms crossed, her wand still raised. Bill hunkered down. For a moment, no one said a word. His head was thrust beneath the bed in exactly the same manner Draco's had been moments before. After what felt to Draco like an eternity, Bill re-emerged, his lips pressed into a thin line. He rubbed his fingertips together.

"Bill?" Harry asked quietly.

Bill did not answer right away. Draco grew impatient.

"Well? Do I need to alert Lochveen? Or Ogden from the International Bureau straight away?"

"No..."

Draco felt his stomach knot. "What do you mean, no?"

Bill looked as though he might burst at any moment.

"It's... chalk," Bill said at last. Draco rolled his eyes. What on earth was going on now? Bill was usually such a competent man! Had that old curse turned his brain to mush?

"I can see that much for myself, Basil!" Draco snapped. Behind him, Hermione could not suppress a little laugh. Yes, he remembered that silly Muggle cartoon Scorpius insisted on watching all the time. What of it? "There is also a sliced pomegranate under my bed!"

"A pomegranate?" Harry asked, now thoroughly bewildered.

"The runes... are partially mirrored." Bill simply ignored Harry. "And up in the top right corner, half of a symbol is missing." He cleared his throat loudly. "So... it is indeed an ancient Egyptian banishing circle, Draco. A protection spell for royal chambers. It is meant to guarantee... peace, security, and sanctuary from outside influences. A very traditional blessing for women expecting a... child."

Hermione caught her breath. "What?"

Draco turned deathly pale. Beg pardon? Hermione wasn't expecting a child. Who on earth would... Oh. Oh, no. No, it couldn't be true.

"It's not a curse, Hermione," Bill said now, a broad, unstoppable grin spreading across his face. "It's a fertility and sanctuary ward. In ancient Egypt, the pomegranate also signifies the awakening of new life."

"And judging by how scrawley those triangles down there are drawn, the creator of this masterpiece has a shoe size of twenty-eight at the very most."

"An elf?" Harry asked, still entirely clueless.

"No, Potter," Draco hissed. "My son."

"And my daughter," Bill grinned proudly. Hermione shook her head in sheer disbelief.

"This is all my fault," she said dejectedly. "I brushed him off."

"We both brushed him off," Draco said tonelessly. "He told us how badly he wanted a sibling. And we..." He ran a hand over his face. Merlin. How many times had Scorpius asked? How often had he laughed, given him a hug, and explained that grown-ups simply had a great deal to do? And whilst they had both believed his wish would eventually fade away, their nearly five-year-old son had evidently decided to take matters into his own hands.

How could he have been such an absolute fool? Draco suddenly recalled how quiet the Manor had been when he was a child. How often he had imagined there must be someone else out there. A brother. A sister. Someone who wasn't merely a portrait or a house-elf. He had never wanted Scorpius to know that feeling.

A cocktail of relief, worry, guilt, and annoyance flooded through him. Hermione seemed to fare no better. She stared at the bedroom door, a telltale glint shimmering in her eyes. "He was trying," she whispered, her voice cracking ever so slightly. "The pomegranate... the tea... the food. Draco, that was all him. He was trying to help us because he thought we couldn't manage on our own."

Harry and Bill exchanged a glance. Harry tucked his wand away for good and took a step closer. "Hey," he said gently, looking first at Draco, then at Hermione. "You aren't bad parents. You work hard—damn hard, in fact. And Scorpius is a happy child. He's just a Malfoy, that's all—he doesn't dilly-dally, he makes plans."

"And he has taste," Bill added with a crooked grin, trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere. "It's not every four-year-old who selects the Egyptian protective runes of the Eighteenth Dynasty." He glanced at the bed. "I only wonder how he managed to rope Victoire into this. She isn't easily led astray."

Draco barely listened to the two of them. The dull ache of guilt sat deep within his chest. He remembered Scorpius’s small hand on Lucius’s sleeve three days ago, the boy’s solemn face as he spoke of prestige and traditions. Scorpius hadn't turned to Lucius because he loved his grandfather more—he had turned to him because he felt he was falling on deaf ears with his own parents.

He felt Hermione’s hand slip into his fingers. She gave them a firm squeeze.

"We must unlock the Manor again," she said quietly, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face and bravely forcing a smile. "And then we need to speak with our son."

Draco nodded dumbly. He raised his wand, brushed his hair back with his free hand, and cast the counter-spell to release the house’s heavy bolts. With a deep, echoing clack, the security fittings opened, and the golden afternoon light flooded back through the windows of the corridor.

"Go on ahead," Draco told Harry and Bill, painstakingly clawing back a fraction of his usual, aloof composure, though the huskiness in his voice betrayed just how deeply the matter had affected him. "I must... change into a fresh shirt first. This one is ruined."

Bill let out a low chuckle and gave a playful salute. "Right you are, Malfoy. We’ll see you down by the barbecue."

As the two men headed down the stairs, their footsteps gradually fading away, Draco turned to Hermione. He looked at her—the slightly bloodshot eyes, the dishevelled hair, the exhaustion she had carried about with her these past weeks despite all her pride. He took a step forward, slipped his arms around her waist, and pulled her tightly against him. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, breathing in her scent, which he had missed so often over the last few months.

"From tomorrow on, we are both cutting back," Hermione whispered, stroking his hair. "Our son tried to give us a baby, Draco."

"And it isn't even that difficult..." he whispered against her neck. "And rather amusing, to boot." He could not suppress a grin.

Hermione gave a questioning smile. "So... you would want a second child?"

"If Scorpius desires someone that badly... and if we don't feel entirely too old for sleepless nights just yet..."

A crooked, infinitely charming smile stole onto his lips as he placed a hand against her cheek, his thumb gently caressing her skin.

"...then there is absolutely nothing in this world I would rather want. But on one condition."

Hermione arched an eyebrow, though the tremor in her voice had given way to a soft, happy chuckle. "And what might that be, Mr Malfoy?"

"As far as the Ministry is concerned, neither our owls nor our fireplaces exist after five o'clock."

"Deal," she murmured against his lips as they reluctantly parted. She looked down at him, at his still half-unbuttoned shirt, and gave his chest a gentle tap. "Now, go and put on a fresh shirt, head of the family. We must get downstairs and explain to two highly criminal four-year-olds that their career has come to an end for the time being."

"In French or in English?"

Draco merely laughed and cast a glance towards the bed. For a brief moment, he had considered clearing away everything Scorpius and Victoire had fabricated down there. But somehow, he couldn't bring himself to do it. And if Bill guaranteed that it wasn't harmful... perhaps it might even help? Then it would stay. Naturally, only until the pomegranate began to rot. At that point, young Mister Malfoy would be wiping away his misdeed from the floorboards in person.

"Come along," Hermione urged him. "Before Scorpius gets the idea that one needs two pomegranates for twins."

He smiled.

"...Knowing him by now, I wouldn't put it past him."

Laughing together, they left the bedroom.

Fourteen months later...

Scorpius nervously kneaded the plush snake in his hands—the very one he had placed beneath his parents' bed all those months ago. (And he hadn't even got into trouble for it! Only a stern lecture to the effect that he ought to apprentice with Uncle Bill before he tried his hand at Egyptian magic next time). It had always been meant for his baby sister, and today he was finally going to meet her. Mama hadn't gone to the hospital, as Papa had wanted. She had stayed right here because she said all Malfoy babies had to be born at the Manor.

Uncle Theo was sitting beside him on the sofa. He had stayed with him all through the night when Scorpius couldn't sleep anymore. They had told him he wasn't allowed to go to Mama until the baby arrived. Papa was allowed. And Nanna, too. Only he had to remain here.

Outside in the corridor, he caught the sound of footsteps. Papa's footsteps, he was certain of it. Scorpius slid off the sofa, his fingers still tightly clenched into the snake's tummy. When Papa stepped inside, he looked exhausted. He wasn't wearing a jacket, and his white shirt was rolled up to his elbows. But he was smiling. Ever so softly. Scorpius had never seen him look quite like that. Papa and Uncle Theo exchanged a look. Scorpius felt Theo’s warm hand upon his shoulder.

Papa hunkered down in front of Scorpius.

"She is waiting for you," Papa said gently.

"Is she... is she here?" Scorpius whispered, his eyes widening. "With Mama?"

Papa let out a short, infinitely happy chuckle and stroked Scorpius's head. "Yes, Scorpius. But we must be very careful with Mama and your sister, all right?"

His sister. Scorpius could hardly believe it! He had a sister. He was a big brother! Theo gave him an encouraging nudge forward.

"Go on then, short round," he said with a grin.

"Aren't you coming along?" Scorpius inquired. Somehow it felt rather strange that Uncle Theo wouldn't be part of it now. But Uncle Theo shook his head.

"No, short round. There are moments in life where I simply don't belong. Even I know that much."

He gripped Papa firmly by the shoulder.

"Congratulations, mate."

"Thank you," Draco said. "For everything." Then he held out his hand to Scorpius.

"Come on, Scorp. Let's go and meet your sister."

Holding Papa’s hand, Scorpius walked up the stairs. Each step felt as though he were walking toward the greatest secret in the world. When they stood before the heavy bedroom door, Papa pressed the handle down ever so quietly.

The room was bright, the curtains drawn wide back, and the golden autumn light flooded across the vast bed. And there lay Mama. She looked a little tired, but she was beaming like the sun. In her arm, she held a tiny bundle, tightly swaddled in a white blanket. Nanna stood by a washbasin, wringing out a white cloth.

"Hello, my big wizard," Mama whispered, extending her free hand toward him.

Scorpius clambered ever so carefully onto the edge of the bed. He scarcely dared to breathe. He looked down at the tiny face peeking out from the blanket. The baby had very fine, blonde curls and kept opening and closing her tiny fingers.

Scorpius’s heart hammered dreadfully fast. She was real! It had worked. Scorpius suddenly remembered the plush snake he had been clutching tightly to himself the entire time.

"This is for you," he whispered. Carefully, he placed it beside the little bundle, and Mama helped him arrange the snake around his little sister. "It’s been waiting for you for a very long time. I protected it for you. So that it can protect you now."

Mama was smiling and crying all at once. Papa sat down on the edge of the bed behind Scorpius, pulling him close in a warm embrace.

"Would you like to know her name?" Papa whispered, pressing a kiss onto the top of Scorpius's head. Scorpius nodded.

"Persephone," Mama breathed with a smile. Nanna placed the damp cloth upon her forehead.

It was a funny sort of name, but somehow Scorpius rather liked it. It sounded special, and his sister was something special.

"Our little pomegranate," Papa chuckled softly.

"You brought her to us, Scorpius," Mama said. "You and your magic."

Scorpius felt as though he might burst. He was so proud and so intensely happy. He watched his Mama as she gently rocked Persephone.

"May I hold her too?"

Papa laughed softly. "Of course you may, Scorp."

He shifted closer, and together they carefully nestled the tiny Persephone into Scorpius’s arms. His sister was light. Warm. Real.

And Scorpius was now absolutely certain of one thing:

He would have to ask Professor Neville if they could plant a pomegranate tree in the garden. Just in case Persephone ever wanted to become a big sister.