Title: An Interpretation on Justice (the Aurors and Assassins Mix)
Author: noticeably
Team: Epilogue
Prompt: Justice
Wordcount: 16,000
Rating: R
Warnings: Angst, character death, infidelity.
Summary: The little-known truth about floor sixteen and the department that inhabits it is this: the ten witches and wizards that sit in the front, while attending to things like paperwork and other trivial matters, are only a front to appease the few easily confused, lost individuals that happen to wander into the department unannounced, most usually when looking for another floor.
Author's Note Information on Justice (and the reversal) can be found here and here. Many thanks to my teammates for all of their help and encouragement! ♥

It's late when they arrive at the library, the stars just beginning to sparkle in the dark December sky. The shorter boy moves quickly towards the table furthest back and collapses into one of the chairs, his fingers twisting and pulling nervously at his silver and green tie. Noticing that there is a group of first-year Hufflepuffs sitting at the next table over, Albus casts them a cool gaze and, with a few harsh words, sends them sprinting for one of the tables closer to the door.

The taller one follows closely behind, his arms filled with books and parchment. He gives the Slytherin a disapproving look before taking the seat across from him and pulling out his Transfiguration book. "You shouldn't do that," Scorpius says, "Just because you're a Slytherin and a prefect doesn't mean you should abuse your power just to get us the table you want."

"I hardly think that Professor Parkinson will complain about me 'abusing my status'," says Albus, waving the criticism off as though it's nothing. Then, tugging at his tie again, he stares at his friend and says, "So you'll help me, then?"

Scorpius sighs and shifts his gaze away from his textbook, running a hand through his hair. "Help you with what?" he asks.

Albus scowls. "Did you listen to a word I said on the way here?"

"No," the other boy says, "I never listen to anything you say."

"I hate you," Albus mutters without conviction, fingers still pulling at his tie. A long, awkward moment of silence passes between them before he finally leans back in his chair and says, "Scorpius, please, I need your help with this."

"You need my help to spy on your family?" Scorpius replies doubtfully, his fingers drumming at the tabletop, smudging the wet ink across his essay.

"It's not spying!" Albus says defensively, not looking up from the table. "They're just acting really weird and—"

"When isn't your family acting weird?"

"Scorpius!"

"Sorry," the Ravenclaw says, not sounding very sorry at all. "You have to admit that your family is a bit odd, Al."

"Oh, like yours isn't!" Albus snaps. Ignoring the amused look that Scorpius gives him, he shifts a bit and then, after a long moment of silence, nods in defeat. "Yeah, they are," he admits, "but lately everyone's been acting weirder than usual."

"How so?" Scorpius asks, leaning forward with sudden interest.

"I don't know what's going on," Albus says, "but Mum and Dad are furious with each other—they're barely speaking anymore. Although, to be honest, I think it's probably better that they don't talk, because when they do, it gets ugly."

"Has it been like that all summer?"

"Yeah," Albus replies, "Mum will barely acknowledge Dad when Teddy is around, Dad gets really upset when Mum talks about work, and Teddy has been hanging around the house a lot more than usual, which I think is upsetting Mum. I'm not really sure why it would upset her, though, but it is. I don't think that James or Lily have really noticed that anything is going on, but then, they really didn't spend much time at home this summer."

"Oh."

"My family is fucked up," Albus admits after a moment, slouching in his seat.

"Your family is fucked up," Scorpius repeats in agreement after a moment, as though this is the only possible explanation.

Albus sighs. "I know," he says, "I know. But couldn't you just—"

"If it'll make you happy, I could ask my Dad if he's noticed your Dad acting any weirder than usual," Scorpius offers after a long moment, sighing. "I'll see him tomorrow night, when I get home for break. Maybe he's noticed something? I mean, they have to see each other at some point during the day, right?"

"Yeah," Albus says, perking up a bit. "I mean, my Dad is an Auror and your Dad is, um...what does your dad do at the Ministry, again?"

"I'm not sure," Scorpius replies, frowning a bit. "It's obviously really important, though, if he can't even tell me what he does in his department."

"Maybe he's like an Unspeakable," Albus offers, "but cooler."

"Yeah," Scorpius echoes, tugging at his own tie and giving Albus a grin. "Way cooler, I bet."

James looks back as well, the expression on his face slightly irritated. "Al, you tosser!" he shouts, making what Albus assumes is meant to be a rude gesture with his hand. "Are you coming? I'm hungry."

"You're always hungry!" Albus snaps, grabbing his bag and hoisting it up and over his shoulder. He's just about to start trudging along behind them when, out of the corner of his eye, he sees Scorpius talking to his father over near the barrier.

He watches the two of them for a long moment as they laugh about something. Scorpius makes a waving motion with his hand and says something that Albus can't quite make out, but he figures it must have been funny, because Draco laughs again, wrapping an arm around his son. Albus wishes that he could go over and talk with them, wishes that he could find out what's so funny, wishes that his father were here, laughing with him.

He isn't.

Albus is just about to move in their direction to say hello when Astoria Malfoy comes sliding through the barrier, looking slightly out of breath. It's a strange look to see on the normally regal woman, but it disappears almost immediately at the sight of her son as a bright smile breaks out on her face. Albus turns away then, almost feeling as though he's intruding, and something that he can't quite explain twists at his gut.

"Al!"

With another sigh, Albus chases after his siblings and thinks that maybe he should have stayed at school.

"I just don't feel much like rushing about at the last minute," Albus continues, "I've learned that procrastinating doesn't help much, in the long run."

His father is silent for a long time, staring at his coffee with an intense sort of concentration that makes Albus wonder what he's thinking about. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, Harry looks up, runs a hand through his unruly hair, and says, "Things have been a bit strange lately, haven't they?"

What an understatement, Albus thinks wryly. "What do you mean?" he says out loud, frowning a bit.

"I know that I haven't been around much," Harry says, "I mean, with work and all. Your mother and I, well..." His father trails off, looking uncertain. It's a strange look to see on his dad, and Albus is debating whether or not to ask him directly to tell him what's going on when his mother comes into the room, carrying a large parcel.

"Morning, Al," she says, smiling brightly at him. Then, noticing that his father is in the room as well, her smile fades just the slightest. Her voice is still cheerful when she speaks, but Albus can tell that it's not real. "Harry," she says briskly, setting the package on the table. "I haven't seen you much these last few days."

"Work," Harry says, not looking at Ginny. Studying the table closely, he adds, "Oliver Wood was found dead in his home a few days ago. They found his wife near the woods outside her house. Both were killed with Avada Kedavra." At this, he glances up at Ginny, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Albus narrows his eyes as his mother promptly drops the book that she was in the process of pulling out of the box. "What?" she says, an unreadable expression on her face. "What do you mean he was killed?"

Harry laughs, and it isn't a nice sound. "As far as I know, killed only has one meaning, Gin."

"Don't you dare start," his mother snaps, her voice rising slightly. "Don't you dare! Not now!"

"Of course, why would I want to start having this discussion now?" his father retorts, knuckles turning white as he grips his mug. "When you're so upset about your friend."

"I said not now!" Ginny screams, hurling the book in Harry's direction. Albus stares at his mother in shock as she breathes heavily, her red hair falling forward and obscuring her face from view. She shifts a moment later though, her face momentarily visible, and Albus swears that she's crying. "I said not now," she whispers again before turning on her heel and storming out of the room.

The silence that follows stretches on for what seems like forever, hanging above them like a heavy cloud, and despite Albus' numerous attempts, his father won't meet his insistent gaze. Another moment passes before Albus stands and walks hesitantly around the table. "Dad," he says, "I want to—"

"Get out! Get out! Get out!"

Albus blinks at his mother's screaming, loud enough that they can hear her all the way from the hallway, and whatever he had wanted to say to his father dies on the tip of his tongue. "What the hell?" he mutters, changing direction and moving over towards the door.

Another scream pierces the air, followed by a loud banging sound as someone stumbles over towards the kitchen door, cursing. "Morning Al," Teddy gasps a moment later as he pushes past him and moves into the room. "What's wrong with your mum?"

Harry's head snaps up at the sound of Teddy's voice, and he gives a long sigh. "It's complicated," he says, staring pointedly at the green-haired man. "I don't want to talk about it right now."

"Oh."

Albus frowns. "Dad, can I talk to you?"

"Why don't you go upstairs, Al?" Teddy says gently, suddenly at his side and gripping his shoulder. Steering him out through the door and over towards the stairs, he adds, "I think your dad just wants to forget about things right now."

"What?" Albus says, trying to wretch out of his grasp. "You have got to be joking, Ted. I was talking to him before you and mum interrupted us and I need to—"

Teddy moves quickly, blocking the doorway before Albus can attempt to move around him and go back into the room. "Stop being such a kid!" he snaps, giving Albus a reproachful look. "This isn't about you."

"Al," his father says suddenly, appearing next to Teddy. Leaning against the doorway, he tilts his head slightly and says, "I need to talk to Teddy about something. You and I, we'll finish talking later, all right?"

Albus casts them both a petulant look. He knows that it's immature on some level—he's sixteen, after all—but he can't help it. "Whatever," he says, turning and going up the stairs.

At the top of the stairs, Albus leans back against the wall and stares down at the now-empty hallway. Closing his eyes, he tilts his head and listens, his fingers clutching blindly at the railing behind him in an attempt to steady himself.

"Do you think he knows?" his father asks quietly, his voice soft and unsure. "He's always been perceptive and—I said no, Ted, not right now."

Teddy chuckles, and the sound makes Albus want to go downstairs to strangle the young man. "I doubt he knows," Teddy murmurs, and the hitch in his voice is vaguely familiar, although Albus can't for the life of him remember where he's heard it before. "Are you sure that you don't want too?" he continues, "We could go down to the study. I doubt that we'll be bothered there."

"I hope you're right," Harry murmurs, still sounding unsure. "I would—bloody hell, Ted! Can't you at least wait—"

Albus frowns as the discussion apparently cuts off there, and a moment later realizes that it's probably because they've left the kitchen. Shaking his head, he leans back against the wall, suddenly finding himself with more questions than answers.

That is precisely the way that they want things to be.

The little-known truth about floor sixteen and the department that inhabits it is this: the ten witches and wizards that sit in the front, while attending to things like paperwork and other trivial matters, are only a front to appease the few easily confused, lost individuals that happen to wander into the department unannounced, most usually when looking for another floor. As such, the title The Department of Internal Affairs is, for all intents and purposes, the polite way of saying hit men.

When hearing this term, Draco will tilt his head to the side and scowl, pointing out that he really rather prefers the term assassin, to be honest, thank you very much.

"Hit man sounds so common," he can vividly remember explaining over a pint one evening a few weeks ago to Martin Hammers, a new recruit fresh out of Hogwarts. "Besides, when most people hear 'hit man', they think 'hit wizard', and then they think of those idiots on the Auror squad that run around trying to capture convicts. We don't do that—we take care of direct threats to the Ministry itself, mate, whether they are individuals within or outside of it."

Draco takes pride in his work.

Sometimes, when he's feeling particularly nasty, he'll even go as far as to say that he enjoys some aspects of it. "It's a morbid, dirty job," he remembers telling the younger man, "but someone has to do it." He always refrains from mentioning that that 'someone', for the most part, is usually former Slytherin students who couldn't get any other jobs after the war. It was either join the department, or work in some mundane, low-paying job at the Leaky Cauldron.

"It was just a dog!" McMathers shouts, his voice loud enough that Draco can hear him from his own office, four doors down.

"You weren't sent to kill the dog," Flint snaps, sounding as though he's tired of having to argue this with the other man. "You were sent to kill the targets."

"We did kill them!" Eric snarls, his words short and curt. "The dog was in the way!"

"Then you should have Stunned it!"

Sighing, Draco gets up from his desk and walks over to the door, leaning out far enough that he can see down the hall. On days like today, he can't help but wonder if he wouldn't have been better off at the Leaky Cauldron. Fights like this—especially between Flint and McMathers—are more common than he'd like.

His view is suddenly blocked a moment later by Tracey Davis, who—having apparently heard the shouting as well (Draco wonders how anyone could miss it)—suddenly leans out of her office as well. "Eric killed a dog?" she asks, turning back and casting Draco a curious look.

"Yes, the other night when we were sent to take out Oliver Wood and his wife," Draco replies.

"Oliver?" Tracey repeats, blinking. "I liked him a lot, he was always very nice in school—well, outside of Quidditch, at any rate. What did he do to get on the List?"

"No idea," replies Draco, still eyeing the door down the hall. "All I know is that someone high up in the Ministry sent down a memo."

"I heard that Potter went with a team of Aurors a few nights ago to investigate a murder," Tracey says, casting Draco an expectant look. "I suppose that was the two of you? Well, I do hope that you and Eric cleaned up after yourselves."

"Of course we did," Draco says, "Besides, Potter and his squad can look all they like. They won't find anything."

Tracey nods and says, "It's all for show, anyway, I suppose. Internal Affairs has been around for nearly five hundred years now, and they've never managed to solve a murder from the List."

Tracey tilts her head. "Strange," she says. "You'd think they'd be a bit more competent. At any rate, I've got one tonight. Older bloke, graduated the year we started at Hogwarts. Proming is his name, I think, Alexander Proming."

Draco is just about to reply when the door down the hall bursts open. Eric storms out a moment later, his fingers clenched around his wand, his dark hair obscuring his eyes from view. "You're a fucking pathetic Hufflepuff, Flint!" he snarls from the hallway, slamming the door to their bosses office hard enough that it sends a picture hanging just off to the side off of the wall, the glass shattering across the floor.

When Eric storms past the two of them a moment later, Tracey and Draco both avert their gaze and wisely choose to refrain from saying anything to him—they both know him well enough to know that he'll get over his mood in a few hours. Tracey looks as though she's just about to say something else when a flash of light explodes inside of every office, bursting through the doorways and the blinds and sending a litany of cursing into the air.

"Looks like the new List is here," Tracey says, turning and walking back into her office. "I didn't think that we would get a new one until after Christmas."

"Me either," Draco says, staring at his desk.

"Talk to you later, then, Draco." Susan says, waving as she closes her office door.

"Yeah," he replies, walking back into his own office. Sitting down at his desk, he runs his fingers across the still-warm piece of parchment, eying it with a detached sort of interest. Leaning back and picking up his now-lukewarm coffee with one hand, he lifts the parchment with the other and reads.

TO: The Department of Internal Affairs
FROM: -----
DATE: December 16th, 2020
SUBJECT: Updates to The List.

Congratulations on a job well done! We were most pleased with the efficiency and timeliness that the Wood, Martin-Machoon, and Gorning problems were taken care of, and we hope to see this trend continued in the future.

The following is the current List, with completed assignments struck out (these will be removed when the January list is released), and three new additions. These additions are marked in red, and the highest ranking is of particular interest and priority. We leave it up to Director Flint to make what he feels are the best assignments in order to complete the list by the first of the month.

Marcus Mahoodly
Ginerva Potter
Grely Kingsman
Harper Gorning
Samuel Jarlyez
Oliver Wood
Samantha Wood
Alexander Proming
Brinson Parker
Cho Chang
James Martin-Machoon
Marietta Edgecomb

If you have any questions about any of the above, please direct them to Director Flint. With that said, we wish you all a Happy Christmas!

Draco stares at the paper for what seems like forever, unaware that his hand is trembling. Potter is on the List, he thinks to himself, Ginny Potter is on the List. A moment passes, and Draco shakes his head thinking, No, it has to be a mistake. A misprint, perhaps, because there is no way that anyone would even think of trying to get rid of Ginny Potter.

"Did you see the List?" Eric asks excitedly, walking unannounced into Draco's office. A quick glance shows that Eric has gotten over his earlier anger and is back to being his normal self. "Ginny Potter is on it!"

Draco scowls. "I do know how to read, McMathers."

"I wonder who wants her gone," Eric continues thoughtfully, clearly choosing to ignore Draco's sarcasm. Jumping onto Draco's desk, Eric pulls his legs up and says, "Maybe it's Potter? You know, the other one."

"Don't be daft," Draco says, "Potter would never do that to his beloved little wife." The moment that the words are out of his mouth, though, something that Scorpius had said strikes him. Albus said that something fucked up is going on at home, Draco thinks, idly twirling a quill. What if Potter... Shaking his head, Draco pushes away the thoughts. No, he thinks, it couldn't be Potter. He doesn't have the balls to do something like that.

"I wonder who Flint will be giving that one to?" Eric murmurs, studying the List with an unhidden curiosity.

"I doubt that Flint will tell the rest of us," Tracey interjects from the doorway, entering Draco's office uninvited. Pushing a strand of hair back from her face, she sits in one of the empty chairs surrounding the desk and says, "I'm sure they wouldn't want anyone to intervene, after all. This is going to be a big one."

"Yeah," Draco says, a feeling he can't quite place twisting at his gut. "Really big."

"Doesn't Potter have children?" asks Eric.

"Three," Draco replies. "Her youngest son, Albus, is my son's best friend."

"Oh," Tracey says softly, "that will make things difficult for you, won't it?"

"Yeah," Draco says. A moment later he glances at the clock, and his eyes widen as he registers the time. "I'm late!" he says, cutting Eric off. Getting up from his desk, he walks over to the door, grabbing his cloak on the way. At the doorway, suddenly remembering that he has company, he turns around and gives both Eric and Tracey an apologetic look. "I'll be back later," he says. "I told Scorpius that we'd have lunch together."

"Oh, that's so cute!" Tracey says.

Eric snorts. "Draco doesn't do cute."

Yeah, Draco thinks, his mind already racing as he tries to come up with a way to corner Potter alone. Real cute.

It becomes increasingly apparent to Draco that Harry Potter may be the most difficult person to locate within the Ministry, let alone the most difficult person to manage a moment alone with. Draco has always loved a challenge, though, and roams the halls whenever he manages to get out of his office in an attempt to look for the Auror. He even endures an exchange of words with Weasley, a feat in itself that shows just how desperate Draco really is.

Despite his best efforts, however, it takes another two days before Draco finds a moment to speak to Potter. It seems that the other man has been preoccupied with some case or another, and has hardly been in his office. Draco doesn't let that deter him, though, and the moment his spots the familiar unruly hair, he sprints down the hall in an attempt to catch up. Pushing his way through the crowd, Draco realizes at the last moment that he'll lose the other man if he doesn't do something to stop him.

"Potter!"

Potter stops at the sound of his voice and turns, the large pile of parchments and files in his hands leaning precariously to the side. "What do you need?" he starts to say, only to stop short at the realization of just who it is that's talking to him. "Oh, Malfoy, what do you want?"

Draco is not stupid, and he notices the change in Potter's tone right away. The childish part of him wants to hex Potter as he would have when they were in school, but the more mature part points out that hexing Potter will do little to help his cause. Deciding a moment later to go with his more mature side, Draco momentarily pushes away his anger and says through gritted teeth, "May I have a moment, Potter?"

Potter frowns. "I suppose."

"Let's go to your office," Draco says, pushing past Potter and moving down the hallway.

Potter curses, the papers in his hand tilting even further to the side as Draco brushes past. Balancing them in one hand and reaching for his wand with the other, he whispers a quick spell to keep them from tumbling and says, "Why do we have to go to my office, Malfoy? Can't you just talk to me now? I'm on my way to a meeting."

Draco turns his head slightly and says, "Trust me, Potter, you don't want to have this discussion in a hallway."

Potter frowns and casts Draco a long look, studying him through narrowed eyes, almost as though trying to decide whether or not to trust him. "Fine," he says after a moment, apparently satisfied by whatever it is that he's seen. "Let's go to my office."

Draco rolls his eyes and continues down the hall, pushing and shoving his way through the crowd. Ignoring the indignant sounds and the muffled cursing that follows him, Draco opens the door to Potter's office and steps inside. Potter follows further behind, stepping inside a moment later and casting Draco a disapproving look. "You're rude," he says.

"You act as though you're surprised, Potter."

Potter frowns and moves over to a table in the corner to set down the stack of papers. "What do you want, Malfoy?" he asks, his voice tired. "I don't have all day."

"Your wife is in trouble," Draco starts, collapsing into Potter's chair and casting him a look. "She's in a lot of trouble."

Potter stands by the door and looks at Draco, a cold look on his face. "What the fuck do you mean, Malfoy?" he snaps.

Draco tilts his head and says, "Normally I wouldn't care at all—I wouldn't even be here, to be honest. But considering that your son is my son's best friend, I feel as though I'm obligated."

"Obligated to do what?" Potter snarls, staring at Draco, his fingers inching closer and closer to the pocket that holds his wand.

"Going to hex me, Potter?" Draco says, tilting his head up just slightly and casting Potter an amused look. "You won't get much of anything out of me if you do, you know."

"You're threatening my wife!" he says, scowling. "Why shouldn't I hex you?"

Rolling his eyes, Draco leans back in his chair and says, "I'm trying to save your wife, you bloody idiot."

"Save her?" Potter blinks. "Save her from what? What the hell are you on about, Malfoy?"

"Your wife isn't going to be around much longer, Potter." says Draco, poking curiously at a small black eight-ball sitting upon Potter's desk. "Not unless you get it through your thick skull that you need to get her out of the country as soon as possible."

Potter stands rigid, his lips pressed into a thin line. "I think you need to leave, Malfoy."

Draco sighs, "You're not going to listen to a word I've said, are you?"

"You need to leave," Potter replies, "You need to leave right now."

Pushing himself up from his seat, Draco walks over to the door and stands beside Potter. The other man tenses up, almost as though afraid, and tries unsuccessfully to move away. "Get your wife out of the country now and she'll live. Don't say I didn't try to warn you," Draco says quietly, his voice barely audible. Potter casts him an angry, confused look, but Draco ignore it and walks out into the crowded hallway. I tried, he reassures himself, At least I tried.

A week passes, but for Draco, it feels like an eternity. He scans the papers inside and out, day after day, waiting for some kind of hint as to whether or not Weasley (Potter, his mind supplies helpfully, Her name is Potter now) is still alive. It never occurs to him during his time of distress that such an epic, tragic event would make the front page. All he knows is that he knows—knows that she only has limited time left, that she'll be gone soon, that there is nothing that he can do to change that.

On the morning of the twenty-fourth Draco gives a heavy sigh and unceremoniously tosses his copy of The Daily Prophet across the table, giving up. He watches, fascinated, as it lands in Astoria's coffee and soaks up what little liquid remains in the cup. "Bloody hell," he says, "Bloody fucking hell."

"Still no news?" Astoria asks quietly, glancing up from whatever parchment she's reading and giving him a concerned look.

Draco sighs again and runs a hand through his hair. "No," he says, "I haven't heard anything."

"You tried to warn Potter," Astoria says, shifting closer. "I think that's the best that you can do. You aren't responsible for what happens next, Draco."

"You're right," Draco replies, "I know that you're right. I just can't help but wonder if there wasn't something else I could do, you know, to warn him."

Astoria frowns and leans forward in her seat, pushing back a strand of blond hair. "Draco, your Wizard's Oath makes it impossible for you to come right out and say what's going to happen until it has. You can leave him hints, and you can allude to it, and you did both. Maybe Potter isn't half as much of an idiot as you say he is," she says reasonably, making Draco snort at the thought. "Maybe he's figured it out. Perhaps they've left the country?"

"Perhaps," Draco says.

Astoria sighs, leaning back in her seat. "I never cared much for Ginny Potter," she says, studying her coffee with interest. "She was always a nasty, rude girl at school."

Draco snorts at that, casting his wife an amused look. "If I remember correctly," he says, "you weren't exactly considered nice, either. I'm sure she thought the same of you."

"Of course, you were a well-loved and adored individual," Astoria continues, giving him an amused look. "That must be why you and Potter got on so well."

"Potter was—and still is—an idiot," Draco says haughtily. "His saving my life doesn't change that."

Astoria raises an eyebrow and says, "You were—and still are—an arse, Draco. You're attempting to warn him about his wife doesn't change that, either."

"I hate you."

"You love me," Astoria murmurs, casting him an amused look.

Draco shrugs and says, "I do."

That appears to be the end of that, and the two of them spend the rest of their morning sitting in an awkward, heavy silence. Astoria sips at her coffee and reads her book, her fingers curling loosely around the spine as her eyes scan the pages. Draco dries the paper and settles back in his chair, his eyes scanning the pages once more. Neither mentions the Potters again, but the knowledge of what is coming hangs above them nonetheless.

Another hours passes before Scorpius comes tumbling into the sitting room, a look of panic on his face. "Mother!" he says, running over to them. "Father!"

Astoria and Draco look up at the same time, matching expressions of confusion on their faces. As sixteen, Scorpius is far beyond the age where he runs to his parents every time that something he doesn't like happens, so the sight of him rushing into the sitting room and looking ruffled makes Draco swallow uncomfortably. "What's wrong?" he asks, standing.

Scorpius rushes past him and into his mother's arms, curling into her in a way that he hasn't done since he was a child. "I just got an owl from Albus," he says, burrowing his head into Astoria's neck.

Astoria looks up at Draco from her place in her chair, a blank expression on her face. "Draco—"

"His mother is dead!" Scorpius continues, "She's dead."

Well, fuck, Potter. Draco thinks, staring at his son. Fuck.

They have the funeral on a Sunday morning in early January, the cool breeze and light snowfall doing nothing to improve the general atmosphere of the proceedings. Scorpius stands beside Albus, one hand wrapped snuggly around the bottom of his scarf and the other resting lightly on his friend's shoulder. He watches as they lower Mrs. Potter into the ground, watches as Albus blinks back tears, refusing to cry openly like his brother and sister are. He watches them as one chapter of their lives ends.

We're not children anymore, Scorpius thinks, casting Albus a helpless look. We could never be children after something like this.

"She's gone," says Albus, his voice empty and his expression blank. Turning to look at Scorpius he says, "What do I do, now that she's gone?"

Scorpius wants to answer, wants to be able to reassure his friend. He can't, though, because Scorpius has never lost a parent and, no matter how hard he thinks, he doesn't know what the right thing is to say. So he doesn't say anything at all and simply pulls Albus close, wrapping an arm around the shorter boy and giving him a crushing hug. "It'll be okay," Scorpius whispers, hoping desperately that it isn't a lie. "It'll be a while, but eventually, it will be okay."

Beside them, James stands stoic, his fingers clenched tightly into a fist at his side. He doesn't look at the casket, instead looking up towards the dull, cloudy grey sky. "I can't remember her like this," he says, choking. A moment later, he turns and walks back towards the trees, his shoulders hunched in defeat.

Albus' father looks as though he's going to follow, but Lupin stops him with a hand on his shoulder and says, "I'll go after him, Harry."

Mr. Potter nods and watches for a moment as Lupin brushes back a strand of hair—today a somber shade of brown for the occasion—and rushes after James. "James!" he shouts, "James, please wait!"

James doesn't and instead speeds up his pace, clearly wanting to be alone. Lupin doesn't seem to let that deter him, though, and a moment later manages to catch up to him. James attempts to shrug away, but Lupin grabs his arm and pulls, whispering something to the red-haired man. Whatever he said seems to calm James a bit and he sags into Lupin's embrace, fingers digging into Lupin's arms, almost as though he's afraid that he'll leave him as well.

"Dad?" asks Lily, the sound of her voice enough to cause Scorpius to shift his gaze back to those around him.

Her father looks down at her and pulls her in close. "Yes?"

She sniffles and uses part of her sleeve to unsuccessfully wipe the tears out of her eyes, the movement smudging her black eyeliner on her face. "Is James going to be okay?" she asks, looking up at her father.

Mr. Potter nods and runs his fingers through her hair before leaning down to press a kiss against the top of her head. "He'll be all right, Lils."

Hermione Weasley moves up behind Al's father and whispers something in his ear. He looks relieved at whatever it is that she says and nods briefly before looking back down at his daughter. "Lily, Aunt Hermione is going to take you over to her house for awhile until I get back. I still have a few things to do before I come home."

She frowns and says, "What about Al?"

At the mention of his name, Albus tenses slightly in Scorpius' arms, but does not attempt to pull away. Mr. Potter looks at them for a moment before turning back to Lily and saying, "Al will be along in a bit."

The frown never leaves Lily's face, but she nods anyway and gives her father another hug before walking away with her Aunt. Her father watches her leave, the expression on his face one that Scorpius has never seen before. There's a long moment of silence that follows Lily's departure before Mr. Potter finally turns towards his youngest son and says, "Al."

Albus tenses even more, if that's possible, his fingers digging and bruising Scorpius' arm. Scorpius winces slightly, suddenly understanding how Lupin must have felt a few moments ago, but doesn't allow Albus to see it. After all, it wouldn't do for Albus to become more upset because he thinks that he's hurting Scorpius.

"Albus?" his father says, moving closer. "Albus, please, I need to talk to you."

Scorpius suddenly feels himself moving and realizes that Albus is turning them, trying somewhat unsuccessfully to position Scorpius between himself and his father. Scorpius blinks and looks over Albus' shoulder at his own parents, both of which are standing just a few feet away. He gives them a desperate look that clearly says, what do I do?

His mother shrugs at him and his father is too busy staring at Albus' father to answer. Scorpius looks at his father and wonders what he's thinking. He knows that his parents have never really gotten along with Albus', so it surprised him a bit to see them both attend Ginny Potter's funeral. Not that he's complaining, of course, because he's glad that his parents are here with him.

"Al," Mr. Potter tries again, now standing right beside them. Reaching out and settling a hand on Albus' shoulder he says, "Please don't push me away."

"I have to go," Albus says suddenly, shrugging out of his fathers grasp and pulling abruptly away from Scorpius. Staring at them for a long moment, he turns and walks further into the cemetery. "I can't be here right now and I can't talk to you right now, Dad."

Albus' father stares after him, looking as though he had been slapped. After a moment he shifts and casts a strange look in the direction of Scorpius and his parents. Then, turning to Scorpius he says, "Scorpius, would you please go and keep an eye on him for me?"

Scorpius shrugs and says, "All right, Mr. Potter."

"Thank you," the older man says and, for the first time that day, Scorpius thinks that he sees a genuine—if somewhat strained—smile on his face. "I'm glad that Albus has a good friend like you, you know."

I didn't know, Scorpius thinks, blinking. I always thought you hated me. Shrugging out of his thoughts, though, Scorpius says aloud, "Thanks."

Mr. Potter nods, giving Scorpius another small smile. The smile fades, however, as he looks over at Scorpius' parents. The look on his face is strange, and Scorpius suddenly feels awkward. He's debating with himself about whether or not to speak when Mr. Potter looks back at Scorpius and says, "I'll see you and Al later, then."

With that, Mr. Potter walks away, his steps controlled and angry. Scorpius looks back over to his parents and his mother, catching his gaze, motions for him to go. Scorpius does, casting one look back at his father —who looks as though he wants to scream—before sprinting away in an attempt to catch up with Albus.

Suddenly, Scorpius doesn't think that Albus is being paranoid anymore. Something strange is going on, he thinks as he jogs over to his friend. And we're going to figure out what it is.

It takes a full week after Ginny's funeral before Harry finally manages to convince Albus to talk to him again, and yet another week after that before Harry can finally convince him to come out of his room. So when Albus finally emerges from his bedroom early one Tuesday morning, most likely sick of his fathers constant nagging, Harry can't help but be somewhat pleased. The feeling is short lived, though, as he stares at the mess that is his son. Albus looks nearly dead himself, observes Harry critically, his skin pale and his eyes tinged red from crying.

"Hi," Albus croaks, looking at his father. "Where are Lily and James?"

"At your Uncle George's," Harry replies, staring at his youngest son. "Why don't you come downstairs? I'll make you some breakfast."

"I'm not hungry," Albus says. He follows Harry downstairs anyway, though, and after a moment asks, "Can I have some toast, too?"

"Of course," Harry says, prepared at this point to cook Albus a cake for breakfast if he asks for it.

They go downstairs together and Harry steers Albus over to the kitchen table, pushing him down into one of the seats and handing him the remote to the telly. "Put something on," he tells him, "and I'll make us some eggs."

Albus nods and grabs the remote from his father. Pushing a few select buttons, he flips through the channels for a few moments before finally settling on the news. He doesn't watch, though, and instead puts his head down on the table and stares in the general direction of the sitting room.

Harry watches him from the stove and bites at his lip. He doesn't pay much attention to what he's doing—he's cooked this meal so many times that his fingers know the routine well—and instead studies his son. It strikes him as being odd that of all three of his children, Albus is the one taking things the hardest. Albus had always been fond of his mother—Harry would never try to deny that—but of all three, it had been Lily and James that had been the closest to their mother. Albus had always been closer to Harry and perhaps it's because of that, Harry thinks to himself, that his reaction to Ginny's death is something that surprises him. Harry would have more expected it more from Lily, to be honest.

"Dad?" asks Albus.

Harry snaps out of his thoughts and looks over at his son, who is now sitting up and staring back at him. "Yes, Al?" he replies, tilting his head curiously.

Albus bites at his own lip for a moment, almost as though he's debating whether or not to say what he's thinking. "Do you miss Mum?" he asks after a second, giving Harry a long look.

Harry swallows and says, "Of course I do, love."

He doesn't.

After managing to get Albus back into the open, it takes Harry a third week to finally succeed in convincing all three of his children that they need to return to school. He doesn't blame them for not wanting to go back right now—he wouldn't have either, he supposes, if he had been their age when his own parents had died. However, the fact remains that the three of them —James, especially, with exams growing closer—need to get back before they fall too far behind.

Two days later, Harry finds himself sitting in the Headmistresses office with James, Lily, Albus and Teddy. James and Lily seem exceedingly pleased that Teddy has come along to see them off, but Albus spends the entirety of the meeting glaring at him, a murderous expression on his face. Harry frowns a bit at that and files it away for later scrutiny.

"Rose and Hugo Weasley have come down to help you take your things back to Gryffindor Tower," Minerva says, snapping Harry away from his thoughts and motioning at Lily and James. "The two of you may leave."

James stands and gives Harry and Teddy both a nod before exiting the office. Lily is a bit more enthusiastic with her goodbye. She proceeds to rush over to the couch and cling to both of them, constantly sniffling. "I love you," she says, holding onto Harry with surprising strength.

Albus rolls his eyes from his seat as his sister finally leaves the room before looking at the Headmistress. "What about me, Professor McGonagall?"

"Mr. Malfoy will be up here in a moment to help you, Albus."

Despite his apparent dislike for Teddy's presence and the situation at hand, Albus visibly perks up at the mention of his best friend's name. He frowns suddenly, though, and says, "Professor, Scorpius is a Ravenclaw."

"I am well aware of which house Mr. Malfoy is in," Minerva says, smiling at him. "However, given the current situation, I thought perhaps it would be good for you to spend some time with a friend. Mr. Malfoy has been given temporary access to the Slytherin common room while he helps you."

Albus grins again at this, apparently pleased. Then, turning to Harry he asks, "How long will you be here?"

"Just until you leave with Scorpius," Harry says, "Teddy and I have to get going after that. We both have work tomorrow."

Albus scowls a bit at the mention of Teddy, but seems to let it go. "Will you come up to visit?" he asks.

"Of course," Harry says, smiling at him. "Just owl me and I'll be up, all right?"

Albus looks as though he's going to say something else, but whatever it is dies on his tongue as Scorpius Malfoy pokes his head in. "Hello," he says, "Professor Flitwick told me that you wanted to see me?"

"Ah," Minerva says, "Mr. Malfoy, I'd like you to help Mr. Potter take his things down to his dormitory. You'll be allowed into the Slytherin common rooms for this purpose."

"Of course," Scorpius says, casting Albus a curious look. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah," Albus says, "Just give me a moment."

Scorpius nods and leaves the room, but not before giving Harry and Teddy a strange look, his grey eyes narrowed thoughtfully, almost as though he's studying them. Harry shifts uncomfortably under the scrutiny, although he can't quite figure out why. Scorpius Malfoy has always made Harry uneasy—not because he happens to be Malfoy's son, but because Scorpius has always had an uncanny knack for knowing more than he seems to let on.

"See you later," Harry says, giving the two boys a quick wave. Standing, Harry tilts his head and gives Minerva a slight nod. "Thanks for all of your help," he says.

"Not a problem," she replies, standing as well. "I'll talk to you later, Harry."

Harry nods and beside him, Teddy stands as well. "Headmistress," he says.

She smiles at Teddy and says, "It was nice to see you, Teddy. You're always welcome to stop by more often, you know."

Teddy looks at Harry, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "What are you thinking?"

"Albus asked me last week if I missed Ginny."

Teddy stops and turns, his currently-orange eyes wide. "What did you say to him?"

"I told him yes," Harry says, shrugging. "What was I supposed to say? That I didn't? You don't tell your sixteen-year-old son that you're fucking relieved that his mother is dead, Teddy. It's bad form."

"I suppose that you're right," Teddy says softly, looking at the ground. Then, looking up at Harry through blue bangs, he says, "Do you miss her at all?"

He's silent for a long time, mulling over the question. It won't occur to him until much later that he shouldn't have to think about it. "I miss who Ginny was," Harry says finally, looking down at his hands. "I miss who I used to be, but I don't miss who she became—who I became when I was with her."

Teddy frowns and says, "You're a good person, Harry."

"I'm not," Harry assures him, "I'm not half as great as you seem to think."

"That's not true!" Teddy snaps, leaning forward and pressing a firm kiss against Harry's lips. A month ago, the movement would have aroused Harry but now it does nothing but make something that he won't admit is guilt twist at his stomach.

"Please don't," Harry says, pulling away from Teddy. "Not right now."

Teddy frowns. "Harry, why are you pushing me away?"

"I'm not pushing you away!"

"Yes you are!" Teddy takes a step forward, his eyes darkening to a deep crimson. "Why?"

"You're exaggerating things," Harry says coldly, "I'm not pushing you away, Ted."

"Don't treat me like I'm a fucking child!" Teddy snaps, shoving Harry forcefully back against the wall and moving forward. Trapping Harry against the wall he twists his fingers into the fabric of his robes and pulls him forward. "Why are you pushing me away?" he repeats, into the curve of Harry's ear, his own tone as cold as his was only moments earlier.

"I can't do this right now." Harry moves back further. "Just, give me some time, Teddy. I don't know what to think right now"

"Time?" repeats Teddy. "Just how much time do you need, Harry? Do you think I'm just going to wait around forever for you to decide what you want?" Teddy scowls at him, his hair now as red as his eyes, and storms down the hall, refusing to look back when Harry makes a single, feeble attempt at calling him back.

Sighing, Harry leans back against the wall and runs a hand through his hair. He will never tell Teddy this, he thinks as he watches the younger man turn the corner, but he did.

Draco sits up with a start and gropes around for his wand. Breathing again only when his fingers wrap around the cool, familiar wood, he pulls it away from the nightstand and stares towards the door to the bedroom, his body rigid and alert. A quick glance at the bedside clock tells him that it's two-thirty in the morning and Draco frowns, wondering who—or what—would be trying to force their way into their home at this time of morning.

Bang. Bang.

Astoria shifts next to Draco, her eyes snapping open. Frowning at Draco from her side of the bed, she sits up slowly, a cautious expression on her face. "Draco?" she hisses, glancing at him. "What the hell is that?"

Bang. Bang. Bang.

"Malfoy! Malfoy, open up the fucking door!"

Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.

"It's that idiot Potter," Draco replies, visibly relaxing. "Probably here to blame me for his wife's death. He's good at that sort of thing."

Astoria scowls. "Why is he here so early? Can't he rage at you in the morning like any other sane person?"

"No idea," Draco says, getting out of the bed and padding over to the closet to grab his robe. "I'll tend to him, though. You go back to sleep."

Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bangbangbangbang.

"I know you're home, Malfoy!" Potter screams. "If you don't let me in, I'll blow down the door!"

"I'm fucking coming!" Draco shouts downstairs. "Merlin, that man doesn't let up, does he?"

Astoria snorts. "Did he actually threaten to blow down our front door?"

"Mmm," Draco replies, "Bloody idiot. I suddenly think that I know where Albus get's his melodramatic side from."

Astoria snorts again and pulls the covers back up. "See you in a bit," she murmurs sleepily.

Draco doesn't reply. He simply walks out of the room and down the stairs, muttering all the way. When he gets to the door and pulls it open, Potter freezes with his first raised in midair as though he was just about to start pounding again. "Morning, Potter," Draco says dryly, scowling at the other man.

"How did you know what was going to happen to Ginny?" Potter starts without pause, pushing his way through the door and past Draco into the hallway.

Draco scowls out into the night, as Potter moves around behind him. "Please, Potter, do come in!" he says mockingly, forcing a smile on his face as he closes the door and turns around. "My house is your house, you know."

"Cut the bullshit!" Potter snaps. "How did you know? Were you involved?"

"Not directly," Draco admits. Then, seeing the look on Potter's face, he rolls his eyes and says, "I don't know who did it, either. All I know is that your wife ended up on the List a week or so before Christmas."

The silence that follows this statement is long, and Potter seems unable to form words. After a moment, he suddenly laughs. "You have to be fucking kidding me, Malfoy." Potter says, staring at Draco as though he's never seen someone so desperate. "You're telling me that you're a hit man for the fucking Ministry?"

"I prefer the term assassin," Draco says, refusing to let Potter pull him into yet another one of their juvenile, teenage spats. "And, yes, that's exactly what I'm telling you."

Potter snorts. "And my wife was put on 'the List', which really exists."

"Probably because she was shagging Wood," Draco muses.

Potter freezes at that, his eyes widening. "I—you— what? How did you know about that?"

"I was the one that killed Wood," Draco says, casting him an amused glance. "I saw a paper on his desk that night that mentioned your beloved little wife."

"You killed Wood?"

"I did just say that, didn't I?"

"You killed Wood?" Potter repeats, staring.

Draco sighs, "How many times must I repeat myself? Yes, Potter, I killed him."

Potter looks sincerely torn between wanting to congratulate Draco and wanting to arrest him. His Auror side seems to win the internal battle, though, because a moment later Potter says, "I should arrest you, Malfoy. You just admitted to murder."

"Go ahead." Draco shrugs. "You'll be the one that gets sacked, not me."

Potter frowns. "What do you mean?"

"Potter, the murders related to the List are not meant to be solved." Draco points out, moving around him and taking a seat on the couch. "Why do you think that, despite your best efforts, so many of your cases go unsolved?"

"They do not!" Potter says, sounding offended. "My Aurors are good at what they do and we always—"

"I never said that your Aurors aren't good at what they do," Draco says, "You're overreacting, Potter. I simply pointed out that if you were to go back through your files and look at your unsolved cases, the majority of them would probably be individuals that appeared on the List.

"You're full of it, Malfoy!" Potter snarls, standing. "The hit men and the List do not exist. You're just using a Ministry legend as an excuse!"

"Assassins," corrects Draco.

Potter scowls.

"Potter, if you really believe that, why haven't you arrested me?"

"What do you mean?" Potter says, looking confused.

"You know exactly what I mean," Draco replies, studying him. "You know that every word I've said is true."

Potter frowns. "If this is true—and I'm not saying that it is—then why did you tell me about Wood? I'd always heard that anyone who deals with the List was put under an oath of secrecy."

"We are," Draco says, "The oath only lasts until the individual on the List is dead. After that, we can talk about it all we like. We just don't because, well, that would be stupid."

"You told me," Potter says.

"You can't do anything about it," Draco points out. "There's really no harm about it. Besides, I saw you earlier. You're glad that Wood is dead."

Potter sputters. "I am not!"

"Yes you are," Draco replies. "Your wife was cheating on you with Oliver Wood, and you wanted to see him suffer for it."

"I didn't like Wood," Potter admits after a moment, sitting down across from Draco. Leaning back in his chair he studies the ground for a moment and chews nervously at his lip. Then he looks up and says, "I didn't want him dead, though."

Draco raises an eyebrow and leans forward in his seat, on hand reaching up to keep his robe from slipping down his shoulders. "You didn't?"

"No!" Potter says, sounding shocked. "I just..."

"You just what?"

"I fucking hated him!" Potter snaps, standing again and pacing around the room. "Ginny and I were happy and then he came along and he fucking stole her from me, Malfoy! He fucking stole my wife and ruined out lives!"

Draco blinks, suddenly wondering when he became Harry Potter's therapist. "He ruined your life? Isn't that a bit melodramatic, Potter?"

"No! He ruined it! Everything was going along fine and she didn't know!" he snaps, making a harsh motion with his hand. "Then Wood came along and he acted like he fucking knew everything! He told Ginny things—things that weren't true, I might add—and ruined things between us." Potter gasps for breath at the end of his tirade, his eyes wide and furious.

"What sort of things did he tell her?" Draco asks, looking curious.

"Nothing," Potter replies, pulling back suddenly, a strange expression on his face. "Look, Malfoy...I'm sorry I woke you up. I just— I need to go."

With that, Potter grabs his coat and rushes out of the room. Draco sits there for a long time, mulling over their conversation and wondering just how much stranger things could possibly get.

"I have a theory," Albus says, walking through the library and slamming a book down on the table in front of Scorpius. Scorpius jerks at the sound and gives Albus an irritated look. Albus ignores it, sits down across from him and says, "Would you like to hear it?"

"No?"

"Scorpius!"

Scorpius sighs, "What kind of a theory, Al?"

"I think that Teddy killed my Mum," Albus begins, pulling a large book out of his bag and leafing through the pages, looking for something. "Or hired someone to kill her. I'm still a bit hazy on the details."

Albus doesn't look up from his book right away and continues to flip through the pages, intent on finding what he needs to prove his theory to his friend. However, after about minute of silence, he finally looks up to see Scorpius staring at him with wide eyes and an open jaw. "Could you repeat that?" Scorpius says after a moment.

"I think that Teddy killed my Mum," Albus repeats tiredly, reaching up to rub at his neck.

"No," Scorpius says, "It doesn't sound any saner the second time."

"I know that you think that I'm crazy," Albus replies, ignoring the jibe and blinking rapidly—it's been so long since he's had a good night of sleep and he can barely stay awake. "But I assure you that I'm not. I have proof."

Scorpius stares at him. "You have proof that Teddy Lupin killed your mother?"

"Yes," Albus says, feeling smug. "Would you like to hear it?"

Scorpius shakes his head, almost as though he's hoping that it will somehow help him get through this. Albus isn't really sure, but he doesn't dwell on it. Scorpius may not believe him now, but he will.

"I suppose," Scorpius says. "What is it?"

"Teddy is in love with my Dad," Albus says promptly. "I found a book in his flat—"

"You broke into his flat?" Scorpius gapes, cutting him off.

Albus shrugs. "I really didn't have any other choice. Anyway, I found a book in his flat—this book, actually." he says, motioning to the book on the table. "I looked through it and found all of these weird letters between him and my Dad hidden in the pages."

"Is your Dad in love with Teddy?"

"I'm not sure." Albus shifts and rubs at his neck again, his shoulders tense. "It doesn't matter, though. I think that Teddy killed my Mum so that he could be with my Dad."

Scorpius raises an eyebrow at him. For a moment, Albus is struck by how much like his father Scorpius can really be. "When do you plan on showing the accused your evidence?"

"This weekend," Albus says without missing a beat.

"Isn't this weekend a Hogsmeade weekend?" Scorpius asks, looking confused. And then, a moment later, "No."

"Yes," Albus replies.

"No." Scorpius shakes his head. "I am not sneaking out of Hogsmeade with you to go home and cause more drama, Albus."

Albus grins. "Of course you aren't."

Scorpius sighs but doesn't say anything and Albus knows that he's won the battle.

Samuel Jarlyez is a screamer.

Draco supposes that he should have expected that—after all, he'd had the distinct displeasure of being acquainted with him in school. Jarlyez had been a Slytherin student three years ahead of Draco and had had a reputation for being rather loud and obnoxious in school.

Apparently, that hasn't changed much in the last thirty years.

The man screams again as he slips in the mud, reaching out blindly to try and steady himself. Draco follows after him, his steps calculated and unhurried. "Running only makes it worse," Draco says, "Because then I have to chase you, and then we'll both suffer."

"Fuck you, Malfoy!" Jarlyez snarls, pushing himself up and out of the mud and turning back towards the trees in another desperate attempt at escape. "You can't catch me."

"I beg to differ," Draco mutters, watching with something that is part horror, part amusement as Jarlyez slips again and goes tumbling down the side of a hill, screaming the entire way down. Draco is suddenly very, very thankful that the man lives so far out in the country. At least there aren't any nosy neighbors next door, he thinks to himself as he makes his way down the hill and over to where Jarlyez is laying in a crumpled heap at the bottom.

"Avada Kedavra," Draco says almost lazily, flicking his wand at the man before he has another chance to get up. A bright, blinding green light bursts forth and when it dissipates a moment later, Draco turns his head just slightly to the side and says, "Fancy seeing you here, Potter."

Potter makes a strange sound and slips out from behind a tree, looking slightly embarrassed at being caught so easily. "Malfoy," he says. "Er, nice night, yes?"

Draco snorts. "You're following me, now?"

"It's not following," Potter protests, shaking his head fervently and walking over towards Draco. "It's simply curiosity. You said you killed people..."

"And you wanted to see me do it?" Draco says, raising an eyebrow. "Kinky, Potter."

"Fuck you," Potter replies, blushing. "It's not like that. I don't approve of what you do, Draco."

"Really?" says Draco, "I hadn't noticed."

Potter frowns, "You're a hit man, Draco."

"I'm an assassin," Draco says, "How many times do I have to tell you that?"

"I don't see what the difference is," Potter admits a moment later.

Draco shrugs. "No, I don't suppose that you would."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Do you know why this man was on the List, Potter?" Draco asks, walking over to Jarlyez and leaning down next to his prone body. Rolling him over, he inspects him closely for a moment before saying, "He was killing children of Muggle-borns."

Potter frowns. "Why wasn't I told about that? We could have arrested him."

Draco rolls his eyes up to the other man, his fingers still grasping at Jarlyez. "Someone like Jarlyez needed to be killed, Potter." Draco shrugs. "He's scum, Potter. You can't tell me he didn't deserve it."

"No one deserves to die."

"What about Voldemort?" Draco says reasonably, standing up and staring at Potter. "Don't you think he deserved to die?"

"That's different."

Draco moves over closer to the other man. "How is it different?" he asks, honestly curious. "What's to say that this man couldn't have become the next Voldemort?"

Potter frowns again, his eyes trained on the crumpled form in the leaves. "You don't know that."

"You never do, Potter. Not until it's too late," Draco says, sheathing his wand and walking away.

He does not look back.

"We need to talk," Teddy says on Saturday afternoon, pushing his way past Harry and into his kitchen. Once inside, he shakes his hair out of his face—today a mousy, dull shade of brown—and says, "We need to talk right now."

Harry nods. "I know."

"We can't keep going on like this," Teddy says, pacing through the kitchen and looking at his hands. "I miss you."

"Teddy, things are complicated."

"Only because you're making them complicated!"

Harry isn't really sure what to say to that, but he's saved by a stressed, angry shout of, "Potter!"

Harry takes a quick glance out the window to see Draco standing outside the kitchen door, dressed in a dark grey sweater and black trousers, looking beyond angry. Ignoring Teddy's indignant sound at being interrupted so easily, he pulls the door open and let's Malfoy in. "What's going on?" Harry asks.

"Your son," Draco begins, "Has apparently dragged my son out of Hogsmeade to only Merlin knows where."

Panic grasps Harry and he stares at Draco. "What do you mean Albus dragged Scorpius out of Hogsmeade?"

"This is a Hogsmeade Weekend," Teddy says, studying them. "I saw Neville in Hogsmeade with a group of students before I came here."

"Pansy told me she saw Albus and Scorpius fly out of Hogsmeade earlier," Draco continues, ignoring Teddy. "They were too far gone by the time she tried to stop them. She owled me as soon as she got back to Hogwarts. Are they here?"

"No," Harry says, blinking. "I haven't seen them. What makes you think they'd come here? Why the hell would they sneak off—albeit not very well—to come here."

"Why don't you ask Lupin," a voice snarls from the hallway. The three men turn as one to see Albus and Scorpius standing in the other doorway. Scorpius looks almost apologetic, as though he really wishes he was somewhere else. Albus, on the other hand, looks murderous. It's a look that Harry has seen on his youngest son many times, usually preceding some dramatic declaration that causes a lot of anger and hysteria. Things never tend to end well when Albus has that look, and Harry feels his stomach twist with trepidation. "I bet he'll know why." Albus continues, glaring at Teddy.

Teddy furrows his brow. "What are you on about, Al?"

"Don't call me that!" Albus snaps. "Don't you dare call me that, you fucking prick!"

"Albus!" Harry gapes. "Don't talk to Teddy like that."

"He killed my Mum!"

The silence that follows this statement is one of the most uncomfortable that Harry has ever endured. Teddy looks flabbergasted, Malfoy looks amused, Albus looks furious, and Scorpius looks like he dearly, dearly wishes that the floor would swallow him up at any moment. "Run that by me again," Harry says after a moment, barely able to restrain his voice.

"Teddy killed Mum," Albus repeats, "And I have proof."

"You what?" Teddy says, standing. "This is fucking ridiculous."

"Not half as fucking ridiculous as you fucking my Father," Albus hisses, his eyes blazing.

Silence once again reins as both Harry and Teddy go rigid. Teddy looks horrified, and Harry supposes that the same look is probably mirrored on his face. Scorpius is looking at them slack jaw, and Harry can practically hear his thoughts—something, he is sure, along the lines of 'Merlin, Albus was actually right!'

"Albus—"

"Don't you dare!" Albus snaps, turning his gaze to Harry. "Don't you dare treat me like I'm an idiot!"

Teddy snaps out of it, then and says, "Stop being a kid, Albus. You don't know what you're on about. I didn't kill your mother."

"But you admit that you're shagging my Dad?"

"It's just shagging!"

"You're in bloody love with him!" Albus snarls. Then waving a book in the air he says, "I found this in your flat! It's filled with pathetic declarations of love for my Dad! I hate to break it to you Teddy," Albus continues, not sounding sorry at all. "But he's not in love with you."

Teddy goes pale, his eyes widening and his hair dulling to a flat, listless colour that Harry can't quite place. He gives Harry a quick, nervous look and then turns away quickly, his eyes suddenly as dull as his hair. "I—I have to go," he says suddenly, grabbing his things and rushing out of the room.

"Actually," Malfoy interjects, "It wasn't Lupin that took out the hit on your mother."

Silence.

Malfoy shrugs. "Well, it wasn't. To be honest, I thought it was Potter at first."

Harry blinks and says, "You thought I took a hit out own my own wife?"

"Only for a few moments," Draco said reasonably, shrugging. "Then I figured it probably had something to do with Wood. Sorry."

"Wait," Scorpius says, looking between his father and Harry. "What are you talking about?"

"You father is a hit man," Harry offers helpfully.

"Assassin!"

"You're a what?" Scorpius says, staring at his father, his eyes wide.

"I work with the List at the Ministry," Malfoy admits.

Albus looks perplexed, an emotion which seems to briefly overtake his anger. "The List isn't real," he says.

"That's what I said," Harry says. Noticing Albus' scathing look, however, he stops talking and instead directs his next thought to Draco. "Who did take out the hit on Ginny?"

"No idea," Draco says, shrugging. "I still don't know who killed her, either. We don't talk about our kills with each other."

"I can't look at you!" Albus shouts suddenly, his face red and his eyes blazing. Turning on his heel, he storms back out into the hallway and slams open the front door. "I can't look at any of you right now!"

"Albus, come back here!" Harry shouts, rushing after him.

"Fuck you!"

"Don't you dare speak to me like that!"

"Don't you dare speak to me, Harry!"

Their voices trail off, and a moment later, they're barely audible at all. "I suppose they've gone outside," Draco says conversationally, looking at his son.

Scorpius stares. "You're an assassin?"

"Um," Draco says, "Fuck. Can we talk about this later? When we aren't standing in the middle of a war zone?"

Scorpius stares at him for a long moment and then nods. "Fine," he says, "But we will talk about it."

"We will," Draco assures him.

"I need to go after Albus," Scorpius says. "Will you keep any eye on his dad?"

"Yes," Draco says, "I'll keep an eye on the moron. I can't believe he shagged his godson."

"Let's not talk about that, either," Scorpius says, making a face. "I'll talk to you soon, Father," he says, standing and grabbing his broom for where it sits, leaning against the wall. Draco watches as he goes outside and follows Albus into the air. A moment later the two are little more than dots in the sky and Draco shifts his gaze to Potter, who's sitting in the middle of his yard, looking as though his life has just fallen apart.

And Draco supposes that it has.

"Albus won't speak to me," Potter says two nights later, knocking back a shot and looking at Draco through red-rimmed eyes. "Neither will James or Teddy."

"Albus told his brother, then?" Draco says, leaning back and giving Potter a curious look. "What about Lily?"

Potter laughs and leans back in his seat. "Lily said that she understands that my 'midlife crisis' is a traumatic experience. She said that she's going to stand by me while I work my way through it."

"She actually said that?" Draco says curiously, staring at Potter in amusement.

"Yeah," Potter replies, choking. "Then she hugged me."

Draco snorts. "This is why I didn't want a daughter."

Potter snorts a bit at that and says, "At least Lily doesn't hate me. She loves me a lot because—because I'm her dad. She has to love me."

Draco stares. "How much have you had to drink?" he asks suspiciously, craning his neck to get a better look at the bottle in Potter's hands.

"Just a bit," Potter replies, waving his hands. He's apparently forgotten that he's holding the bottle, though, because a flood of whiskey comes sloshing and lands all over Potter's couch. "Fuck," he says, "Fuck, that's a new couch."

Draco furrows a brow. "Potter, you had this couch five years ago when I came to bring Scorpius here at the end of the summer."

"I didn't!"

"You did, you bloody, drunken idiot."

Potter frowns and slurs, "Do you really think I'm an idiot?"

"Yes."

"Well, I'm not."

"Of course not, Potter," Draco says, hoping to avoid this conversation.

Potter looks thoughtful, running his fingers over the fabric of the couch. "I could be your idiot," he says, waggling his eyebrows and trying unsuccessfully to crawl across the couch. He doesn't make it far before tipping over the side and landing in a heap on the floor. A moment passes and then Potter, apparently not being the type to let a failed first attempt stop him, pushes himself up off of the floor and into Draco's lap

"Bloody fuck, Potter!" Draco screeches, trying desperately to shove the unruly haired man off. "How drunk are you? Give me that bottle right now."

"No," Potter says, holding the bottle away from Draco. "It's my bottle!"

Draco doesn't let Potter get the better of him and jumps around him, fingers curling around the neck of the bottle and pulling it out of Potter's grasp. Potter curses but Draco ignores him in favour of inspecting the bottle. Peering inside, he groans. "Potter," he says, "You drank over half the bottle."

"It was good," Potter says reasonably.

Sighing, Draco pulls out his wand and turns towards Potter. "Stupefy!" he says, watching as Potter slumps across the couch. Grabbing a blanket off of a nearby chair, Draco covers him with it before digging through the kitchen for a hangover potion. Find one, he sets it on the table by Potter and locks the front door behind him as he leaves, all the while wondering what he's going to do now.

It's early when Scorpius walks into the library, the sun just beginning to rise on the horizon. He makes his way through the library, his fingers twisting nervously at his blue and bronze tie, his eyes scanning the room for any sign of Albus at their usual table. He isn't there, though and Scorpius sighs, guilt twisting at his gut. Albus has been avoiding him— avoiding everyone—all week.

Professor Longbottom is standing at a bookcase in the corner, browsing through the books. The closer that Scorpius gets to him, the more visible the selection becomes, and Scorpius realizes that he's looking at Herbology texts. It's something that really isn't all that surprising, but for some reason, Scorpius finds himself fascinated. "Professor Longbottom?" Scorpius says softly, not wanting to startle the older man.

Professor Longbottom looks up, then turns around. "Hello, Scorpius!" he says, giving the Ravenclaw a small, pleased smile. "How are you?"

"I've been better," Scorpius admits, "Have you seen Albus anywhere?"

"I saw him hiding over near the Transfiguration texts," Professor Longbottom says, pointing back towards the front-left corner.

"Thanks," Scorpius says, heading off towards the indicated corner. When he gets back there, the aisle is empty, save for a few books that look as though they were hastily tossed to the floor. Scorpius raises an eyebrow and looks around the aisle. Noticing a small crack in one of the bookcases he inches closer, his fingers poking at the crack and wrapping around the edge.

With a quick tug, Scorpius manages to pull the bookcase forward a bit to reveal a small, dusty little space behind it. Albus blinks at him from his spot near the end of it, an irritated expression on his face. "Fuck," Albus snaps, reaching one hand up to shield his eyes. "When'd it get so bright out there?"

"Hey," Scorpius says, ignoring the question and pushing his way into the tight space to sit next to Albus. He studies his friend critically for a moment, noticing that he looks much like he did when his mother died. "I didn't know about my Dad," he says, looking at Albus. "If it makes any difference."

"I'm not mad at your father," Albus mutters, "At least he tried to help my Mum. He tried to warn my Dad, and my Dad didn't do anything."

"He didn't believe my Father," Scorpius says, attempting to be reasonable. "I wasn't sure I believed him at first, but then he sat me down and we talked."

"He should have believed him!" Albus snaps, turning his head away from Scorpius. "He should have tried. I fucking hate him, Scorpius."

"You don't hate your dad, Albus." Scorpius says, reaching down and grabbing Albus' arm. Wrapping his fingers tightly around Albus' wrist he pulls him closer, leaning forward to rest his head on the Slytherin's shoulder. "You could never hate your father, Al."

"I want to," Albus says tiredly, leaning into Scorpius.

Scorpius simply nods, the act bumping their heads together lightly. "I know," he says, "But you don't. And I know that your dad loves you, Al. Even if he is as much of an idiot as my Father says he is."

"Do you think we'll ever get along again?" Albus says, his voice raspy.

Scorpius shrugs and rubs a hand comfortingly along Albus' arm. "Eventually, things will probably get better."

Albus shifts closer and says, "I'm glad you're here."

So is Scorpius.

It's late when he finally arrives, nearly two hours later than he had promised, and the sun is just beginning to set in the sky. Draco does not look at Potter as the other man walks over to him, instead leaning back in the cool, green grass and looking up as a flood of reds, blues, and purples spill across the sky. "You're late," Draco says, his fingers digging into the ground.

"Sorry," Potter replies, not sounding sorry at all. Sitting down in the grass next to Draco, he leans back on his elbow and curls his fingers loosely around a handful of grass. "Have you been waiting long?" he asks, glancing at Draco.

"No."

"Liar," says Harry. For a moment, Draco thinks that he'll say something else, but to his surprise, Potter lets it drop and says instead, "It's a nice night."

"Mmm," Draco hums in agreement.

They sit in silence for a long time after that. The only sound is a light breeze blowing at the leaves around them. Draco reveals in the calm, knowing that the moment one of them speaks, it will fade away until it's little more than a memory. This is, he knows, a discussion that can not end well, no matter how hard they try.

"I'm sorry that I tried to molest you," Potter begins, looking at the ground. "You know, the other night? When I was drunk."

Draco snorts. "It's all right, Potter. I know it's hard to resist me in your pathetic, drunken haze."

Potter scowls, but he looks sort of relieved. "You aren't upset?"

"I really didn't mind the molesting," Draco admits, shrugging. "Although next time you decide to do it, I would sincerely prefer it if you were sober, not coming out of a spectacular blow-up with your family, and not doing it to forget your dead wife and estranged godson."

Potter shifts and finally looks up. "Point taken," he says. He seems to replay that exchange in his head a moment later, because then he says, "Wait, next time?"

Draco doesn't answer and if the expression on Potter's face is anything to go by, he didn't really expect one.

"I'm taking the kids to Ireland this summer," Potter says after a long moment of awkward silence, staring up at the sky. "I think...I think that getting away from everything will be good for them."

"Good for them?" Draco repeats, still not looking at the other man.

Potter sighs and says, "Good for me, too. I hope."

"What about Lupin?" Draco asks after another moment, and for the first time since Potter arrived, Draco sits up and looks at him.

Potter makes a strange sound in the back of his throat and looks Draco directly in the eye. "Teddy won't be coming along with us," he says, "I think that it will be better for everyone if he doesn't."

"You're just going to push him away, then?"

"No!" Potter says, looking away. "I could never push Teddy away, Draco. He's still my godson."

"That you shagged," Draco reminds him, earning himself an angry, slightly guilty glare.

"I know!" Potter snaps, "I know. I just...I think that we both need some time away from each other to figure things out. I really fucked things up with him, Draco."

Draco can't help but grin at that. "No need to tell me that," he says, casting the other man a strange look. "Though if I may, Potter, I think that your first priority needs to be fixing things with Albus."

Potter looks down at his hands and says, "I don't think that I know how." He pauses, and then, "To be honest, I think that it might be easier to fix things with Teddy than it will be to fix things with Albus." Another moment passes, and then Potter gives a harsh laugh. "I've really made a mess of things, haven't I?"

Draco doesn't answer, and they both know that that is answer enough.

"What do I...?" Potter trails off, looking uncertain.

Draco tilts his head. "What do you what?"

"How do you do it?" says Potter finally. Digging his fingers into the ground, Potter wraps them around a chunk of green grass and pulls. Draco watches in fascination as Potter tears it out of the ground, the roots—covered with dark, damp soil that falls the ground in small clumps—hanging loosely in the air. Shaking it once and watching as some more dirt falls, Potter rips the root off and tosses what's left of the grass into the air, watching as the blades float away with the breeze. "How do you live with yourself?" he asks.

"What do you mean?" Draco asks, staring at him.

Potter laughs. "You kill people for a living, Draco. How do you live with yourself? All I've done is fucked up my life—literally—and I can barely stand myself."

Draco frowns and looks down at the ground. "I might kill people for a living, Potter, but I still have morals."

Potter looks down. "What do you mean?"

"I won't take grudge kills—I only take the ones that deserve it. I don't kill animals. If the person has a family then—no matter how bad what they did is—I'll make sure they have the chance to say goodbye." Draco pauses for a moment, then looks up at Potter and say, "I will never, never kill children."

"That's it?"

Draco laughs, but there is no joy in it. "I realize that it doesn't seem like much to someone as...morally upstanding as you are, Potter."

"That's not what I meant," Potter says, looking uncomfortable.

"Yes it is," Draco replies, "but that doesn't matter. What matters is that, at the end of the day, I still follow my moral code—I only kill those who deserve it. I have my ethics, Potter. They may not be as grandstanding and black and white as yours, but I still have them. Can you say the same?"

"I don't know what to think anymore," Potter says, leaning forward and resting his head in his hands. "I thought I had my morals, I thought...I don't know."

Draco stands up and looks down at the other man, his expression unreadable. "You need to fix your life, Potter," he says, fingers curling around his cloak and pulling it tightly around himself. "You need to fix things with your children and fix things with Lupin. You need to mourn your wife."

"Then what?" Potter says, looking up.

"Then, when you've straightened all that out, you need to figure out who the fuck you are."

"How?" Potter asks. "How do I fix things?"

"I don't know," Draco replies, shrugging. "That's up to you to figure out, not me. When you do, you know where to find me."

"It might be awhile," Potter says, looking down at the ground again.

Draco shrugs. "I'm not going anywhere, Potter."

He isn't.

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Disclaimer: Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy and other Harry Potter characters belong to J.K. Rowling and her associated businesses. The Harry/Draco World Cup and its participants make no claim upon them.