A/N: Disclaimer – JK Rowling is the genius that owns Harry Potter and who keeps ruining my next gen head canons.

A big thank you to DaftDruid, who so kindly volunteered to be the Beta of this story and worked meticulously to make this chapter run far smoother than anything my editing skills are capable of.

If you find yourself here and you have not read The Revolt: Volume I, I highly recommend you go do that now. Enjoy!

—CHAPTER ONE—

The cavernous kitchen was plainer than the original Order members remembered it to be. The tiled floor was dirty with neglect and the sink was bare. As Ginny swept around the table dominating the room, she directed her wand at the fireplace, setting a blaze dancing. The red flames reflected off the iron pots and pans hanging from the ceiling above, and lit up her flaming red hair. She walked around the length of the table, squeezing past those who were forced to stand (namely Hagrid) and sat beside her husband, clutching his hand tightly, out of sight, under the table top.

Ron and Hermione sat a few places away. Hermione was poised with the quill and parchment she usually used for notes. They gave Harry a look before resuming their conversation in low murmurs. Most of the room had been talking reservedly, but had fallen silent when Ginny sat.

"I'm sorry we had to postpone this meeting," Harry began. "We needed to get our situation sorted."

"You don't need to apologise," Katie cut in, from where she stood beside Angelina and George. "You've had a bounty on your head."

"Still. Two weeks is quite a delay," Harry frowned. "And I left you all in the lurch."

"Stop being so morose, Mister Undesirable Number One," George replied, rolling his eyes. "Let's get on with the meeting."

Harry studied the group assembled. It was the largest it had ever been in number.

There were the familiar faces—his friends, like Seamus and Dean, Dennis Creevey and Parvarti Patil, Katie Bell and Lee Jordan, Hannah and Neville. They were all looking at Harry with expectation in their eyes, the way they had on that very first day in fifth-year at the Hog's Head. He felt very young, very green.

His eyes met with Neville, remembering that it was he, Ginny and Luna who had led the rebellion at Hogwarts during their last year, during the final hurrah of Dumbledore's Army. A sudden pang hit his chest, and he leaned into Ginny's shoulder, Neville grimacing at him in understanding before looking away. They were missing one in their number.

Of course, the familiar faces were mixed with the familial faces. A row of flaming haired Weasleys were either sitting or standing in various points around the room, along with their spouses; everyone from eighteen year old Fred and Molly—he with his burly shoulders and dark serious face, and she with her chipped black nail polish and bleached hair—to the elderly Molly Weasley, a knitted shawl draped around her shoulders. Teddy sat a few seats away, his hands resting on the table in front of him, his eyes determined and protective. Remus' eyes, Harry thought. The youngest ones, old enough to join the Order, but hardly even adults… It scared him, seeing faces so young around this table once again.

A few of his former professors and colleagues were there too, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Minerva McGonagall and a handful of others, and under their gaze, he felt even younger.

Only a few weeks ago, he had almost been killed by a goblin who had taken his place in the Ministry. In a way, the event had set his nerves on fire. He had been underestimating the enemy for far too long and it was time for action.

"We're officially underground," he began. "This will be our Headquarters."

"Charming," Seamus said, looking around the room. "Like what you've done with the place, Harry."

A rat scurried from the pantry across to the stairs and Ginny aimed a well-timed Stunning Spell its way. Parvarti squealed while Seamus erupted with laughter.

"We try to jazz things up best as we can," Ginny said, winking at her old housemates.

Harry ignored the rat on the floor. A part of him was convinced he would need the help of house-elves to straighten out the place. "I wanted to begin with making our cover story clear—that is, the Potter's cover story," Harry started.

"Let me do it," Ginny interrupted, sanding up. "I mean, I thought it up."

"This'll be good," Bill mumbled to George. Fleur shushed them.

"Firstly, regarding our domestic situation I will be living with the kids at our house in Ottery St. Catchpole for as long as possible. Harry will stay here. This place is unplottable, so it's our best hiding spot from both the Ministry and the goblins. As for our cover story, Harry is supposedly on the run—"

"On the run where?" George asked.

"Spain, for all I care," Ginny replied. "Brazil. Haiti. It doesn't matter. We want to make it seem like he's gone pretty far, too, to throw off the Elite Squad's scent."

"We also want it to sound believable," Percy added. "So perhaps not Haiti."

"I dunno, Harry could do with a tan," Ron remarked.

"We'll sort out the finer details later. According to this cover-story, I have no idea where my husband is, so I ought to be convincingly unaware," Ginny said, silencing her brothers with a look. "For that matter, none of us have any idea where he is. And none of us knew he was behind the goblin assassination attempts, but we will act as if we believe the Ministry's story. We are as shocked and horrified as the rest of the world. I am the bereaved wife whose husband turned out to be a deranged assassin. Ron and Hermione are persisting with the rumour that Harry had a falling out with them after Ron was made Head Auror. As far as the public is concerned, we all think Harry is guilty, and if anyone asks, that's what we tell them."

"I can' say tha'," Hagrid interrupted, aghast. "He's one o'the best men I know! I can' say he's gone an' tried ter kill some goblin thug. Harry wouldn't do tha' in a million years."

"It's for the cover story, Hagrid," McGonagall growled, her lips disappearing into an impatient, thin line. "If any of us truly believed Harry is guilty, we would not be sitting in this room."

"Which brings me to my next point," Harry said, looking directly at Neville. "We need Luna."

The room was uneasy, especially among his old Dumbledore's Army comrades. Seamus and Dean both ducked their heads. Hannah sighed.

"I've spoken to her twice about it Harry, and she won't budge," Neville explained, his expression crumpling. "She's backing Gladstone the whole way, and she's still pro-goblin."

"Rolf isn't much better to argue with," Hannah added, biting her lip. "He may be wary of the goblins, but he's completely behind Gladstone."

Harry was quiet for a minute. He studied the wood grain to avoid the weight of their collective gaze. "She thinks I'm guilty, doesn't she?"

"She hasn't said that," Neville said quickly.

"But she thinks I'm behind the assassinations. It's why she's not here and it's why we haven't spoken for the last six months." Harry slipped his fingers under his glasses, rubbing his tired eyes. No one had it in them to say anything contrary.

Ginny spoke with her usual crispness, leaning forward to catch Neville's eye "I'll get Luna—I'll make sure she joins. I know how Luna's head works, and she's my oldest friend."

Neville seemed content with this, so Harry relented and Ginny sat back in her chair. Somehow, the idea of having Dumbledore's Army reassembled gave Harry a new source of courage. From so long ago—more than twenty years ago–their personal resistance was still going. What had Rita Skeeter once dubbed them? The Demob? He couldn't help but grin at this, before wiping a hand over his mouth to stifle the smile. "We have a lot to get through this meeting, so it's best we start right away—"

"Wait," the young Molly Weasley spoke out, her brown eyes wide and heavily blackened by makeup, half hidden behind a pair of frameless glasses. Her hand hovered in the air, as if she was asking a question at school. The entire room was still, all eyes turning to her. "I'm not asking because I doubt you, Harry, but before we get into the heavy duty stuff, what exactly happened that day at the Ministry?"

"Molly!"

"Oh, c'mon, mum, don't give me that look. I think we ought to know the whole story," Molly shot at Audrey.

"You don't have any right to question your uncle," Percy scolded.

"No, it's fine," Harry ran his hand through his messy black hair, thinking how to best condense the story. "She's right." He looked right into the face of his niece, where her freckles were hidden beneath her makeup. He smiled a little. Molly had always been the most wild of the lot, refusing to be tamed by her parents or any one for that matter. Even now, both her hands were balled into fists on the table top.

Harry launched into the story, starting first with his meeting in the Goblin Liaison Office with Grigarex, his suspicion that he was about to be poisoned. Garrett Cresswell's timely arrival, but the feeling that he was not himself, Harry's fear that he is now under the Imperius. As he reached the end of the recount, his pulse picked up. The memory of the claustrophobic elevator, the scuffle and the narrowly avoided green beams of the Killing Curse made his heart skip. Selgrut the Sly's assassination attempt didn't feel real.

He had underestimated the goblins completely. It couldn't happen again.

Molly nodded once, relaxing back into her chair. However, a few of the people around the room who were hearing this story for the first time were stunned by the recount. Dennis Creevey had looked particularly mortified at the fact that one of his Ministry colleagues seemed to be under the Imperius.

"I know that's a bit to take in, but we need to move on. Now; there are a lot of us here, which is good. This is not a war where two sides are fighting. We have a lot of different enemies, so we need different groups to take care of different operations. For many of these, we're still pretty much in the dark, but we will work with what we know. I'll have Ron talk you through the first."

Ron nodded curtly and addressed the group rather frankly, as if they were in an Auror meeting. "Gladstone's basically created a dictatorship. Soon, he'll have no political opposition. It's why he's removed all the Aurors and why he's practically decimated the Wizenmongt. Our first objective is to figure out his weaknesses before the goblins do, and exploit them."

Kingsley Shacklebolt lips contorted into a grimace. He spoke up from the other end of the room, his voice as slow and measured as ever. "Gladstone was my Senior Undersecretary, he was my protégée. When the time for elections drew near, I knew he would be vying for my position." Here, he looked directly to the golden trio on the other end of the table. "I always considered my ideologies on the moderate left, as Ms Granger knows. Gladstone…Gladstone has become the Stalin to my Trotsky."

Half the room didn't catch the reference.

"It was my fault that I did not try to stop him sooner. But I never fully grasped the extent of his character and ambitions until he was already campaigning. He was a Hufflepuff in his Hogwarts career; when he worked under me, he was quite preoccupied with non-human rights and obsessed with eliminating systematic inequality. He did not appear to be the sort to…"

"Establish a barmy totalitarian government," Ron finished.

"Indeed."

"Gladstone is protected by his Elite Squad, who are essentially a private army," Ron continued, referring to his notes. "The goblins being used have been given wands and visas in order to leave their Kingdom and take up residence in England. We can't be sure, but we think their team is made up of a few military generals from the Goblin King's militia, while the Squad itself are basically…thugs."

"Would Gladstone know that?" Percy queried.

"That his private army keeps company with Romnuk the Rough?" Ginny pressed. "Probably not. The goblin thugs have allied with the goblin monarchy, and the goblin monarchy has allied with the Ministry of Magic. Are you keeping up?"

"We have three separate enemies, then," Dennis Creevey frowned. "Who are just working together for the time being."

"And will probably stab one another in the back when the time comes," Parvarti concluded.

"So what are we doing about the Ministry?" Lee asked.

Hermione now spoke up. "Gladstone is currently using the goblins to carry out his ideology. We believe the two groups he is targeting are Squibs and werewolves."

This was met by muttering from various points in the room, proceeding like a swarm of bees leaving a hive. Several people called questions that were lost in the din, rendered incoherent. Harry raised his hand and silence fell.

"Gladstone's ideology hinges on the principal of one functioning working class contributing equally to the Ministry. Any enemy of the proletariat will be eliminated in order to create one equal, homogenous class."

"And how are Squibs and Werewolves enemies of the proletariat?" Seamus demanded.

"Squibs can't produce magic. They are a burden on society," Ron said, explaining the Ministry's logic. "Werewolves are an aberration—they take up resources and will never be able to hold down a job. We think these are the two groups Gladstone will target first—have already targeted—in an attempt to marginalise them."

Both Percy and Audrey Weasley had gone deathly still.

"Gladstone's all about equality of outcome," Molly called out, half posed as a question and half as a statement. She turned towards Teddy and nodded at him. "Isn't that what this is all about? He thinks it's impossible to create equality of outcome for werewolves and Squibs, so the only solution is to get rid of them."

"Which is why children are going missing. They're all Squibs," Ron said. "Their parents were reluctant to tell us at first, but now we know. It was the Ministry that abducted them, and it's the goblin gangs who currently have them."

"Which is our first mission," Harry stated. "We need to find those children and contain this situation."

"I want to be a part of it," Molly Weasley said, immediately raising her hand.

"Me too," Fred agreed.

"Anyone who is interested in this particular mission, please sign your name on this sheet," Hermione instructed, sending around a piece of parchment. Although her parents hung back, Molly was the first to sign her name.

"Not ter change the subjec', bu' how're werewolves effected?" Hagrid asked as the sheet continued to progress around the room. "I thoug' they had access ter Wolfsbane Potion because of Gladstone."

"They do," Hermione piped up. "But I think it's a ploy. In any case, we want werewolves in the Order. They are a marginalised group who have handed over all their details to the Werewolf Registry in order to access welfare services. We don't think they're safe anymore."

"I can handle that," Teddy said, speaking for the first time. It was all he said. Harry only nodded at him once. "I can get in touch with werewolves."

"What's the next mission?" Angelina asked.

"We want to recruit elves in the Order," Hermione said, speaking up with clarity. A low, rumbling chuckle escaped Kingsley and Hermione gave him a little smile. "I'm obviously in charge of this one."

Orlick, their sole goblin representative, spoke up. "It's brilliant idea, considering the goblins underestimate what the elves are capable of."

"Exactly," Hermione agreed. "At the moment, elves legally have access to wands, but no elves have bought any yet. The Ministry is also pushing to have mass-produced wand manufacturing—" this was met by a cry of outrage. "—but we want to try and use this to our advantage to get more wands to elves."

"I'll volunteer for your bloody elf mission," Parvati grinned, raising her hand.

"Me too. Although this sounds like S.P.E.W. all over again," Dean added, with a bit of a chuckle.

Ron barked out a laugh and Hermione shot him a scolding look, but it was all in jest. She snaked her arm around his shoulders and they fell into conversation with Dean and Seamus.

Harry half stood once more. "Those of you who have already signed up for assignments can leave. We'll contact you when we need you. Thanks again for coming."

Half the room responded to this by scraping back chairs or shuffling around the table to shake Harry's hand before making their departure. Parvati spent a minute embracing Hermione warmly before promising to be in touch soon. Dean and Seamus resolved to also heading off, but promised to visit Harry whenever they could. It occurred to him just how very alone he would be now that he was unable to live with his family. As each person drained out of the kitchen, he was left with the terrible feeling that his only company that evening would be the dead rat on the floor.

Soon, their numbers had more than halved, and those who had not been able to find a seat took one.

Harry looked over his notes at what he had left to discuss. They were at the bottom of his list now. "Before you lot go, I need a word about Hogwarts," Harry said, looking towards Neville, Hannah and Hagrid. "We don't have eyes there, and…this may sound like a personal request…but please keep an eye on our children."

"As if you'd need to ask," Hannah scoffed.

"James especially. He isn't exactly unknown to Romnuk."

"Right," Neville nodded once. "I'll keep an eye on all of them. In fact, we need to tighten security around Hogwarts anyway. I'll get onto Drummond."

"An' I'll talk ter the Centaurs," Hagrid added. "We can use all the allies we can get."

"Beautiful. Well, you lot can go then."

"Keen to get rid of us," Neville winked, but he also dragged back his chair, and gave his friends half armed hugs. They spent a few minutes trying to push Hagrid through the kitchen door before leaving.

Harry was on the last item of his list. "Orlick, I hope it's not too much to ask, but I wanted a report on the goblins in England."

Orlick sighed, pushing his spectacles daintily up his long, narrow nose. "As you know, goblins are moving into magical communities—Hogsmeade, Diagon Alley, Godric's Hollow—but it is unnatural for us to live above ground, and I know that many are unhappy about this."

"Well, that's good," Ginny said brightly, tossing back her hair. "I mean, if goblins are annoyed that they're having to relocate, that could become a potential reason they may turn against the King."

"Perhaps...But I would not hold my breath," Orlick said, smiling melancholically.

Harry nodded towards his godson, who was still sitting silently nearby, watching them intensely. He lowered his voice, so that Bill and Fleur would not hear from across the room. "How's Teddy going?"

"I'm ready," Teddy said, with contained conviction.

"He's not ready," Orlick sighed.

"I am. Reuben says so too. You can't even distinguish me from a real goblin. I can transform silently within a few seconds. I've nailed it."

Orlick began to count off Teddy's failures on his long, thin fingers. "His Gobbledegook is poor; he hardly knows any of the customs of goblin nobility; he hasn't been instructed regarding the Inner Circle of Elite. He is not ready yet, and I refuse to send him into the Goblin Kingdom until he is."

Teddy fell back into his seat, grunting with frustration. He seemed to be refraining from swearing. Orlick frowned at Teddy for a moment before turning back to his godparents. "I think he is ready for a test run."

Ginny leaned forward conspiratorially. "A test run? Doing what?"

"Spying on the Elite Squad."

Teddy sat up straight, as if an invisible string pulled his spine. The intensity was back in his brown eyes. "Yes. Yes, I can do that."

"I think that's a good idea," Ginny said.

"So do I," Harry agreed with a bit of a smile. "But it'll still be dangerous. You'll need to speak to your Nan about it."

"Right, because that'll worry her less."

"And," Harry continued. "Promise me you won't do anything risky."

"Cross my heart and hope to die," Teddy said, crossing his chest.

"You just crossed your collarbone. And your heart is on the left not the right," Ginny chuckled. "And we hope you don't die, Teddy, Ah well, promise's made."

Harry gripped Teddy's shoulder tightly, and the young man's face sobered. "This is need to know. All of the Order know you're running surveillance on the goblins but I haven't told them you can change into another being. A few Order members know why we're training you, but only the Senior members. Keep it to yourself."

"Keeping secrets is my speciality, Harry," Teddy said quietly.

The half empty room, filled mostly with a few lingering family members, dispersed as Harry, Ginny, Ron and Hermione all stood. Orlick picked up his briefcase and pushed in his chair. He looked directly at Harry, much shorter now that they were both standing. His small black eyes focused on his illustrious green ones with a look of respectful sincerity. "Thank you, for letting me into your Fidelius Charm. I realise this is the first time a goblin has ever been included in such an ancient Charm, and your trust means a lot to me."

"We have to trust each other," Harry said, with conviction. He took Orlick's hand and squeezed it. "You are the only goblin who is on our side. We can't afford to keep you at an arm's distance."

Orlick nodded, as thoughtful and impassive as ever. He slipped his hand out of Harry's and fastened his robes around his shoulders. "I will be in touch with you and the young Mister Lupin soon. Until then, take care."

Ginny slid her hand around Harry's waist as she watched the goblin retreat. She waited until they heard the front door click before she spoke in a low voice. "Do you really trust him?"

"After what happened with Griphook at Gringotts, I find it hard to trust any goblins. But yes, Orlick I trust. I think he has his own motives for working with us, and he wants to restore his rightful queen to the throne."

Ginny nodded tiredly, tightening her hand around Harry's waist until she was twisting into his torso and kissing him, very earnestly, on the lips. He embraced her in turn, running his calloused fingers through her red hair.

"Er, you're not alone," Ron snapped, shuffling along the length of the kitchen. His sister and brother-in-law broke a part, looking startled to find themselves in the basement kitchen. Teddy's hair had gone a bright pink, matching the colour in his cheeks, but he was purposely continuing a conversation with Fleur with only a hint of amusement. Ron was a bit less passive. "Get a room."

"If you insist," Ginny shrugged, grabbing Harry by the cuff of his robes and dragging him towards the door.

"Wait." Bill hastily made his way around the table, joining them by the doorway. His heavily scarred face seemed more deeply cut than usual, for he was frowning with concern. "Dom is nineteen and she wants to join the order. As soon as she heard that Molly and Fred joined, she wanted to be a part of it. Victoire gets back this weekend. Both of them will want to fight, and they have no experience."

"You don't want your daughters in the Order?" Ginny asked, raising her eyebrows as a challenge.

"Of course I want them in the Order," Bill replied flippantly, as if his sister had missed the point. He went on in the same concerned tone. "Dom was a Hufflepuff, and a hardworking one too. She's fit and strong, but she likes to play fair. That may prove to be a problem. She'll be good at hand combat, though, which we may need, considering the goblins will be wearing armour. As for Victoire, she's a loose cannon. When pushed, she can become quite reckless. But she's good with strategy and she doesn't crack under pressure."

"You want them to be trained," Harry said, as it dawned on him why Bill was telling him these details.

"They need to be taught how to fight. All of them do. Molly, Fred, Dom, Vic—even Teddy. This isn't Defense Against the Dark Arts, this is actual combat."

"Auror training," Teddy said, turning from where he was still standing with Fleur.

"Essentially," Bill stated. "And we need to teach them how to fence."

"How medieval," Ginny grinned.

"Trust me. Goblins will have swords as well as wands."

"I'll look into it," Harry agreed. "Ron and I have most of the Auror department behind us now. Perhaps we can get one of them to teach the younger generation how to fight."

"Good." Bill nodded, tucking his hands into his jeans. His tone did not deter from its serious rumble, but his face lightened. "This weekend we're throwing Victoire a welcome home party. You should come."

"It's difficult, Bill. I can't just go out and about anymore," Harry replied.

"Apparate straight into our house, we won't mind. And bring the Cloak if it makes you feel better."

"It will be super," Fleur said, taking Teddy's arm and dragging him towards her husband. "Zere will be photos from Romania and 'alf ze family will be there!" Fleur turned to Teddy, her nose inches from the side of his face and her arms still wrapped around him. "You will come, oui?"

"Me?" Teddy said, pointing at himself. He chuckled nervously. "Er, maybe not."

"Why iz zat?"

"Did we all miss the part where Victoire and I had a horrible break up?" Teddy asked, wiggling out of Fleur's grip. "And where she literally decided she preferred dragons over me? I think I might ruin the night if I were there."

"Au contraire," Fleur smiled her most charming smile. "'Aving you zer will make it a party!"

"I dunno," Teddy replied, biting his lip regretfully. "I just…"

"You're afraid of her now that she's become a crazy dragon lady," Billy chuckled, patting him on the shoulder. "We're just stirring you, Ted. We're not going to force you to come."

"Maybee you won't, but zat doesn't mean I will not!"

Bill also said his last goodbyes before shooing his wife out after him, while she continued to protest zey are meant to be! Harry grinned as he watched them creep quietly down the long corridor. He turned back to Ron, Hermione and Teddy.

He would be alone tonight. He would be alone in this house full of so much pain. Pain passed down through generations.

"I suppose I'll see you guys…soon."

"I can stay with you," Teddy offered, clearly meaning it.

"No, it'll be fine. James, Al and Lily would miss not having you around."

"We'll visit," Hermione promised.

And then finally, finally, it was just Harry and Ginny.

Harry slowly leaned back against the kitchen door, his head throbbing. The task ahead of him seemed impossibly huge. Cut off from the Ministry with no protection or back-up and needing to remain hidden or else he would be hunted. He felt seventeen again, hiding out in Grimmauld Place while trying to riddle out an impossible puzzle.

But this time, his enemy was not a single entity. It was multifaceted, with mutilating ideologies. It was a hydra, which grew a new head with each one that was cut off.

His sigh was the endless sigh of the sea. He was all-saltwater—sweat and tears, just enough to glisten. Ginny laid her hands on his chest, fingers splayed like small pink starfish. He inhaled heavily, the pull in before the crash.

"You're okay," she said, nodding slowly.

Harry let out his breath in another sigh. He nodded too. He felt as if he was wrapped up tight in a net, no means of escape.

"I miss them. How're they?"

"Lily wants to visit you," Ginny said, nodding earnestly. "Albus is…angry. A quiet kind of anger. I'm monitoring him."

"And James?"

"James is sulking because he can't throw a big seventeenth birthday party."

"He really has his priorities in order."

"They're okay, though, Harry. They're coping."

"Right." He ran a hand over his face, pressing his glasses into his nose. "Merlin, what I've put us through…James, Lily, Al…Rose and Hugo…They can't be involved. It was bad enough seeing Molly and Fred today."

She wrapped her arms around him, leaning in to kiss him gently on the cheek. "We will be fine."

"Mhm."

She kissed his other cheek. "I've missed you," she sighed against the salt.

Harry closed his eyes.

She kissed his fluttering eyelids next, then his nose, then his neck. Her hands slid over his chest and finished up on his shoulders. "I don't have to go back yet. Teddy will be there with them now."

"Mhm."

"We're in an empty house."

Harry kissed her, breathing with her, swelling under her, sighing as he pulled away.

"Yeah," he said.

"And I've missed you," she finished.

He had missed her, too. Two weeks was a long time to be away from one another. They kissed again.

They sighed and rolled like the sea, cresting and breaking. Salt in their eyes, on their skin, between their lips. And when they parted half an hour later he could still hear her sighs in his ear like an echo of the sea trapped inside a shell, and all he could do was stand on land, lonely and listening.

Dear Scorpius,

I'm quite hurt that you haven't written to me yet. I realise that you're travelling, but surely you could have put aside some time to send me a quick postcard or note. I keep wondering if you've run away with some fit French bird and are having a mad love affair. I am a very jealous sort of girlfriend. However, my ire is short-lived, so I found it in my heart to forgive you for this potential philandering.

Here I am, starting with the letters. I know you promised me repeatedly that you would write, but you haven't yet, so I decided it's best if I write first. I was always better with the small talk after all, so perhaps if I begin, it will stimulate some sort of response from you.

How's France? I imagine you're having a grand time with your family and potential French lover, posing with muggle and magical monuments, discovering yourself, pashing your potential lover while you feed each other baguettes etc etc. I expect many details in your next letter.

You've missed quite a bit here in England. For instance, during this last week, I did the laundry, cleaned my room and played Gobstones with Hugo (he bested me twice, but I firmly believe that Gobstones is a game of luck, unlike wizarding chess, which requires cunning and strategy). Did you know that Hugo is the Captain of the Gobstone's Club at Hogwarts? His lameness never ceases to stun me and I fail to understand how we are related.

In case you struggled to read between the lines, I'm incredibly bored. Practically dying of boredom, and will probably be emitted into St Mungos any day now.

I haven't seen Albus—or any of the Potters for that matter—since holidays began. I had hoped that I would have seen my dear cousin by now, but I sense that he's being anti-social on purpose. Considering you're the King of the Anti-Social Hermits, do you have any advice?

I've also written to all my Slytherin chums—Alice, Isabella, Zabini and the like. Unsurprisingly, no response from any of them. I suppose both Alice and Isabella aren't exactly over our end of year argument. I was half hoping André might reply, even if it was just to try and snog me. Ha ha. Did I mention how terribly bored I am?

The only other person to send me mail these holidays is Meredith Maxwell. She sent me a letter two days into the Summer. Let's be honest, she is actually a better boyfriend than you are.

I hope you're well and enjoying the quality bonding time with the Malfoys.

Most Sincerely,

Your besotted babe,

Rose.

"For Merlin's sake, I'm turning seventeen," James cried, throwing his arms up in exasperation. He'd had this argument with his mother about half a dozen times since holidays began, but if James Potter was one thing, it was persistent. "I'm your eldest child, on the brink of being a man, and you don't want me to have a party?"

"Honey, you can't," Ginny huffed, throwing him socks to sort while she dug around the laundry basket. "We are supposed to keep a low profile."

"Just a few friends, mum."

"James," she said, in her warning tone, the tone her mother used to use on her.

"Please mum! Ten friends."

"James, it's never just ten friends with you. It's never a small party. I'm sorry, love, we just can't. I promise I'll make it up to you."

"I can't believe we're not going to celebrate my seventeenth birthday!" he yelled, throwing his socks onto the couch furiously.

Lily left her bedroom, joining her mother by the laundry basket. She extracted a few of her own jumpers and began to neatly fold them. "Mum, can I visit Dad tomorrow?"

"He's in hiding, Lily."

Lily gave her a crippling look. Ginny folded a purple set of robes over her arm. "I can't tell you where he is, Lily, Dad is the Secret Keeper."

"Can't I at least have a few of my Gryffindor friends over?" James complained.

"Oh, is he still going on about this?" Lily rolled her brown eyes and threw a few socks as her older brother. "Put a sock in it!"

"Very witty," Ginny said, patting her daughter's head approvingly. "Could've had a smoother delivery, but not bad."

James continued to ball up pair of socks so they sat in neat, little bundles. "Mum."

"James."

"MUM, PLEASE. I never ask for anything!"

"You—you—never ask for anything?" Ginny repeated, mock-outraged.

"I just want a small party, maybe two dozen friends."

"You said ten friends."

"Fine, ten."

Albus also left his bedroom, but he did not stop by the sofa where everyone was sorting their washing. Instead, he continued towards the kitchen. His voice was drained of any humour, a flat monotone. "Face it, James. Even if you invited fifty friends, no one would come."

"Sod off you prat," James snapped, throwing sock after sock at Albus, and watching them merely bounce off the back of his head and ineffectually hit the floor.

"No one wants to be friends with us James," Albus called as he entered the kitchen.

James, Lily and Ginny were all silent in the wake of this comment. James continued bundling socks, dwelling on what Albus had said. He still had a few friends. Angus Finnigan had written to him since the start of summer, and so had Lorcan. But he wasn't very fond of Angus, who was a bit of a loser even if he was loyal, and Lorcan was still his best mate, but his family were all quite against the Potters at that time. It made meeting up with him trickier, a bit more awkward.

"I don't need a lot of friends, anyway," Lily shrugged quietly, picking up the stack of jumpers that belonged to her. Without looking at her mother or brother, she returned to her room with her clothes and clicked the door shut.

Ginny flicked her wand to gather up the bundles of socks that now littered the living room floor like soft cotton grenades. She looked back at James. "I suppose I should give you your birthday present early then, if it means getting you off my back."

"What is it?" James asked quickly.

"Oh, you'll be pleased."

She waved her wand, and an envelope sitting wedged between two books on their shelf darted across the room and landed on her open hand. "It's not twenty friends," his mother shrugged, "but I'm sure Lorcan would love to join you."

James snatched the envelope and tore it open, the look of an eager child at Christmas stamped across his face. Inside a birthday card were two tickets, along with two VIP passes. It took him a moment to process the words on them.

"The Bent-Winged Snitches?" James crowed gripping the tickets so tightly his fingers turned white. "Mum, this is amazing! Backstage passes, a meet and greet—this is mental."

"You're very welcome."

"Mum, you are absolutely bloody brilliant," James grinned, kissing the tickets with a loud smack of his lips. "How'd you get these? Their concert sold out a month ago!"

"Your dad thinks he has connections, but I used to play for the Holyhead Harpies and let's just say I know a few people in the event running business."

James threw his arms around Ginny and gave her a squeeze, and there was more relief shared in their hug than anything else. Ginny's nails dug into James' shoulders and he gripped her back just as fiercely, eyes squeezed shut. "Sorry I'm such a little shit."

"It's mostly my fault," his mother replied, releasing him. "You inherited the ball-breaking from me."

James smiled, relief and then excitement flooded is face again as another thought occurred to him. Gleefully, he departed for his bedroom. "I have to write to Lorcan, he's going to be over the moon!"

James slammed his bedroom door shut, wrapped up in his gusto, and Teddy Lupin poked his head out of Harry's study in response. "Are we fighting or are we just being noisy today?"

"He's just being noisy," Ginny smiled weakly. She took a seat on the sofa and patted the space beside her. Teddy traipsed over, falling onto the cushions and knocking half the washing onto the floor. Between muttered apologies, he hastily returned the folded clothes to their hamper. He faced his godmother with a smile. "So, what's James so pleased about? You didn't give in on the big party request, did you?"

"No, I just gave him his birthday gift a couple of days early to keep him quiet."

Teddy raised his eyebrows. "And?"

"Two backstage tickets for The Bent-Winged Snitches."

Teddy's face fell. He almost looked mad. "Gin, I had a spare VIP pass. Why didn't you ask me?"

"Oh. I thought you were going to use that."

"No, I'm going to the concert alone," Teddy said, genuinely peeved. "Aren't you supposed to give a wizard a watch when he comes of age?"

"I was going to, but my mum and dad got him a watch," Ginny explained. "It doesn't matter. Keep the VIP pass, Teddy. You may end up using it." There was a bit of a twinkle in her eyes.

"Or I could sell it to someone on the day of the concert," he mused thoughtfully.

Ginny's wane smile faded and she clutched his hand in her own for a moment, patting it twice. Teddy didn't really seem to process her expression properly, misreading it. "I should leave here soon, I know."

"No—Teddy, we love having you here."

"I feel like I'm taking up space here. I mean, I'm sleeping in a camp bed in Harry's study."

Ginny grinned. "Lily offered you to share."

"Somehow, I think I would get on her nerves," Teddy grinned.

"Stay a little longer. The kids like your company." She bit her lip and leaned in closer to Teddy. The blue haired boy she had once carried on her hip and swung through the air was now a man beside her, and it made her feel old. Still, with his eternal youth, Teddy leaned in, brown eyes wide with anticipation. Ginny made her request in a low voice. "Can you watch Al for me? I'm really worried about him."

"About his depressed angst routine? Don't worry, we all go through that around sixteen."

"I'm going to insist you share with him."

"I don't want to invade his privacy," Teddy said quickly.

"Well I do. I don't like him locking himself up alone all day. You're going to stay in his room and look out for him, alright? Teddy—it's the least you can do for us."

"Holy Helga. Stop with the guilt trip. I'll do it."

"Thank you."

Ginny ran a hand over his cerulean locks and leaned back into the sofa, sighing heavily. Teddy swatted her hand away, the corner of his mouth pulling up into a crooked smile. "I have to meet up with Orlick tonight," he said before making a few expressions that communicated his true feelings about the matter.

"Spy training isn't as cool as you hoped?" Ginny prodded.

"I'm learning one of the most guttural languages known to magical kind," Teddy replied dryly. "I'm an adaptable person, but this is testing my abilities a bit."

"What are you two conspiring about?" Albus asked suspiciously leaning on the doorjamb of the kitchen.

Teddy and Ginny both looked over their shoulders. He was munching on a sandwich, one leg crossed over the other, his skinny jeans bunched around the ankles. Despite how hot the last few days had been, Albus was incredibly pale. It wasn't so much an issue that he had not left the house, but that he had not even left this room. His mother went to speak but Teddy spoke over her.

"Sorry about this, Al, but I'm going to be moving into your room."

Albus hesitated, confused for a moment. Then his face darkened. He turned to his mother. "I don't need a babysitter."

"I asked," Teddy lied before Ginny could protest. "I was staying in your room before you came back from Hogwarts. Your dad's study's just way too cramped. And I get along better with you than James—don't tell him that though."

Albus didn't appear to be buying it, largely because Teddy and James got on like a house on fire. He was glaring at Teddy as if he were a traitor. "Fine," he said stiffly. "I'll go clear some space for your bed."

"He hates me," Ginny sighed heavily as her son slammed his bedroom door behind him, almost as loudly as James had. Teddy relaxed back into the sofa.

"No, he doesn't. He was always close to Harry and he feels…betrayed, I suppose. He'll move past it."

"Promise me you won't breathe a word of Order business to him," Ginny pleaded. "Harry doesn't want any of the kids in the loop."

"Not even James?"

"None of them."

Teddy shook his head. Protecting the kids still at Hogwarts seemed futile, as most of them wouldn't remain there for long. And once they could, he was certain they would join the Order. Just like Molly, Fred and Dom. James, Albus and Rose would be soon to follow, in a year or two. "They'll all be seventeen soon."

"They're not seventeen yet."

Dear besotted babe,

Firstly, I hope you used that appellation ironically. I sure did.

Secondly, it has literally been a week since I last saw you. I think the tone of your last letter was a bit unwarranted. Nonetheless, I'm replying with haste, as I imagine it'll take your owl a few days to get back to you (and he's resting at the moment, very irritable, it's quite a long trip.)

Do you not know me at all? A French lover? Quality bonding time with my family? To paint a more realistic picture, I've spent the last week reading profusely, both muggle and magical literature, and pining over my house-elves. I really do miss them. Hotel staff just don't do as good a job at pressing my robes. I wonder if Millie and Tasper miss me, too.

What can I say? Paris is a let down. It's exceptionally dirty, which has given me anxiety. They leave rubbish out in the middle of the road. England is incredibly clean by contrast. Also, "the city of love" label is rubbish. It's hardly romantic when you're walking through the streets with your parents.

We did a muggle bus tour of the city when we first arrived. We saw some of the monuments—the Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triomphe to name a few—but that was rather unexciting. Mum and dad complained the whole time about travelling on muggle transport.

Yesterday we did a big tour of Paris and surrounding countryside with a magical guide. That was far better. Personally, the highlight of the daytrip was visiting the French National Quidditch Stadium, which to muggle eyes resembles the façade of the Château de Versailles, with opulent gardens covering the field. The Quiberon Quafflepunchers were training while we were there, and they stopped to have a bit of a meet and greet. I'm not sure if you follow international Quidditch teams as closely as I do, but the Quafflepunchers are renowned for their flamboyant moves and—perhaps here I should be a bit more rueful—being a predominantly female team. They were quite fit, both in regard to their physical prowess on the pitch as well as…well…you know. Let's just say I would have willing shared a baguette with them.

Regarding Albus, it's only been two weeks since his father went on the run, so his isolation is understandable. The best time to have a frank conversation with him would be at a big event—a party of some kind—where there are a lot of people about. It's easy to have private moments at big parties. Isn't James' seventeenth birthday coming up?

As for the other Slytherins—Belle has written to me already and expressly banned me from speaking to you. I'm sure she'll come around. She is terrible at holding grudges, and I suspect she's just a bit jealous of you. As for Alice, she'll also get over it. They'll come to their senses, just give them time and remain apologetic.

(Please never joke about kissing André Zabini out of boredom ever again, for the sake of this relationship.)

I hope this letter relieved your boredom somewhat. If it didn't, on the reverse side I drew a picture of André Zabini sitting on the Eiffel Tower. Or perhaps the Eiffel Tower has been shoved up his arse. It's all up to artistic interpretation, so I'll leave things at that.

Warm regards,

Your international lover,

Scorpius.

PS. I think its best we burn these letters, because if anyone saw how I've signed off, I will lose all my integrity.

PPS. I went to give Volker this letter and he almost chewed off my thumb. I don't think he's happy about the return trip.

Teddy was selling ice creams in Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour when he saw her through the store's front window, walking by with conviction. His mind had been elsewhere (he was running through various phrases in Gobbledegook under his breath).

Still, he picked her out in a second and she arrested his full attention. Her fair blonde hair flashed like a silver river. Her skin was tanned, the freckles far more numerous than he last remembered. She walked by with a stride to her step, and as quickly as she had appeared she was gone.

Victoire had just shimmered into existence, like a mirage in a heatwave, and Teddy was left feeling utterly baffled. He knew that she would be returning from Romania over the weekend, but seeing her in the flesh after more than three months felt like a dream.

Perhaps she had come to Diagon Alley to find him at the Society of Social Welfare.

He immediately shut down this thought. Victoire had not only broken up with him, she had left the country. She had made it very clear that they were over, and after months of dealing with this reality, he couldn't build his hopes up again.

They were done. It was done.

He said this firmly to himself twice before he saw her flash of silver hair through the front window again. This time, Teddy ducked under the counter to avoid being seen. He heard the door open and without a second thought, he closed his eyes and focused on a different face in his head, one that melted over his own.

"Er—hello?" she called, leaning against the counter, only inches from his hiding spot.

It was like a punch to the gut, hearing her voice. Like someone had ripped his throat open. Emotion pulsed through him and made him feel light-headed. Teddy hastily hopped to his feet, now resembling like the parlour's owner, Darcy Donne. The disguise was sufficient enough to fool Victoire, whose surprise was only caused by the shop owner's sudden appearance from under the bench. "Oh! Sorry, I didn't realise you were…under there."

"How can I help you?" Teddy asked, his voice shaking but high.

"I'll just have the Orange Marmalade, please."

She leaned against the counter, drumming her fingers against the glass that separated her from the various ice-cream flavours on display. Her hair spilled over her shoulders, and he noticed that she was surprisingly well dressed. This was all he took in, keeping his eyes down. In silence, Teddy scooped the ice-cream onto a cone. Adrenalin coursed through him as if he was about to enter a duel. The different ice-cream flavours seemed to pop, saturated and contrasted in colour. She hadn't noticed him—of course she hadn't, why would she expect to see him in an ice-cream shop—yet Teddy found himself as flustered as if they'd just had a confrontation. He could barely look at her as he returned her change.

"Thanks," she said with a brief smile, and then as suddenly as she had arrived in the parlour she was gone.

Teddy's heart continued to hammer, but he did not move. She took a seat outside, under one of the parlour's plastic umbrellas, and hastily ate her ice-cream. Her back was to him, so he could only stare at her glossy blonde head. She looked into her briefcase as if to check for something, then she stood. She didn't eat the wafer cone—Victoire never ate the wafer cone—and deposited it in the bin before retrieving her briefcase and returning to the main strip.

Words from the last time he ever spoke to her bounced around in his head.

I think the time apart will be good.

If you think this is best, then you should go.

I think we need to go on a break.

All those I thinks. Then it was done. She was gone. He had let her go.

He was supposed to let her go now, too.

Without pausing to think, Teddy changed his appearance once more—male, taller in height, hooked nose—and pulled off his apron. He was out of the parlour in seconds, only pausing to flip the sign on the door so it read back in five minutes.

The streaming sunlight blinded him as he hit the main street. He shielded his eyes with his hand. She was much further down the strip, walking with purpose once more, her briefcase swinging in her arm. She ducked into the Daily Prophet's main office. Teddy came to a halt, some meters away, hovering by a vendor stall on the street. She was in there for a while. It was enough time that Teddy's flight and fight instinct was wearing off and being replaced with rationale thought. He was beginning to think he was being rather neurotic, hanging about in disguise to spy on her. This is what crazy people did, what abusive boyfriends did, what over-protective parents did.

Surely, this was not healthy, nor conducive to letting go.

He was about to return to his abandoned work-post when he noticed her leave the office, looking all in a flurry. With her face set, she walked briskly down the office steps and headed further down the strip, pushing past people. Teddy hastily pursued, closer now and less embarrassed to look at her.

Victoire had changed. Not in a perceptible way. He couldn't put it down to just one thing. She just seemed different—older. Her tight pencil skirt hugged her hips, and she was not wearing full-length robes, but rather a shawl pinned at her throat. Her lips were painted a dark plum. As he got closer, he noticed that she had pierced her upper lobe and helix, two simple diamond studs glistening there beside the standard earrings she usually wore. But these things were purely physical, and they weren't the source of her change.

He fell back and stood along the other side of the street. His eyes continued to roam over her, hungry for details. She was wearing a pair of heels that were made from dark green dragon-hide. He wondered if she had bought them in Romania, or whether they were a gift.

I think we need to go on a break.

Was she as afraid to confront him as he was to confront her?

She reached a narrow building that had no particular sign. She entered and headed straight for the staircase within, the main doors swinging shut behind her. A few moments later he spotted her through the glass windows on the second floor.

I think the time apart will be good.

Teddy took a step back and breathed deeply. She was doing well. It wasn't up to him to disrupt that, to stalk her down and confront her. The time apart had been good for her. She was free from him. She had wanted space.

Teddy turned on his heel and headed back down Diagon Alley, hoping no one else had wanted an ice-cream in his absence.

The article she had written was flawless in its execution. She had gone over it at least seven times since writing it the night before. It was practically ready for print, and Victoire suspected it would be a short meeting with the chief editor.

Still, as Victoire strutted up the main street of Diagon Alley, she felt another wave of anxiety hit her. It was the same feeling one had the day of an exam, or the night before leaving a holiday destination; of something forgotten, ill-prepared or left behind. It was as if she were holding a Remembrall smoked up red but without any indication of what had been overlooked.

She stopped to get an ice-cream, unable to resist the urge to procrastinate for a few more minutes. While she sat outside on the plastic furniture, she hastily peaked into her briefcase. The article was definitely there. She had not forgotten it. The title was visible between the walls of her leather bag.

GOBLIN MADE TRAPS SNARE DRAGONS FOR TRADING

Dragomir's low, gruff voice was still in her head, explaining what he knew to be true. The goblin-made traps around the mountains, designed to capture and not to kill. The letter from his Ministry friend, translated to describe how the Romanian Ministry had relaxed its laws around dragon trading to those who were willing to pay the sum. The suspicion that these dragons were not being used to guard gold or act as a security measure. They were being weaponised.

She wasn't sure for what, but she was certain that everyone needed to know.

Uncomfortably, she recalled the dictionary that had rested between their thighs, and the dark corners of his home in Roșuloc.

She pushed the thought from her mind.

Thinking about Romania made her head pulse. It felt wrong being back in England. Her body hadn't adjusted to the climate. Even though it was a sunny, clear day, she still shivered from the coolness of the air. The people were stoic and polite, lacking the warmth she had become accustomed to. And she missed them. She missed the five dragon-handlers. She even missed the dragons.

Charlie had promised her on her very first day that Romania would bring her clarity. He had been right. It had cleared out her head, and what was left inside the raw, cavernous hole where her mind once romped and wrestled was the still, silent and uncomfortable knowledge that she had gone to the Dragon Sanctuary to run away, to feel hidden and safe.

To be a coward.

Victoire was a wild beast, an untameable force. She could not live in a secluded paradise, as much as she wanted to.

She regretted choosing Orange Marmalade ice-cream, as the sweet citrus flavour reminded her of the days of her youth, where she and Teddy would eat oranges out in Shell Cottage's front garden, facing the sea. Things had been simple and innocent then. Wishing to banish those thoughts, she dropped the ice-cream cone into a nearby bin and set off once more.

The Daily Prophet's main office was a slim, familiar building. She knew her way around from her short time working there, and was already making her way up to the chief editor's offices. A few people stopped and waved, or tried to engage her in a chat (notably, all men) but Victoire refused to stop.

Almeidas' receptionist was sitting at a small table outside his office door. Victoire leaned against it, briefcase clattering with the wood.

"Hi, I need to speak to Ramiro Almeidas about an article."

"Do you have an appointment?" the receptionist inquired, not looking up from her typewriter.

"I work here," Victoire frowned.

"Yes, but Mister Almeidas does not see anyone without an appointment."

"He will want to speak to me," she replied, trying to keep her voice level. "Trust me."

"I'm sorry, but he won't see you without an appointment."

"Can you just—" she lowered her voice, trying to sound less as if she was talking to a dragon handler. "Could you please tell him that Victoire Weasley is here to see him?"

The receptionist sighed heavily, as if she had asked the world of her. Slowly, she filled out a memo and put it in a tray on her desk. It shimmered and vanished, presumably to appear in the corresponding tray within Almeidas' office. "You may wish to take a seat," the receptionist advised. "He may be a while."

But Victoire had not even moved across to the waiting room chairs when the door opened and Almeidas poked his head out. He was a handsome man, in his late forties, with olive skin and a long, straight nose. He smiled at Victoire, flashing his perfectly straight teeth. "My favourite correspondence writer," he sung, holding the door open further to let her in. "Please, come right in."

Victoire smiled pointedly at the receptionist before shuffling inside.

"You're looking tan, Victoire," Almeidas prattled, snapping the door shut behind her. Victoire had only been in his office once before—when she had accepted the job for Romania—and not much had changed since. A row of photographs along the wall showed the Daily Prophet's chief editor with various celebrities, all signed and framed. She did notice that the picture of him with Harry Potter at the last World Cup had been taken down. "Oh, I adore the dragon-hide heels."

Victoire replied with one of her dazzling smiles.

Almeidas chuckled, taking a seat in the leather chair behind his desk. Victoire mirrored his actions on the other side of the desk. "You'd be pleased to know that your weekly articles in the Wednesday Magizoology column were quite the success. You'll be putting Rolf Scamander out of print."

"I doubt it," Victoire said flippantly, flicking her hand dismissively. "But thank you, Sir. It was a privilege to take up the correspondence position."

Ramiro Almeidas, as flamboyant as he was, could not be considered a stupid man. He picked up an acrid green quill and turned the feather between his fingers, analysing her with an unconsciously smug smile stretched between his cheeks, like a clothes line flashing several neat, white towels at her. Victoire smiled back, her plum lips pulled tight over teeth. Almeidas drew in a breath and spoke, voice lowered, like he was addressing a secret. "I don't believe you're interested in Magizoology, Miss Weasley. You did take Care of Magical Creatures at N.E.W.T. level, and you also volunteered to travel for the correspondence, but I don't believe dangerous beasts are where your talents lie. You are qualified, yes, but this is not what you would like to do. Which puzzles me, because you were keen to volunteer. We had only just taken you off the society pages and a few weeks later you were volunteering to leave the office."

"I chose to leave because of…personal reasons. Not any reasons attached to the Daily Prophet, Sir. I—er—I broke up with someone. With Teddy Lupin. There's no point beating about the bush, I know for a fact that the public has been following our relationship closely for several years and I…" Victoire trailed off, hyperaware that at a very young age, her limited erotic experiences with Teddy Lupin had made it into the Prophet at the hands of Rita Skeeter. Her face turned a bright red. "I needed time away from England. I took the opportunity when you presented it."

"And you have decided not to resume your relationship with young Teddy Lupin?" he asked, his voice dropping several octaves.

"No. I haven't even seen him since I've gotten back."

"Well, I think you made the right choice," Almeidas said, nodding primly like a pleased father figure. "Teddy Lupin appears to have run off the rails recently. I'm glad you cut ties there."

"Oh." Victoire froze, wondering what he was implying. How had Teddy fallen out of the Daily Prophet's good books? They adored him. Whenever they needed a representative from the Society of Social Welfare, he was the first person they requested for an interview. He was their pet.

She hadn't spoken about Teddy since her return. Her mother vaguely brought it up once and she immediately changed the conversation. She didn't know where he was or what he was doing, whether he was seeing anyone or still single. She didn't want to know.

Eventually, she would have to see him. There would be a family event—whether it was Christmas or her birthday or even her own welcome home party—where they would come face to face. Where they would sit across from one another at the table or bump into each other on the stairs, and it would simply be impossible to pretend as if they had never coexisted.

She was afraid of that moment. Deep down, she knew she was still seventeen years old and madly in love with him, and painfully ready to forgive and forget.

What she wanted to do was just forget.

Victoire cleared her throat. "I'm actually here to speak to you about an article I was hoping to run."

"Oh?"

She slipped her hand into the briefcase resting across her knees and withdrew the roll of parchment. Steadily, she slid it across his desk.

Victorie watched his face carefully. It went from apprehensive curiosity to confusion. His thick, curly eyebrows knotted together as he picked up the parchment and pursued it. His face became pinched and then aggrieved. Towards the end of the letter, a storminess had descended over his dark eyes.

"This can't go to print."

Almeidas' pizzazz had fizzed out, leaving behind a heavy displeasure. Gone was the charming wink in his eyes, the indulgent smile. He pinched the report between two fingers and neatly tore it in half. Victoire actually cried out and then strangled the exclamation in her throat.

"Who were your sources?" the editor asked.

"I can't—there's no way I can disclose them. But I had two separate sources and both are extremely reliable."

"This doesn't go to print and it is best if you pretend like you never had an inkling of it."

"With all due respect Sir, I don't see how the Prophet can ignore a story like this."

"We will not simply ignore this story, we will bury it. Am I clear, Miss Weasley?" He held her eyes and the tension made her shake, but still she did not stand down. She had never been so furious in her life. Eventually, her boss broke the silence with a disappointed sigh. "This is a matter of national security, Victoire, not an opportunity to get your big break. You can't put out an article that implicates goblins and several international Ministries."

"I think refusing to report on this is a matter of national security," she replied heatedly.

"Do you wish to keep your job?" Almeidas asked, raising both eyebrows. Again, Victoire did not respond, but continued to stare him down. This time, he didn't soften his tone. "If so, I would never breathe a word of this again."

Shaking, Victoire left the office. Her head was swimming and the sun's glare was far too bright. She wasn't sure where to go or what to do.

She wouldn't be able to approach anyone else at the Daily Prophet if the chief editor was set against her. She was suddenly painfully aware of the direction that paper had taken. She had been wary when first joining the Prophet because they tended to follow an easy buck over a serious story—selling papers for entertainment, trying to accommodate the public mood. Rita Skeeter was as good an example as any that the newspaper lacked journalistic integrity.

But Almeidas' words were threatening. They seemed to imply that the paper was no longer run by a need to satisfy the public and make some money. It seemed as if the Ministry was leaning on it rather heavily to get across the message it wanted heard.

Which meant she could not criticise goblins.

Victoire hastily took the steps back down to the street and continued pounding the pavement. She would just have to keep trying, start hitting sources that were not mainstream.

The next building she entered made her skin crawl, particularly because doing a short internship at this particular office over the summer before her seventh year had left her with very bad memories. Lima Press was situated in a single, small office on the second floor of a nondescript building. Only four people worked on the floor, including an editor, advertising executive, writer and publisher. She knocked on the door and waited for a moment, pausing to look out on the street beyond the window, before she was addressed in a cheery tone.

"Victoire! Wow, you're looking suave."

She turned back to the woman leaning on the door, her tight curls bunched on top of her head.

"Annette. I needed a quick word."

"Honestly, look at you. You're so tanned! I heard that reference we wrote you landed you a job at the Daily Prophet," Annette said, a hint of resentment behind her chirpy voice.

"I was wondering if you needed a freelance writer," Victoire said, keeping her voice level. "I have a story."

"Ooh, what is it?" the woman cooed, still blocking the doorway. "Witch Weekly is always looking for exciting features."

"It's about some stuff I dug up while working for the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary," she began, and Annette seemed intrigued, so she rushed on. "Dragons have gone missing, and they've found goblin-made traps set up to capture them alive. It looks as if they're illegally trading dragons to try and use them as weapons."

Annette nodded bluntly for a moment, her frizzy hair bouncing on top of her head. Her eyes were vacant. "Huh, well. That sounds rather alarmist, and it's not really what the Witch Weekly's readership goes for."

"Yeah, but you guys have run serious articles before," Victoire nodded encouragingly. "And this'll be a bit of an international feature—a scandal in the Ministry, that sort of thing. Dragons are a glamorous topic."

Annette wasn't buying it. She bit her lip thoughtfully and then brightened. "Oh, how about you write an article about the Dragon Sanctuary as a honeymoon destination? We're running a feature next week reviewing the best magical places to visit when in love. A bit of danger, a bit of adventure, romance in the rustic countryside. What do you reckon?"

Five minutes later, Victoire had left the building, her head still pounding. She was swiftly running out of contacts, and she had a nauseatingly feeling that this information would simply be buried. That no one would ever hear it. That no one would ever care enough to bring it to the public's attention.

And the public would continue to stupidly, simperingly trust the Ministry and support the goblins. She tried to clear her head.

She only had one contact left. The Scamanders. But if she wanted to see them, she would need to prepare a little better.

It was a beautiful day, the sort of day summer spits out in a rare fit of clarity. No clouds, no chance of rain. Just perfect pale blue skies and rays of sun. Albus carefully polished his broom, basking in the gold light that slanted through his bedroom window. It turned his floorboards into a honey-coated chestnut and gleamed off his glossy Quidditch posters. The little space, now packed with two beds, was a box of warm light.

He was only halfway down his broom handle when Teddy entered without knocking. He flopped onto his camp bed, the door left open, and stared at the roof. The sunlight caught his blue hair, the glare tinting it to a faint, turquoise green.

Albus glanced up at his god-brother, then at the open door. He chewed the inside of his cheek, in half a mind of getting up from his bed to close it. Instead, he glanced towards Teddy.

"Good day at work?" he asked politely.

"Sure." Teddy blinked a few times, dazed, before turning his head to focus on Albus. He seemed surprised by the broom. "Are you going to fly today?"

"No. I just wanted to polish it."

"Alright then," Teddy nodded pensively, staring back up at the ceiling. "Just stay in your room and brood about how shitty the world is. Whatever makes you happy."

Albus couldn't help himself. He placed him broom aside and studied Teddy's long, lanky body.

"What's up with you? Are you stoned?"

Teddy stared flatly at the white ceiling. "She's back."

Albus was confused for a moment, but then he caught on. "Victoire?"

"I saw her today at Diagon Alley. I thought I was over her. I thought I was finally done with the emotional eating and crying and trying to throw out everything she may or may not have ever touched."

"Pathetic." Albus shook his head and gave Teddy's camp bed a bit of a shove with his foot. "You need to move on, Teddy."

"How?" he demanded, throwing his arms up sporadically. "How do I get over her? I've been trying since she left me and I feel like—like every time I make the smallest bit of progress—she didn't even really speak to me today and it totally winded me. I got back to the parlour and ate, like, four ice creams."

"Girls drive you mental. Honestly, you're better off without her."

"Better off without her?" Teddy repeated incredulously. He sat up, his bed creaking under him. There was a bit of that mania in his eyes, the kind that kept him going. "Al, what are you on about? After my Nan, she's the only woman I've ever actually loved! She's intelligent and hilarious and can whip me into order in about a minute and she's a bloody brilliant kisser—"

"Ew. She is my cousin."

"—And I lost her. I let her go. To bloody Transylvania! I let her go to bloody Transylvania and live with dragons. So I could fight for goblin rights. What was I thinking? I'm not better off without her, she's better off without me."

"You saw Victoire today?" Lily's high voice emanated from out in the hall. A moment later she was hovering at the door, her brown eyes wide with enthusiasm. Her plaited skirt brushed her legs as if she stood in a breeze. Teddy sat up to face her, the twenty-four-year-old man facing the fourteen-year-old girl. "Did you speak?"

"I saw her, and I followed her around for half an hour and then I left before she could see me," Teddy said flatly.

"Oh, how romantic," Lily sighed.

"She needs to get a restraining order on you," Albus snorted.

Teddy shook his head gently. "I thought I—not exactly moved on, but that I was prepared to deal with it. Seeing her again. But I'm not."

"You should come to the welcome home party," Lily implored, hastily crossing the threshold into Albus' room and taking a seat on Teddy's creaky camp bed. Albus immediately sat up, on edge. Lily took Teddy's hands and clutched them desperately. "It presents the perfect opportunity!"

"For what?"

"For a grand gesture!"

Both boys shook their heads and laughed. Lily grew quite stern.

"You're both perfect for each other. You just need to have a big grand gesture to win her back."

Teddy smiled at Lily and squeezed her hand, swinging it back and forth before letting it go. "I'll live even if I just stalk her softly from a distance. She wanted space."

"What she wanted was for you to grow up and you've done that, so go win her back."

"Mate, I reckon you should leave her alone," Albus advised, purposefully contrary to his younger sister.

"But what about big grand gestures?" Lily pleaded.

"Oh, grow up Lily," Albus sighed, resuming his broom polishing. "People break up. Things don't work out. If Teddy wants to move on, he should get to do that without having Victoire hang over his head like the biggest mistake he's ever made."

"Ouch," Teddy winced, as if physically hurt.

"They're meant to be, Albus!"

"There isn't such a thing as meant to be!"

"Just come to the welcome home party," Lily pleaded, focusing on Teddy instead.

"No. He wants to stay home!"

Lily glared at her brother, then at Teddy, before bounding off the camp bed and standing by the door, her fists clenched by her side and her shoulders bunched under her ears. She addressed both of them at once. "Your apathy is getting old and it isn't worth very much. Both of you need to grow up!"

Dear Scorpius,

The Quiberon Quafflepunchers? I am throbbing with jealousy. I can't believe you met them! Honestly, if you wanted to snog Irene Dorléac I would have been there to cheer you on.

What are you reading at the moment? I've finished all our sixth-year textbooks already (I am bored, did I mention my boredom?) and I am now leisure reading. I'm currently on Dicken's Great Expectations and it has not met my expectations. It is dead boring. It is worse than playing Gobstone's with Hugo, so I have given up on it.

"It's easy to have private moments at big parties." Hmm, you mean like when you cornered me at your New Year's Eve party in the greenhouse? You know, you are a bit of a mastermind. Sorry I was high on a Cheering Charm and spoilt the opportunity for a serious talk. We may have gotten together much earlier if it weren't for that.

In regards to the party front, James isn't allowed a big seventeenth birthday—things are a bit risky at the moment, and I think his mum offered to throw him a party just for the family, but he threw a bit of a hissy fit over that. He wanted a big shindig with all his mates. He's going to The Bent-Winged Snitches concert instead with your close pal Lorcan Scamander. I think it's appeased him. You'll be pleased to know that I am not going to said concert, in order to keep up my running theme of boredom.

In regards to the party front 2.0, Victoire Weasley (Teddys' ex, my eldest cousin, you may remember her vaguely) has come back from Romania and we're throwing her a welcome home party. It'll be my first opportunity to see Albus, so I might corner him then.

I'm going to give Volker a rest and use Hugo's owl without telling him, which I'm sure he'll understand, since I'm such a brilliant big sister and all. He won't notice if his owl is missing for a day or two, right? Right.

Please try to french kiss a few Quidditch players or else this whole holiday was wasted on you,

Rose.

PS. I'm actually really worried about Albus now. It's not like him to be so mellow.

PPS. Don't actually snog any Quidditch players. I'm a cool girlfriend, but not that cool.

Victoire's long, cornsilk hair was thrown over her shoulder, with two small braids on either side drawing a few locks away from her face. She was careful to choose her outfit—nothing too formal, as it was strictly a smart casual dress code, but something that would flatter her. A pair of tight, black jeans. A plain blouse and her worn leather jacket. In the half an hour leading up to the party, she thought about changing half a dozen times, gripped with the sudden panic that she looked silly, or all-black didn't suit her, or that people would think she was morose. Patiently, she talked herself down. It didn't matter what she wore. It was only her family that were coming, and there was no one to impress.

Still, she continued to pace around her small bedroom in Shell Cottage, the thrashing sea outside rearing and turning, the pale grey sky deepening into a dull black. She was anxious about the party, and mostly because she was concerned Teddy would show up. At around eight o'clock, she heard her mother turn on the Wireless, music humming through the walls.

From her room, Victoire heard a knock on the front door, followed by her father checking who it was. People were already arriving. She hastily discarded her eyeliner and dug around her closet for her dragon-hide shoes, slipping on the green scaled pumps and swiftly glancing herself up and down in the mirror.

"Lou," she called, fidgeting with her red lipstick, using her pinky finger to wipe the corners of her lips.

Her younger brother poked his head into her room. "Mm?"

"Who's just arrived?"

He disappeared to the stairs for a moment of reconnaissance before returning. "Percy and Audrey."

Victoire nodded, throwing down her lipstick and following him to the stairs. Percy, Audrey, Molly and little Lucy. She was grateful they were the first to arrive.

"You swear no one's invited him?" Victoire checked again. She had pestered each family member with this question half a dozen times that afternoon.

"Oh, we invited him," Louis said brazenly, his hand sliding down the banister. "Teddy didn't want to come."

"Right," Victoire said shortly, determined not to mention his name for the duration of the entire evening.

Her Uncle Percy and Aunt Audrey were still embracing her parents and handing over gifts and drinks. Molly Weasley, around the same age of Victoire's own sister, was already in deep conversation with Dominique. Victoire stood there awkwardly for a moment, studying the two teenagers before they seemed to grow aware of her presence. Dominique turned expectantly, brushing her strawberry blonde fringe away from her eyes. Molly reluctantly followed her gaze.

"Hey," Molly said shortly, sizing Victoire up.

"Hey Molly," Victoire replied, uncertainty. Although Molly could never be described as a warm person, she was rarely this cold.

Percy Weasley crossed the room and wrapped her in a prim hug, patting her back twice before releasing her. He smiled, fixing his glasses as he examined her tan skin and scaly shoes. "How did you find Romania? And how was Charlie?"

"He's really well," Victoire said, brightening. "He's expanding the enclosures. We got three Antipodean Opaleye eggs that are due to hatch any day now."

Percy nodded, keeping in place a tentative smile. Clearly, he was unable to appreciate this news as much as Victoire hoped. She faltered, wondering what he had expected her to say. She felt a pair of slim hands wrap themselves around her middle and looked down, distracted, to find one of the youngest members of the Weasley clan, Lucy, attached to her waist. There was a good decade's difference between Lucy and her older sister, and although everyone was aware she was considered to be unplanned, Grandma Weasley grew fierce whenever someone suggested she was an accident.

Victoire stroked her dark brown hair and kneeled down to be level with her nine-year-old cousin. At least the youngest of their kin was glad to see her back.

"We read all your articles in the paper!" Lucy giggled, clutching Victoire's hand tightly. Molly glared at her sister before turning away, disgruntled.

As visitors continued to arrive, Victoire began to notice that certain people were quite keen to avoid her, mostly her cousins. Roxanne didn't say more than a hello, James only paused to ask what working with dragons was like and Albus didn't appear to be speaking to anyone at all. Victoire hung back, munching on her mother's home made meat pies and analysing the small group now sitting on the sofas.

One never knew what to expect when the Weasley-Potter clan all come together. Usually a lot of noise, a lot of food and a lot of inside jokes. This party contained all three elements, but Victoire felt oddly on the outside of it all. To some degree, she had expected to be the cynosure of the event (it was her welcome home party, after all) but her family had divided neatly into little groups and were keeping to themselves.

The divisions were usually based on generation, then age differences. Adults stood around the dinning table, and children gathered around the sofas and armchairs. The older ones, Fred, Roxanne, Molly and Dominique all sat in a little knot, speaking in low voices. James and Rose were gallivanting loudly and rehashing old pranks, much to Albus' annoyance. Hugo, Lily and Louis all gossiped near the fireplace. Victoire was a little too old to sit with them, but a little too young to stand with the adults. Desperately, she tried to think as to why this had only now felt like a problem. Never before had she felt excluded at a family event.

She realised it was because, since childhood, Teddy had always been the nearest to her age, and the companion she spent the entire evening beside. Surlily, she took her mother's wineglass as she passed her. She was determined not to think about him, much less speak about him. He wasn't coming, and there was no point dwelling.

Hugo and Lily both sidled up beside her, leaning against the wall on either side. Victoire frowned, giving them both a thoughtful look as she finished her red wine. "Are you two speaking to me?"

"Yes," Hugo said, smiling knowingly. "Wanna show us photos from Romania?"

"Sure," Victoire grinned, pulling out her wand to Summon the photos. An album flew from her room, down the stairs and into her hands. She handed it to Hugo.

Hugo prised the cover open, studying the three photos pinned to the first page. The first was a picture of the grounds, the Chinese Fireball enclosure visible in the right corner, with Firecracker alternating between flicking his tail or shooting puffs of smoke up into the air. The smell of charred wood and earthy mulch, the grumbles and snorts of the dragons, the hot sun on her skin. Only a week ago, she had still been there, saying her final goodbyes.

"Who're they?" Lily asked, pointing to the photograph beneath. It was a photo of Victoire with the four other handlers, taken by her Uncle Charlie in the barn before their final day. Victoire was in the centre of the bundle, her arm linked through Krishna's. Adam and Sylvia stood on either end, and Dragomir was at the back, his arms wrapped around the entire group as if he could bunch them up like a piece of parchment and keep them in his pocket. They interacted in the photograph in the exact way they would interact in real life. Adam played with Krishna's hair to provoke her, while Krishna swatted him away in false annoyance. Sylvia squeezed Victoire, shrug her shoulders, tuck her free hand into her pocket. Dragomir readjusted himself uncomfortably, baring his teeth momentarily for the photo, before returning to his usual stern scowl.

She missed them.

"Those were the handlers. That's my friend Krish, from school. And that's Sylvia and Dragomir and Adam."

"That guy's huge," Hugo said, pointing to Dragomir, who even in the photo appeared to be seven foot.

"There's a rumour that he's part giant," Victoire said, privately convinced that he was. In a heated flashback, she could feel his hands, huge as continents, drifting over her bare skin. She had been the sea under him, rocking and sighing, and he had been the rock. Fixed, hard yet gently worn down by her. She brushed her hair away from her face, feeling it warm with the memory.

"Well, that explains it," Hugo said, continuing to flick through the pages. "Would you mind if I show the others?"

"Go for it," Victoire said. Hugo approached the group of cousins sitting around the sofa. They greeted Hugo excitedly, warmly receiving the album and crowding around it.

"We've all taken sides," Lily confided quietly, also watching the group. "Which is why Albus and James aren't speaking to you."

"What?" Victoire said, stunned.

"They sided with Teddy. They're both still mad that you've broken up with him."

"I don't—I can't believe—that's so immature," she blustered, slamming her wine glass onto the table. The colour had risen in her cheeks. She hesitated, turning back to her young cousin conspiratorially. "Who else took his side?"

"Molly and Roxanne both took Teddy's side. Fred, Hugo and I took yours."

"Are you serious?" Victoire demanded, sitting up straight. "More people took his side?"

"Well, I tried not to take sides because I want you to get back together, but Teddy's been acting like such a prat that I decided to side with you."

"Why? What has Te—he done now?" she caught herself on his name.

"Ever since he moved in with us he's been all cheery around the house, but whenever you come up, he becomes depressing and thinks you want space, but then he follows you around! Honestly. He's all mixed signals."

"Wait—wait. Teddy is living with you? What about his flat? And what do you mean he follows me around?"

"He's been living with us ever since he left that werewolf girl," Lily sniffed, looking quite spurned. "And he lost his flat, he couldn't afford it. The whole apartment block was bought by goblins. And as for following you around, he saw you the other day when he was at Florean's and took off after you."

"At—at Florean's? No, I was alone there. I would've seen him."

"He was working behind the counter," Lily shrugged, her bob bouncing off her shoulders. "You must've seen him."

"He works at an ice-cream shop?" Victoire spat. A girl had served her, not Teddy. But based on what Lily had said, it may as well have been him.

For all her resolve, the goal to not mention Teddy Lupin had failed miserably.

Her head was suddenly ringing with all these new details, and she was hungry for any scrap of information Lily could provide. Staying over the Potters, following Victoire around in disguise, working at an ice-cream shop. This did not sound like the Teddy Lupin she knew. Or rather, it sounded like some odd reincarnated Teddy Lupin from her past. The young teenager who trailed her in disguise while she was on dates with boys, the young wizard who used to get more ice-cream on his shirt than in his mouth. The Teddy she had fallen in love with, the Teddy that was her childhood sweetheart.

The Teddy who had apparently been living with a werewolf girl.

You prepared for this, she reminded herself. You prepared for the possibility that he would move on. You moved on, too.

Wasn't that why she spent the night at Dragomir's anyway? To move on? Although, nothing had really happened…

That was denial speaking, because something had certainly happened. They didn't merely chat about dragons and sip on tea. Something had happened between them, even if it was blurry and difficult to define.

A werewolf girl. Teddy was terrified of werewolves. She closed her eyes tightly, trying to place everything in order, but the sequence was foreign to her. It felt as if two different voices were arguing in her head.

Victoire scanned the room again, her eyes roving over her aunts and uncles, her younger cousins and her parents. Finally, her eyes found Rose, focusing on where she laid across the sofa beside Roxanne, deep in conversation. She had grown a lot since the last time Victoire had seen her. She was taller—and Victoire guessed she had some growing to do still, having taken after her father in the height department. Half of her curly auburn hair was bunched up in a bun, while the rest fell in frizzy waves over her freckled shoulders. Her arms were muscular, far more muscular than they had once been, and Victoire suspected she had been training for her position as Slytherin Beater. She stared for a little while longer before leaning in closer to Lily. "Whose side is Rose on?"

Lily followed her gaze and studied her cousin with just as much conviction. "I can't be sure. She says she hasn't chosen a side."

Victoire nodded. "I can work with that."

Some time later, when everyone was passing around the desserts, Victoire meandered her way through the room, darting between her chatting uncles and avoiding her siblings bickering by the kitchen door. She hastened her speed a little as she reached Rose, who was balancing a glass of pumpkin juice in her hand and trying desperately to slip into the kitchen.

Rose was sixteen but she was taller than Victoire—she beat her by at least three inches. It made her feel incredibly young, and a bit foolish, despite the many years she had on her. Victoire hesitated by the door, one hand clutching the frame, watching as Rose stuck her head into a series of cupboards.

"Hey," Victoire said, stepping into the kitchen and closing the door behind her.

Rose jumped and spun around, her hand still clutching a cabinet knob. "Hey! Vic, how're you? You seem…cooler now that you're back from Romania."

"Cooler," Victoire repeated, before letting out a shaky laugh. "Cheers Rose."

She smiled, her freckled nose scrunching a bit. They were both a little awkward, all alone in the kitchen, the party on the other side of the door.

"Er, Rose. Could I have a word?"

She moved towards the small kitchen table and dragged back a chair and Rose following suit. They sat opposite one another, like some odd job interview. "What's up?" Rose asked.

"I know that everyone's taken sides since I broke up with Teddy," Victoire took a shaky breath. "I was, er, wondering whose side you're on?"

"Oh, I don't take sides," Rose said simply. She folded her arms in front of her, along the table. "I never take sides. If I need to act, it's based on logic, not loyalties."

"Right. That's very…cutthroat of you."

"Not necessarily. I am apparently very calculated," Rose said, smiling a bit cryptically. "That is, when I'm not losing my head completely and punching people in the face, or pushing them out of trees. I tend to lose my calculated edge in those moments."

"Remind me not to cross you," Victoire laughed.

"If you're trying to win me over to your side, it's not going to happen. My loyalty is to myself and my family at large, and I think its best not to vouch for one person."

"Oh—no—that's not what I wanted to ask. I actually just needed a bit of an opinion. Lily is bias."

"Okay. Shoot."

Victoire leaned in, the colour rising in her cheeks. Even still, she held onto her solemnity. "Do you believe Teddy is still interested in me?"

Rose surveyed her, taking the question completely seriously. She dedicated a moment to really thinking it over. "Yes. I think so."

"What makes you say that? I mean, he's not here."

"He's having tea with his Nan," Rose said. "And his life has been kind of crazy lately. But I do believe he is still…well, invested. In you."

Victoire leaned back, nodding slowly. So the tea with his Nan was not a euphemism for he was refusing to come. The optimism that exploded in her chest was an inappropriate response, one that could not be controlled. She was glad. Vindicated even. "He's not here," Victoire repeated, this time as a reminder.

"I think he knew you wouldn't want him to be here," the younger girl explained softly.

Rose studied her intently, her eyes darting over the blonde woman's delicate cheekbones and pursed, painted lips. She truly was beautiful. Flawless porcelain skin and glassy eyes, spun over with unshed tears.

"I could have a word with Teddy, maybe gauge what's going on with him, and report back to you. Does that sound like a good idea?"

Victoire hesitated, her hands hovering over the table anxiously. "Maybe," she conceded.

"Okay. I can work with maybe."

It was ten past nine when there was a pop from the room upstairs. A few of the adults looked over their shoulders, gripping wands cautiously. Ginny disappeared for a moment up the stairs, and was accompanied on the way down by her husband.

A sudden buzz of electricity circulated around the room. It caught his children's attention, and without reserve, both Lily and James had launched themselves off the sofa and were running towards Harry Potter.

"Dad!" Lily cried, leaping into his arms. Harry caught her, heaving her up off her feet for one weightless second, as if she were as light as a feather. James threw his arms around his neck and his father gripped his shoulders.

Everyone watched the reunion, the delight of the Potter family infectiously spreading. The only person to remain back, nuzzled into the sofa and broodingly examining his nail beds was Albus Potter. Ginny's sharp eyes found him and stayed on him, but he refused to look up.

"I'm sorry I'm late," Harry began, but James instantly cut him off.

"Dad, I'm going to The Bent-Winged Snitches for my birthday!"

Harry laughed, ruffling his hair. "I assume that means the party planning has been put on hold." His eyes danced merrily from each face until he found Victoire, smiling warmly from the mantelpiece. He extended a hand to her. "Victoire."

They crossed towards one another, embracing in a short hug. Bill and Fleur also approached hastily and the rumble of conversation resumed once more. Harry studied Victoire appraisingly. "You didn't kill a dragon yourself to get those shoes, did you?"

"Oh, of course not," she giggled, her laugh surprisingly high.

"Victoire has a lot to catch you up on," Bill said, his deep voice filled with meaning.

Harry examined her far more solemnly now. "I'm sure you do," he said, pulling the young woman a little closer to the side of the room. Bill and Fleur gravitated closer to Ginny, speaking in low voices. Victoire took advantage of his undivided attention. She hastily relayed all her knowledge about the dragon disappearances to Harry, including even the most insignificant details. Unlike the journalists she had spoken to that week, he regarded her with the utmost attention. His green eyes were bright behind his round spectacles.

"Other than your parents, who have you told?" Harry asked, his face drawn with tension.

"I've tried to have it published in the Prophet, but that doesn't look like it'll happen," she scowled.

"I don't think you should mention this to anyone again."

Her ears went pink. She was incensed. Was everyone determined to bury the truth? "I don't understand. This could change people's opinions about Gladstone and the goblins."

'It's too late for that," Harry said. "The Order can use this information, and we have set up intelligence inside the goblin units that'll hopefully give us answers about this."

"The only way to have a thriving democracy is to give the public the information it needs to debate and make decisions."

"Democracy is dead here, Vic," Harry said grimly. "I really recommend dropping this."

It was hard to believe she was standing in front of her uncle, the man who defeated He Who Could Not Be Named, the man who revolutionised the Auror Department, and she was being instructed to abandon hope for democracy. She was blank for a few moments, attempting to process this information, and in her silence she picked up what her parents and Aunt were discussing.

"…remove all your gold from Gringotts and put it somewhere safe," her father was recommending. "I know a goblin or two who will access your vault for you without putting it on record."

"How long do we have until it happens?" Ginny asked.

"Not long at all, I think. The Malfoys have already removed all their gold from the bank. Get rid of any goblin-owned objects as well."

"Zey cannot take ze tiara I wore for our wedding," Fleur protested. "Zat was your Aunt Muriel's."

"That's the least of my concerns," Bill snorted.

Victoire took a deep breath. "Things have changed a lot since I left."

She knew it, but it hadn't really felt real until now. Harry nodded sadly, and the silver hair streaking his sideburns looked far more pronounced. "You have no idea, Victoire."

Victoire frowned at her parents before addressing Harry. "I'm ready to join the Order."

Rose leaned against the staircase, effectively blocking Albus' route. She gave him a jaunty little shrug before handing over a cool glass of pumpkin juice.

"I think it's time we have a long, overdue chat," Rose said.

Albus remained on the step below, assessing her dryly. She looked quite casual. Her long legs, with their thick muscular calves, were clad in black tights. The brown t-shirt dress she had deemed smart casual fell over her thighs, the sleeves loose around her arms. She rested with her hip against the balustrade, her own glass of pumpkin juice in hand, her head tilted to one side so a single curl fell near her eyes. She was smug and self-assured and looked unwilling to move. When Rose was like this, she was unbearable.

"I don't feel like a chat," Albus grumbled.

"Sit down on the step and drink your pumpkin juice. If you like, I'll do the chatting."

Albus huffed and joined her on the top step, sitting with his knees near his chin, hunched forward like a gargoyle. He took a sip of his pumpkin juice and almost choked. "I thought this was pumpkin juice?"

"It is," Rose confirmed. "Spiked with scotch."

"It tastes awful together."

"Keep drinking it, the scotch'll kick in and it'll taste alright after that."

"I swear you're on the verge of becoming an alcoholic and you're not even of age."

"Hardly," Rose grinned, taking another sip of her drink. "I remember you getting quite plastered at a party and taking off all your clothes and telling Lucy Bird you wanted to break up."

"If only I had," he groaned, taking a gulp of his disgusting cocktail. "Would've saved myself some trouble. Merlin's Cup always gets the better of me."

"You're not regretting breaking up with Bird?"

"Oh, I was considering taking her back," Albus replied with sarcastic introspection. "I really missed the way she used to possessively clutch my thigh and cheat on me as an obscure revenge tactic."

Rose continued to grin, the smile across her face becoming increasingly goofier with the more pumpkin juice she consumed. Albus couldn't help but return a wry smile, ducking his head. "I've been bitter."

"You have," Rose agreed. "It suits you a little. A nice change from being Mister Nice Guy."

"I was pleasant as Mister Nice Guy."

"You were boring. And a pushover."

"At least I wasn't mean, like you," he retorted, pulling a face. "Sometimes I envy Lily for getting to be friends with Hugo. I got the shit sibling."

Albus leaned against the balustrade and sighed heavily. Down below the narrow stairs, the rest of his family were mingling. He watched them mirthlessly, through the bars of the balustrade. Victoire wrapped herself in a scarf knitted by their grandma. His Uncle Bill was deep in conversation with his Uncle Percy. His eyes continued to search.

Rose studied Albus for a moment, the grin retreating from her face.

"Have you spoken to your dad yet?" she asked, slipping her hand into his and playing with his fingers.

"No. I've just avoided him all night. Lily and James were so keen to see him but I—I can't act as if everything's normal. As if he's been on a daytrip somewhere."

"Y'know he's not guilty," she frowned.

"Of course. Of course I know that," Albus said, but he sounded unconvinced. He returned to glaring into his cup once more, as if the answers could be found at the bottom of his drink. "You know how my dad interrogated that guy from the Bolt Terrorist Attack in our kitchen? I was there that day. I helped him with an alibi and I covered for him when the Ministry came around. I was there for him that day. I proved that he could trust me. And then he gets stamped as Undesirable Number One, and it's like I can't be trusted anymore," Albus seethed, taking another gulp of his drink and setting it on the step where his feet rested. "He hasn't told us where he's staying, he hasn't told us anything about the Order, he hasn't told us what really even happened that day. He's just kept us at arm's distance. And that bothers me."

"Yeah," Rose agreed, squeezing his hand.

"And I mean, we're alone at home now—all of us. Mum, Lily, James and Teddy. We never know what's going on, we don't know if he needs help. It's like we've been cut off."

Rose was quiet for a minute, studying his profile while she finished off her drink. She placed the empty glass next to Albus' half-filled one on the step where their shoes rested. "I'm not trying to be tactless," she began carefully, really meaning it. "But isn't your dad the one who's actually alone? I mean, all his family are together back at the home he can't stay in anymore."

Albus scowled.

"I'm sure he misses you. And I'm sure he trusts you. I just think that they want to protect us as much as they can."

"But they can't protect us," Albus said, glaring at Rose. "They just can't."

"I know," she said, her eyes growing despondent. "You're right."

She reached over and picked up his half-empty drink, taking the rest down in a couple of gulps. She handed him the now empty glass and exhaled heavily.

"Let's hang out these holidays," she requested quietly. "If I come by your place, will you promise we'll hang out?"

"Maybe," Albus agreed reluctantly.

"Good. I can work with maybe."

Hugo and Lily slipped out of the crowded sitting room and disappeared through the front door. The night was cool, the smell of the sea spray hanging on the air. The two cousins crossed the front porch and took a seat on the top step, admiring the shells that adorned the garden.

Hugo leaned his stocky shoulder against the whitewashed rail. He was really growing into his body now that he was fourteen. His once lanky arms were filling out and he was losing a lot of the baby-fat on his face, so that his cheeks and jaw looked chipped out of sandstone. His head fell listlessly to the side as he stared out at the dark sea, whistling quietly from the gap between his front teeth. Lily sat beside him, still looking like a young girl. She was lean and petite, conspicuously flat chested. She brushed her short, strawberry blonde hair behind one ear. "So what's the news?"

They were conducting a meeting of their own. None of the children at Hogwarts were allowed to join the Order, but that didn't mean they didn't talk.

"Dad's been feeding the Ministry false information about Harry's whereabouts. Told him that the last he heard from him, he was in Ireland and on the run."

"Have they been around to question you guys?"

"Yeah, to take a statement. You?"

"I think they're watching our house," Lily murmured, twisting the bottom of her jumper in her pale hands. "Any other news?"

"Yeah, actually," Hugo sat up a little straighter, facing his cousin. "Rose has been getting a lot of mail lately. She used my owl, and d'you know where she sent him?"

"Where?" Lily asked, sitting up primly to mirror his body language.

"France."

Lily's mouth dropped open. "Scorpius is holidaying France."

"How—wait, how do you know that?"

"I know everything about Scorpius Malfoy," Lily replied flippantly, stirring a wrist. "I know everything about everyone."

"Well, you didn't know that he and Rose have been writing to each other all holidays."

"I think they'd be cute together."

"No, absolutely not. They cannot be a thing. I refuse to let that happen," Hugo shuddered delicately. "I already think it's weird that they're friendly." He folded his arms and glared out at the dark sea, where the black sky melted into the horizon.

"I don't think they're a thing, I just want them to be a thing," Lily corrected.

"You want everyone to be a thing."

"I just want people to sort their lives out and have successful relationships that I can aspire to. Ever since Victoire and Teddy broke up, I've had to refocus my energy."

"You live vicariously through people," Hugo frowned. There was a quiet crack caught up in the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks and he squinted out into the dark garden. The light from Shell Cottage only fell a few metres beyond the door, create a small halo of light. The rest was darkness.

"Perhaps. But I like the idea of Scorpius and Rose. They bring out the best in each other."

"You hardly know him," Hugo complained. He abruptly stood up, fumbling in his sleeve for a wand. Someone had definitely Apparated. "Who's that?"

"It's young Edward Remus Lupin, heartthrob and millionaire."

Hugo tucked his wand back into his pocket. "You're not a millionaire," he said.

Teddy walked up to the porch, the light from the windows spilling over him and bathing him in gold. His blue hair was a softer hue than usual, closer to a seafoam spray than cerulean sky. He was wearing a pressed, button up shirt that hid the tattoos on his upper arms, which he now crossed. "If you measure wealth in gold, perhaps I am not a millionaire. But if you measure it in love—"

"You're still a poor man," Hugo smiled.

Lily launched herself off the top step and embraced her god-brother tightly. He picked her up with a false heave and bent knees before setting her back on the soft grass below. "You're heavier that I remember, have you been lifting? You seem like you've put on muscle mass."

"Shut up," Lily snorted, shoving him in the ribs. She barely cleared his shoulder.

"Ouch," Teddy sighed, clutching his stomach. "You really have been working out. C'mon Lils, play nice."

"I knew you'd come back to make up with Victoire," Lily said, her eyes brimming with hope. "I just knew you would come."

"Woah, hold your hippogriffs, little lady. I'm not here to make up with Victoire."

"Are you here to make out with Victoire?" Hugo inquired.

"No you little shit, I'm not here to make any advances on Victoire whatsoever."

"Then why are you here, Teddy? To enjoy the ocean air?" Hugo asked, gesturing to the black water.

Teddy inhaled deeply and sighed. "Partly. Also partly to clear things up with her."

"Right," Lily said, falling sullenly back onto the top step. "I suppose I need to find a new ship to sail after all."

"What is she talking about?" Teddy muttered to Hugo. Hugo shrugged discretely, playing none the wiser. Teddy hesitated for a moment, tugging on the jeans that were sliding down his hips. "This'll be weird, won't it?"

There was once a time where he spent every other summer at Shell Cottage. When he and Victoire were both children, and would swim at the beach completely in the nude, where they would chase gnomes in the garden and eat oranges on the porch.

Teddy and Hugo glanced at each other. "It won't be weird."

From inside the window, Dominique Weasley's face fell as she spotted who had arrived on their porch. She turned over her shoulder and motioned wildly to Louis, who immediately sprung to his feet and bolted across the room as if some sort of unsaid signal had been exchanged. He grabbed his eldest sister by the wrist and dragged her away from Aunt Audrey.

"Teddy's outside."

Victoire froze, her face dissolving into ash.

"What'd you want to do?"

She was still frozen, clutching her photo album from Romania. Louis grabbed the album and smacked her with it. "Oi! What do you want to do?"

"Hide," she decided. "Stall him."

"Alright," Louis said, ducking out of the way and heading over to his cousins. He motioned to Fred, who was lounging beside Molly. The two cousins could not look more different. Where Fred was dark skinned and freckled, with thick black hair and broad shoulders, Molly was bleach blonde, pale and lean. They both looked at the younger boy in front of them with same amount of attentiveness though. "We need a diversion. Teddy's outside."

Molly rolled her heavily made-up eyes and adjusted her frameless glasses. "Vic's not hiding from him, is she?"

"Yep. Proving what a true Gryffindor she is," Louis said, a smarmy smile on his face.

Fred launched himself off the sofa. Molly grabbed his arm. "Why are you trying to stall him? She was the one who called things off."

"It's her party, Mol," Fred replied sternly. He sauntered towards the door, just as it opened and Teddy ducked in. Fred leaned against the frame and planted a thick hand on Teddy's shoulder. "Mate! How're things going with the goblin-talk?"

Louis looked around, but Victoire had already vanished.

She was up the stairs, almost falling over Albus, who was leaning dejectedly on the balustrade.

"What are you doing here?" she whispered frantically.

"Hiding," he said, resting his chin on his hand.

"Oh, good. Me too."

She sat down beside him on the top step.

"Rose just went to get drinks," he explained.

"Rose is back," Rose replied, hastening up the stairs, rather unsteadily. "What's up, dragon tamer?"

"Teddy's downstairs." Victoire took a deep breath. "I'm just not ready to see him yet."

Rose paused on the steps below with two glasses of pumpkin juice in each hand. She tilted her head curiously to the side. "Why not?"

Why not?

She was not afraid of him, nor did she feel guilty anymore, but a part of her, the part that was brave, wanted to confront him sooner rather than later.

She didn't want to see Teddy because there was still another part of her, the smaller and weaker part, that was still far too mad and far too attached to get through a civil conversation with him. Once she faced him, she would rage. She would rip into him, the way she should have done all those month ago. She would become a tempest. She had never really gotten mad at him—for all his absences, his obsessions, his poor choices. She left, she cried, but she never shouted. The urge to shout still pointed to the truth that she was far from moving on.

"Because I might hex him."

"Perhaps that'll help," Albus suggested, elbowing her knee.

"No, I need a minute. I need to figure out why he's here," Victorie said, sinking down onto the step beside him.

Rose studied her for a moment, her head still tilted curiously. She climbed the few steps separating them and handed both Albus and Victoire the glasses of pumpkin juice, as if doing them both a very great favour. "I will go do some reconnaissance. You just sit and drink."

"Rose," Albus said warningly.

"It's fine," she insisted, stumbling back down the stairs.

Victoire took a dejected gulp of the pumpkin juice and almost choked. "What's in this?"

Albus sighed heavily, his head in his hands. "Why on earth would you just let Rose go and perform reconnaissance? She has as much subtly as the Knight Bus."

This was more or less true. Fred Weasley was doing a splendid job of distracting Teddy, holding him by the door while persisting in a conversation about his training with Orlick. Teddy was good-naturedly chatting with the dark, young man, although his eyes kept skirting around the room, leaping from face to face. They rested on Rose for only a moment before she had sidled up beside them both, draping an arm around their shoulders. "Hello gentlemen."

"Rosie," Teddy said, inclining his head. He paused. "Is that alcohol I smell on your breath?"

"No," she replied, her voice still steady. "It's simply the potent fumes of pumpkin juice."

"Ah. So I suppose I don't need to lecture you about the dangers of underage drinking."

"We're talking about Order business," Fred explained. He affectionately slipped Rose's arm off of his shoulders and linked it through his own in order to make himself more comfortable. She leaned against him heavily.

"Order business? I'm excluded then."

"Unfortunately. Until you're seventeen at least."

"Drats," Rose said pulling a face. "Freddie, would you mind me stealing Teddy away for a little chat?"

"Not at all love," he said, giving her arm a squeeze. Fred returned to Roxanne and Molly on the sofa. It was getting later, the party having winded down, and the atmosphere was much quieter than it had been earlier. Teddy watched Fred leave before leaning down to level himself with Rose, who still had her arm over his shoulder. He squinted at her suspiciously. "I have a feeling you've been sent to find me."

"Let's go have that chat," Rose said, linking her hand with his and leading him towards the kitchen. Teddy's eyes continued to dart about, alert and perceptive, the way Orlick had trained him. As he passed the stairs he noticed a pair of green dragon-hide heels on the steps below the landing, beside a pair of sneakers. Rose tugged him into the kitchen, which was far quieter, but his mind was still hung up on those shoes.

The small window over the sink showed the stars spotting the dark sky, but the inky sea could only be heard, not seen. Its crashing throbs beat the air, even through the thick walls of the cottage. Teddy leaned against the closed door, and Rose leaned against the kitchen sink. Her cheeks were glowing. "You're here for an interrogation," she said, grinning.

He squared his shoulders and pulled his most comically serious expression. "Do your worst."

"Do you want to get back together with Victoire?"

Teddy ran both hands over his hair and sighed. "Man, I'm really getting grilled tonight. Yeah, in an ideal world."

"Cool," Rose said, nodding plaintively. "But that's not why you're here?"

"It's not an ideal world," he said, with an ironic smile. "I came to speak to her, if I have the chance. Not to get back together with her."

"Okay," Rose said.

Teddy raised his eyebrows. "Is that all?"

"She wanted me to find out because she's hiding from you. But I would appreciate it if you pretend like I found out through cunning machinations and act as if we never had this conversation."

"Aren't Slytherins supposed to be cunning?"

"The pumpkin juice," the words surrounded by bunny-eared fingers, "blunts my cunningness."

Teddy mirrored her grin now. Pushing himself off the wall, he made his way over to the table separating them, laying his palms flat against the surface. He leaned in, as if he were the one interrogating her.

"In an ideal world, would you be in a relationship right now?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Rose said quickly. "I er—I don't need to be in a relationship."

A very cunning answer, if there ever was one. Teddy laughed. "So it's an ideal world for you?"

Rose smiled, one side of her mouth twisting up higher than the other. "It's never an ideal world, Edward."

She returned to Victoire a little while later, relaying what she had gotten out of him, pretending that he had admitted this accidentally against his will. Victoire had finished her pumpkin juice and was drinking Albus' glass. She bit her lip and nodded slowly.

Her thick heels clicked on each step, a sound that easily drew the attention of the room. Several heads turned to look at her, both old and young. Hesitantly, Albus and Rose followed behind her, standing like bodyguards on the step above. She handed Albus the pumpkin juice over her shoulder and scanned the room. Her eyes found his blue hair just as he poked his head around the kitchen door, and he stopped and stared at her.

Bill cleared his throat. Everyone began to murmur again.

Victoire didn't speak. She motioned at the front door and Teddy nodded. Without looking at him, she crossed the room and left, and he followed on her heels.

As soon as they were out on the porch, Hugo and Lily darted back inside, snapping the door behind them. Their eyes were wide as they looked at their extended family. "It's happening!" Lily whispered.

In an instant, half of the room had launched themselves to the front door. James was digging in his pocket to unravel an Extendable Ear, feeding the fleshy string under the door. Molly was pressing her ear to the keyhole. Victoire's cousins, old and young, bunched around the front door like an eager audience. James was already making bets with Roxanne as to whether or not they would be getting back together.

"Let zem have zeir priv-ee-cee!" Fleur cajoled, looking quite annoyed.

George barked out a laugh and took the now vacated sofa. "The Weasley clan don't believe in privacy."

The adults absorbed the space that their children had now left, resuming their conversations easily. Still, it seemed even the adults had discretely taken sides in the fall out following Victoire and Teddy's break up, as they continued to cast curious or anxious looks over their shoulder, trying to judge what was happening. From the stairs where Rose and Albus still stood, their eyes found Harry, who was deep in conversation with Hermione and Ron, ignoring the distraction.

Albus ploughed down the steps and walked across the tight room, until he was directly opposite his father. As always, their similarities were striking. Albus' pale green eyes skirted Harry's robes, his grey hair. He was examining him patiently, not angrily. "Dad," he said.

Harry turned away from Ron and Hermione, his face immediately softening. He reached out one hand, planting it on his son's shoulder.

"I'm not okay with everything that's happened," Albus said, his face flushing as he said it. He wanted to say everything on his mind before his father spoke. He glared at him, refusing to acknowledge the heat in his cheeks or the discrete looks his Aunt and Uncle shared before edging away.

"I don't expect you to be, son," Harry said, running his hand from Albus' shoulder down the length of his arm. "I'm not okay with everything that's happened either."

Albus took in a shuddery breath, and for the first time in weeks, emotion played upon his face. His eyes, bereft and watery, were a swan song. Something in him, something innocent and full of youth, was dying. "You want to keep me out of this, but you can't." His voice shook with anger, with fear, with sorrow; with all of it, and none of it.

"I'm your Dad," Harry whispered, clutching this forearm tightly. "So I have to try. I have to try."

Victoire closed the door behind her with a click. Teddy stood by her, as tall and lanky as ever. At first glance, nothing seemed as if it had changed—he may have just had dinner with her family, complimenting her mum's cooking, talking business with her father, amusing Dom and Louis by changing his hair or the shape of his nose. It could have been any moment from their long history, plucked out and put on show like a Pensieve performance.

It was not, though. A lot had changed. It was there in the static between them, from the moment she had closed the door.

"Nice shoes," Teddy said, and then immediately looked as if he had regretted it.

"They were a gift from Krishna," Victoire replied curtly. Her voice was cold, the way it was when she talked to men who were far too interested in her.

Teddy's eyebrows knitted together but he hastily took a breath and relaxed his face once more. They were standing in the gold light spilling out from the windows, but night shadows danced across their faces. A dark patch hollowed out his cheek and hid the underneath of his eyes. He tucked his hands into his pockets.

It was as if they were both waiting for something.

Teddy cleared his throat. "I think perhaps an apology—"

"You've been following me around," she said icily.

This took him by surprise. "Who—" he faltered, and looked twice as contrite. "Lily."

"Why would you spy on me?" she demanded, outraged.

"I need the practice." He said it like a joke before realising it was not funny. The laugh died in the night and, once more, Teddy cleared his throat. "Right, sorry for spying on you. I got a bit carried away."

"A bit?" Victoire repeated harshly. "You always get carried away, Teddy! That was always your excuse. As if all your bad behaviour was an accident. Nothing about you has changed, has it?"

"No, not at all," he said quietly, his brows knitting together once more. "I'm sorry for all of it. For being an absent twot and basically becoming obsessed with work." Victoire raised her eyebrows in disbelief and he swore under his breath. "I had rehearsed this in my head, it's just so shitty now that I'm here and…"

"Save it Teddy," she said, already tired with him. "I don't want to hear it."

"I'm not here to win you back," he said quickly, his face draining of colour. "I wasn't going to come tonight because I know you don't want to see me. It was just…I was with my Nan and she…well, it doesn't matter what she said. I just know I owe you an apology, and I also wanted to say welcome home, because I think everyone's missed having you around."

"I really doubt that, based off tonight," she said, scoffing more at herself than at him. Her anger was beginning to ebb now, dragged out by the sea.

"And," Teddy carried on, "I know we'll run into each other, since we'll both be in the Order. I thought it would be better of me to clear the air than to ignore you."

Victoire faltered, staring at him. His eyes were still in shadow, making it hard to read his face. "You're in the Order now?"

"Yeah," Teddy said shakily. "And I work at an ice-cream shop, so. That's my life."

Victoire chewed on the inside of her lip. He had left the goblin cause; he had joined the Order of the Phoenix. She half turned towards the door, considering just leaving him on the porch, missing the look of crumpling disappointment that flashed across his face at her impending departure.

She turned back sharply, and Teddy straightened. "We can try to be friends," Victoire said, her voice still sharp.

"Can we?"

"I dunno. Possibly. I don't have the energy to actively loathe you."

"Good, because I'm rubbish at being passive aggressive," he said, breaking into a charming smile. Victoire reminded herself that they were not getting back together, that Teddy was still Teddy, and that things had ended for a reason. He reached into his back pocket and pulled something out. "In the spirit of friendship," he said, "but also because this was a little welcome home present."

He held something out in his hand. Victoire didn't take it at first. In the light, it was difficult to read what it was, although it appeared to be a piece of cardboard, long and thin. Teddy began to bounce on the balls of his feet. "Er, please just take it so I feel infinitesimally less like an idiot."

She reached out and took it, turning it over. It was a concert ticket with a VIP pass to The Bent-Winged Snitches. Her heart dropped into her new shoes. The sea continued to splutter in the silence, spraying the air with mist. Teddy watched her carefully, chewing on his lip, his eyebrows knotted together once again.

"I can't accept this, Teddy," she murmured, her eyes still on the Snitch logo.

"Well, you must. Because I had a spare ticket and I was going to give it to Darcy Donne who is incidentally my boss, and who also threatened to fire me this week because I keep skipping out of work for Order business, so I would much prefer it to go to you. Considering you actually like The Bent-Winged Snitches. Please take it, no strings attached."

"Alright," Victoire said, taking a little step back.

"Alright," Teddy said, nodding once as he shuffled towards the garden.

They paused again.

"I'll see you around then," Victoire said, her voice tight.

How she wished it wasn't.

"Yeah, I'll see you around."

She was ready to forgive and forget. She had always been ready to forgive and forget for him. Still, that wasn't what made her mouth taste sour and her eyes tear up.

It wasn't until she saw Teddy Lupin with his faintly blue hair and fluttery smile that she felt as if she had finally come home, and that's what killed her. Because England wasn't her home, Teddy was.

Dear Rose,

Paris is bloody hot, much hotter than England, even during a heatwave. I am sunburnt, and Malfoys don't do well with sunburns.

Regarding my own literature pursuits, I've finished reading King Lear this week. It's one of Shakespeare's more tiresome tragedies, and being an only child, I struggled to relate to the sibling rivalries that drive the plot. Perhaps you would like it? Perhaps your siblings are plotting your downfall! (I doubt that very much, you lot are as thick as thieves, aren't you?).

I did like Albany's final lines, "The oldest hath borne most: we that are young/shall never see so much, nor live so long."

I prefer fact to fiction. I've started reading Nicolas Flamel's biography, which has been engrossing. We visited his childhood house yesterday on another tour, and they had a gift-shop there so I bought his biography. Did you know he met his wife while he was at Beauxbatons? He was also such a brilliant alchemist, evident from his school days. I really want to take Alchemy, and it's offered at Hogwarts if there's sufficient demand. I know Turpins requires at least five students to run a class, and I can't imagine there would be five students interested in such an advanced course of potion-making, but I am really, really, interested. I know you're probably rolling your eyes as you read this but, whatever, I like potions and plants. Deal with it.

Give up on Great Expectations. Life is too short to read crappy books.

I'm not sure what it says about us as a couple when I've dedicated half a letter to you just discussing books. Anyway…

Tomorrow we're going to see the Hippogriff races. My parents will probably have a 'bit of a flutter', which in this economic climate, is a bit too big a risk for my comfort. In any case, dad loathes Hippogriffs, but mum loves them, so I'm sure we'll all be fraught with tension.

Oh, as for The Bent-Winged Snitches, I'm glad you're not going. They're a rubbish band. Isabella adores them, but she will listen to any music that's mainstream. I thought you were a Ministry of Madness fan? Also, I just realised the word fan derives from the word fanatic, and it's quite insulting to suggest a supporter of a group is fanatical.

Anyway, I loathe all music because I'm a snob. Take note.

We should meet up when I get home next week. Letters are grand and all, but…well, you're far more interesting than the Eiffel Tower. We'll take Albus out and do something, the three of us.

Your biggest fan,

Scorpius.

A/N: Sort of a refresher chapter. I hope this reminded you of a few of the major plot points from last story. Also, so many next gen characters were jammed into this chapter, it hurt my head. I hope it doesn't overwhelm you. Next chapter will be more Rose-centric so hang in there.