A/N: The bits in Italics at the end are taken from the Deathly Hallows epilogue.

The front lawn looked like a battlefield; the wind that had picked up and turned after midnight was playing with tattered pieces of decoration, chasing them over the green expanse until they got caught in a hedge or landed on the prone body of a guest too drunk to stand upright, let alone use their Portkey.

Lucius was giving orders to the House Elves: first, any stragglers, whether moving or unmoving, were to be collected and dispatched home, and after that the cleaning was to be undertaken in a timely fashion, so that the Master's sensitive eyes would not be offended once he deigned to open them in the late morning.

When he entered the house, Hermione was just coming down the stairs. She was looking weary but content. "Scorpius is asleep," she said, "and the others have retired to the library for a nightcap and a bit of gossiping."

He held out his arm for her to take. "Let us join them. I am in the mood for watching Astoria play the part of outraged innocence once I mention Skeeter."

"I think she's already outraged out. It was almost painful to watch."

"You don't know her," Lucius said dryly. "By the way, since it won't do to mention it in front of her – what do you think of my clever little idea of ordering the House Elves to increase the potency of the alcoholic beverages?"

Hermione patted his arm. "You already said it was clever, Lucius. Don't look so miffed, it really was, and I'm glad you told us to keep away from them. I don't remember ever seeing so many horrendously drunk people in one place, and that's saying something – I didn't think anything could be worse than after-Quidditch celebrations in the Gryffindor common room. Besides" – she pulled a cream-coloured rose from one of the flower arrangements and handed it to Lucius with a flourish – "I don't think that anybody asked for their wand back before one at the earliest. Which was, I believe, the point, unless you think puddles of vomit decorating the front lawn add a certain je ne sais quoi to the landscape. Poor House Elves," she added.

Lucius snorted. "The poor House Elves are getting a Galleon apiece, and two extra free days. I don't think they would complain, even if they dared to."

"Well that's nice. What-" She jumped and turned, when there was a whooshing sound behind them, followed by a sharp crack.

"I believe," Lucius said, "that the Sunday Prophet has arrived. Now go ahead, darling, I'll follow in a minute."

"You're looking a bit tired, but could you do the Avenging Angel number again, like you did on Skeeter? You have no idea how much of a turn-on it is." She neatly evaded Lucius' hand patting her bum and made her way to the library.

The doors were massive, but no match for Astoria's voice. Hermione winced, braced herself and entered the room.

"Hullo, darling," Neville greeted her from the depths of an armchair. "Glass of whisky?"

"I'd rather have something smoother," Hermione said, making her way over to the settee Severus was occupying. "Budge over, will you?" She was standing close to him, so his face was shielded from the others; he smiled up at her, and she suddenly felt quite warm.

"Pour her a glass of Lucius' old Armagnac, will you, Longbottom?"

The tumbler zoomed towards her a little faster than she'd expected, but she caught it without spilling the liquor and sat down next to Severus. "Great party," she said, raising the glass.

Astoria, who'd been looking as if she'd swallowed a whole lemon and washed it down with vinegar since Skeeter and the photographer had been evicted from the grounds, sat up and took a deep breath. Here goes, Hermione thought, downed her drink in one go and floated the tumbler back to Neville for a refill. He poured and winked at her.

"I have to say," Astoria continued the harangue which, to judge by the others' pained expressions, had obviously been going on for some time, "that I am deeply –deeply offended by everybody keeping secrets from me and Draco. Why, she" – she pointed at Hermione – "isn't even family!"

Hermione took an appreciative sip of her drink. "Scorpius is fast asleep," she said sweetly, "in case you wanted to know."

"Of course he's fast asleep, though I fail to see how this is any of your business. As I said, you're not even family, and-"

The door opened, and in swooped the Avenging Angel.

Hermione gripped Severus' hand. "I think I've just found another item to add to my list of dirty fantasies," she whispered.

Severus snorted. "Do I dare ask…?"

"One word: detention." She clinked her glass against his and leaned back to contemplate the spectacle – the leopard may have changed his spots, but he still had teeth and knew how to use them to best effect. She wished she could do a bit of Legilimency on Astoria; she had to be frightened out of her wits, since the Avenging Angel did, in fact, have a Flaming Sword, which he now lifted for everybody to Behold. For a moment Hermione thought he was going to Smite Astoria with the Sunday Prophet – he was that good.

"This," Lucius declared in an arctic voice, "is an outrage. If I ever find out who enabled that female to sneak into a private function the exclusive right to which I had decided to give to The Quibbler…" He flung the paper down on the floor, went to pour himself a cognac and sat down in his favourite chair. "Now we are going to provide breakfast entertainment for hoi polloi, against my explicit wishes. I must say, I am very disappointed in you, Narcissa and Severus. While I believe your assurances that you did not, in fact, have a hand in Skeeter's intrusion…" He sighed.

"I already told you," Narcissa quipped, voice and demeanour at least as arctic as her former husband's, "that we both thought it was a last-minute surprise – you know how often I had begged you to give the story to Skeeter, and-"

"That, my dear, would indeed be hard to forget. What I don't understand is why you saw fit to pose as the Happy Couple – in a rather sickening way, I might add – even though you had no intention of actually getting married."

"We didn't want to spoil the effect of our announcement, that's why," Severus said. "Or what do you think she would've done if we'd told her right away? Anyway, if you hadn't thrown her out, she would've got the complete story. As things are…" He shrugged elaborately.

Draco, who'd had a little more to drink than was good for him – there had been no way Lucius could have warned him to stay away from the alcoholic drinks without giving away their game – began to chuckle silently.

"May I ask," Lucius addressed him, "what causes you such hilarity, Draco? Maybe you'd like to share – we could all do with a laugh, I daresay."

"Oh, nothing." Draco waved a hand at the newspaper. "I was just thinking… the poor sod who got Skeeter in – maybe she even paid for the privilege… She'll be furious, don't you think? Reporting on a wedding that didn't happen – she's going to look so stupid! 'cause I bet she's written the full story – any takers?" He hiccupped, snorted and continued to giggle into his glass.

Astoria was beginning to look a little green around the gills. When Draco burped softly, she didn't even admonish him to watch his manners, which spoke volumes about her state of mind.

"She's a vengeful bitch all right," Neville pushed the dagger in a little deeper, "But whoever was her accomplice didn't know what was going to happen, right? So it wasn't their fault, really. I mean, none of the guests even knew where their Portkeys were going to take them, so how could they possibly have the faintest idea how the evening was going to play out? Still, I somehow don't think Skeeter's going to see it that way. She won't rest until… Oh, well." He took a sip of his drink. "I'm glad The Quibbler will be on top of things for once. Luna will be so pleased."

"But…" Astoria cleared her throat. "Well, if nobody knew that's… good, I suppose?" She eyed them, one by one, looking for confirmation. None was forthcoming. "Because if nobody… But maybe somebody did know after all. I mean that the wedding wasn't going to take place, don't you think? Then she'd blame that person instead of…" She fell silent, visibly trying to work out which was the better option, and failing. "Maybe a… One of the House Elves, maybe?" she blurted.

Lucius snorted. "Don't be ridiculous!"

"I can assure you that nobody was aware of our decision," Severus said silkily. "Why, even you didn't know, and you're family."

Narcissa, who somehow managed to look fresh and rested despite the advanced hour, not to mention stunningly beautiful in her cream-coloured bridal robes, leaned over to pat her daughter-in-law's trembling hand. "Think nothing of it, dear – it was rather a last-minute decision, strange as that may sound. We both had had our doubts, true, but who doesn't. Getting married is a momentous choice after all. When we were getting ready for the ceremony, however…" She smiled at Severus, who inclined his head. "Suffice it to say, we agreed that the doubts were stronger than the eager anticipation and happiness we ought to have felt. The rest, as they say, is history. Unfortunately it was too late to call the whole thing off – I'm sorry by the way, Lucius. That reception must have cost a fortune – of course I am ready to foot the bill."

"Peanuts," Lucius said in lofty tones. "And, apart from the contretemps with Skeeter, it was a very good party indeed. Are you quite all right, Astoria? You are looking a trifle… Unwell?"

"I'm… I guess I am just tired. I'd better go to bed – Draco?"

Draco got to his feet, swaying a little. "Coming, dear. Night, everybody."

"Give our regards to Ms Ethel Spencer of Sidney, Australia," Hermione muttered grimly, eliciting a chuckle from Lucius. "Draco hasn't talked to her yet about Scorpius, has he?" she asked.

"I advised him to leave it till after the festivities," Lucius said. "Knowing Astoria, she would've made a scene of gargantuan proportions. And of course it turned out to be most propitious that she didn't leave, which I suspect might have happened, because we needed her to contact Skeeter."

"Don't make it sound as if you'd planned that," Severus said. "It was mere coincidence."

"I prefer to call it foresight," Lucius countered. "And now I propose that we open a few bottles of the champagne I've been keeping for just such a memorable occasion, and that Narcissa read us select passages of the drivel Rita Skeeter saw fit to tell the world – she does that quite admirably, and it used to make our breakfasts almost pleasant, didn't it my dear?"

oooo

Under a gentle summer rain, the Manor lies dozing. The strength it has recently gathered ebbs and flows back and forth between the roof and foundations. It would last for a long time without running out; for the first time in a long while, though, it is renewed daily by the human beings living, breathing, moving between the Manor's walls.

The Manor reaches out, lazy and content, to engulf its occupants. It feels them live, caresses them.

The rain intensifies, and water seeps down through earth and roots, through tiny channels in the bedrock, down to the Manor's foundations where its magic dwells.

The Manor stretches, like a cat, making the floor boards creak. It may sleep now, for a little while.

oooo

Ten generations of Malfoys were looking down at the family's scion with varying degrees of pride.

The child still left much to be desired as far as dress sense and manners were concerned, but he was already showing signs of uncommon magic power – if there was anything a Malfoy knew how to appreciate in all its manifold nuances, it was power.

He didn't have a wand today – Lucius had confiscated it, which was only right and proper – but he did have a piece of chalk.

The ancestors were impressed; drawing magic circles had been beyond the abilities of more than one among them. They were all holding their breath, waiting for Young Scorpius to initiate the ritual and call forth a few demons. Given most demons' complete disregard of hygiene, table manners and, most of all, family portraits, they hoped that the boy would be able to get rid of whichever denizen of the underworld he was about to summon.

The boy bent down and started drawing.

The forefathers craned their necks and stared, some of them so hard they were cross-eyed.

The boy was drawing… not quite a circle. Rather… a quadrangle? And another one on top of it?

Looks of utter cluelessness were being exchanged. What on earth was the child doing? Another quadrangle, flanked by another two – Merlin's scraggly beard, was the boy drawing a blueprint for a church? Cluelessness morphed into horrified indignation; even the most aloof forebears had become cross-eyed once Scorpius had finished drawing.

The silence in the portrait gallery became tomb-like.

The child was now standing on one foot. Now it skipped right into the first quadrangle – what kind of ritual was he performing?

Not many ancestors felt strong enough to keep their eyes open, because now the child started chanting.

The words weren't exactly what they'd been expecting, though – there was no trace of Hebrew, no Greek, and Latin was also conspicuously absent, not to mention Sanskrit or Aramaic…

Scorpius was playing hopscotch, happily absorbed in his game and singing to himself, "I did it – it was all me – I did it – I made it all happen – I did it!"

oooo

In her office overlooking the quiet end of Diagon Alley, Luna Lovegood was sitting at her desk. It had started to rain, and she went to open the window to let in the cool, earth-scented breeze, sure in the knowledge that her cunningly crafted earrings would fend off any Invisible Blinkbusters attempting to crawl into her ears and from there to penetrate her brain.

A few judiciously placed jugs of lemon juice mixed with a pinch of clay and decorated with a sprig of parsley had taken care of the Nargles – Luna was feeling quite happy.

It was a pity, really, that Neville and Hermione hadn't hit it off while at Malfoy Manor – she'd been so sure they were a perfect match, seeing as their auras complemented each other so well. At least Neville was happy now; Luna had been sad to see him pining after her for so many years. He'd just sent her an owl announcing that he was going on a trip to Malaysia together with Narcissa, and would be keeping up a steady supply of images and articles for The Quibbler.

Hermione had also owled her with a proposal – it seemed that she was going to embark on an in-depth study of the intrinsic magic of wizarding houses and meant to test the waters by means of a short article in The Quibbler before getting started with a monograph on the subject.

After yesterday's scoop Jasper Swizzle had sent up another roll of parchment; the figures were looking a lot better than last week. Rolf was going to return in a few days; he'd already promised to stay a little longer than usual.

Luna hoisted herself up to sit on the windowsill and bent backwards, eyes closed and mouth open, to catch a few drops of rain. July rain was widely known to have an especially stimulating effect on the brain cells if ingested in a prone position; as Luna had found out, it was possible further to improve the result by nibbling a ginger root on which a butterfly had perched. What a stroke of fortune, then, that Professor Snape was just opening his shop on the other side of the street. He would surely be able to help her out.

oooo

Tongue peeking out of the left corner of his mouth and eyes half-closed in concentration, Neville Longbottom spelled the picture of the Plant of The Month (a Catfish Bruttavista, the apple of his eye and latest addition to his greenhouses – most people thought it was hideous, but Neville was entranced by its bizarre charm) to insert itself right into the centre of the text he'd just written. Another millimetre and maybe one more fraction...

"All right, just a bit more to – bugger! Buggering buggeration and..." The door had been opened, and the resulting draught swept parchment and photo off the table. He whirled round to give the intruder a piece of his mind. "Oh, it's you, Narcissa. Come over and give us a kiss."

The kiss was a rather elaborate affair, and Narcissa's cheeks where flushed when she delicately perched on the edge of Neville's desk. "Since we're going to leave tomorrow, would you mind if we dropped in at the Manor tonight for dinner? I already Flooed Lucius, and he's happy to have us. At least I think he is – as far as I was able to gather from a somewhat erratic tirade studded with swearwords... He will really have to mind his language around Scorpius. Having his feet turned into hooves is no excuse in my opinion."

"Do you think he'll manage to turn them back till dinnertime?" Neville asked once he'd finished laughing. "I'd be willing to pay a lot of money to see him like that, not to mention that parquet floors are fiendishly difficult to walk on with hooves."

"I'm afraid he will, more's the pity. It seems that Scorpius merely misaimed – Lucius' fault, if you ask me; he ought simply to have stood at a distance from the chair the boy was supposed to be Transfiguring, instead of staying seated, lazy slob that he is."

"Oh, Hermione will take him to task, you'll see. She'll have him as busy as a worker bee in no time. Let's have dinner chez Malfoy, then. It's much cosier there than I would've thought possible."

"One big, happy family. You're such a romantic, Neville."

"But you like it, don't you?"

"Yes," she said. "Yes, I do."

oooo

Epilogue – Three years later

Autumn seemed to arrive suddenly that year. The morning of the first of September was crisp and golden as an apple, and as the little family bobbed across the rumbling road towards the great, sooty station, the fumes of car exhausts and the breath of pedestrians sparkled like cobwebs in the cold air.

The barrier separating the wizarding and Muggle parts of the station was crossed without incident, and the family emerged onto platform nine and three-quarters, which was obscured by thick, white steam that was pouring from the scarlet Hogwarts Express.

The vapour was dense, and it was difficult to make out anybody's faces. Hugo was holding on to his father's hand, doing his best to pull him forward. "Careful, mate," Ron admonished him. "You don't want to tear off my arm."

"But, Dad! It's late, and I want to see Scorpius before – why can't I go to Hogwarts? Why? It's so unfair! Rose is going, and she doesn't even like him that much."

His sister, red curls tamed into a stiff plait, sniffed disdainfully. "How would you know? I like him just fine."

"But you promise to beat him in every test, won't you, darling?" Pansy said.

"I can't beat him, mum. He's terribly talented-"

"Well, so are you," Ron pointed out.

"But he's been trained by his grandfather, Mr Snape and Aunt Hermione since he started living with them! Aunt Hermione said he could sail through most of the O.W.L. exams already!"

"So you'll just have to-"

Ron's fatherly advice was cut short by Hugo letting go of his hand and launching himself forward shouting, "Scorpius! Oy, Scorpius!"

"He's got better eyesight than an eagle," Pansy commented. "I can't see any – oh, that's Hermione!"

Trying to steer her trolley one-handed, Hermione smiled at them while attempting to tuck a few frizzy curls back into the hairpins they'd escaped. "Good morning! I must be looking a fright – all this steam is wreaking havoc with my hair. Hi, Pansy dear! No, Ron, if you ruffle my hair I swear I'll hex you. Parked all right then?"

"You wound me by even asking such a question." Ron put a hand over his heart with a dramatic flourish. "Of course I parked all right – passed my driving test, remember? Never mind that you thought I'd have to Confound the examiner. Where are your two men, by the way?"

Hermione sighed. "Severus is busy at the shop – unexpected order from St. Mungo's, and they need the stuff till noon. Lucius wanted to come with us, but the baby is teething, poor little darling, and so he decided to stay home with her. Draco sent an owl promising to show up, though – have you seen him? And where's Harry with his merry band of brothers? Scorpius, put that cage on the trolley, please! Bella looks as if she's going to throw up any moment."

Scorpius obediently set Bella's wicker basket on top of his school trunk. "I think she'd rather stay home with you and Penny."

"I guess she would," Hermione said darkly. "But one instance of finding my five-month-old daughter sucking on a dead mouse was quite enough, thank you."

"Oh, that's disgusting!" Rose squeaked.

"Actually it was quite fun," Scorpius said, falling into step next to her. "Penny was looking like a miniature vampire, and Aunt Hermione's face was very green." He stopped, suddenly serious, and Ron narrowly avoided running him over with his trolley. "Look who it is," he said quietly.

Draco was leaning against the red brick wall, motionless and wearing a dark coat buttoned up to his throat.

"That's Dad," Scorpius muttered. "Aunt Hermione, what should I do?"

"You do exactly what you feel like doing, darling. Would you like to say hello? I can go with you if you want me to."

He thought for a moment. "No," he said. "If he wants to talk to me, let him come to me. I haven't seen him in three years – it's the least he could do."

"Good for you, mate," Ron said under his breath.

Draco caught sight of the six people staring at him, nodded curtly and turned away. Hermione's right hand twitched towards her wand, but Ron put a hand on her shoulder. "It's bad enough for him as it is," he muttered, "don't make it worse."

"I hate it when you out-mature me," she said with a lopsided grin. "All right, Scorps, let's go in search of the others and get your luggage onto the train. You don't want to miss it – Lucius has already told you that he's not going to take you to Hogwarts in the new Jaguar, so you'd better take the train unless you intend to walk."

"Your granddad has got a jaguar?" Rose asked, "Doesn't it bite?"

"It's a car," Scorpius explained. "And it flies, it's really quite brilliant."

"And legally registered, Mister Head Auror," Hermione said, "So don't get your hopes up."

"Well, can't have it all I suppose. Oh, there's Harry with Ginny and the children."

The three adults watched the hullaballoo unfolding, while leisurely approaching Harry and Ginny to exchange greetings.

"Ten Galleons say that Minerva will hand in her resignation no later than Saturday morning," Harry said, grinning and shaking Ron's hand. "What with Rose, Albus and Scorpius joining this year..."

Pansy raised her eyebrows. "Rose is a very well-behaved girl, Harry."

"Yeah, just like our Hermione was, and now look how she's turned out – married to two men at once, mother to a Malfoy..."

"And to a Snape, come spring," Hermione added, patting her still-flat belly.

"Well, fuck me side-"

"Language, Harry!" Ginny snapped.

"Sorry, but... If they continue like that, we're going to have to face an army of Dark Lords in twenty years' time!"

"So you better watch that scar," Hermione said dryly, "In case it starts hurting again."

The scar had not pained Harry for thirteen years, though, and he doubted it would ever again. All was well.

oooo THE oooo END oooo