Scorpius has got his head completely up his arse.

For fuck's fucking sake. Draco stomps over the dark cobblestone street. It is cold, it is wet, and Potter's not here, even though he said he would be.

Draco tries not to examine which part is making him angriest.

Beside him, Astoria smirks, pulling her burgundy cloak tighter around her shoulders. "And you wonder where our son gets his temper."

He glares at her. She's looking particularly amused with him this evening, and a lot warmer than he is. Her black hair puffs up from underneath her earmuffs grandly.

"If I wanted a lecture, I'd be walking with my mother."

"Yet you're using me as a shield. How valiant."

"I could unleash her on you, too. Don't think I won't."

His mother's here, somewhere, though he doubts she'll last the whole evening. Her few years in Azkaban had done their damage. She is rarely well enough to leave the house.

It was a mercy he still isn't sure he deserves that he'd been spared. Just eighteen, they'd said. Should they ruin his life?

Astoria wets her lips, biting back a smile. "You forget that I like your mother."

"Can't imagine why. Nobody likes my mother."

"Except you."

"Except me."

"And Scorpius."

"Him too."

"Your father, when he was still with us."

"This is getting old fast."

"So was your father."

He cannot help laughing. "Merlin, you're horrible."

She loops her arm through his, resting her head on his shoulder. "Are we there yet?"

"Why yes, this alleyway in the middle of nowhere, Muggle London was our destination."

"Carry me the rest of the way?"

"If you're so inclined as to be dropped in a puddle."

"Puddles are cold," Astoria complains.

"Mmhm."

"And I'm cold, so that just won't do."

"A shame, really."

"Yes, you were so kind to offer."

"That's what everyone says about me: how kind I am."

"That's why I married you," Astoria sighs dreamily.

"Really?"

"It's true. You saw me and you said, 'Now, who did something horrid enough to make your face twist up like that?' and I was love-struck instantly."

"Good God, I was charming."

"I could barely keep my clothes on."

He laughs and presses a chaste kiss to her head.

They're interrupted a moment later by Scorpius, who has jogged back from the front to meet them and is making all sorts of gagging noises.

"Can you two stop flirting — or whatever it is you're doing? It's ghastly. You're supposed to be divorced."

Astoria turns to Draco very solemnly. "Don't listen to him, darling. I think we're doing a wonderful job being divorced."

"Could not agree more, my love. Did you need something, Scorpius? You've got your statement for the press, right?"

He mimes chucking up a bit more. "I've got it. I'm only telling you Luna says Mr Potter will be here soon. Try not to humiliate me into an early grave before he arrives, yeah?"

"Well, of course, we wouldn't want him to miss it," Astoria says agreeably.

Scorpius is off again with an eye roll, back to the front of the group he's leading to the proceedings.

"So that's why you're so sour." Astoria bumps his shoulder.

"Shut it."

"You finally got your claws in the boy wonder."

"I have no claws, he's not the boy wonder, we're not together — anything else I need to clear up before you do something awful?"

Her lips twitch with a restrained laugh. "It would be good for you to have a life outside your family and career."

"I have a life."

"No, you don't. Not since I" — she affects an airy, dramatic intonation — "stole it all away from you."

"Well, I won't be getting one from Potter." He keeps his voice in an undertone, though no one is close enough to hear.

"No? Not even a quick shag?"

"Absolutely not."

She's always been able to pick apart his words too well. "Oh, love, I'm sorry."

He doesn't tell her she shouldn't be, because once Astoria has decided how she feels about something, there's no talking her out of it. "I think, once this is all over, I'll be just fine."

She stands on her tip-toes to peck him on the cheek, then uses it as an excuse to steal his scarf. "I'm going to go join Scorp. Do you mind?"

They've just arrived at the Muggle side of the Leaky Cauldron.

"Not at all. I'll see you once we're done?"

She smiles over her shoulder, disappearing into the small crowd that is pushing through the doors and into the inn. Draco pats his pockets to assure the pamphlets are still there. All good.

He ceases to exist amongst the dull murmurs until someone taps on his arm, two precise movements that draw his attention to the side.

"Granger," he says in mild surprise. "Weasley ... and you must be Rose, I take it?"

The young woman is the very picture of her parents, lanky and freckled with light brown skin, a long nose, and a whirl of frizzy curls. She has to be around twenty or so, since she was in Scorpius's year, but she looks younger.

She greets him and sticks out her hand to shake tightly, even as her dad grumbles something about, "Not needing to play nice with Malfoy, Rosie."

Granger elbows Weasley in the side. She's bundled up in a coat today, cheeks flushed from the cold and her hair stuffed under a cap that looks hand-knitted. Not by a particularly talented hand, mind you.

"Malfoy," Granger says. "I'm very impressed with what your son's doing here."

He feels faintly like he's having an out-of-body experience. "I'll pass along the compliments."

"Oh, please do. I don't expect I'll get a chance to speak to him today, what with the nature of everything."

"Is this going to be enough people?" Rose asks worriedly. "Only, it's not going to disrupt much, just a few people walking around Diagon Alley passing out pamphlets."

"All he's trying to do right now is get the word out."

"Wouldn't that have been better suited for the day?"

She has a point, but Scorpius has always liked his dramatics, and even Draco must admit that the Prophet will give more attention to this than a couple of people passing out leaflets during the busiest shopping hours.

"I guess we'll find out."

Granger squeezes his arm reassuringly and brushes past him into the inn, leading her daughter with her.

Weasley stays behind for just a moment longer, bending down to mutter low enough for just him to hear, "I've got a small Auror team in front of Gringotts in case things get out of hand. Good luck, mate."

Draco hides his surprise. "Thanks."

As he passes the bewildered barman, Draco slides a few Galleons his way in apology.

The moon is high overhead when he steps outside, and, one by one, the gathered wizards light their wands, adding a few sparse stars to the sky.

"Lumos," he whispers.

He gets out his stack of pamphlets and hands them to any passing witches and wizards who look interested, though there aren't many.

The quiet of the night is imperfect, passersby unaware or uncaring of their goal, but it doesn't matter. The determined silence of their group pulls a blanket of stillness over the street.

It's not long before they've trooped all the way to Gringotts, stopping just outside the Daily Prophet offices, as planned.

The air still smells sweet, sugar and vanilla wafting out from the open door of Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour. He does not see Potter until he's right beside him, wand illuminating his face, his scar standing out more starkly than usual.

He looks as though he's about to speak, so Draco raises a finger to his own mouth. "Shh."

The doors to the Prophet office open, and out comes a flurry of reporters. They start off trying to chat with everyone there, but the night eats up their words, and silence overtakes them again.

Scorpius finally breaks away from the crowd and ushers the reporters back inside, where he speaks to them for several minutes before pulling out a roll of parchment that contains his official statement.

The others watch through the window as darkness falls and keeps falling, spilling onto the street.

When Scorpius rejoins them, the press comes back out to snap a few pictures, and then most leave, their work done for the day.

They stay for another hour, and then Scorpius tells everyone to go home. Either they've accomplished their goal or they haven't. Soon will come the moment of truth.