Questions and Answers

'Dad?' Hugo stood uncertainly in the doorway of Ron and Hermione's bedroom.

Ron glanced up from the book he was reading. 'Yeah?'

'When's Mum coming home?'

Ron laid the book aside and beckoned to Hugo, who pattered to the bed, and clambered up onto it, next to Ron. He leaned into Ron, looking a little lost. Ron put an arm around Hugo's shoulders, marveling a little at how much he resembled Hermione when he was bothered by something. 'I don't know, Hugo,' he admitted softly. 'It's just...' Ron hesitated. He didn't know how much to tell Hugo. Hugo's dark eyes grew darker and his shoulders stiffened.

'I'm not a baby, Dad,' he insisted.

Ron nodded, and fidgeted with the hem of his pajama bottoms. 'I know. I just don't want to upset you.'

'A little late for that, don't you think?' Rose said from the doorway, dressed in a pair of ratty boxers and a t-shirt, socks on her feet. She slowly walked into the room and perched on the foot of the bed. She raised an accusing eyebrow at her father, and crossed her arms over her chest, waiting.

'Right...' Ron sighed. 'I know you two know there's something wrong with your grandmother.' At their nods, he continued. 'She's not... She's losing her memory. All of it.'

'Is she going to die?' Hugo asked, his face tense with worry.

'Everybody dies, gumby,' Rose said scornfully.

'Rose Beatrice,' Ron warned. 'Not now.'

'Sorry,' she said gruffly to Hugo, who merely shrugged.

'It's not going to kill her, Hugo,' Ron said. 'But she is fairly elderly by Muggle standards.'

'So?' Hugo picked at a loose thread on the knee of Ron's pajama bottoms.

'She's not going to die tomorrow, if that's what you mean,' Ron said gently. 'But she probably won't remember you the next time you see her. Or she might, but she won't remember everything about you.' Ron's heart twisted seeing Hugo's large eyes fill with tears. 'It's not personal, son,' he said softly. 'She won't mean it.' Hugo clutched a handful of the duvet and gripped it hard enough for his knuckles to turn white. He nodded again, sniffling.

'So when's Mum coming home?' Rose asked.

'I really don't know, Rosie,' Ron repeated. 'Your mum doesn't want to leave your grandmother alone, and right now Hermione's the only one your grandmother will allow to stay in the house.'

'Why does Mum have to stay with her?' Rose asked.

Ron rubbed a hand over his face. He wanted Hermione here to help explain everything. He needed her here to fill in all the gaping holes he knew he had left in his explanations to Rose and Hugo. 'Because she forgets other things, too. Like that she's left the stove on, or what time it is. She forgets her address and telephone number. She's a lot like a child, just grown up... If that makes sense.'

Hugo snuffled into the sleeve of his t-shirt. 'Yeah...' he said in a muffled voice. He slid off the bed and trudged out of the bedroom.

Ron turned his gaze to Rose. 'Was that okay?'

'Your explanation?'

'Yeah.'

Rose shrugged. 'It did the job.'

'Obviously it didn't make Hugo feel any better.'

Rose's face scrunched in distaste. 'Really, Dad... What was supposed to make us feel better?'

'I don't know...' Ron's head fell back. 'I'm complete rubbish at this...'

Rose got up. 'No, you're not,' she told him. 'It's just the subject. There is no good way to say it. I don't think even Mum could have put it any better.' Rose shuffled to the door. 'Are you telling us everything?'

'You know as much as I do,' Ron assured her. Rose nodded and left the bedroom, too, leaving Ron alone. He didn't return to his book, but stared up at the ceiling, until his eyes blurred and he gradually fell asleep.

XxXxXxX

Ron found Rose lying on the grass in the garden they shared with a few other people. 'I'm going to go out for a bit,' he said. 'Can I leave you and Hugo alone?'

Rose rolled over onto her back to look up at Ron. 'Are you asking permission?'

'I'm asking if you can handle keeping an eye on Hugo, while I step out for an hour or two, minx,' Ron retorted.

'Please, Dad. I'm thirteen. If I can't be alone, in the house, for half an hour, how can you put me on the train for school?'

'You don't mind?'

'Well...' Rose said thoughtfully. 'I was thinking about leaving Hugo alone, with all the burners on the stove lit, while I took off for Soho to get a tattoo of a set of Quidditch goalposts on my bum.' She rolled her eyes.

Ron nudged her with the toe of his shoe. 'When did you become such a teenager?'

'James was giving lessons on the train home,' she replied promptly with a small giggle.

'And I'll bet he's brilliant at it, too,' Ron muttered. 'Could you give your old man a break and a straight answer, minx?'

'No, I don't mind. And we'll be fine.'

'Right...' Ron ran a hand through his hair. 'There's some Muggle money on the kitchen table, if I'm running a bit late, and you two want dinner.'

'All right.' Rose scrambled to her feet. 'Bye, Dad,' she said softly, hugging him.

Ron smoothed the tumbled curls away from her face. 'I'm only going to Oxford,' he chided. 'Not Siberia.' He kissed her cheek and stepped away, Disapparating as he did so.

He appeared in the back garden of a house he'd come to know as well as the Burrow, and the home he'd made with Hermione over the last fifteen years. Ron craned his head around a corner of the tool shed, sighing in relief when Jane was nowhere to be seen in the garden. His eyes traveled over the roses that ringed the garden, a twinge of sadness making his eyes prickle. They were in a right state - straggly and unkempt. The sight of them, more than Jane, reminded him something was wrong. He crossed the garden to the back door and knocked softly. Hermione appeared at the door, and opened it, slipping outside. Ron thought she looked worse than the two months Hugo had colic.

And that was saying something, considering she wasn't sporting dried milk stains on her shirt.

'Hey, hen,' he said softly, pulling her into his arms. He felt her tremble slightly, then breathe deeply. 'So how is she?'

Hermione wandered to the trellis and fell into the bench under it. 'Sleeping. For now.'

'You don't look like you've been sleeping, Mione.'

'She'll go to bed at nine or so, then wake up at midnight, and think it's time to get up...' Hermione rubbed a knot from the base of her neck. 'And part of me wants to sleep with one eye open...'

'Why?'

'It's easier to deal with the random cursing when you haven't been asleep. Or when she wants to leave out the front door. Or when she tries to make tea or boil an egg.' Hermione smiled ruefully. 'She tried to make toast yesterday. Tried to stuff the entire loaf of bread into the toaster.' She let a ghost of a laugh escape. 'Forgot she had to slice it...' Suddenly, Hermione bent double, shoulders shaking violently.

Alarmed, Ron knelt in front of her. 'Hermione?' He tried to pry her hands from her face. 'Hen, what is it?'

Hermione lifted her face from her hands. She was laughing so hard, tears streamed down her face. 'Oh, God, it was f-f-f-f-funny. She just didn't understand why the bread wouldn't go in the toaster...' At length, she calmed down. 'I know, it seems entirely inappropriate to laugh, but...' She lifted a shoulder in a shrug. 'Sometimes you have to...' She inhaled and slowly blew the breath out, her shoulders slumping.

'Mione, you can't keep doing this,' Ron mumbled, reaching up to snap off a few dead roses from the trellis.

'I know...' She closed her eyes. They were heavily shadowed. 'I just have to try to convince her to move...'

'Hen, if she didn't want to move when she was lucid, what makes you think she'll want to move now?'

Hermione smiled wanly. 'She has good days, Ron. I'm hoping I can catch her on a good day.'

'But will she remember it?' he persisted.

'I don't know,' Hermione admitted. 'Probably not.' Her voice hitched. 'I'm just going to have to force her, aren't I?'

'Probably.' Ron slid onto the bench. He laced his hand through hers. 'What ever it is you decide to do, Hermione, you're going to have to do it soon.'

'Why?'

Ron tipped her chin up, his thumb gently tracing over the dark circles under her eyes. 'If nothing else, then for your own health.' He got to his feet, his fingers trailing over her cheek in a caress. 'And your mum's...' He ran a hand over her hair. 'The midgets miss you, too.'

Hermione's face fell, guilt flooding her features. 'How am I supposed to choose right now?' she whispered. 'She needs me.'

'She needs you to do what's best for her. She doesn't know what that is anymore, and wearing yourself down to a thread trying to keep anything from happening to her isn't what's best for you, either.' Ron bent and brushed a kiss over Hermione's mouth. 'Think about what you would do if she wasn't your mum...' His fingers traced the lines of her face. 'I have to go back. I left Rosie in charge.'

The corner of Hermione's mouth curled up. 'She's probably got Hugo running ragged.'

'What do you mean probably?' Ron snorted. He kissed her once more. 'Give us a ring later, all right?' Hermione nodded and Ron Disapparated, leaving Hermione sitting on the bench in the July sunshine.

Hermione glanced at her watch, and bit her lip for a moment. She went inside the house and began to search through the writing desk in the sitting room for the brochure Dr. Pfeiffer had given her. She tucked it into her pocket. She didn't want to arrange to have her mother moved there, and it was galling to admit she couldn't handle taking care of her mother, and her own family, and not even herself right now.

XxXxXxX

Draco hunched into the chair on the terrace that overlooked the ocean, twirling his wand between his fingers. You can do it, he told himself. You can point your wand toward you and just say it... It'll be over in a moment... He remembered, just after he'd turned seventeen, how close he had been to dying when Potter had hit him with a curse that split the skin his chest open. He welcomed the sensation of dying then. It meant he would have been free of the ridiculously staggering burden he'd been commanded to do. He stilled the wand, the handle nestling in his palm, as he pointed the tip toward his chest. Justsay it, damn you!

The wand's tip trembled briefly. You don't even have to say it, fool. Think it. Think it and mean it...

A creak in the sitting room behind him, made Draco gasp and lower the wand. He threw a glance over his shoulder into the sitting room. Scorpius had wandered into the room, a glass of milk and a bundle of biscuits wrapped in a serviette balanced in his hands. He began to search the shelves that lined the walls for a book.

Draco drew back into the shadows, his eyes following his son, as he chose a book, then took it upstairs to his bedroom. He exhaled harshly, the wand clattering to the floor as it slipped from his sweaty hands. He waited until he stopped shaking before he stood up and retrieved his wand. Draco swiped the sleeve of his shirt over his face, wondering when he had broken into the clammy sweat that coated his body. He slowly went inside and began the long walk up the stairs, his feet dragging.

Draco stopped at the top of the stairs and heaved a sigh. He thought he could handle the loneliness. The older he got, however, the harder it was to pretend he was detached from everything around him.

He stopped at the first door, seeing a line of light under the door. He entertained going into Scorpius' room and trying to force himself to ask about his school year. What little he knew was from the day Daphne and Scorpius had arrived in Nice, and Narcissa asked about his exam results. He had done quite well in most of his subjects, except for History of Magic. Not that Draco was surprised. That class was dull enough to put ghosts to sleep. He had overheard Scorpius excitedly give Narcissa and Daphne a play-by-play account of the final Quidditch game of the year - one in which both Seekers had caught the Snitch, but his House's Seeker had touched it a split second before the other team's. As much as Draco had disliked playing in school, even he was impressed by the skills of Potter's son. He would be a formidable opponent, indeed.

Daphne's bedroom was across the hall from his. His hand hovered over the doorknob to her room before he slowly withdrew it and turned, pushing the door of his own room open. Draco slowly unbuttoned his shirt, shrugging it off his shoulders. A thin white scar still snaked across his chest, visible even against his pale skin.

He left his wand lying on top of his discarded shirt as he threw himself across the bed.

He had never wanted to drink himself into a stupor so badly before. He just couldn't make himself get up from his bed and find the supply of liquor he'd stashed in his bedroom.

Draco almost considered it a blessing that he was too deep in his own ennui to even bother Summoning a bottle of Firewhisky.

XxXxXxX

Harry whistled through his teeth as he carried a basket of clean sheets up the stairs. The bathroom door was ajar, and Harry glanced through the gap, stopping when he saw James, standing in front of the steamy mirror, his boxers drooping around his scrawny middle, face festooned with frothy lather that had come from the bar of soap resting on the side of the sink. 'I do hope you're not planning to shave with that,' Harry said mildly, indicating the flimsy disposable razor James held in one hand.

'That's the idea,' James mumbled.

Harry winced visibly. He had made the mistake of shaving with something like that when he was James' age. It had not gone well. His face felt like he'd spent three hours on a broom while the wind was blowing. 'Come on,' he said. 'I've got something for you.' He set the basket down in the corridor and led James into his and Ginny's bedroom. Once inside, Harry opened the top bureau drawer and began to rummage in it for the small parcel he'd hidden there a few months ago. He'd been planning on giving it to James before he went back to school. Harry handed it to James, who was wiping the stiff lather off his face. 'Go on, mate. Open it.'

James curiously opened the box, and found a shaving set. 'What's this for?'

Harry thumbed off a smudge of lather from James' cheek. 'Well, if you're going to shave, mate, you ought to do it right.' He propelled James into the bathroom and took the set from his hands. 'I've been waiting to do this since the day you were born,' Harry told James, unpacking the components of the set.

'Really?'

'Well, it's one of those father things,' Harry said with a shrug. 'Like teaching you to ride a broom.'

'Mum did that,' James said with a smirk.

'Yeah, but I taught you the fancy stuff.' Harry nudged a face cloth toward James. 'Here, wash your face with that.' As Harry guided James through the process of using a brush and a cake of shaving soap to lather his face, he suppressed a sigh at the notion that James was quickly growing up and, in no time at all, would finish school. Seems like yesterday he was small enough to sleep in my arms...

'Okay, Dad, now what?' James' face sported a truly magnificent amount of lather.

'Hold the handle of the razor parallel to your face,' Harry said, handing the razor to James. 'And use your arm to move it. Short strokes. Go with the direction the hair grows.' He stood behind James, and laid his hand lightly over James' guiding it down the slope of his cheek. 'Just like that.' He took his hand away from James'. 'Don't press too hard, and do more than one pass.'

'Like this?' James asked, his voice soft with hesitation, moving the razor over his face.

'Yeah, just like that.' Harry leaned against the counter and watched James carefully shave. James had gotten an owl that morning at breakfast. It had made a flush stain his cheeks, and he carefully slid the letter into a pocket of his pajama bottoms. Ginny had given Harry a significant look, which Harry interpreted to mean that James' letter was from a girl. Harry wasn't sure he was ready for James to start receiving post from girls. He knew he wasn't ready for James to start sending letters to girls.

'Dad?'

'Yeah?'

James pointed to his upper lip. 'What do I do?'

Harry pulled his upper lip over his teeth. 'Like that.'

James frowned as he scraped the razor over his upper lip. 'Dad?'

'Yeah...?'

'Um, there's this girl...'

'Oh?' Harry waited for James to continue.

'She's... in...' James trailed off uncomfortably.

'In...?'

James tilted his chin up and painstakingly scraped the lather under his jaw. 'Slytherin,' he mumbled, so quietly Harry couldn't hear it.

'I'm sorry, what did you say?' Harry asked.

James sighed and rinsed the razor. 'Slytherin,' he sighed.

Harry's mouth dropped open. He remembered all the things James had said to Al about being Sorted into Slytherin. 'Seriously?'

'Never mind, Dad.' James wiped his face off and started to stalk out of the bathroom.

'James, wait...' Harry grabbed James' shoulder before he could leave. 'What's she like?'

'Maya? She's the Quidditch announcer. She's taller than Mum. She's cute. I guess.'

'You don't know if she's cute?' Harry grinned. 'I find that hard to believe.'

'She's nice enough to look at.' James shrugged and fiddled with the handle of razor. 'She's not what you'd expect, being in Slytherin and all...'

Harry snorted. 'They never are. You know Andromeda was a Slytherin, don't you?'

James' mouth fell open. 'But she's so nice!'

'Yes, she is,' Harry agreed. 'And one of my best Aurors was in Slytherin.'

'Really?'

'Yeah. I'd trust Kathleen with my life. I have. On more than one occasion.' Harry eyed James, who was shifting from foot to foot. 'So... What's she like?' he repeated.

'She's really smart. Like Aunt Hermione smart. But she's not snobby about it,' James added hastily. 'They have Potions with us, and there's an odd number from each House, so she's my partner in Potions,' he explained. 'Some of her House mates were being gits. Well, more than gits.' James ducked his head, knowing he could be a handful himself. 'She threw a few things into their cauldrons; while Williams had his back turned.' James smiled wistfully. 'Pity the Slytherin captain doesn't like female players, because she'd make a bloody good Chaser.' He shook himself a little and continued. 'She put in just enough of something to make the potion we were brewing went all sticky and blow up in their faces.' James laughed out loud. 'I just don't know what the others would think...'

Harry reached for a small towel and began to wipe the counter. 'Because she's a Slytherin?'

'Sort of. Because she's not in Gryffindor...'

Harry snorted. 'When has that ever mattered?'

James heaved a sigh. 'Granddad and Grandmum were both in Gryffindor. Uncle George and Aunt Katie. Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione. You and Mum. Your mum and dad.' He scuffed a bare foot on the tiles of the bathroom morosely.

Harry threw the towel into the laundry basket. 'All right. First of all, you're far too young to think about marriage. You don't have to only date Gryffindors. Or even marry one, when you get to that point.' He began to tick off couples on his fingers. 'Teddy's dad was a Gryffindor and his mum was a Hufflepuff. Your aunt Fleur didn't even go to school at Hogwarts. Bronwyn and Penny were both Ravenclaws. Parker, he's a Hufflepuff, and I don't see anybody in the family disowning him.'

James shrugged. 'But none of them were Slytherins, either,' he pointed out.

Harry nudged James out of the bathroom. 'So, are you and Maya friends at all, or just Potions partners?'

'I guess we're friends... We do homework together in the library...'

Harry hid a smile. 'Do you talk at all? About things other than homework.'

'Yeah,' James said with a sense of realization.

'Has she ever given you a reason not to trust her?'

James traced the border of the rug with a toe. He'd told Maya a lot of things about himself over the past couple of months, and never once had he overheard anyone snickering about it in the corridors, or quickly changing the subject when he walked into a room. 'No,' he admitted.

'Then, I don't think you have anything to worry about.' Harry patted James on the shoulder and left the bedroom, retrieving the basket of sheets and went to put them away in the cupboard. Harry turned to James, who was heading into his bedroom. 'Hey, James?'

James came back into the corridor, pulling a t-shirt over his head. 'Yeah?'

'Just try being friends first with her. Before you do anything else,' Harry advised.

'Is that what you told Teddy?' James asked.

'That's exactly what I told Teddy,' Harry assured him. James nodded and seemed satisfied with the answer. Harry carried the basket back down into the scullery. 'If I wasn't ready for him to start shaving, I'm definitely not ready for him to start dating,' he mused.

XxXxXxX

Harry stood huddled in the foggy street, his arms crossed over his chest. He didn't like being out in this kind of weather. It was too easy for people to hide in the swirling mist. He felt like there were eyes trained on him, as if there were a large, brightly-colored target glued to his back. Harry glanced uneasily around him, waiting for the Obliviators to finish talking to the Aurors.

He didn't like this at all.

Nor could he shake the feeling that someone was watching him.

'That's it, Potter,' a voice growled quietly. 'Keep looking the other way...' He raised his wand slowly, trying to position himself to get a clear view of Potter. It had been Dolohov's favorite hex, the one he was about to cast. His only regret was that he had to cast it non-verbally. It could do some serious damage even then, though. It would have to do.

The wand drifted even higher, then swished down sharply...

Teddy saw the wand tip in the shrubbery gradually rise before everything slowed down to a crawl. 'Harry! Look out!' he shouted, just before his shoulder rammed into Harry's side, toppling his godfather over. The jagged jet of purple light missed hitting Harry squarely in the center of his back, grazing a shoulder instead.

Teddy staggered under the weight of Harry's body. He laid him on the pavement, his eyes scanning the shrubbery. 'Harry?' Teddy asked tentatively, laying his hand against the side of Harry's throat, feeling slightly reassured as he felt a rapid, yet irregular pulse trip under his fingers. 'Don't worry, Harry, I've got you,' Teddy whispered. 'Somebody help me!' he yelled. Please don't die... Ginny will kill me... You're supposed to see me get married, have children...

Someone was forcing Teddy to his feet. 'Let him go, lad,' Carolina said. 'We can't do anything for him here.' She pulled Teddy back from Harry's still body, directing an Auror to take Harry to St. Mungo's.

'I have to go with him,' panted Teddy, struggling against Carolina's surprisingly strong grip.

'Teddy, be reasonable. You can't Apparate in this state,' Carolina said sternly. 'You'll Splinch yourself.'

Teddy slumped against her grasp. 'I need to go with him,' he said hoarsely.

'I'll take you,' Carolina said.

'Now,' Teddy demanded.

'Now.' Carolina wrapped a hand around Teddy's elbow. She turned and they reappeared outside the visitor's entrance to St. Mungo's.