Questions and Answers

Isabella met Neville outside the Great Hall. 'Sir, if it's about the team, Rosie's indicated she'd like to rejoin practices.'

'Well, that's a relief,' Neville said dryly. 'Although I'm sure Professor Williams might want to see the trophy in his office for once.'

'Not going to happen,' Isabella assured him. 'Not while I'm the team captain!'

Neville laughed and motioned for her to follow him. 'One thing I've learned is to never question the avid devotion of a Weasley's devotion to Quidditch. Nor a Potter's,' he added. 'Still interested in becoming a scout?'

'Absolutely,' Isabella confirmed. 'I've got no illusions about my skills -'

'Stop selling yourself short,' Neville chided. 'You're a very talented Chaser. Lots of teams would be lucky to have you on their practice squad, at the very least.'

Isabella shook her head. 'That's nice of you to say, Professor, but I'd like to keep playing because it's fun. I think if I had to play, it wouldn't be the same.'

'Fair enough.' Neville held a door open and ushered Isabella into an empty classroom, where McGonagall sat chatting easily with a few other wizards and witches. 'Here she is.'

'Ah, Miss Weasley,' McGonagall said. 'These people would like to test your ability to read a scouting report.' She pushed a folder across the table. 'Give us your unvarnished opinion.'

Isabella set her bag on the floor next to a desk, and opened the file. She frowned a little, because the topmost page that held the player's personal information - name, age, position - was missing. She carefully read through the file, digging into her bag for a Self-Inking Quill. Isabella underlined a few passages, and made a note here and there, then repeated the process. After several minutes, she closed the file. 'Well... First of all, since all I know about the person's age is that he's... Oh, what did they say...? Hmmm... Here it is... "Very young". Very young can mean he's just come of age to twelve. Judging the notes about his flying skills, he's got good innate ability, but could use some refining. His reflexes are good, but if he's on the younger end of the spectrum, he might need some time to adjust to the faster pace of the professional game. If he's playing on a school team, the Snitches are somewhat slower than the professional variety. Hardly anybody who plays recreationally uses professional-grade Snitches. I'd recommend that he start on the practice squad, because of his age, especially if he's not of age yet. Get his feet wet, see how he does.'

Neville threw a look at the wizard on McGonagall's left. 'Told you she could be neutral.'

'Who is this bloke, anyway?' Isabella asked, flipping through the folder once more. 'Must have bollocks of cast iron, if you're gagging for him so much...'

The wizard next to McGonagall smiled a little. 'I do believe you know him. Albus Potter.'

Isabella's eyes narrowed. Harry guarded his family's privacy with a fervor that bordered on maniacal. 'Do his parents know you're scouting their thirteen-year old son?'

'He's almost fourteen,' the wizard objected. 'And the British national team wouldn't even consider letting him work out until the next World Cup. Be sixteen then.'

'You'd put that kind of pressure on an underage wizard?' Isabella snorted. Because if you're going to consider playing him, you'd have to do it when he's fifteen. That's next summer, in case you're counting. Possibly even this summer, if he works with the practice squad.'

'Wouldn't be the first time a younger Seeker's played for a national team. Viktor Krum -'

'Yeah, I know. Viktor Krum played for Bulgaria when he was seventeen. Played professionally for ages. And now what? Hero-worship doesn't make up for never having a life. And I've read Krum's memoir. It's all Quidditch and a series of empty, meaningless relationships with one empty-headed bint after another!' Isabella was quite unaware she had risen to her feet. 'That might be a character weakness for Krum, but I'm going to say, in my professional opinion...' She took a deep breath. 'You'd be mad if you recruited Al now. He's not ready for it, physically. He's not old enough to sign a contract without his parents, and if you knew anything about them, they wouldn't agree to it, anyway.'

The wizard nodded. 'Very well done, Miss Weasley,' he said slyly. 'My sentiments exactly.' He shook McGonagall's hand, then Neville's. 'You did do a brilliant job. You did exactly what a scout is supposed to do. Your job isn't merely for the good of the team, but until the player signs with a team, the scout is their only advocate. Because you have to do what's best for them, too. At least the good ones do.' He started for the door. 'I'll pass on the results to Kenmare and Appleby. Good day, Miss Weasley, Professors.'

Isabella stared sightlessly at the table under her folded arms, murmuring a vague word of farewell to the wizard. The door closed behind him and Isabella glanced up at McGonagall and Neville. 'What was that?' she asked weakly.

McGonagall smiled a little. 'Your job interview, Miss Weasley. I do believe you managed to acquit yourself quite well.'

'Oh.' Isabella raised a shaking hand to her face and found it glazed with sweat. 'Even after I gave him a piece of my mind?'

'Because you did,' Neville told her. 'You said what he needed to hear. That's what counts.' He motioned to the door. 'Why don't you go down to dinner? And Izzy?' Isabella stopped and gave Neville a questioning glance. 'Be careful about to whom you reveal the purpose of this interview.' Neville cleared his throat. 'Especially the subject of that report.'

'Yes, sir.' Isabella slipped out of the room and made her way to the Great Hall, mulling over what Neville had told her. She picked at her meal and ate enough so that three of her cousins didn't send worried owls to her parents, then left for Gryffindor tower. She pulled her books from her bag, after settling into a secluded alcove, and with a sigh, began her Potions homework. She ignored the other students trickling in by twos and threes as they finished dinner, steadily completing her homework for the next two days until the common room was nearly empty, and only Al, Scorpius, Rose, James, Fred, Jacob, and Madeline still remained, arguing over a fine point of Quidditch strategy for Al's essay. Isabella slowly packed her books away in her bag and walked to the table. 'Can I talk to you for a mo?' she asked Al quietly.

'Erm, yeah...' Al looked confused.

'Alone...' Isabella glanced at the others significantly.

'Is this about the team?' Al demanded.

'Not especially,' Isabella admitted softly.

Scorpius' eyes flicked between Al and Isabella before he yawned widely and stretched elaborately. 'I think I ought to go up to bed. Getting late.' He knew whatever it was; Al would just tell him later anyway.

James prodded Jacob in the ribs. 'Come on. Let Al do his own homework for once.' James shared a look with Jacob and Fred. Between the three of them, they could find a way to - persuade - Al to spill the secret.

Madeline grabbed Rose's sleeve. 'Let's go up to my dormitory, Rosie. I'll fill you in on what we've been doing in practice. First one back is tomorrow, right?'

Rose gazed at Isabella for a long moment. She had Bronwyn's ability to hide behind an inscrutable facial expression. 'Yeah... I'm behind, aren't I...?' Even if they weren't there, none of them were able to keep secrets for very long and it would spread to the rest of them eventually.

Isabella blew out a frustrated breath. 'Oh, fine... Just stay, then,' she huffed. 'The rest of you lot will find out soon enough.' She dropped her bag to the floor and plopped into a chair next to Al. 'Have you gotten any odd letters from home?'

Al's forehead creased slightly. 'Not really...'

Isabella bit her lip, and studied Al's bemused face. 'Best to just come out and say it, isn't it? You're being scouted by England.'

James let out a whoop and sprang out of his chair, dancing around the table. 'Really? That's brilliant, isn't it? It's bloody fantastic, that is!' He glanced at the twins, goggling at him in surprise. Swiftly, he sat back down. 'I mean, yeah... That's all right.'

'But I'm only thirteen...' Al began.

'Sixteen by the next World Cup,' Rose interjected. 'And Krum--'

'Yeah, Krum was seventeen when he played in nineteen ninety-four against Ireland. It happens,' Al sighed.

Isabella nudged Al with her shoulder. 'You'd have to start training with the English team this summer,' she told him. 'That is, if Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny let you. You're too young to sign a contract without them.'

Al turned a quill over in his fingers. 'When will they say something?'

'They'll have to approach your parents first. So if they do say something, it would be by the Easter break.'

'What if I don't want to do it?' Al asked.

'Are you mad?' Jacob blurted. 'How many fourteen year-olds get to sign with a national team?'

Al shook his head. 'No... But I don't think I'd do a very good job of it right now. I'll be playing against blokes that are bigger, stronger...'

Madeline snorted. 'That's not what your mum said,' she scoffed.

'When did you talk to Mum about Quidditch?' James asked curiously.

'I didn't,' Madeline replied. 'She wrote an article about the abilities of women playing professional Quidditch, oh, about the time Al was born. And she said being a good player wasn't a matter of either brawn or brains, but how you use both of them.'

'We read that in class,' Al said slowly. He ran a hand through his hair. 'How do you know about all this before Mum and Dad?'

Isabella briefly massaged her temples. 'I read the scouting report. I didn't know it was you until they told me. It was part of some barmy job interview.'

Scorpius sat back, his arms crossed over his chest. 'So part of what scouts do is read reports on players, then... What? Make a recommendation based on that?'

'Yeah,' Fred supplied. 'Usually to the team owner or captain, then they'll go see them play in person.'

Scorpius nodded, then eyed Isabella. 'What did you say?'

Isabella's jaw jumped. 'I told them he wasn't ready,' she admitted.

'You did?' Al asked, then slumped forward, on a long sigh of relief. 'Thank you...'

'I tried,' Isabella said sympathetically. 'But that doesn't mean they'll take anything I've said seriously. Their scout agreed with me, but that and two Sickles'll buy you a cup of tea. England still might try to recruit you.' She picked up her bag and slung it over a shoulder as she rose to her feet. 'I just thought you should know. I don't like surprises. And I don't fancy your dad does, either.' She trudged toward the staircase leading to the girls' dormitories.

The rest of the cousins rapidly cleared from the common room, giving Al long, contemplative glances as they did so. All save Scorpius, who lingered at the table, tactfully staring into the glowing coals of the fire, while Al packed away his things. 'What do you think?' Al asked.

'I think you should do what you think is best for you.'

Al sat in the chair, hugging his bag to his chest. 'Dad would say, "You're not even fourteen, you don't know what's best for you." He's probably right...'

'What would you choose? If you didn't have to worry about what your parents would say,' Scorpius persisted.

'I think I might have to say no...' Al sighed. 'It's a fantastic opportunity, but I don't think I could do it. Not now. When I'm older...' He shrugged. 'No use worrying about it until Mum or Dad says something. I'm going to bed.'

*****

Harry sorted through the pile of letters that had been delivered after he and Ginny had returned from San Francisco. A dark-blue envelope with a stylized red lion decorating one corner piqued his curiosity. 'Hey, Gin?' he called. 'Were you expecting anything from the English Quidditch team?'

Ginny's head appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. 'No. Why?'

Harry waved the envelope at her. 'Got this while we were gone.' He handed it to Ginny. She took it and glanced at it with a frown. She turned it over and pried off the seal, pulling the heavy parchment from inside. A small crease appeared between her brows, deepening as she read.

'Oh, bloody hell...' she exclaimed softly. 'They want Albus!'

'What?' Harry snatched the letter from her and scanned it. 'What are they playing at?' He set the letter down on the table, resisting the urge to incinerate it with his wand. 'I'll not have it,' he said heatedly. 'He can't sign a contract without us yet. Not until he's seventeen. And I won't do it.'

Ginny picked up the letter again and skimmed it. 'Normally, I'd chide you for overreacting,' she began, 'but I have to agree with you on this one.'

Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose. 'Is normalcy too much to ask?'

Ginny flicked her wand at the cupboard and two cups landed neatly on the table. Another flick brought the kettle sailing toward her, steam already wafting from its spout. She poured the boiling water into the waiting teapot and sent the kettle back to the stove. 'For you? Yes.' Ginny calmly poured tea into the waiting cups. 'What if Al wants to do this?'

Harry's expression grew pained. 'Gin, he's not even fourteen yet. And according to this, they want him to start practicing with the team during his upcoming summer hols. It's summer hols, for Merlin's sake! That's when he ought to be ogling girls in the village and skiving off his homework. Not worrying about bleeding Quidditch matches that ride on his scrawny shoulders.'

Ginny took a sip of her tea and set the cup down. 'It's less than what you had to deal with when you were fourteen,' she said pointedly.

'I didn't have a choice,' Harry told her flatly.

'But he does,' Ginny reminded him gently. 'Isn't that what you've always wanted for them? To actually have a choice?'

Harry gaped at her for a long moment. 'I hate it when you use logic like that,' he muttered. 'Been around Hermione too much.'

Ginny chuckled softly and leaned forward to kiss Harry. 'Stop sulking. Everything will be fine.'

'Promise?'

'I'll see what I can do.'

*****

Daphne's head tilted to the side, as she carefully fastened an earring into her ear. The small emerald teardrops were one of the few things she had from her mother. The doorbell's sonorous toll echoed through the quiet house several times. 'Draco!' she called. 'We gave Perri the night off, or have you forgotten?' The only reply that met her was silence. She began to work the other earring into the opposite ear, a sigh of irritation hissing through her teeth as the doorbell rang once more. 'Where did he get off to?' she muttered, lightly skipping down the stairs. 'We're supposed to leave in a few minutes...' She yanked the heavy front door open, her mouth falling open in surprise to find Draco standing nervously on the other side.

'This is how you're supposed to do it, isn't it?' he asked, tugging at his shirt collar. 'Pick you up...?'

Daphne's lips twitched and she thought she might faint from the strain of not laughing aloud, but she managed to keep a more-or-less straight face. 'I wouldn't know,' she pointed out. 'It's not as if I've gone on very many first dates.' She smiled a little at Draco. Normally, he was outwardly calm, never allowing so much as the point of a shirt collar to go awry, but the edge of his collar was turned up over the neck of the jumper he wore. She reached out and smoothed his shirt collar down. 'You look fine,' she assured him. 'I think I'm supposed to ask you to come in.' Daphne gestured for Draco to come into the foyer. 'I'll be just a moment.' She disappeared behind a door and emerged with coat. Before she could so much as put her arms through the sleeves, Draco plucked it from her hands and held it out for her. Daphne bashfully slid her arms into the sleeves, her head ducking slightly as Draco settled it on her shoulders.

'I may be a convicted criminal,' he said sardonically, 'but my mother did instruct me in the arts of gentlemanly behavior.' He offered Daphne his arm and she stared at him for a moment, startled, before she slid a tentative hand through his elbow.

They left the house and began to walk toward the front gate. 'Where are we going?'

'Some café Andrew recommended. He told me people wouldn't know us...'

Daphne's shoulders slumped imperceptibly with relief. The evening was already nerve-wracking as it was, and she didn't think the tension would lessen if they tried to do this in a wizarding community. 'How very perceptive of him,' she murmured.

Draco snickered a little. 'That is what I pay him for.' He opened the gate and consulted the scrap of parchment in his pocket. 'Ready?' At Daphne's nod, he tightened his grip on her hand and Apparated them to a darkened alley in London.

Light spilled into the alley along with a cacophony of sound and Draco felt his fingers contract around Daphne's. Daphne's eyes widened a little and without turning her head she whispered, 'Are we goingthere?'

'Yes.'

'Oh.' Daphne took in a deep breath. 'All right.'

Neither of them moved.

Daphne looked at Draco from the corner of her eye. He looked petrified. 'On three, shall we? One, two, three...' She took a step forward, tugging at Draco's hand. He followed her, the habitual haughty mask falling into place. The crept to the entrance of the alley and stared entranced at the sea of humanity surging along the pavement bathed in the bright lights of the signs that adorned the buildings. 'Which direction?'

'I don't know,' Draco breathed. 'I suppose we could walk for a bit and find out?'

Daphne nodded and glanced around. 'Right or left?'

'Left!' Draco said recklessly. He shifted his grip around Daphne's hand and plowed into the crowd. 'It's on Glasshouse Street,' he told her, raising his voice to be heard over the noise. He suddenly stopped and Daphne walked into him. 'What is that?' he asked, pointing at a window where a middle-aged woman expertly wound fluffy pink strands around a paper tube.

'Candy floss, I think.'

Draco whirled around, his eyes alight with curiosity. 'Have you ever had it?' he demanded.

'A time or two,' Daphne admitted sheepishly.

Draco dragged Daphne into the brightly lit, somewhat dingy shop and joined a queue behind several rather colorful teenagers. At length, they reached the counter. 'Two of those,' Draco told the bored-looking young man behind the counter, gesturing to the woman in the window.

'Five pounds.'

Draco dipped a hand into his pocket and unearthed a wad of Muggle money. He peered confusedly at the notes for several moments, oblivious to the impatient grumbles behind him. 'Forgot your glasses again, did you?' Daphne said a shade louder than she would have said normally. Draco looked at her, baffled. She peeled a note from Draco's sweaty hand. 'Here,' she said to the man holding two large balls of pale pink fluff, passing him the note and accepting one of the paper tubes. Draco took the other and returned to the street, taking a large bite of the candy floss. It immediately dissolved on contact with his tongue. Bemused, he attempted another bite, larger than the first, only to have it disappear almost instantly.

'What kind of dark magic is this?' he hissed, his eyes narrowing at the sweet in his hand.

Daphne daintily pinched off a piece of the candy floss and giggled. 'It's only spun sugar,' she said.

'It's practically nothing,' Draco grumbled. He copied his wife's actions and pulled some of the sweet off the larger ball and inserting it into his mouth. 'I don't get it,' he sighed.

'It's fun...' Daphne tilted her head to one side. 'Didn't you ever have fun as a child?'

'No.' It carried no self-pity, only a matter-of-fact testament to the rigidity of his childhood.

Daphne's eyes lowered to her own candy floss, quietly eating it as they meandered up the street. 'Here's Glasshouse,' she said.

Draco tossed the remains of his candy floss into a dustbin and pulled out the scrap of parchment with the café's address scrawled on it. 'Erm... This way...' He led Daphne down the street a block or two until they came to the quiet, dimly lit café. Small tables were scattered around the room, interspersed with an odd sofa here and there. Soft music wafted over the babble of conversation. Nobody even glanced up when the two of them walked inside. True to Andrew's word, it was a perfect location for their first date. Draco doubted anyone would be able to give accurate descriptions of neither him, nor Daphne once they left. They could be anonymous to everyone except each other.

Daphne studied the menu on the wall behind the counter. 'Excuse me?' she asked the young woman, leaning on the counter. 'What is a Why Bother Cappuccino?'

'Made w'i skim milk an' decaf espresso,' she informed Daphne with a smirk.

'I see. Why bother...?'

'Exac'ly,' the girl agreed. 'On'y th' stick insect types ask f'it.'

'Stick insect?'

The girl waved a hand in the air. 'Y'know... Th' ones tha' on'y eat rab'it food an' lis' th' gym as their secon' home.'

Daphne didn't, in fact, know the sort of people the girl spoke of, but she murmured in assent. 'I'll have a regular cappuccino, then.'

Draco ordered a coffee for himself and once more found himself bewildered by the Muggle money clenched in his hand. 'Makes no bloody sense,' he mumbled.

Daphne tugged a ten-pound note from his hand. 'You really must remember your glasses,' she said admonishingly, giving the girl behind the counter an apologetic glance. Their drinks paid for, they found a table tucked into a corner, away from the other patrons.

'Why do you keep telling me I need to remember my glasses?' Draco asked. 'You know just as well as I do that I don't need them!'

'To cover up that you don't understand Muggle money,' Daphne calmly replied, sipping her coffee.

'There are all sorts of numbers and pictures all over it,' Draco grumbled. 'Five, ten, twenty, fifty... Doesn't make any sense at all...'

'And Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts would to a Muggle?'

Draco buried his nose in his cup, flushing dully. 'Did you ever have fun as a child?' he asked abruptly.

'When my parents were alive,' she said softly. 'We weren't very prominent, so they did things with us that most parents of our social circle would have absolutely abhorred. They were very hands-on with us. Let us mingle with the other children in the village.' Daphne paused and stole a peek at Draco over the rim of her cup. 'Even the Muggle children,' she added, watching him carefully for a reaction. 'At least until my mother died,' she sighed.

Draco frowned. He knew Daphne's mother had died well before their marriage, but had never bothered to ask about her. 'When did that happen?'

Daphne set her cup down and wrapped her hands around it. 'Third year of school,' she murmured. 'And then my father died four years after the end of the war. After Mum died it wasn't prudent for us to continue to do any of the Muggle things we had done before, because, well...' She trailed off, embarrassed. 'With Voldemort coming back...' She took a gulp of her coffee to cover the awkwardness, nearly scalding her tongue in the process. 'And Ian grew rather, erm - strident - in his beliefs. I think Dad was afraid he'd turn us all in. So we became the perfect picture of a pureblood family. Dad had to hide most of my books. The ones written by Muggle authors, at any rate. I didn't bring them back out until we were married. I practically had to smuggle them out under Ian's nose.' She shook herself a little. 'Sorry. Didn't mean to get maudlin on you.' Daphne rested her elbows on the table. 'What about yours?'

'What about mine?'

'When you were a child...'

'Oh...' Draco sat back in the chair. 'My father used to tell me bedtime stories about what Voldemort could do to Muggles or wizards and witches who didn't live up to his standards. Made my hair stand on end. Watched him terrorize the house-elf. Forced to join the Death Eaters...' He made a deprecating face. 'You know. The usual.' He stared moodily into his coffee. 'I suppose I'm sort of glad we only have the one child. Minimize the damage.'

'I always wondered why we only had one,' Daphne mused. 'I've always assumed it was to eliminate competition between the heirs. Less Merovingian that way.'

Draco gaped at her for a moment, then began to chuckle. 'Well, when we had a son, that's all that was needed. I knew you weren't very happy being married to me and I'm quite certain there were a few... aspects... of our marriage that were not pleasurable for you.' Draco sipped his coffee. 'I'm rather surprised you didn't seek that elsewhere.'

Daphne inhaled a sip of coffee and began to cough, spluttering into a paper serviette. 'What?'

Draco shrugged. 'I wouldn't have blamed you. I haven't exactly been friendly toward you.'

Daphne looked down. Making some sort of tart comment would have been too easy. It was enough for her just now that he could admit he hadn't made much of an effort for the past fifteen years. 'Would you have wanted to have more children?' Daphne ventured tentatively.

Draco chewed his lip thoughtfully. 'It might have been nice,' he said at length. 'For Scorpius. Then he wouldn't have been so alone.' His brow rose slightly. 'Or at least he wouldn't have been subjected to Ian's son Geoffery so often,' he said meaningfully.

'So you noticed the bullying?'

'I did. Unfortunately, your brother doesn't seem to understand subtlety.'

'Geoffery's not bothered Scoprius so much since one of Scorpius' friends punched him.'

Draco nodded, meditatively rubbing his nose. 'Like mother, like daughter,' he mused. 'Granger had a wicked right hook. Wonder if she can still hit like that...'

*****

Draco escorted Daphne to her bedroom door. 'I had a nice time,' she said softly.

'You did?' Draco blurted, surprised.

Daphne's hand landed on the doorknob. 'Your company isn't entirely disagreeable. When you aren't trying to emulate your father, that is.'

'Would you like to try it some other time...?'

'I would.' Surprising both of them, Daphne reached up and gently kissed Draco's cheek, before disappearing into her bedroom.

*****

A/N: I used to work in a coffee bar in college and we had a Why Bother Cappuccino on the menu. People would ask what it was, and I'd explain it was made with skim milk and decaf espresso, and the usual response was, 'Yeah... why bother...?'