A/N: The moment has finally arrived. Welcome, everybody, to my latest and greatest story. Well, my latest anyway. I've been promising to post it for months now, and here it is. I'll catch you at the end of the chapter so you don't have to listen to me blather on here, but this is indeed the story that's been called 'June 8' for ages. Figured I should pick a better title. I do hope it is both captivating and thrilling for you. (Disclaimer: I'm only universe-sitting. I don't own the place.)

There was just one moment of warning. Like the heartbeat before a towering wave crashed down, everything seemed to slow. An overpowering scent of copper and acrid burning diffused the alley. A scruffy man with a grizzled gray beard paused, closing his eyes. A fat, yellow cat streaked from under a dustbin. A witch selling nasty-looking strings of what appeared to be human fingernails drew her tattered cloak up with a hiss and backed into a dark corner.

And then the world was ripped apart.

"…I report with… the greatest sorrow, regret, and horror… that on this day, June 8, 2022, devastation of a magnitude not felt in twenty-four years has once more rocked Britain's wizarding community. Earlier today, two explosions were set off in Knockturn Alley. Much of the alley was destroyed in the blasts, and cursed fires spread damages as far as Quality Quidditch Supplies to the North and the recently-opened Cry O' the Raven Talismans to the south in the adjacent Diagon Alley.

"As of this evening, there are thirteen confirmed casualties due to the explosions, twenty-one hospitalized at St. Mungo's in critical condition, and dozens more treated on-site for numerous injuries that, while not life-threatening, were quite severe. Many shopkeepers and residents of both Diagon and Knockturn Alleys have lost their homes, businesses, and hundreds of thousands of Galleons worth of inventory. Aurors are still assessing damages and collecting names of missing people.

"Reeling in the wake of this sudden and awful blow, most of you listening tonight are probably wondering why this had to happen. Who would do such a thing after so many years of peace? And what does it mean for the future? For these questions we have no answers. We wait for our Minister to speak in a formal address over the WWN at ten o'clock, bearing in mind that he, along with the head and deputy head of the Auror office, has been personally affected in this tragedy…."

June 8, 2022, 6:05 A.M.

Hannah and Neville's alarm went off at six o'clock. Neville groaned and banged a fist down on the top of it.

"We should get up," Hannah said sleepily, rolling over and burrowing deeper into her husband's arms.

"We should," he agreed, resting a cheek against the top of her head. Without opening his eyes he could see the trail of her long golden hair streaming across the crimson of the pillowcase, the powdery morning light settling over the blush of her cheeks. Even though gray was creeping into his hair like dust collecting and each time he looked into the mirror it seemed there was a new line to trace on his face, she hadn't aged a day since her thirtieth birthday.

"I've got to get to the pub," she mumbled. "Train's coming in today. It'll be busy."

"I've got to get to the school," he sighed. "Train's going out today. It'll be a madhouse."

"But it's nice here."

"Mmm, so nice."

"We could just… stay a little longer."

"Just a few minutes."

"Maybe," she twisted around in his arms. "Just a little more than a few minutes."

"You're terrible," he laughed against her lips. His hands came up to tangle in her long hair, running down her back like a fountain.

"But you're wonderful," she breathed, gasping as he pulled her tight against his chest.

The door was thrown open, bouncing against the wall with a crash.

"It's time for breakfast!" their six-year-old daughter sang, scrambling up on the foot of their bed. "I made orange juice."

Neville rolled away from his wife and groaned into his pillow. Hannah, laughing at him, sat up and drew their daughter onto her lap, blowing a raspberry against her rosy cheek. Miranda giggled gleefully as Hannah's long curtain of hair fell over her face, blond mingling with deep chestnut.

"Can we please do something about her?" their older daughter complained irritably, slumping in their doorway. "She woke me up half an hour ago to get the cornflakes down. Five-thirty in the freaking morning for Merlin's sake. I'm thinking the circus. Mum? Dad? Any takers?"

Hannah turned Miranda around and held her at arm's length, frowning. "Hm, well, you know, she's got – floppy ears," she tugged gently on one of Miranda's pigtails – "and – a long nose" – she traced a finger from the tip of Miranda's nose down to her bellybutton, and Miranda clapped her hands over her mouth to hold in her laughter.

"She goes mad for peanuts," Neville chipped in, sitting up and winking at Ami in the doorway.

Hannah slid off the bed and scooped Miranda up into her arms. "I think we might have a right brilliant elephant, here."

"The best one in the bunch," Neville grinned as Hannah chivvied their daughters out of the bedroom. He heard her singing, "Do your ears hang low, do they wobble to and fro!" all the way down the hallway above the girls' chatter.

When Neville reached their snug kitchen, which looked out at Hogsmeade's high street, ten minutes later, showered, clad in his good school robes saved for the few days he wasn't puttering around in the dirt, and checking his bag for the notes about underage magic, Hannah already had a heap of bacon, eggs, and toast waiting on the table. Miranda lay on her belly under her chair, holding Marvin, their fat, yellow cat, captive, and Ami was in full swing about plans for her eleventh birthday the next day.

"You'll be home all day, right Dad?" she asked, turning shining eyes on her father.

Neville chuckled, grabbing a piece of toast. "I'm all yours."

"Good," she said, flashing a fervent smile.

She had treated the matter of his having her birthday off as carefully and reverently as a golden soap bubble, like it might vanish at any second. Her birthday happened to fall just as exams were winding down, or O.W.L.s were getting started. As much as he tried not to, Neville usually ended up stuck at school from dawn until dusk. But not this year. Term was ending early this year.

"I better be off now, though," he said, pecking Hannah on the cheek. "Train leaves in less than three hours and you know there'll be a dozen kids who've got last-minute arguments over their grade or questions about the summer work."

"Good luck," Hannah smirked. "What time'll you be by the pub, then?"

"Count on ten, I suppose. There's a staff meeting after we load the kids up. The girls coming with you or is Aurora taking them?"

"Oh, can't we go to London?" Ami begged, swiveling around in her chair to fix her parents with beseeching eyes.

"I'm bored at Aurora's!" Miranda complained.

They burst into a clamor of pleas.

"Alright, alright," Hannah cut in, laughing. "If you promise not to get under foot, you can come and help me today, and maybe this afternoon when the train comes in, James or Al and Rose will take you up Diagon Alley, hm?"

"I'll get my Christmas money!" Ami said excitedly, jumping out of her chair.

Neville caught her just before she reached the stairs and dropped a kiss on the top of her honey blond head. "See you in a bit, Ally."

Miranda, not to be outdone, scrambled up and threw herself into her father's arms. "And me, too?"

"And you too, ladybug," he promised.

7:35 A.M.

Angelina swept her long tangle of black curls into a ponytail as she blearily shuffled into the living room.

"Morning," George greeted crisply, sliding a cup of tea into her hand. "Ready for the heathens to be back?"

Angelina took a gulp of the steaming liquid and swore as it scalded her throat. She cast a watering eye around the neat, orderly flat with its lack of muddy Quidditch gear thrown into corners, no day-old glasses of pumpkin juice leaving rings on the coffee table, and not a single dog-eared magazine or book to layer the sofa.

"Hell yes. This place is far too quiet without them. I miss not being able to see the carpet. It reminds me how little time we actually get to spend in this lovely flat of ours."

George laughed. "They do give it a nice lived-in feel, don't they? Knew there was a reason we kept them around."

Angelina rolled her eyes and pushed his face away. "Not that we'll get to see them much the day the train comes in. Which one of us will be leaving the other to the wolves to go fetch them form the station?" She batted her eyes at him and he smirked.

"Neither. Ron's landed himself with a day off, so he offered to meet them, and Fred's got his license now, so he can side-along Roxie from the platform."

"Oh, don't remind me of that," Angelina sighed, glancing toward the pictures that immortalized her gap-toothed, eight-year-old son above the sofa.

George stood to put his mug in the sink. "Well I'd better get downstairs and finish putting orders together or they won't get done before we're stormed by the mobs."

"I'll open in a bit," she told him as he headed for the stairs. "And be careful if you're working with the fireworks!" she called after his disappearing figure. He waved a hand to dismiss her worries, and she could practically feel him roll his eyes.

Angelina flicked her wand at the loaf of bread on the counter and a piece toasted itself and flew into her hand. Sipping her tea and crunching on the toast, she looked around at the flat she and George had lived in for nearly twenty years. It had gotten a bit bigger since they'd first moved in and expanded to the building next door. The furniture was finally new now that they didn't have children crawling all over it with markers and grape juice, and the walls were decorated a bit with nostalgic pictures that reminded Angelina of all she had liked about having small children and none of what she'd hated. It was almost an entirely different place from the one-room bachelor pad already crowded with memories it had been when she'd first come to it.

She enjoyed the last sight of everything being in order until September, and then cleared the table, dressed in the joke shop's magenta robes – the things she did for her husband – and went downstairs to prepare for one of the busiest days of the year.

8:47 A.M.

There was a knock on Harry's office door. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. It was too early for problems. Hermione never knocked, Teddy just sent patronuses rather than getting up and crossing the office floor to talk in person, and Percy never waited for an admittance before throwing the door open. If someone was knocking and waiting for an answer, there was a problem.

"Come in," he called reluctantly after a minute, closing the file on the recent spate of kidnappings they'd been investigating.

Sofia Hollis, undersecretary to the department, tentatively stuck her dark head around the door, brandishing a pink slip. "Milton's sent in a notice for indefinite leave of absence."

Harry sighed. "S'pose it was a matter of time. It was his sister last month, the one they got in Muggle London. Taking the tube home from the Ministry and she just vanished. Turned up on their doorstep a couple weeks later and… well, you read the paper. You sent him the notice about three months of inactivity, losing status, et cetera?"

"Yes, sir, I did, but I don't reckon it'll change his mind."

"Nah, me neither. Well, better he figure out he can't handle it now rather than in the middle of a mission or something. Shame. He was damn good. And he was the lead of those cases. We're going to be hurting without him. You can put the slip in the tray over there."

Sofia laid the pink slip on top of a stack of other identical ones in a wire tray beside the door, but didn't withdraw from the room.

Harry raised an eyebrow at her.

"Er, Milton was scheduled for patrol this week," she said apologetically.

"Of course he was," Harry muttered, heaving himself out of his chair and slipping past Sofia to check the schedule board in the corridor. "Should I ask for volunteers or just pick the oblivious people least likely to notice they've got extra patrols?"

Sofia merely smiled politely.

Harry examined the schedule for a moment, chewing his lip. Figuring his godson would be the least likely to hate him for the extra workload, he jabbed his wand at the schedule and Milton's name vanished. Harry headed back to his office, thanking Sofia for her vigilance. Sofia blushed and hurried back to her desk. The schedule on the wall now showed Teddy Lupin's name under the Knockturn Alley column for that afternoon.

9:15 A.M.

"Did I ever tell you you're my favorite big brother ever?"

Ron looked warily over the top of his paper at Ginny's face floating in the living room fireplace.

"Oh yeah?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "And how have I earned that honorable title?"

"By getting the kids from King's Cross this afternoon for me and maybe buying them some ice cream so they won't feel abandoned by their parents."

"You realize Lily turned fourteen in February, right?"

"You're never too old for ice cream."

"But at a certain point its magical ability to make everything better goes away. Sure, I can collect the munchkins, but how come you and Harry aren't waiting like mother hens at the gate for them?"

Ginny bit her lip. "Well, Harry's got to work, you know, deal with all those disappearances, and I was going to collect them, but there's a match in Hollyhead today that I really want to cover. England's scouting for the next World Cup and when else will I get a chance to pick Dan Fileppi's brain for an article?"

She gave him her best doe eyes.

"I already said I'd do it," Ron reminded her amusedly. "But just remember this next time Rose wants to go dress robe shopping while Hermione's in court."

"Done."

"Hey, when'll the match be over, do you reckon?"

"Probably around three, but I've got to get the article ready for tomorrow's Prophet. I doubt I'll get out of the office until six."

"Tell you what. Why don't I let the kids loose in Diagon Alley for the afternoon? I'm getting Fred and Roxie anyway, and I bet James'll make a bee line for the shop no matter what. We can muck about until you're done with your article and then Harry and Hermione can meet us for dinner or something, sound good? That way they won't feel so abandoned."

"Did I ever tell you you're my favorite big brother ever?"

Ron grinned. "I try. Now get off to Hollyhead."

10:56 A.M.

By the time Neville stumbled out of the fireplace in the Leaky Cauldron, the pub was already bustling. Parents who would meet the train in a few hours had come to make a day of it. Mothers towed small children by the hand, poring over long lists of shopping, family friends and distant aunts who'd decided to join the reception party crowded around tables to wait out the clock, and older siblings who had already left school gathered at the bar, glad of a reason to be in London on a weekday.

"You're late," Hannah accused, directing three platters of food toward distant tables with her wand.

"I know, sorry, love. Meeting ran late." He ducked to kiss her quickly before hoisting a new crate of butterbeer onto the counter and cracking it open for the impatient patrons.

"Or Mervine and Lancing persuaded you to nip down to the Three Broomsticks for a celebratory drink before joining your slave-driver wife in the madhouse."

"Of course not!" Neville tried to say indignantly, but he couldn't keep his face straight.

"You're still a terrible liar, dear," Hannah told him. "But better late than never."

"Where're the girls?" he asked, refilling a few glasses.

"In the back. Nancy's keeping an eye on them for now. Miranda smuggled the cat through the Floo."

Neville quickly stifled a guffaw. "What, did she hide him under her dress?"

"I honestly don't know how she managed it, but she kicked up a storm when I tried to send him back."

"She's your daughter," Neville laughed.

"Clearly she's yours," Hannah countered, vanishing into the kitchen for more orders.

12:02 P.M.

Living above a joke shop, with Roxanne as a little sister, James as a best friend, and Louis always looking for revenge for their latest heists, Fred had come to expect ambushes. But not from birds like Dorothy Harolds, all long, graceful limbs and shining coffee-brown hair and smelling like cherries. It was starting to happen a lot since that Hogsmeade weekend he'd snogged her in the back of the Three Broomsticks.

"Hey, handsome," her battle cry whispered in his ear and he knew he was a goner. Her arms encircled his neck from behind and he could feel her breath, hot against his ear.

"James," he said in a strangled voice. "Mind if I catch you later?"

James rolled his eyes. "Just mind you get a room," he told them as he sped along the corridor away from them. "There are innocent eyes on this train!"

Perfect, James thought moodily as he heard Fred and Dorothy topple into an empty compartment behind him. Even on the bloody school train full of first-years and prefects she couldn't keep her hands to herself. Now what was he supposed to do? He didn't feel much like returning to their friends alone. Not when Aaron was occupied with his boyfriend and Chelsea Turner had dropped in to natter to Jo about something some girl said in the loo last week. He decided to look for Lily, who was always up for a good ruse, and was reflecting on the pathetic state his social life had come to if he was seeking out his baby sister for company, when he walked headlong into someone.

She was a head shorter than him and had a mane of red hair, so for a moment he thought he'd found Lily, but then she whipped around and there was a wand at his throat.

"What d'you mean by it, Potter?" she snarled.

"Merlin's sake, keep your panties on, Bennit," James said easily, pushing her wand away. "You know I just can't get enough of your hideous face."

Madeline Bennit scowled and didn't put her wand away. "Just when I think I'm finished with you for a few months…" she muttered.

Her dark green eyes narrowed and James's pulse quickened. The image of Fred intertwined with Dorothy flashed behind his eyes. Merlin's – he did not want Bennit. She was a troll, a bloody Slytherin. The thought should make him physically ill. But all he could think of was Fred and Dorothy, and Jo and her idiot seventh-year, Ravenclaw, Quidditch-captain boyfriend, and even Aaron and Michael, so infatuated with each other that they didn't notice anything else around them, and here was Bennit raising his blood pressure like always and– God, Potter, knock it off!

"What are you staring at?" she demanded.

James tore his eyes away from her smooth, rosebud lips. "Nice get-up," he snickered instead, snapping the lacy red strap that had shimmied up her shoulder to poke out of her collar. "You putting on a show tonight?"

Her wand flew and James slammed against the compartment door beside them hard enough to see stars. The second-years inside jumped up, startled.

"If you so much as breathe in my direction again, Potter, I swear to God and Merlin alike that I'll rip your valuables out and feed them to the giant squid," she growled. Then she spun, long hair whipping his face.

"Nice to see that warm, feminine charm of yours, Bennit!" James called after her retreating back. Then he staggered off in the opposite direction, not sure if his blood was rushing from anger or something else.

1:12 P.M.

"Oi, Lupin, you check the shift schedule?"

Travis Arros stuck his head into Teddy's cramped cubicle. Teddy dropped his head into his folded arms with a groan.

"Suppose I'm on for patrol this afternoon, huh? Perfect."

Travis smirked and leaned against the edge of Teddy's desk. "Didn't get those reports filled out for Potter, eh? Third time this month. He'll have your head, godson or not."

"I know," Teddy cringed, looking up at Travis with one bleary eye. "Vic and I sort of… lost track of time last night, you know, with the wedding two months away. It's stressful."

"Yeah, stressful," Travis snickered, dark eyes dancing with mirth. "Good thing you've got your own flat, mate, 'cause I don't reckon your gran'd approve of your stress-relief methods. And I wouldn't even want to think about what her father would –"

"Shut it," Teddy muttered, shoving a cackling Travis off his desk.

"So, you need me to switch shifts with you or not?"

"Would you?" Teddy asked, turning to him with a comical expression of hope shining on his face. "Aw, Travis, you're a real mate, you are, if you'd do that. I'd owe you."

Travis waved a modest hand. "I'll take Knockturn for an afternoon and we'll call it even for the ten years you pulled my arse through defense classes with passing grades, yeah?"

"Sounds about fair," Teddy grinned. "Look, as soon as I get these damned reports filed, I'll come and relieve you. We can swing by for a drink with Rob after."

"I reckon we swing by for too many drinks with Rob considering we're on call all week," Travis mused.

"Liquid courage's all," Teddy assured him.

"Harry know you talk like that?"

"Hell no. He'd tie me down and sober me up with a long lecture on responsibility before I could get a word in edgewise about how Rob switches our whiskey out for cider after the first glass and thinks we can't see through his transfiguration spell."

"You know, as cool as it is to have 'The Chosen One' as your godfather, it also really sucks. Nobody has a better guilt trip than he does, I bet."

"You try selling the 'because we're young' card to someone who saved the bloody world at seventeen," Teddy grimaced. He smacked his thick stack of reports into Travis's shoulder. "Better get to the Alleys before you're late for my shift."

"I'm holding you to that drink, Lupin!"

2:22 P.M.

Albus was losing spectacularly at chess.

"Knight to E5," Scorpius smirked.

"This is hopeless," Al complained as his last knight was pummeled to bits. "Can't we just say you win and end the humiliation?"

"Not a chance, Potter. Not when you get to kick my arse at Quidditch every other weekend. I intend to drag this out to the very end."

"You're sadistic."

"Nah, just vengeful."

Rose glanced over from her Charms book with mild interest. "Send your bishop to F9," she told Albus.

"No fair, you can't help him!" Scorpius complained.

"I don't block half the shots you manage to get close to the goal hoops," she told him, rolling her eyes.

Albus snickered as Scorpius colored with indignation and embarrassment. "Did you really never notice?" he asked.

"Shut it, Potter," Scorpius muttered, throwing one of the pawns he'd captured from Al into his face.

The compartment door banged open.

"I've got a brilliant plan. Inspired actually," James announced dramatically. He scrambled over Al to avoid the chess board ("Umph, Get. Off. James!") and sprawled in the window seat, regarding them all with a smug look. "Want to hear it?"

"Where's your significant other?" Albus asked.

"Freddie? Aw, he's snogging his girl up the train. Hence me gracing you with my much-sought-after company. So, brilliant plan. Ready for it?"

Rose had returned to her book and Albus and Scorpius to their game.

James rolled his eyes. "Oi, you," he said, pointing to one of Al's castles. "Four spaces that way."

"Stop helping him!" Scorpius exclaimed as he was forced to move his queen out of the line of fire.

"Even I can't sit back and watch a massacre like that. Besides, now you owe me," he added, poking his little brother in the side. "Want to hear my brilliant plan?"

"Alright, shoot," Albus sighed.

James raised his hands as if framing an image. "Imagine a dozen frenzied mice swarming from each seventh-year's trunk, filling the carriage they snagged with screams and mayhem."

He regarded them with a satisfied smirk. Albus and Scorpius exchanged raised eye-brows. Rose looked unimpressed.

"Funny, I seem to remember celebrating a few of your birthdays since you were twelve, but you haven't gotten any older."

"It's my last chance to pull something over!" James defended. "Once we're off this train, I'm a seventh-year and it's just pathetic to prank younger students. It's like dangling a rubber mouse in front of a kitten. You can't laugh when it jumps and face-plants into the wall."

Rose perked up. "Does that mean I won't have to dock a hundred and four points from Gryffindor next year because of you?"

"A hundred and four points?" Scorpius repeated with a low whistle. "No wonder you guys lost."

"She's exaggerating." James heaved a put-upon sigh. "You lot should've been in Ravenclaw. No nerve, I tell you. Play by the book. No bold, daring, inspired whims. You all just sit there and cower that you might accidentally put a toe out of line."

"No we don't," Albus objected indignantly.

"December 23, 2021," James proclaimed, spinning on Albus dramatically. "Albus Potter spots a hooded stranger – i.e. an unfamiliar person wearing a hood in, gasp, winter – down an alley in Godric's freaking Hallow. He develops a nervous tick all the way home. July 5, 2020, The Potter children are left home alone while their parents attend a suffocatingly stuffy Ministry affair until the early hours of the morning. A thunder storm ravages the house and Albus Potter falls asleep on his little sister's bedroom floor because, he claims, he's heard a boggart in the attic –"

"I did! And even if you don't care, I didn't want her worst fear bursting in on her in the middle of the night!" Albus interjected.

"April 14, 2020," James plowed on.

"You're making dates up."

"Albus Potter retrieves Rose Weasley from the library to capture a tarantula his weird roommate let loose in his dorm. September 5, 2019, Albus Potter becomes the first Hogwarts student to fail the Boggart practical when he bolts in terror during his turn. July 30, nearly-thirteen-year-old Albus Potter is reduced to tears when –"

"Shut up, James!" Albus interrupted, tomato-red, lunging at his brother to stop the next words from coming out of his mouth.

James fought him off with ease. "Yes, clearly you're the image of daring nerve and chivalry," he drawled.

"Leave him alone," Rose snapped, scowling at James as Albus glowered at his fingers. "That was low, dragging the boggart into this. There's nothing wrong with us not wanting to slip dung bombs into people's bags and curse their hair different colors. Did you ever think it's those things that stopped you from ever getting a girlfriend? At least Fred knows when to knock it off."

"I wouldn't be talking, Rosie," James shot back, an edge coming into his voice now. "You're so dull no bloke looks twice at you. All he's got to do is read the student handbook to see what being in a relationship with you is like."

"Some boys might like a girl who isn't insane," Rose said primly, but her lip trembled just a bit.

"Then they better not look at you during exams," James muttered. "You're as tightly wound as Molly. You both act like you've got brooms shoved up–"

"Hey, James? wanna shut up?" Albus suggested crossly.

"Hey, Al? wanna grow a pair?"

"Wanna get out?"

"Like nothing else," James replied. He made to shove the chess board out of his way, saw how badly Al was losing, and decided to clamber over him instead to preserve it. When he'd gone, Albus got up and slammed the door after him, glaring.

"You haven't gotten into it with James like that in months," Scorpius ventured to observe. "I mean, it's no record-breaking row, but still…."

Albus threw himself back into his seat and flicked over his king. "You win. Wanna play exploding snap?"

3:51 P.M.

The big room in the basement of the Prophet office was always a flurry of noise. It was called the Warehouse because it was where all the rookie reporters were kept mixed in with interns and freelancers and weather columnists who had never really made it. Basically the minute you became anybody at all, your desk moved.

Victoire Weasley had had the same desk in the back corner of the Warehouse for nearly four years. It was not a bad desk, really. The intern who had assigned it to her on her first day had taken quite a shine to her before he found out she had a boyfriend. She was right under one of the few narrow, glass-block windows set high in the wall so that a pool of sunlight fell right across her work while the rest of the room was a sea of flickering brazier light. The coffee-and-tea pot was close enough that she could simply roll her chair over to get a mug. There was an extra foot of space where a file cabinet no one had ever seen opened stood between her desk and the wall. And best of all, right across the desk from her was Chris Pennilark, his floppy, boyish hair, immature impressions of their editor, and endless reams of female troubles to distract Victoire with when the days were slow.

But it had been four years down here where the sun barely shown, the smoke never cleared, and only the wispiest semblances of real news ever came for the headline-starved rookies to fight over. She might have been endowed with the great patience necessary to head the Weasley brood through Hogwarts, but even in her place in the sun, her journalistic rapture was withering.

"Say, can I, say, get you, say, a cup of, say, coffee?" an exaggeratedly thick voice said in her ear and a foaming late slid under her nose.

Victoire rolled her eyes as Chris Pennilark propped himself against her desk, pretending to take a long draw from his quill as if it were the brass pipe their editor habitually had between his teeth. "How's the neeews today, my dear?" Chris asked in an unctuous voice and Victoire snatched his quill-pipe away with an exasperated smile.

"Quite nonexistent," she said, rolling the quill between her fingers.

"So I need not alert the authorities of the apocalypse?" he smirked.

"Not even news of the apocalypse would make it down to the dusty rolls of parchment down here," Victoire lamented. "When I first interviewed with the Prophet, I was prepared for sitting through long, dull ministry affairs and standing outside freezing my arse off for quotes and all that stary-eyed romanticism everyone has at the beginning of their career, and I figured it'd all be worth it if I just got to say one thing that people might remember, you know?"

Chris bobbed his head. "You're going deep on me, Weasley. Too deep for a Wednesday afternoon, but I'm following you anyway. Now you thinking just getting a chance to freeze your arse off for something other than kelpies in Wales, even if they run the story on the bleeding crossword page, would make it worth it?"

"Something like that," Victoire sighed. She tossed Chris's quill over to his desk and stared down at the parchment she'd been scratching at. St. Mungo's new contract with Mrs. Scour's. Self-cleaning bedpans. Riveting.

"Well, maybe if you just keep batting those big blue eyes of yours, you'll have a shot out of here," Chris told her, pivoting around to his side of the desks.

"I don't want that kind of shot," she said exasperatedly.

"Then talk to your aunt," he shrugged, reluctantly pulling his sheaf of photography assignments toward himself. He took one look at it and reached for the old, clacking camera that was always no more than an arm's length away, aiming it at the ceiling and fiddling with the settings.

"I don't want that kind of shot, either." She let out her breath in a puff that made her strawberry blond bangs flutter.

"That's how the reporter game is played, babe," Chris told her sagely. "Nepotism and the sex drive." He pointed his camera at her and snapped a picture with a flash like a supernova.

"I'm going to see if Ginny's back from the match yet," Victoire announced, swinging restlessly to her feet.

"Nepotism and the sex drive!" Chris called after her, smirking.

"Shut up. You Wanker." She called cheerfully back without turning around.

5:06 P.M.

"Mon petit garcon!"

The moment Louis stepped through the barrier, his mother flew at him, crushing him in a hug she must have learned from his grandmother. Ron, attempting to corral his many charges a few feet away paused to smirk at him over his mother's shoulder. Louis rolled his eyes. Something wriggled in his pocket and Fleur let go of him with a shriek, babbling in French as a white mouse skittered down Louis's leg and vanished into the crowd.

"Long story," Louis told her sheepishly, glancing over at James who saluted him.

"Never mind," Fleur managed, taking Louis's shoulders once again and looking him up and down. "Oh, eet ees so good to see you! 'Ow 'ave you been? 'Ow were your exams? Oh, I can't believe you're finished already!"

"You didn't have to come get me," Louis said quickly, alarmed by her watery eyes. "I was gonna apparate."

"Of course I 'ad to come!" Fleur exclaimed indignantly, leading him out of the way of the streaming students. "Eet ees ze last time I'll ever come to collect my children from ze train."

A few stray tears glittered on her cheeks, but she was beaming, so Louis felt safe. Fleur discretely waved her wand at the trunk at their feet and it vanished. She hugged him one more time, hard, and then tugged him toward the rest of the family.

"Come along, mon petit, we 'ave to 'elp Ron get ze brood to Diagon Alley, and zen your fazer will like to see you at ze bank and your seesters are coming over tonight…. Eet will be so wonderful to 'ave you 'ome!"

Louis felt guilt squirming in his stomach as he tried to think of a way to tell her he wasn't staying.

5:11 P.M.

Rose's dad looked furtively around to make sure no Muggles were watching, then he waved his wand surreptitiously at the last stack of trunks piled behind a pillar near the back of the station and they vanished.

"That's the lot of 'em," he said, turning back to the gaggle of teenagers grouped around him, offering cover from prying eyes. "I sent your trunk to Godric's Hollow, Scorpius. You can take it through the Floo with you later. Right, so how're we getting to Diagon Alley?"

Scorpius's gaze drifted over the crowded station as the Weasleys attempted to organize themselves. From long experience he knew it was better to stay out of any of their group decisions if he wanted to keep his head. He watched idly as his classmates wandered through the dwindling crowd, noting with interest which groups were waiting for which students. Max Webber, Al's weird roommate, was leaving with a woman who had so many feathers tied in her long mane of hair it looked like she was wearing an owl on her head, but he never would have guessed Fred and James's bouncing-off-the-walls friend Aaron would be traipsing glumly behind a demur man dressed all in gray.

On the far side of platform ten, though, something else caught his eye. A small huddle of his housemates had gathered around a trolley, and among them was Olivia Knott. He watched her carefully for a few moments, biting his lip. Were they still going to do it?

As if she could feel his eyes, Olivia straightened and looked at him. She cocked her head, a question.

"Hey, Al, I'll be right back, okay?" Scorpius muttered, not looking to see if his friend had heard him. He set off across the bustling station, weaving expertly through the crowds until he'd reached Olivia and the others. Olivia's lips turned up in a soft smile, but most of the others watched him warily.

"He's alright," she told the others, waving away their guarded looks. To Scorpius she said, "Are you in?"

Scorpius shifted. "Look, I don't think it's a good idea."

"I told you!" Montague said furiously to Olivia. "What'd you go and tell him for? He's half in bed with Potter and Weasley both. Did you see who's come to collect him? The Deputy Head of the bloody Auror Office himself!"

"Shut it, Orpheus," Olivia drawled. "Scorp may be too Gryffindor to consort with the lot of us, but he's no tattletale." She looked at him and he could feel her disappointment. It burned guiltily in his chest.

Across the atrium, the Deputy Head of the bloody Auror Office himself was counting his charges.

"Seven… Someone's missing," Ron frowned, skimming the group.

"Scorp's over there," Al supplied, appearing suddenly at Ron's elbow.

Ron followed where he was pointing. He could just barely see the Mafloy kid's white-blond head bent in with a bunch of other kids he didn't – wait. Ron knew the one on the left. He recognized the thick brows and heavy set of one of the boys from his own school days. A sour taste filled his mouth, but he tried not to show it for his daughter's sake.

"Well, we're leaving, so if he wants to come with us, he better get back over here," he said.

"Scorpius!" Rose's voice arched beneath the high glass ceiling. Scorpius glanced over his shoulder and saw that they were waiting for him.

"I better go," he said hastily to Olivia. "Just be careful, alright?"

She grabbed his wrist before he could turn away. "You too."

A/N: And on that dramatic note, I cut you off. Muahaha! Did I ruin the moment? Sorry, I'll stop trying to be witty. Ehem. Okay, so here's the deal. I have the next chapter finished and the third one started. I have a plan, but it's a rather grand one. I could either post the next chapter in a couple of days and then leave you dangling off a cliff for a couple of weeks or longer, or I could keep it in reserve and promise you an update in a little over a week and hope that you'll be dangling off a cliff for a shorter time after that. Fair warning, it took me six months to get two chapters done. I kept going back and adding more and more and changing things around. (I'm actually not sure I'm quite ready to set this chapter in stone, but I guess it's a little late for that. Just have to roll with it.) Right, so… review and let me know! And maybe give a little feedback on the actual story, too? I want to make it really good for you!