There was a long moment's silence. Nothing awkward, just two men with a lot to think about.

  Finally, Draco shifted uneasily in his chair. "I'm just going to say it. Harry, if we are going to be under siege here, for who knows how long, well, I am most worried about Scorpius. This shouldn't be his problem. He already takes too much on himself... A child should get to be a child, Harry. How can I protect my son against mysteries, and threats on notes in the dark, and great, bloody halberds...?" He noted his voice rising, and clamped down furiously, giving the doors to the hallway a baleful look.

  Harry inhaled deeply, then let it out with a Whew! "Draco, I would consider neither you, nor I, as being Great Minds, but we are most assuredly thinking alike. I was about to ask if there was someone he could stay with, but I realized that's not likely, is it?" Draco shook his head, mute. "He couldn't stay with Muggle friends either. No protection there, no indeed. He would need someplace safe, and shielded, and people who would make his protection their highest priority, and..."

  Harry paused, and cocked a eye at Draco. "You say he doesn't mind getting his clothes dirty?"

  ***

  When Harry finished talking, Draco sat for a while with his mouth slightly open.

  "That is..." he started, then stopped. "He can't... We can't... How can you...?" He realized he was very close to babbling, and gathered his will with both hands. He took a deep breath, let it out, then spoke precisely.

  "What will your wife say?"

  Harry shrugged. "If she notices? Probably something like, 'The more, the merrier!' We already have the Granger-Weasley kids until further notice, this case being an 'All Hands On Deck' kind of thing. The Lovegood-Scamander boys will probably be in and out, with their grandfather from one side, and their great-grandfather from the other. The house is full-on Secret-Keeper, UnPlottable, Warded and Shielded, with secret passages out the yin-yang. What is one more small white-haired boy with secret depths? And, finally, best of all, there's Kreacher."

  "An Elf," Draco said doubtfully. "I know they have hidden depths, but..."

  Harry tutted. "Not an Elf. Say, rather, 'The Elf." The very Elf that led the charge of the House-Elves at Hogwarts. Do you remember when the doors to the Kitchen blew open?"

  "Yes," said Draco, nodding slowly. "My parents and I had just found each other, and we were trying to get out. Then the doors blew apart, flying chunks and splinters striking all around us. Not a wand between us to cast a shield. People falling all around us, impaled and ripped open..."

  "And you weren't touched. Did you notice it was only Death Eaters that were struck down?"

  Draco shook his head. "Not at the time. But, we... we were Death Eaters. What...?"

  It was Harry's turn to shake his head. "Not by then. Not in your heart, after actually living in Riddle's reality, and realising his pure-blood fantasy was just a cynical path to power. And, for your parents, not after the task he set you, the task that was supposed to get you killed." Harry looked sad for a moment. "But Kreacher's magic... knew. And, so, it passed you by."

  He sat up a little straighter. "And that magic is protecting my home, my children, and Ginny. And me!"

  Harry relaxed and smiled. "And, should you wish it so, your wife and your solemn, precocious, white-haired smart-ass with a skewed sense of humor and hyper-developed sense of responsibility."

  "I can't..." Draco heaved a breath. "I can't decide anything without Astoria. She wouldn't be pleased to be parted, while I was in danger."

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Harry replied, "As I said, we would appreciate your help. There are facets where your insight would be invaluable. But if you wish to stay with your wife and son, no one will think the worse of you."

  "No," Draco said firmly. "They came after my family. I... will not tolerate that." His shoulders slumped a little. "But she is going to be so angry with me. Her temper doesn't come out often..."

  "Really," Harry said. "Does she hex in her sleep?" Draco's blank expression was enough. Harry sniffed. Just another buttercup who needs to suck it up.

  ***

  While Draco was upstairs, talking to his perfectly nice, non-sleep-hexing wife, Harry had gone outside. He was walking the perimeter of the manor, partially waiting on his teams, and partially checking out the Niffler-savaged areas. He was, very unwillingly, impressed. ROCC had definitely been onto something. Just from the talents he had seen, and those Rolf had mentioned, the organisation had some very strong tools. Which begged the question: Were the Unknowns the ROCC, or had they eliminated or suborned the secret organization?

  Harry frowned. And where had the ROCC been in the fight against Riddle? Or had they been there all along, but their contributions were in the secret records they may, or may not, have created?

  He heard an approaching Whoo! doppler in, and looked up to see Ath?na pulling up from a steep dive, only to go straight up in the air. She stopped flapping, letting her twirling climb slow almost to stall speed. Then she executed a perfect Hammerhead Turn, falling off her apogee to spiral down and land on Harry's shoulder.

  "Oof!" Harry said, jokingly. "Have you put on weight? You didn't eat that whole bag of treats at one go, did you?" Ath?na raised her chin in pretend indignation, then scooted over to rub her cheek against his.

  "It wasn't for lack of trying," came Demelza's voice. The air around Harry rippled as her team came out of their various types of invisibility. Nienna appeared from the waist up, disappeared, appeared only as limbs and a head, disappeared, and finally wholly appeared, blushing. Ath?na fluttered over to her shoulder. Harry pretended he had seen nothing.

  He looked around at the team, mostly the same people he had seen last weekend, with one, singular, exception. He glanced at Demelza, who winked with her off-side eye.

  Ah, Harry thought. Aloud, he said crisply, "Officer Langarm, report!"

  The man came to attention. "Sir!" he said. "Probationary Auror Trainer Cerberus Langarm reporting for duty. I have been assigned to Officer Demelza Robin's team as a Dueling Instructor for Probationary Officer Nienna Robins. When not training, I am to serve as a supernumerary officer under the direct supervision of Auror Robins..., ah, Senior?" He blinked, but pulled himself back together admirably. "All of which, I was informed by the Minister of Magic, is a final attempt to salvage a good officer from the wreck of whatever I currently am."

  "Very good," Harry said. "I look forward to working with you." He paused to make sure Langarm grasped the importance of the word 'with.' The slight flush in the man's cheeks was answer enough.

  Harry turned to the group at large. "Before any questions, a short synopsis. Yes, this is Malfoy Manor, currently the property of one Draco Malfoy. Yes, we are going to patrol and protect the property, and the magic-using members of the public who reside here. And, if you need any other reason than, 'Head Auror Potter said so,' which you should not..." Harry paused, then went on, "... then I invite you to examine the area at the base of the walls, and speculate on what may have caused it."

  The group glanced in the direction Harry had indicated, then wandered over to the turned up, churned up swath of land that disappeared around distant corners.

  "Nifflers?" Nienna blurted out, then, "Sorry, ma'am. Won't happen again." She then went back to the probationary officer's default condition, being seen but not heard.

  The scowl Demelza bestowed on her daughter had just a whisper of approval in it. To Harry, she said, "How deep does it go?"

  "At least 6 meters," Harry replied. "Or, almost 20 feet for you old-timers." The was a surprisingly tuneful chorus of whistles.

  "Well, the place is still standing," observed Louie Grant. "So I guess they didn't get in?"

  One of the other veterans snorted. "Did'ja miss the part when he said, 'Malfoy Manor'? I was on the planning team to assault this place, during the War. Our final report was three words. 'No Effin' Way.'"

  'Yeah," Harry agreed. "Unless you can get a werewolf to bring you through the defenses, it's pretty much impregnable."

  There was a rustle of exchanged glances.

  "i'm not going to hover," Harry continued. "Do your jobs the way you were trained, and you'll have the advantages of surprise and defensive positioning. Everybody got their SpectreSpecs?"

  There was a general murmur of assent, everyone touching the carrying case on their web belts. Langarm cast his eyes down as he indicated the new pair he had been issued.

  To Demelza, Harry said, "I assume Proudfoot is arranging the rotations?"

  Demelza nodded, "Eight on, sixteen off, turnover five minutes each side of the hour," Then, so soft only Harry could hear, "And keep Langarm out of Proudfoot's thrice-damned way."

  Harry's nod was a lot less enthusiastic than he wanted it to be. Frankly, he wished the man could be kept out of his thrice-damned way.