“You need to get up, Mamà!” The call came from downstairs from the nervous sounding 12-year-old. “He’ll be here any minute and you’re not even out of bed!” He was right, too. Genny García-Gamp, otherwise known as Queen G, feeling like an absolute pile of poo, pulled her duvet up over her head and kept her eyes firmly closed. If she didn’t move from the bed, the day would continue, she wouldn’t need to see Leo, and she could wallow here in her sick bed undisturbed.

But she heard the footsteps climbing the stairs. A hand reached from under the covers to blindly grasp for the wand on the bedside table. A few fumbles later, and she had it in her grip to point at the closed door. She was too late, though, and her son burst in, loudly proclaiming once more, “Get up Mamà!” She heard his steps to the large windows where he pulled the curtains open. A groan came from the bed and she flicked her wand in the direction of the curtains, willing them to close. Nothing happened. So, she muttered the charm from under the covers. There was a weak sensation coming from her wand, and the curtains merely hung there limply.

Now, Gen did chose to slowly open her eyes, but she didn’t glare at her offspring. She was more concerned why her wand wasn’t obeying. Another go. The curtains didn’t move.

“Get up! Up up up! He’s going to be here in a minute and you can’t stay in bed! Don’t be so selfish!” Leaving the curtains open, and the door wide open, Dante stormed out and back down the stairs. Genevieve sat up, staring ahead. Her head felt fuzzy and she was really cold. Her nose was super blocked and there was already a pile of used tissues in the bin that she’d dragged beside the bed. She pointed her wand at her dressing gown that hung from the wardrobe door. Nothing. Not even a damn twitch.

Well, despite how like a dead person walking she was feeling, Gen threw back the covers and unsteadily crossed the bedroom, grabbing the dressing gown to pull over her nightdress. She left the room and started down the stairs, gripping the bannister.

“Dante!” She croaked, coughing. “Your wand. Give me your wand.”

“No!” Dante appeared from the kitchen as Gen stumbled down the last couple of steps, wand in hand and hair and everything a disaster. Dante’s eyes widened and he started waving his hands about. “What the hell, Mamà?!” He exclaimed, Gen cringed. “Get dressed! You can’t meet Dad like that! Really!? Do you not want to get-”

“Your wand! Now!” Another coughing fit came, causing her to double over, hand covering her mouth as the fireplace suddenly burst to life and Leo Gamp almost fell out.

It had been a whirlwind twenty-four hours.  A mere day ago, he’d woken up inside the same cold, small cell that smelled of mold and mildew, dressed in the same threadbare robes, just as he had for every morning over the past twelve years. 

But then, like a lightning strike, everything had changed.  The long nightmare that had taken over his life for so long was over, even if he still didn’t quite dare to believe it.  He’d met his son for the first time.  He’d eaten dinner with his parents and slept in his old bed.  And now, this morning, he’d taken the Floo to his wife’s new flat to collect his son so that they could shop for his new wand.  He wasn’t sure if it felt like he had finally woken up again, escaped from the nightmare that was Azkaban, or if he’d only managed to finally fall asleep and was going through all of these motions as if he were living in a dream.

The jolt of the Floo Network took him by surprise.  One moment, he was stepping through the smoke, and an instant later, Leo was stumbling out of a fireplace into a living room that he didn’t recognize, coughing and wheezing.  It took him a moment to gather himself, to look around wonderingly at his wife’s residence.

They’d once had dreams of crafting their own home together, of creating something that was uniquely theirs, that they could share in together.  For the most part, when it came to interior design, Genny had always had more of an eye for decorating.  She’d been the one to take their tiny, moldy first flat and turn it into something bearable, although he’d always said that anywhere would be bearable as long as she was there.  The stylish, cozy living room that he found himself in now couldn’t have been farther from that first flat, with lots of wood and comfortable-looking furniture with tastefully-colored throw pillows.  It looked like a home, like the sort of place that they’d always dreamed of living in together, growing old and raising a family.

Half a beat later, it registered that Genny was there too, in the midst of her own coughing fit.

“Good morning,” he said, giving her a wan smile. A slight look of concern crossed his face as her coughing subsided.  “Are you all right?  Perhaps I overdid it with the Floo powder.”

“I’m not giving you my wand.” Dante informed his mother as she broke into a fit of coughs. She had some sort of flu, it was Christmas time, bugs spread faster than gossip at Hogwarts. She could still have dragged herself out of bed far sooner and put some damn clothes on ready for his Dad. But nope, his Dad was being spit out of the fireplace and there was mum, grumpy, coughing up germs, and in her dressing gown. Dante shared one last scowl at his inappropriate mother before grinning at his Dad.

“She’s fine.” Dante waved his hand. “She’s got a cough and she’s just being dramatic.” He rolled his eyes and ignored the dirty look shot his way by his mother. Throughout his long and important 12 years of life, it had often been difficult to discern just which of the pair was the mature adult, the parent.

“I’m fine.” Dante watched his Mum give his Dad a tight smile as she croaked.

“You want a coffee before we go?” Dante offered

Gen started to move towards the kitchen when Dante jumped in the way. “I’ll see to it!” His mum looked in no fit state to be making anyone a coffee. She’d probably snot and cough all over everything in the kitchen. Nope. No way. “Sit down. You can have honey and lemon, Mamá.” He waved encouragingly at the big comfy sofa before turning to walk through to the kitchen area. 3 cups were pulled down from the cupboard when he frowned and stuck his head around the corner. “How do you have your coffee, Dad?” Did his Dad even like coffee?

There was something about his son's surety in the matter that almost made him want to laugh.  Just being dramatic.  How many times had he used those very words in response to Genny?  And here was Dante, taking charge of the situation and directing his mother about as if their ages and roles had been reversed.

It was a strange sensation, this dry sense of humor -- one that he felt as if he hadn't known in many years.  When was the last time that he had laughed, really and truly?  How long had it been since he could step back and wryly watch a situation that was so empty of consequences?  It almost felt as if he were watching himself from a few paces away, checking to make sure that his responses were true and genuine.  Was this how people acted on the outside?

"A coffee's fine.  Black, with sugar," he said automatically, bemusedly watching his son head into what was clearly the kitchen.  Coffee orders stayed with you even after a decade.

Clearing his throat, he turned back towards Genny, eyebrows raising as he examined her.

"Are you sure you're all right?" he asked her.  "Don't feel like you have to get out of bed on my account if you're not feeling well, Genny."

Had Genny been on top form, she may have wondered if he’d even had coffee in Azkaban. What did prisoners eat and drink? She’d always had images of a grey porridgelike gloopy and tasteless mixture that felt like eating glue and lukewarm grubby water. In her few visits, she’d not asked Leo, and she didn’t plan on it now. They weren’t, and probably wouldn’t ever be in a position where she could openly ask him about his time there. Heck, she still wasn’t completely convinced that he was truly innocent. She wanted to believe it. She needed to believe it. One thing that she did truly believe, surprisingly, was that she could trust him with Dante.

Black coffee. As a youth, she’d thought it was disgusting. Bitter and nasty. It had grown on her, and now Gen drank hers black. No sugar. Strong enough to put hairs on your chest. She tended to need it to fight the regular hangover after a night of being the glorious Queen G. Cough cough. Not going to be the glamourous Queen G for a while, it seemed.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Gamp.” She said croakily, a wry smile before another cough. This was ridiculous. Gen didn’t get ill. She’d not been sick in years. Well, excluding the effects of alcohol. Today, she felt like death. “¡Dante! ¡Tu verita, ahora! ¡Si no, no puedes salir con tu papá!” Her shout to the boy in the kitchen came out strained and gravelly.

“No way! What’s your problem?” The reply came back in English accompanied with the sound of pouring water.

Gen, clearly irked, breathed slowly through her nose and crossed her arms tightly, wand still in her hand, pointless as it was. She looked back at Leo.
“You’ll need to get him some breakfast. And he’ll keep asking you about a plan.” she paused, contemplating for a moment how surreal this moment felt. She dropped into the armchair and crossed her legs. “Are you thinking of going back to the corps? Or is it out of place to ask?”

Leo smiled faintly back at her, his pale eyes reflecting the light penetrating the flat.

"Checking to make sure I have my response together for him, are you?" he asked dryly.

His parents had, for once, given him peace about it; his mother had only brought up once during dinner how excited they were to have him at home, to have their lives return to normal and his career resumed, when his father had quickly shushed her and changed the subject.  But now that he was back in the world again, he expected the questions to start coming quickly.  What next?  What did he have planned?

"I think for now, I'm taking it one step at a time," he said, glancing in the direction of the kitchen.  "Which means wand first, so that I can start feeling like a wizard again, and then perhaps I'll start thinking through the rest."

"Checking to make sure I have my response together for him, are you?" Leo asked. Gen frowned. Was it that obvious? If she wasn’t in fear of reproach and making matters much worse, she would have tried to orchestrate and script every meeting her husband had with their son. Yesterday, she’d been there for the majority of the time. Today, she was leaving Leo to take Dante out alone. It was terrifying, but something she knew she couldn’t avoid. Leo had as much to right see Dante as she did, and the boy was desperately eager to spend time with his Dad now that he was convinced of his innocence.

“Makes sense.” The witch shrugged and rested her head back against the chair. She felt like death. “He’s going to keep asking. He likes answers.” He was like the both of them. Between an auror and a reporter as parents, a kid was bound to be inquisitive and unrelenting.

A coffee, a hot honey and lemon, and a chocolate milkshake later, and Dante was heading back into the living room area. The three drinks and a plate of biscuits were being carried carefully on a tray which he placed in the centre of the coffee table. His mother eyed the honey drink with suspicion, an action that caused Dante to roll his eyes.
“It’ll do you good.” he informed her, before handing his dad the coffee and offering the plate of biscuits.

“So, Ollivanders. Is there anything else you need?” He sat himself down on the sofa and started on his chocolate milk. “Surely some more clothes? Fashion’s moved on since you were in your 20s.”

Despite herself, Gen let out a laugh, which turned very quickly into a cough.

“You might be better going with mum for that, to be fair. She likes that stuff.”

Liking answers.  He could see a bit of the his son's mother in Dante, the irrepressible desire to know.  But where Genny was content with gathering details and then spinning her stories, their son seemed to want to push to the truth of the matter, to understand what the future might hold.  That sort of tenacity could be dangerous in the wrong circumstances.

Dante returned in a domestic flurry.  Leo couldn't help but hide a smile as his son attempted to mother his under-the-weather mother.  When Genny was ill, she fooled no one.

"Unfortunately, it seems as though your mother would be better off staying at home to rest today," he said, flashing Genny a bemused look as he took a coffee and a biscuit, and then returned his attention to his son.  "I suppose we'll have to figure the fashion out for ourselves."

He raised an eyebrow at Dante as he lifted his coffee to take a sip.  "Is there anywhere else you'd suggest we stop at?"

Dante cast another glance to his mum who was looking extraordinarily rough. She never really got ill unless it was a hangover, and this wasn’t that.
“Agreed.” He nodded. She was better off staying in bed. His plan to get his parents back together may end up being a little delayed, but he supposed he’d get some alone time with his Dad.

Was there anywhere else he wanted to stop? Well, it was almost Christmas, wasn’t it? He needed to get something for both of his parents now. Not that he needed anything. His Dad was back. That was pretty huge, wasn’t it?

“There’s a few places.” He said, tapping the side of his nose. Their little secret.

“Tu verita, Mijo.” His mother reminded him, hand outstretched and a look on her face that told him disobedience would be very bad for him. With a huff and a significantly deep frown, Dante reached into his pocket and pulled it out, putting it in Gen’s hand.

She stood and headed into the kitchen area, fingers gripping a dining chair for support on the way past.
Dante looked at his Dad, pulling a face. “She’s not always loca, I swear.” Not most of the time, anyway. “I best be getting that back.” He took a big gulp of chocolate milk, finishing it and leaving himself with a lingering chocolate milk moustache. “Are you ready? It’s going to get busy early, isn’t it?” Handy they lived in Diagon, really. “¡Mamá! ¡Necesito mi verita!”

From around the corner, Gen appeared, looking paler than before. Dante’s wand was in her hand and she offered it back. “Stay safe, Mijo.” she glanced to Leo. “Watch him. He runs off.” Too inquisitive, she always said.

"I've noticed," Leo said dryly, arching an eyebrow.  But he wouldn't risk the opportunity to spend time alone with his son by being short with her, not now.  So he gave a brisk nod and turned back to Dante.

"After you," he said, as he rose to his feet.

---

Dante was certainly right about one thing:  even so early on a Wednesday, Diagon Alley was already bustling with holiday shoppers.    The streets were alive with throngs of witches and wizards making their way to and fro, hauling along their parcels, blocking the pavement as they stopped to peer into a well-decorated window, and tugging small children along by the hand. 

Being in the middle of  such a crowd made him stop for a moment, breath heavy in his throat.  Leo paused, looking down the street, suddenly grateful to have a guide with him, even if it was one as small as Dante.  It would be disorienting to try and navigate this place alone.

"It's been a long time since I've been to Ollivander's," he said, glancing at his son.  "I don't suppose you remember the way?"