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Scorpius Malfoy was doing something he had never done before in his entire life. He was walking into a trap. No, wait, that wasn't right, he'd done that before. He was walking straight into a trap, fully aware of what he was striding into. Well, apperating into, but that was just a technicality.

Cesca had cornered him after her shift at Honeydukes the day before, blabbering on about how she wanted to spend time with him the next day. Scorpius, not having any other plans, agreed in an instant. Then, this morning, he'd received a letter from Cesca's monster of an owl. The letter had spun an intricate web of lies that resulted in Scorpius needing to meet the teenager at Isadora's house. Scorpius had almost been temped to send the letter back without comment, to show the blonde what Scorpius thought of her rather transparent excuses. Scorpius didn't, however, understanding that this was his sister's equivalent of a warning. He would go anyway, as Cesca knew he would. She could have come up with a far more convincing argument. She could have spun a completely believable story about Isadora being out of the country, so that Scorpius would stride through the door and be blindsided when faced with the wrong sister.

Hell, had it really gotten so bad that Scorpius didn't even know what nation Isadora was in? Cesca could have told him that the middle Malfoy child was in France, and the wizard wouldn't have thought twice about it. Guilt crawled up the man's spine, curling around his throat until he was practically being choked with it.

Scorpius thought, not for the first time, about what his life would be like if Isadora and Cesca were the close siblings, leaving Scorpius to deal with his life alone. Scorpius thought of his sister, his beautiful sister, married before her older brother. How Scorpius had fought against the joining, but not nearly as hard as he could have. As he should have.

The wizard might have seen straight through Francesca's plan, but that didn't mean he was any less likely to do exactly what she wanted him to. It was a little scary, how well his youngest sister always knew which buttons to push.

If he knew Cesca, and he did, Isadora wouldn't be expecting him. If anything, she would be expecting Cesca herself. That, at the very least, evened the playing field a little. Isadora got her home turf, and Scorpius got the element of surprise. It was like a war, a little. No, it was a war. Would be a war. Scorpius only had to discover which kind.

Knocking on the door, because the last thing he needed was a lecture from Isadora on manners, Scorpius inhaled deeply, and waited.

A hiss sounded across the living room, cutting through the stunned silence that had enveloped the cottage in Hogsmeade since the departing of its master early that morning. After pressing a kiss to his weary wife’s forehead and returned her sleepy slur of ‘have a good day’, Alexander had left for work. At some point, also, Anastasia had left to do whatever it was that teenagers did. Isadora had to break for a moment in her morning routine at that thought to concede that she was supposed to be a teenager. She didn’t know how many teenagers stayed up until the small hours brewing potions in the basement though, mind you. Equally, she didn’t know many teenagers who were currently observing a war of stares between her Persian cat and the new familial arrival to the household: a falcon.

Isadora observed the snooty looking bird with an unrepentant eye. She didn’t quite know what to make of it, in truth. Her father had maintained tradition. He always borrowed money from Lucius to purchase her an end of year gift. Clearly he thought that Minerva, the owl that by far Duchess preferred, was no longer practical for a wife of the Nott family. Isadora heartily disagreed, if only because since before she went to Hogwarts Minerva had dutifully been carrying her subscriptions to The Daily Prophet, Witch Weekly and The Potions Review. She resented the introduction of this new bird almost as much as her cat did but she knew that it had more to do with the fact that it came from her father than any true distaste for the bird itself.

“Play nice, Duchess,” Isadora called in a bored tone as she entered the room from the basement where her cauldron was frothing and bubbling away with Polyjuice Potion inside. She hadn’t the foggiest what she was going to use it for but she now had a little label on the shelf which marked space for the potion so she fully intended to fill it. It was a contented rhythmic potion, the Polyjuice. She found its stages quite easy to follow and the way it bubbled away day and night rather calming. Her other cauldrons were making up normal household potions that she and her husband used daily. None needed tending anymore so she ascended in search of brunch and something sweet for her sister.

In a testament to how used to being a Nott Isadora now was, she was not looking forward to receiving the second Malfoy in as many days. She made up some tea and sourced some macaroons from the cupboard. She’d rather taken to baking recently, if only because it suitably filled several hours of the day. She didn’t do it herself, mind you. No, don’t be foolish. She had her magic do it. The said magic was rather prolific at creaming sugar and butter together now, too. Nevertheless, she rather enjoyed trawling through the recipe books that her mother had gifted her rather unhelpfully on the eve of her wedding. It hurt Isadora deeply to find that they were useful. She didn’t intend on telling her mother, though. In fact, if Astoria turned up the following day, Isadora was more or less certain she’d used her father’s gift against her mother. Perhaps the bird would have some use.

Leaving a mixing bowl and a fork to their own devices making up shortbread, Isadora entered the living room with the teapot, cups and plate of macaroons following her. She was infinitely glad that Alexander had chosen Hogsmeade, or that Hogsmeade had chosen for them. Not playing with magic wasn’t a rule that the Ministry could so easily enforce with Isadora if they couldn’t pinpoint whether she was using it or not. Yes, the village was a particularly handy place to live. It was also endlessly comfortable and she was considering going out into the garden with the tea to admire the flowers she’d (had) planted the other day when the knock sounded on the door.

“Duchess,” Isadora snapped, calling the cat away from the bottom of the bird’s perch where she had sat herself ominously. The Persian came to wind around her mistress’ legs as Isadora reached the door. She unlocked it and pulled it open, frowning briefly at the hinges as they twinged. However, she couldn’t worry about that for long because the person on the doorstep was a much more pressing presence by the virtue of the fact that he wasn’t supposed to be there.

“Cesca, you got taller and uglier,” Isadora deadpanned.

Scorpius wasn't sure what he'd been expecting once his sister opened the door and found herself faced with the wrong sibling. He wouldn't have been surprised if she'd slammed the door in his face, or simply stalked back into her home without a word, expecting him to follow but ensuring that he was well aware she wasn't pleased. He hadn't gotten either.

"It's good to see you too, Dora," he replied, charming smirk fully in place, his entire face transforming around it. Fuck, this was going to be hard. Scorpius hadn't seen Isadora in a long time, a criminally long time. She even looked different, how the hell had that happened? Scorpius was supposed to have been taking care of his sisters. They were supposed to have been a family. A proper family, not like their parents were with them. Scorpius' thoughts snapped back to a long-past night in mid-February. The wizard hadn't even been old enough to go to Hogwarts yet, but he'd pressed a kiss to the forehead of both his sleeping sisters, and sworn to them that he'd take care of them. That he'd look after them as much as they'd allow. That he would always be there, and that they would never want for anything that was within his power to provide. Ten-year old Scorpius would have been so very ashamed.

"I brought a candy-coated fruit seletion," Scorpius added, pulling a Honeydukes box out of seemingly nowhere. Isadora loved the stuff, and so the blond was banking on them softening the blow of his unexpected presence a bit. Or perhaps the knowledge that Scorpius was trying to butter her up would only set off Isadora's temper. Scorpius couldn't quite be sure. It was something of a risk, but little involving his sisters wasn't, these days.

Tucking the hand not holding out a box of sweets safely into his pocket, Scorpius tried not to think about what his sister would say or do next. He couldn't shut down completely, of course, because letting his guard down for a single moment could very well result in him getting hexed. And he'd rather avoid that, if at all possible.

A portion of Isadora had been rather looking forward to spending the morning with her sister but her pride had not allowed for any admittance, even to herself, of that fact. It would not allow her to concede either that, trying though her father’s gift was, the fact that he remembered the tradition had brought a smile to her face. She was glad, also, that he’d remembered her taste for things with a function. Yet, despite this or perhaps because of this, she was unable to extricate the wry fondness she held for her family members with the feelings of rejection which permeated every part of her life thus far.

The marriage was the exemplary case in point of the Malfoys’ ability to cast away their eldest daughter as though she was little more than a commodity. As such, she found herself caught between adoration and blind hatred for everything that bore the name Malfoy, including and especially herself because as ever she wondered why she hadn’t been enough for them. Her husband, the man that she should have resented above all, was a man she’d come to care for and depend upon. She held no more spaces in her heart for the likes of her father or, more was the point, her brother.

The fruit didn’t sweeten much for her but then who was she to turn down a gift? She pushed the door open a little wider and Duchess cocked her head to the side, surprise registering on her squashed features at the sight of Scorpius. Reaching forward, Isadora snatched the box from him and turned away back into the house, calling aimlessly for him to come in and shut the door. She threw a charm in the direction of the tea and macaroons, making them disappear downstairs into the basement. She didn’t want him to see that he’d been anticipating a Malfoy arrival. Indeed now she was glad it hadn’t been Cesca, in a funny sort of way.

Setting the box down on the coffee table in a way that belied her anger, Isadora turned and crossed her arms over her chest. Stood there, rod straight and dressed immaculately as ever, it was very clear that this was a woman entirely in charge of her own home. Peaks of her features betrayed her youth and the slight waver of hesitance behind her eyes tempted one to see she wasn’t as put together as everything suggested but she stood as best she could in a way that gave off the air of someone successful, someone who wasn’t the baby sister anymore – one who didn’t care that her brother had left her behind.

“What do you want, Scorpius?” She asked dispassionately.

Scorpius examined his sister's features, letting the confidant façade drip off of his own like a wax mask melting in the heat. He knew better than to think that he would be fully in control of this conversation. Hell, he'd take any modicum of control Isadora was willing to give him. Judging by the set of her jaw, it wouldn't be much.

There were only two options now, as far as Scorpius was concerned. Considering that one of them involved leaving without having talked about anything more important than the weather, there was really only one option. And that option involving pealing away all the layers of false that protected the true inner workings of the mind of the Malfoy heir.

Scorpius sat down, well aware that Isadora was still standing, and that her position gave the witch a physical demonstration of the upper-hand she now held. If you ever wanted to get something from a Malfoy, Scorpius had learned at a very young age, you needed to give them something. Gifts and flattery worked for smaller favors. The bigger stuff, however, could only be received through obedience or a display of weakness. A small part of Scorpius had known, from the moment he'd read Cesca's letter, that today would result in him baring himself to his younger sister. The rest of him just hadn't caught up until now.

"I don't know what I want," the lawyer admitted, the honesty of the statement burning as it was dragged reluctantly from his chest. "Which means, I suppose, that I want to know what I want," Scorpius continued, frowning slightly at the way the words tangled and became vague as the left his tongue. He had never been good with honesty. Tell him to lie, and Scorpius was a terrifically eloquent orator. Speaking from the heart, on the other hand, was a very different story.

"It's just-" the man paused, finding himself unable to voice the thought that had been floating around in his head. Self-editing, a little, the man tried again. "It's just been too long, Dora," Scorpius settled upon saying. And wasn't that the truth.

“Why on earth did you come here then, Scorpius?”

Swallowing, Isadora turned her head away and sighed dismayingly through her nostrils. They flared a little at the sides. She lifted her arms and folded them over her chest, waiting for him to continue. When he finally finished, Isadora narrowed her eyes and dropped her arms. She opened her mouth and wanted so badly to tell him that it wasn’t enough and that the words he spoke weren’t even enough to cajole her into a pleasant conversation.

Lowering herself down into the chair that Alexander usually inhabited, Isadora crossed one leg over the other. She lacked her fingers together and dropped her hands into her palm, a frustrated look furrowing the skin between her brows. She clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth and shook her head, leaning back in the chair. She turned her head away and tried to form her words but somehow they just didn’t want to come. It had been too long – so much so that it was now too late.

“I can’t help you find what you want, Scorpius,” she said finally.

(OOC: Sorry this took so long! <3)

“Fine!”

Her exclamation rang out hotly through the living room, scaring the bird from its perch much to the delight of the feline who scampered out of the room after it. Isadora’s features contorted into a disgusted sneer as she beheld her brother with her icy irises. The distant sound of a vase cracking in the kitchen as her magic flared could be heard and the cat gave an awful cry as the vase exploded, sending water streaming down the cabinets.

“Fine,” she spat as hurt welled up in her eyes. “Do you think I was fine while I had to sit at that table and listen to them barter about me as though I was a pair of shoes, not a person? Do you think I was fine when I had to go to those dress fittings and pretend I cared while Pansy and our mother fussed over flower arrangements? Do you think I was fine when I had to walk down that aisle and marry a man I didn’t know all because they wanted me to? Do you think I was fine when at every turn I was looking for you and you weren’t there?!”

“I needed you!” She hissed. “I needed my brother and he wasn’t there. Every time. You weren’t there. So forgive me if I don’t want to try the candy and humour you so that you can work out what it is you so dearly want. You have the luxury and the liberty of screwing up your own life, Scorpius, but I do not. So I must make the best of what I have and that’s not much! You can take your priorities, own them, and shove them up your arse. I don’t want anything to do with you.”

She inhaled a shaky breath and took her wand from her pocket, flicking a spell in the direction of the kitchen to sort out the vase.

“Get out Scorpius.” She intoned dully. “You stopped being my brother a long time ago. I’m not going to sit idly by and let you get my hopes up again. I want you to go. I’m a Nott now. Not a Malfoy. Everyone has made that abundantly clear – so just leave.”