Author's Notes: In which I commemorate Cursed Child's anniversary by bitching about it.

Harry stared down at the book on the table. "Do we really want to read this?"

"Not if half of what the reviews tell me are true," Ginny said. "Though to be fair, the actual play apparently has brilliant acting and effects."

Just then, their ten-year-old son Albus walked into the room, reached to get some pumpkin juice from the cupboard, and paused as he saw his parents staring at the kitchen table. "What are you looking at?"

Harry sighed. "Nothing. I hope," he added, picking up the book and opening it to the first page.

"What the hell?" said Hermione, which was so uncharacteristic that Ron looked up from his newspaper.

"What's the matter? They didn't kill me off already, did they?"

"No, it's just—read this!"

She passed Ron the book, motioning vaguely to the page. Ron took it, spent a minute looking over the text—and then gave a loud snort which quickly gave way to childish giggling.

"Merlin's pants, really?! What, being Malfoy's son wasn't bad enough? Though I have to say, I wouldn't be surprised if his wife really did have to go to desperate measures to finally get a good—"

"I wasn't talking about that! Though yes, that is...utter nonsense, isn't it?"

"Oh, I just got a visual! It is both hilarious and yet will haunt my nightmares for years to come!" Ron threw back his head and cackling.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I mean after that, with Rose! I have to say I don't much like the way that this story is treating her."

Ron's laughter died instantly. "Huh?! What does it say about my Rosie?!"

"She's just acting like a very...stuck-up person, refusing to be nice to the Malfoy boy."

"...Oh. I don't see a problem with that."

"Ron!"

"What?"

"I thought this play was supposed to be about us?" Ron said, as the four adults sat around the dining room table. "You all make it sound like it's more about the kids."

"It is, so far. Aren't you reading it?"

He made a face. "I'm trying not to, to be honest. I read enough bilge about myself in Rita Skeeter's articles. But I might change my mind if it's all as hilarious as the thing with Malfoy's wife."

"Give Skeeter some credit, at least her lies are usually loosely based on reality. Or at least common sense. This is more like something Xeno Lovegood would come up with while drunk."

Ginny took the book from Harry, frowning. "Are you sure we can't sue someone for this, Hermione?"

"Well, I'm not quite finished with Act I, but so far nothing I've seen is technically libelous...to us. The Malfoys might want to look for a barrister about that whole 'illegal time travel and shagging Voldemort' thing."

"But they brought our kids into this! And you lot know how sensitive Albus is. James already has him convinced that he's going to be a Slytherin and that Harry and I will disown him—"

"Al?!" Ron made a face. "I'll tell you now: Gryffindor. Just like Rosie." He turned to Hermione. "She's a Gryffindor in the book, right?"

"Yes...though I'm telling you, she's going to be a Ravenclaw in real life," Hermione murmured. "But I'm really not liking the way that this play portrays her!"

"Oh, I know!" said Ginny. "I swear, she and Al are so close in real life, I almost cried when she just—cut him off for being in the wrong House, just left him alone and friendless for years—"

"WHAT?!" Ron suddenly screamed.

At that moment, the real Rose happened to come in from outside, carrying her broomstick over her shoulder. "What's the matter, Dad?"

Ron suddenly turned on her, his face apoplectic. "You know that family is the most important thing, don't you?!"

"Look, I don't know what you heard, but James slammed into me first, and anyway, Teddy healed his arm, so I don't see—"

"And that your mother and I would never tolerate any form of bullying from you?!"

"It wasn't bullying! He started it! And he's two years older than me!"

"Never mind that! Now go back outside and tell Al that you love him!"

"What?! Why?"

"Do it or no Firebolt Supreme for Christmas!"

"I'm getting a Firebolt Supreme?! Excellent!"

She turned and ran outside, whooping with joy. Meanwhile Ron, red in the face, spun around, snatched the book from Harry's hands and threw it against the opposite wall with a loud THUD!

"Ron, can you please turn off the light? I'm trying to sleep."

"In a minute, Hermione, I just want to finish this scene," he said, glaring down at the book in his hands. Ron wasn't much of a reader by habit, but now that he had started on the play he seemed quite unwilling to put it down. All while maintaining a tight, angry face and a constant stream of complaints.

"Why am I such an idiot?"

"Mmm...you really don't want me to answer that," Hermione murmured into her pillow.

"I mean the stupid version of me in this book. He barely does anything and his jokes are pathetic! I can at least tell a good joke. And why the hell do they have me giving Albus a love potion?!"

"Yes, that does seem rather spotty, doesn't it?"

"Someone drugged me with a love potion once and I almost died! If I wanted to teach Al how to pick up girls, I'd do it the old-fashioned, honest way—bribery and manipulation." He paused. "See? That was funny, wasn't it?"

"Ron, I really need to get some sleep. I have that meeting with the ministers from Russia tomorrow."

"That's another thing. According to this, you're going to be Minster for Magic in a few years. I really hope that doesn't happen."

That was enough to draw Hermione out of her stupor. "What do you mean?" she said, lifting her head from her pillow. "You don't think I could be a competent Minister for Magic?"

"Oh, no, you'd be absolutely brilliant at it—for about six months, before you worked yourself to death," he laughed. "As it is you practically run the whole Department of Magical Law Enforcement by yourself, I'd hate to see how much stress you'd put yourself through micromanaging the whole government! I'd never see you again! Besides," he said, going back to his book, "you'd never win an election, you're not nearly enough of a brown-noser."

Albus walked into Harry's study just as he threw a book against the wall.

"Agh!" he cried, jumping back.

"Al!" Harry said quickly, looking sheepish. "Sorry, I, um—Accio."

Albus watched the book fly across the room and back into his father's hands.

"What's that book you keep reading?" Albus asked as Harry stashed it away in a drawer. "You don't seem to like it very much."

"Nothing, just—never mind. Did you need something?" Harry said, holding his hands on top of the desk. "You know that I'm always here if you need to talk, right?"

"Er—sure, I guess. But Mum just sent me to tell you that lunch will be done in a few minutes."

"Ah. Right. And Al?" he said, as his son turned to go.

"Yes, Dad?"

"...You think I'm a good father, don't you?"

Albus blinked. "Yes...I suppose."

"I mean, I know I'm not perfect—I admit that I have a bit of a temper, sometimes, and occasionally I might say something rash when I'm upset—probably more to James than you, actually, but—you know, I've never said anything that hurt you, have I? Because you know that I love you very much and that I thank God every day that I have you for a son?"

Harry gave a rather forced, grimacing smile as he ended his speech. Albus stared.

"...Is Uncle Ron buying you a Firebolt too?"

"Never mind. Tell your mum that I'll be there in a moment."

Albus left, leaving Harry to lean back in his chair and stew.

"Damn book. It's got me feeling guilty for things that haven't even happened!"

"I can't believe you're cheating with me."

"What?! That stupid book had me cheat on you?!"

"No, with me. Well, not technically, but we're totally making eyes at each other even though you're married to Padma Patil."

"Who?"

"You remember, from school? You went to the Yule Ball with her?"

"Oh, her...wait, why am I married to Padma Patil?"

"Albus and Scorpius changed the past, you know, for the whole Cedric thing, which makes it so that I never dated Viktor Krum, which apparently means that we never got married, and now you're married to her and have a son named Panju while I'm a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor and basically as horrible as Snape, but apparently we're still in love and...it's just a mess, where do I even begin?"

Ron paused. "Okay...one, why would I have married Pamda—"

"Padma."

"—whatever, we only went on one very bad date...two, if you never dated Krum, I would have never even had that bad date, I would have just taken you to the Ball instead, remember I tried to ask you? Three, if I'm still in love with you, why did I marry her? Four, I resent the implication that I'd be adulterous, and five, if I stood my ground against you trying to name our son 'Wendell,' I doubt that I'd back down in the face on 'Panju.'"

"I wonder if that's even a real name or if they just made it up for the book?"

"...Also, isn't changing the past impossible? Like how it worked with you and Harry that one time?"

"Well, to be fair that's actually a bit iffier than most people realize..."

"Do you think that Al might be gay?"

Harry lowered his newspaper. "The real one or the one in the play? Because I'm pretty sure that he fancied those veela at the Quidditch World Cup."

"Play-Al. It's just—there's something about him and Scorpius that just seems..."

Harry stared at her for a long moment. "Please don't try to arrange a marriage between our son and the Malfoy boy."

"Well, I don't know what the real Scorpius is like, but he's the only likable character in the play, so Al could do worse." She turned the page. "Anyway, which do you think was your worst fictional parenting decision: saying that you wished Al wasn't your son, or forcibly separating him from his best and only friend?"

"To be fair, you could stopped me."

"I really could have. Damn, but fictional me is useless."

"Have you gotten to Voldemort Day yet?" Ron asked, when he and Harry took the kids to play over at the Burrow the next day. "I kind of like Voldemort Day. I just get the mental image of the dementors floating around with party hats and balloons."

Molly tutted, passing out tea before joining them at the table. "I just don't understand how they can get away with writing such nonsense. Who's even behind this?"

"Two blokes I've never even heard of. Apparently big-name playwrights or something," Arthur said. "I have to admit, it makes me angry, what they're writing about my own children and grandchildren. I didn't even want to buy a copy, but Perkins lent me his."

"How far are you?"

"Around the part where the Diggory boy turns out to become a Death Eater."

"CEDRIC BECOMES A DEATH EATER?!"

"Please, Harry, calm down!" said Molly. "Though I understand your anger...we talked to Amos and Marjorie, and oh, they were furious..."

Harry snarled. "That's it, I'm not reading the rest of this rubbish! I've thrown that book at the wall enough times as it is."

"What about Albus and Rosie and the rest? Do they know somebody's written all this nonsense about them?"

Harry sighed. "No, we're trying to keep it from them. It's bad enough that we have Rita Skeeter starting rumors about them, let alone—"

He stopped talking as eight-year-old Hugo walked into the room, and, to the immense surprise of every adult, slammed a copy of the play down on the table, his face screwed up in anger.

"This is literally unacceptable! How DARE somebody write a whole book about our family and barely even mention me! I don't even get a line!"

"Where did you get that?!" Ron exclaimed.

"And you read the whole thing already?!" Harry had been nursing that book for days, though admittedly he might have gone faster if he actually wanted to read it.

"On Grandma's bookshelf, and thank you, the teachers at Muggle primary school all say that I'm very gifted. ANYWAY, lack of me aside, this book is complete nonsense! It doesn't match any of the stories Dad's told me about the war, Voldemort had a daughter with that Bellatrix The Strange woman—"

"What?!" Ron said, barely repressing a snort of laughter.

"—Rose was even more horrible than in real life, which I didn't even think was possible, while Al was all mean and he and Uncle Harry were always mad at each other and he became a Slytherin so nobody liked him anymore—"

"Hugh," Harry interrupted, "please...tell me that Al and Rose didn't read this book too?"

"No, but I gave them a pretty thorough summary."

Harry facepalmed.

"Don't worry, they said that they didn't care about spoilers! By the way, Dad, can we change my middle names? I want to put 'Panju' in there somewhere."

"I just don't understand," Albus muttered, cheek resting on his hand. "I like our family. You're a great dad. Why would people look at us and make up that we're so messed up?"

"And why would they make me so horrid?!" Rose demanded.

"It's something that I've learned over the years," Harry said wearily. "People make up stupid stories. The only thing you can do is try to ignore them and get on with your life."

"But what if people believe all those lies about us?"

"Some people will," Ron admitted. "You'll just have to prove them wrong. You get to write your own stories, and they certainly don't have to follow that one. Understand?"

"But...what if I do get Sorted into Slytherin? And then—"

"And then I can promise that nothing else from that stupid play will happen, alright? Your mother and I will treat you exactly the same no matter what House you wind up in. As will your brother and sister. Because I'll force them," he added, as Albus opened his mouth to object. "And I will always be glad that you're my son, and never believe stupid stories about your friends being evil time-traveling Death Eater babies...or whatever."

"And I certainly wouldn't abandon my best friend just because he got into a different House!" Rose said hotly.

"Attagirl," said Ron, rubbing her frizzy red hair.

"Alright? So let's go home and all forget about that stupid play," Harry said, standing up. "Our lives are too nice to spend wallowing in such depressing nonsense."

He smiled at Albus, who reluctantly smiled back as he rose to his feet.

"What about that thing with the trolley witch?" Albus asked as the four of them headed to the fireplace downstairs. "Was that part true?"

Ron laughed. "I sort of hope so! But if she actually caught your Uncles Fred and George, I doubt that they would have kept quiet about it..."

Meanwhile, halfway across the country, Draco Malfoy stared down at the book in his hands.

"Do I really want to read this?" he muttered, but then sighed, settled into his ornate armchair and opened to the first page.

"Mumble mumble..."

"What?"

"What?!"

"WHAT?!"

He threw the book against the opposite wall and stormed out of the drawing room.

He came back an hour later, grousing to himself, and kept reading.

"Friends with Potter's son..."

"What nonsense, Scorpius would never..."

"...No. No. OH, HELL NO!"

He threw the book across the room again, but this time whipped out his wand, causing a fiery explosion while it was still in the air.

At that moment his wife Astoria came in, gasping loudly as she saw the ashes and torn pages falling to the floor.

"Draco! What on earth?!"

He snarled, looking from the enormous mess to her and back again. "The damn book killed off my favorite character!" he hissed.

A/N: Any major issues that I forgot? Was there a good story mixed in with all the complaining? Please review!