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Updates may be a bit slow because of work matters… I hope everyone is holding up okay in these strange times. Sending love to you wherever you are.

Chapter 32: The Gamble

When Madam Pomfrey sent out the notification owls to the Malfoy and Weasley households the night before, she had been well-aware of the gamble. It felt a bit like unwrapping Chocolate Frog cards. You never knew who you were going to get.

The old nurse, of course, was no duffer. She was hardly a stranger to the complexities of student relationships. It helped that she was a Witch Weekly subscriber, and an avid reader of the Daily Prophet's social section. As such, she was perhaps far too familiar with the scandals that plagued certain individuals throughout their Hogwarts careers.

Hermione Granger-Weasley, for all her heroism and intelligence, was once a tabloid favourite herself. In fact, all that enthusiastic coverage of her supposed love exploits had all but convinced Madam Pomfrey that the witch was dating Harry Potter.

At least until she married Ron Weasley, of course.

Then there were the Malfoys. Infamous in their own right and flush with blood riches, their rejection of the press only served to fuel public fascination with their inner lives. There was speculation that Draco and Astoria had adopted a more progressive outlook in recent years, but it would be unwise to assume they were at all cordial with the Potter-Weasleys.

It had become a Hogwarts policy to alert parents of their children's mishaps, particularly those of the near-death variety. Madam Pomfrey had hedged her bets and hoped that the ladies would turn up, for few people were more sensible than Hermione, or warmer than Astoria Greengrass. In every scenario that played out in the old nurse's mind, it was always the appearance of Draco Malfoy that led to unpleasantness, for Weasleys and Malfoys were famously antagonistic towards each other.

The gamble was lost when it was indeed Draco who deigned to appear that morning. To his credit, the man had become far less bratty with age, adopting a perfect armour of decorum when he approached Hermione at the waiting area. Though the fine cracks in his polished veneer quickly became apparent when he was greeted by the sight of the Rose and Scorpius all wrapped up in bed.

As for Hermione—well. If looks could kill, the Hospital Wing would be far busier this morning.

Really, the old nurse reflected wryly. Few people would ever suspect the tribulations of such a legendary enmity leading to this. A single moment in time induced by the innocence of teenage debauchery.

At present:

"Rose Annabel Weasley—" And everyone in the room flinched at the cracking whip that was Hermione's voice, "get out of that bed at once!"

This was a woman who commandeered courts and crime scenes, but she was possibly at her most fearsome as she regarded her own daughter. It was quite the look of terror on Rose's face as she stumbled haphazardly off the bed. Momentarily shocked out of his sleep fog, Scorpius lifted his head to squint comically at the sight of Hermione and Draco, as though convincing himself of their presence.

"Salazar's balls," he muttered in a daze, loud enough for all of them to hear.

"Scorpius," Draco said, with an almost frightful calm. "Get up."

"Can't. Pomfrey charmed me to this bed."

Why, the little tosser. Madam Pomfrey huffed, hardly surprised when Draco looked sharply in her direction. "A Sleep Draught and a Grounding Charm, Madam Pomfrey? Sounds excessive."

"Your son thinks he can do my job, Mr Malfoy," Madam Pomfrey returned archly. "I had to save Miss Weasley's life, first and foremost. Why, if I hadn't charmed him to the spot, he would have stayed by her side the entire night and deterred my efforts—"

Draco's lip curled. "Look how well that turned out."

Something in his tone seemed to set Hermione off. "Malfoy. If you're insinuating that Rose is to blame for all this—"

"I'm hardly insinuating anything, Granger. Your daughter is the one in the boys' ward."

"I—I can explain," Rose cut in weakly, but Hermione and Draco were now locked in on each other, all pretence of civility thrown out the window as they descended into argument.

"She almost drowned, for god's sake. How in the world would she have had the presence of mind to get into bed with a boy on her own accord—"

"Madam Pomfrey had Scorpius grounded, Granger. How could he have magicked Miss Weasley to his bed?"

Hermione was refusing to look at Draco now, the redness of her face spreading to her neck. "All I know is this is completely out of character for her—"

"Not according to the papers," Draco said acidly.

Hermione's glare whipped over to him, her jaw going slack from rage. She looked on the verge of giving Draco a piece of her mind, only to be quietly interrupted by Scorpius.

"That's out of line, father."

There was a shift of tension in the room then. Hermione's brow furrowed, her anger temporarily doused as she turned her hardened stare on Scorpius. Madam Pomfrey had the impression she was… assessing the young Malfoy, almost.

One could almost see the wheels turn in her clever head.

When Hermione caught sight of his hand curled possessively over Rose's, however, her mouth tightened once more.

She returned to herself, her tone cool and restrained now.

"We shouldn't argue in front of the children," she said shortly. "It's unbecoming."

"I agree," Draco said, his tone cotton dry. "Let's argue behind their backs. They're eighteen—"

"In March," Rose supplied under her breath.

"—and stupid. They can both take responsibility."

Hermione lifted her chin, looking taller than her stature as her blazing eyes met Draco's. "Be that as it may, Malfoy. You owe my daughter an apology. What you said was—"

"Unfair," Scorpius said stonily. Even to outsiders, there was no mistaking the reproachful look he gave his father. If Draco was taken aback by this, he certainly didn't show it, merely raising an incredulous eyebrow at his son.

It was Rose who stepped in this time. "It's forgotten, Mr Malfoy," she said, fidgeting where she stood.

Hermione shot her daughter a warning glare. "Rosie."

"It's forgotten," she insisted.

Scorpius frowned at this, but something in Rose's expression kept him from saying more. Draco's pale eyes narrowed, considering them for a long moment before coming to some unsaid conclusion… his mouth twisting as he turned back to Hermione.

"Well, Granger," he said darkly, "this certainly invalidates everything you told me this morning."

The air now felt thick enough to cut. Scorpius tugged Rose closer to him, his eyes darting suspiciously between Hermione and Draco. Beside him, comprehension had dawned on Rose's face. In an agitated huff, Hermione had turned on her heel and stalked off towards the girls' ward.

Rose hurried to follow her mother, glancing back at Scorpius' perplexed expression as she went. Draco gave his wand a casual flick… and the heavy door slammed shut between them.

Hermione was fuming.

And pacing too. Back and forth and back again. With such ferocity in each step she might have worn out the stone floor beneath her feet.

Rose twiddled her thumbs from her unmade bed, watching her mother tentatively. There were one or two attempts to interrupt Hermione's train of thought—but every time Rose so much as opened her mouth, Hermione only paced harder.

It took a few more minutes before Rose ventured once more.

"Mum," she said. "Are you mad at me?"

Mad didn't even begin to cover it. Hermione had been cross the moment she received Madam Pomfrey's owl, but omitted Scorpius' involvement when relaying the matter to Ron. He'd insisted on coming, of course—Rose was his favourite, no matter how he tried to deny it—but Hermione knew better. It was never a good idea to have her husband in the same room as a Malfoy. After meeting Draco again, Hermione felt more than vindicated in her decision.

Bloody hell, Draco Malfoy. Just the reminder of him spiked her blood pressure.

Which led her to why she was mad in the first place.

"I think it goes without saying," Hermione said curtly, finally acknowledging Rose's presence, "how disappointed I am with you for putting yourself in this position. Is it so difficult to take your safety seriously, Rosie? What's going to happen when your luck runs out? Or is every near-death experience just a bit of fun for you?"

Rose had the decency to look ashamed now. But Hermione was far from done.

"The mere fact that you willingly threw yourself into the Great Lake and almost lost your life… Not to mention putting someone else in grave danger. Malfoy's son, no less." It was hard to keep the accusation from her words. "What were the two of you doing?"

"Scorpius had nothing to do with me falling into the lake, mum," Rose said quietly. "I was looking for something… you know how I tend to do that. I wasn't careful and slipped through the ice, which was how I got attacked by Grindylows—"

Hermione pinched the knot between her eyebrows and uttered a heavy sigh.

"Arnold got to Scorpius, and he—found me just in time."

"Admirable, what he did," Hermione said without enthusiasm. "You best hope your dad never finds out about this. He'd keel over if he knew he owed your life to a Malfoy."

The words seemed to trouble Rose. Her fidgeting hands had now curled into loose fists on her lap. Hermione studied her daughter, her vexation slowly thawing at the obvious war in Rose's conscience. Despite her lack of awareness to anything that didn't involve beasts, she had always been an especially perceptive child, seeking her solace outdoors whenever she sensed the impending tiffs between her parents. Hermione suspected her arguments with Ron—whether playful or otherwise—were formative in Rose's lifelong tendency to avoid conflict.

She closed her eyes and collected herself, forcing herself to go easy.

"Is that why you were with him, then?" she asked then, her tone gentling. "Did he—expect something of you, for saving your life?"

Rose stared back Hermione, surprised by the question.

"No, mum, I…" There was a softness in her vivid blue eyes that made Hermione uncomfortable. "I was with him because I wanted to be."

"You… wanted to be," Hermione repeated, stumped.

Rose nodded.

Well. This explained the rather obvious clinginess displayed by the two of them, just before they left the boys' ward. When Rose had written home about her half-baked idea to date Scorpius Malfoy those many months ago, Hermione had suspected that she would eventually befriend the boy. It was simply in her nature.

But this…

Perhaps it was worthwhile to attack the subject with logic.

Hermione settled down beside Rose on the bed, struggling to keep her expression neutral. "I don't understand," she began, her eyes carefully trained on Rose. "You said this thing with Scorpius was for show. But that's not the impression I'm getting."

Apprehension coloured Rose's features. "You… told Mr Malfoy, then?"

"You mean to tell me Scorpius hasn't told his own father about this being a stunt?"

The words came out sharper than she intended, and Rose winced. "I don't think so."

"But why?" This was just bewildering now. "Are you two playing some sort of game? Or were you really with him from the start, and was just lying about it the whole time—"

"No, mum." The sincerity in Rose's voice gave Hermione pause. "We really did get together to keep the papers off our backs. It just got complicated recently." Her daughter could barely meet her eyes now, her cheeks scorched pink. "I like him."

"As a friend."

Unexpectedly, a smile touched the corners of Rose's lips, as though she'd recalled something sweet. "No. Not as a friend."

That sucked the air out of the room. Hermione's mouth tightened once more. She turned back to Rose.

"This is a bad idea, Rosie," she said heavily. "I need time to think about the implications."

"Implications—?"

"I'm running for Minister For Magic."

She could hear Rose's sharp intake of breath. Her cornflower blue eyes, so much like Ron's, had gone as round as saucers.

"The official advice from my campaign manager," Hermione went on briskly, "is for our family be as committed to my run as I am. You and Hugo would have to engage the public, speak on my behalf at my causes, and stay out of any unsavoury activities." She glanced sharply at Rose. "That includes any episode with Grindylows. And boys."

"Wait—" Rose still looked stunned at the news. "Who's your campaign manager?"

Hermione had to smile wryly at this. "Harry, of course. Who else?"

"Mum. I'm so proud of you. You would make a brilliant Minister."

"Do you think so?"

Rose gazed blearily at Hermione, looking suspiciously misty-eyed. "I know so."

Then, without warning, she had lunged forward and threw her arms around Hermione.

Moments like this was the very reason why Ron held a soft spot for Rose. Hermione pulled away gently, reaching out to untangle a few strands of her daughter's fiery hair. How terribly unfair, she reflected, that the world chose not to see this side of Rose. How could they not love her otherwise? Rose's unfortunate relationship with the media was a painful reminder of Hermione's own experience back in her younger years… where constant public criticism of her choices had only caused the chip in her shoulder to cut deeper.

No, she thought bleakly, none of the media scrutiny was Rose's fault. No child should ever be born famous—Harry could attest to that. For Harry, Ron and Hermione, there could be no escape from fame after the war. It was a miracle—a blessing—that their children turned out as they did. Despite everything.

And now, because of her own righteous ambitions, she was forcing Rose and Hugo under a greater amount of pressure than ever before.

Love and regret swelled in Hermione's chest and formed a lump in her throat.

She blinked, swallowing hard as she looked away.

"If I do this, darling… the media will tear you apart," she managed, suddenly filled with dread. "If a boy, any boy at all, tries anything funny—wrongs you or humiliates you for reasons you can't control… you do realise the press will be on you like hounds."

Rose nodded, her hands clutching at Hermione's. "I'm just worried they'll find a way to blame it on you. I don't want to be a liability." Her words were quiet now. "I want to help you."

She faltered then, falling deep into thought. Hermione forced herself to think objectively, remembering the way the young Malfoy boy had spoken up for Rose against his own father. She knew the stories, of course. The media had long labeled Scorpius Malfoy as an impassioned, monstrous little devil…

But Hermione had not seen any of that in person.

"Can we trust him?" she said at last.

"Scorpius?" Rose raised her head, her face going pink. Even so, there was a resolution in her blue eyes. "Yes."

"Then—is he serious about you?"

"Will it change things," Rose hedged, "if he is?"

Just the idea of it made Hermione cringe inwardly. But she tried not to let it show, absently stroking Rose's hair as she considered the terrible possibility. She didn't say a word of it, but to be associated at all with the dark web that were the Malfoys' political leanings was going to be ugly, ugly business indeed.

Harry was going to lose his shit.

At least they liked Astoria.

That was a start, she supposed.

"Of course," was all Hermione said. "It changes everything."

On the other side of the door, Madam Pomfrey had tactfully made herself scarce.

Draco said nothing for minutes, merely observing his son from a polite distance. Scorpius was still in bed trying to shake off his sleep fog. Though he had certainly been functional enough to defend his… supposed girlfriend. A fun fact that Draco learned about a mere half hour ago from an ex-nemesis.

Fatherhood had never come easy to Draco. Despite his love for Scorpius, his son had always been a handful. It was the very reason he and Astoria never conceived a second—there were only so many Malfoys who could co-exist without taking each other's head off. His son had been petulant and difficult his whole life; qualities Narcissa rewarded and encouraged. Of course we Malfoys are difficult, she proclaimed once, much to Astoria's exasperation. It's how we get what we want.

Whatever the case, this was a topic that required careful handling. Draco knew well enough how stupid a young man could be when his dick was in charge.

One could only hope his son's entanglement with Rose Weasley was driven by hormonal foolery.

When his son had forced a family meeting with Rose over Christmas after rejecting the Plumes proposal, Draco had hoped that Scorpius merely meant to spite Lucius. To the patriarch, Georgia had suited Scorpius—a marriage between them would have been socially successful, if nothing else. When forced to draw comparisons, Draco had found nothing remarkable whatsoever about Granger's daughter. Despite her friendly disposition, she was undeniably common. As plain and simple as any Weasley could be… at least until one recalled her media reputation as a conniving hussy.

Even if Astoria thought Scorpius was genuinely fond of the girl—

This farce had gone on long enough.

"Where's mother?" Scorpius asked at length, stifling a yawn.

"Visiting your aunt in Paris." Since childhood, Astoria's older sister had contended with a hereditary blood disease. Despite Daphne's headstrong spirit, her health had deteriorated greatly in recent months. "…You should write her more often."

"I write mother every week."

"I meant to your aunt Daphne. She hasn't been doing well lately. You're her favourite nephew."

"I'm her only nephew," Scorpius said, but Draco didn't miss the concern flickering past his sleepy expression. "Will she be alright?"

"She's taken a turn for the worse. You may want to visit her before summer arrives." Draco fixed his son with a significant look. "Daphne means to speak with you. She's thinking of writing you into her will."

"More money," Scorpius muttered with false cheer, rubbing his face wearily. "Just what I needed."

"She wants to name you as her sole beneficiary."

Scorpius glanced up at Draco in disbelief. "What the bloody hell for?"

"Language, Scorpius."

"Well, I don't want it. What would I even do with her Rembrandts? She should give it all to mother. She's far more suited to deal with it."

"Astoria would certainly have been dealing with the damn Rembrandts had you offed yourself saving the Weasley girl," Draco snapped. "What were you thinking? Did you clean forget everything we ever taught you?"

There was a flash of indignation in Scorpius' eyes. "You rather I left her to die, then?"

"Frankly? Yes. I'd be far more bothered if you followed her to the grave," Draco said coldly. "Losing your head over the wrong girl is one thing, but losing your life? For a Weasley, at that—"

"Father." The severity in Scorpius' voice was unmistakeable. "She has a name. You do realise that."

Scorpius' staunch tendency to defend Rose was not lost on Draco. The most grating of realisations. "This ends at graduation. As planned."

The finality in his tone had a sobering effect. "Someone told you?"

"Granger, naturally. It's in her to prove that she knows more than I do. And there I stood like a prize idiot while she thanked me for it. If your little media stunt with Miss Weasley is your idea of a prank, consider it a success and call it a day."

Colour flared on Scorpius' cheeks. "It did start out that way, but—"

"You expect me to believe a girl with her reputation is serious about you," Draco drawled, hardly keeping the scorn from his voice.

If that hit a raw nerve, Scorpius did a good job of hiding it. He exhaled noisily as he contemplated Draco, the last of his sleep fog completely gone now.

"Do you really hate her," Scorpius said, his tone unnaturally calm, "or are you just parroting grandfather?"

The sheer insolence of this boy. "You'd do well to mind your tongue."

"Oh, believe me, father. I am."

Draco stared at him, a sour dread rising up his throat. Why the hell weren't he and Astoria more supportive of their son's exploits with all the Georgias of the world, back when they had the chance?

When Scorpius and Rose were first caught kissing by the papers, Draco had hoped that he was merely having a bit of boyish fun. But to accept the idea of him seriously dating Rose was to entertain the possibility of marriage to a Weasley. It was unfathomable. The mere prospect of being linked to Hermione or Ron in any way whatsoever…

It made Draco nauseous. Too much baggage. Too much history.

He was not willing to face any of it.

"I've never dictated your life, Scorpius," he said, his voice dangerously quiet. "Not even when you blew our reputation to shreds over a certain Miss Plumes. I'm even willing to overlook this little performance with Miss Weasley. But let me be clear—your marriage is a serious matter. Your grandfather will review your prospects once you graduate."

"Why?"

Draco's eyes had narrowed to slits at the impudence of the question. "…Why?"

"Yes, why. Why should I live by his bloody rules, when you're the one who seeks his approval?" Scorpius' pale gaze, so reminiscent of Draco's own, had hardened now. "You got to marry who you wanted to marry… and now you expect me to pay the price?"

And there it was. The kind of cruel sting Scorpius was far too capable of.

It took Draco a full minute to realise he was reeling from fury.

Despite the distant bird sounds from beyond the windows, the morning calm had long been unsettled by the weighted tension between father and son.

A rock and a hard place.

It would not occur to Draco until later that it was to their detriment that Astoria wasn't there. They rarely quarrelled with her around; it was her patience and affection, perhaps, that softened their far thornier temperaments.

Her absence almost certainly brought out the worst in them.

Malfoys, after all, were always difficult to get what they wanted.

Draco's parting words, when he finally found them, were coated by steel. "This is not up for discussion, Scorpius."

"You're right, father," Scorpius returned sardonically. "It's not."

They did not bid each other goodbye.

Scorpius appeared in the girls' ward later that morning, an hour after their parents finally retreated. Rose had just finished her breakfast in bed; a rather bland porridge that Madam Pomfrey touted as her best recipe.

It surprised her to see Scorpius back in his regular clothes. He looked robust and healthy without the influence of a Sleep Draught, that familiar self-assurance once more punctuating his casual gait. Strangely enough, Madam Pomfrey trailed closely after him, looking like a woman on a mission as she ushered Scorpius towards Rose's bed.

There was a hint of a smile on his face as he neared her. Rose returned his gaze, unable to hide her own delight at seeing him again.

As though sensing their reaction to each other, Madam Pomfrey grabbed Scorpius' arm to give him a good shake.

"Pay attention," she snapped, shooting them a stern look.

Then she reached deep into her apron pocket and pulled out a set of glass vials.

Recognition flitted past Scorpius' face as he glanced incredulously at Madam Pomfrey.

But before he could say a word, Rose had already spoken up.

"What's this?"

"Diatonic," Madam Pomfrey said pointedly, shoving the vials into Rose's hands. "This set contains five doses. They last about a week each, so take it and count the days if you're going to do the deed—"

The deed? Rose looked closely at the vials, her eyebrows lifting in question. Beside Madam Pomfrey, Scorpius was now staring at the floor, a faint pinkness spreading across his cheekbones.

And that was when it hit Rose.

Birth control. Madam Pomfrey had given them birth control.

Not that Rose was a prude, of course. Sex education mattered, but she certainly wasn't actively shagging anyone—oh, Merlin's pants. Did Madam Pomfrey think she was shagging Scorpius?

"I don't need this," she sputtered, going numb from embarrassment.

"Oh, people rarely do until they do, Miss Weasley," Madam Pomfrey said wryly. "Keep it. Better safe than sorry, eh?" To Scorpius: "You may return to the dormitories today if you so please, Mr Malfoy. But I want you out of the Hospital Wing in five minutes so Miss Weasley can rest." She held up a hand, fingers spread to emphasise her point. "Five."

And then she had bumbled out of the girls' ward.

A stunned silence fell between them as they listened to Madam Pomfrey go about her day from beyond the walls. Rose blinked slowly, staring at the vials of wine-coloured substance as her face set itself on fire. Oh hell. What was she supposed to do with these now?

Not to mention Scorpius was still standing a few feet away from her. God. This was awkward.

"Do you think she reads Witch Weekly?" she managed weakly, after a few moments. "She seems to have the wrong idea about us."

Scorpius said nothing, merely sitting down on her bed. Deftly, he plucked the vials from her hands, setting the lot of them on the bedside table. Rose found herself barely able to look at him, the heat from her face now spreading to the rest of her.

"She has a point, you know," he said gently.

"About—?"

"People rarely need it until they do."

"Scorpius," she whispered, mortified.

"But we won't."

"We won't?"

"We're not going to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. Alright?"

Rose nodded, her hands wringing in the folds of duvet in her lap. "Do you mind?" she asked, feeling painfully self-conscious once more.

There was a creak in the bed springs as Scorpius shifted closer. "There are a lot of other things we can do," he said, but she could tell he was trying not to smile. "We can be creative."

The redness in her cheeks intensified. Scorpius tilted her chin up so she would look at him, the humour fading from his expression as he studied her face.

"Rose Annabel," he said softly. "It suits you."

"I'm named after Grandmum Granger." Rose gave him a shy little smile, an earnest affection filling her heart at the thought of her grandmother. "She's one of my heroes. All the kids wanted to be Uncle Harry. But I wanted to be her." And there it was again. The same feeling that swept through her when he played the piano for her at Christmas. A longing to know him. "Do you have one?"

"Hmm?" He sounded distracted, his lips now tracing warmly over her jawline.

"A middle name."

"Hyperion," Scorpius murmured against her freckled cheek. "He who goes above. My family has an obsession with the unattainable. We're named after kings, constellations... gods."

"Hyperion," she repeated softly. "It's beautiful."

"And quite meaningless." His voice lowered against her ear. "I like yours better."

His warm hands had cupped her cheeks, his butterfly kisses grazing across her mouth, as dreamy and delicate as the skip in their breaths. His lashes tickled her blushing skin; her heart sighed at the closeness of him.

"Did you get a scolding?" he murmured.

"Yeah," she breathed, eyes fluttering shut as he kissed her again, more soundly this time. Without her notice, her fingers had gone to clutch the front of his jumper. Feeling like she would soon float away without him to hold her close.

"Are we in trouble?"

She could hear the caution in his voice. "No," she said decisively. "What about you and your dad?"

Scorpius drew away gently, brushing her hair from her cheek. "Nothing to worry about, imp," he said quietly, and the naked longing in his pale gaze brought a soft clutch in her chest. "Just hurry up and get better."

Madam Pomfrey returned then, now looking genuinely offended by Scorpius' persistent presence.

"Mr Malfoy," she said irritably. "Out."

"Make me," Scorpius said.

Madam Pomfrey turned the colour of eggplant, storming over to all but drag Scorpius out by the ear. Rose could hear their argument carry into the hallway—you insolent, arrogant little brat—her nagging soon drowned out by Scorpius' drawling retorts. But what if I'm her cure, Madam Pomfrey?

Beneath her duvet, Rose hugged herself and tried not to smile.