This was the third summer that Scorpius been allowed to stay with Albus's family. During the first, he'd been nervous and fearful about how Albus's family would react. After all, they were allowing a Malfoy to enter their home. Scorpius didn't know everything about his father's history with the famous Golden Trio, but certainly enough to infer that the Potters and Weasleys would be weary of him, and he hadn't been wrong. Harry and Ron didn't let him out of their sights the first time he'd been invited over to the Burrow for a Quidditch match. Scorpius had worked hard that first summer to prove he was a Malfoy only in name. Over time his efforts paid off, and everyone gradually started to relax around him. It didn't take long until he began getting invited to celebrations and holidays without hesitation. Molly Weasley had even knit him a jumper for Christmas.
It was that which made Scorpius enjoy staying with the Potters so much. They would give anyone a chance, regardless of one's background or social status. They were warm, loving, and supportive, and notably, a family nothing like his own. He found it weirdly wonderful how intertwined Rose's and Albus's families were.
Scorpius was on day three of eight of his stay with the Potters. He was sitting on the floor in Albus's room, leaning against the side of the spare twin bed while he skimmed the headlines of the Daily Prophet. Rose and Albus sat on the other bed across the room.
"Anything interesting?" Albus asked, lifting his head slightly from playing Exploding Snaps with his cousin.
"Another Dementor sighting." Scorpius replied with a grimace. "The Prophet speculates that someone is intentionally leading them to highly populated areas. Especially those with muggles. Your dad refused to comment."
"You guys think something's going on?" Rose asked.
"I don't know," Albus answered, straighten his glasses. "But even if there was, we shouldn't worry. Dad and Aunt Hermione have handled much worse than a few dementors. It will be alright."
After the war, the Dementors had dispersed into the wilderness, feeding on the souls of vulnerable animals, and, occasionally when they were lucky, the odd lost hunter or hiker. It was unusual for dementors to be in urban areas in the post-war era. Since the fall of Lord Voldemort, they had been cautious not to cross paths with Aurors. There had been only a handful of times that Scorpius remembered hearing about a sighting. Three in one month was definitely grounds for suspicion.
"Next week the Harpies play the Cannons in London," Rose said, changing the topic to a lighter subject. "I wonder if Aunt Ginny can scrounge us tickets."
"I'll be back home by then," Scorpius said with a hint of disappointment.
"I could ask Mum and Dad if you can stay longer," Albus offered. "I'm sure they wouldn't mind."
"Thanks," he said, remembering his other options for the summer. "Maybe that can get me out of spending August at Malfoy Manor with my grandfather."
"You think it will be that bad?" Albus asked.
"Are you kidding?" He replied with a snort. "I'd rather eat a cauldron of slugs."
"I don't blame you. Lucius creeps me out," Rose wrinkled her nose. "You can't go there. We wouldn't see you until school starts. Our parents would never let us go the Manor and I doubt your grandfather would approve of you visiting the homes of blood traitors, half-bloods, and a mud-blood."
"Rose!" Albus scolded with wide eyes. "Don't say that word!"
"Why not?" Rose replied defiantly. "Its how wizards like him see wizards and witches like my mum. Jeez, Al, it's carved into her effing skin!"
Scorpius had seen exactly what Rose was referring to. On the inside of Hermione's forearm the word Mudblood looked as though it had been slashed into her skin with a dull blade. The jagged words had faded, but remained as raised white scars that stood out from the rest of her ivory skin. Scorpius had asked Rose and Albus how she'd got it, but neither knew. All they'd been told from their parents was that it was a battle scar, and even Rose had known better not to push.
Before Albus could retort, a gentle knock came from the bedroom door. It swung open, Ginny appearing in the door frame.
"Just coming up to give you your five minute warning," she said, and then looked at Rose. "Your mum asked that you be home by nine."
Rose grumbled and rolled her eyes.
"I'm a messenger and nothing more," Ginny said, throwing up her hands defensively before leaving the teens to say goodbye.
"I guess I best be going," Rose said irritably. "I can't believe Mum wouldn't allow me to stay the evening."
"She say why?" Albus asked, a strange look on his face.
"Nope." She answered, hopping off the bed to put on her jumper before collecting her bag. "I'll see if I can come by tomorrow," she said, shooting a quick, but meaningful, glance at Scorpius.
"Night."
"Good night."
Scorpius's eyes followed Rose as she left. Her loose red curls bounced on the back of her shoulders. It had only been a few hours ago that his hands had been tangle in them.
"You guys are playing with fire, you know that, right?" Albus said, breaking Scorpius from his trance.
Scorpius feigned a puzzled stare, his heartbeat quickening. "What do you mean?"
Albus rolled his eyes, standing to close the bedroom door before continuing. "I didn't want to say anything in front of Rose, but I saw you guys coming out of broom shed this afternoon. You're lucky it was me instead of someone else. Uncle Ron would have gone ballistic had he seen you two."
Scorpius's eyes widen, and the faint hint of color appeared on his pale cheeks as he remembered exactly what they'd been up to during the day.
"I'm not stupid, you know," Albus continued with annoyance. "I've suspected something's been going on for weeks. The two of you disappearing at the same. The stolen glances that you both think are private."
Scorpius felt silly. He'd really thought they'd been careful enough, and seeing the disgust on his best mate's face sent a twinge of guilt through him.
"Look - " he began.
"I don't want to hear it," Al put up his hands to silence his friend. "What ever it is that's going on between the two of you, just make sure I don't have to see it."
An uncomfortable silence overtook the bedroom.
"I like her," Scorpius said quietly. "Are you... mad?"
Albus took a moment to consider before answering.
"It's weird, the idea of the two of you, my best cousin and my best mate, sneaking off to snog," he said, making a face. "But no, I'm not mad."
Scorpius relaxed and breathed a sigh of relief. Albus climbed onto his own bed, laying on his back and staring up at the ceiling.
"Do you think she'll like the bracelet?" Scorpius asked, feeling strange once he did.
Albus groaned. "Don't tell me you're going to fret over that for the next month." he said, and then after a beat added. "I'm sure she'll love it."
That was the last the two boys spoke of Rose that night. Scorpius fell asleep feeling some relief knowing that Albus seemed to take the news well. He was thankful he didn't ask too many questions. Rose had never explicitly told Scorpius how she felt about him, and he worried her feelings were not the same as his own. Maybe Albus knowing would be the perfect chance to talk about what exactly it was going on between them.
...
Since the Weasley-Potter get together at the Burrow, Hermione had been feeling much more at ease. Although Harry had assured her he'd take care of their problem, now that the initial shock had worn off, she was feeling ready to know more. On Sunday she'd owled Harry, asking if he could share everything he knew about their new friend. Harry wasted no time in filling her in, and the following morning, he popped by her office just before lunch, two coffees in hand.
Once the door was closed, Hermione looked at him with anticipation, and Harry immediately dived in.
"These were mailed to the Auror Department, addressed to me," he said, handing her two documents from his briefcase. "I received this one about a month ago, and the other a few days before we spoke at Grimmauld Place."
The first document was a lengthy letter. In scratchy ink, it outlined very clearly that the author knew Harry and Hermione had been keeping their past "indiscretion" a secret from their families, and what a scandal it would be should it become well known. The letter went further, and alleged that a secret affair between the two of them had been going on for years, and that if Harry wanted to keep it quiet, he'd need to cooperate fully. In order for the author not to go public with proof, a few things needed to occur.
The first was Harry's vocal support of a Bill that would allegedly be proposed in the coming months. It was being put forth to allow the development of a new magical school in Britain only for decedents of the Sacred Twenty Eight pureblood families. It was a concept that had been shot down many times before without consideration, but it always was revived by a small minority, mainly a number of pureblood elitist remaining.
The second requirement was, for the next two years, Harry would hand over confidential documents pertaining to the Potter-Black Corporation stocks, particularly, those documents that revealed which stocks were growing and which were nosediving. Hermione supposed that two years was enough time for the author to make a considerable amount of money if he or she actually understood what to do with the information.
The letter ended stating that if Harry did these two things, his dalliances with Minister Granger would remain, for the time being, private. However, he shouldn't get too comfortable as more demand letters could possibly follow if his assistance was needed in the future. If Harry agreed to the terms, he should leave a letter with the register attendant at Borgin and Burkes in Knockturn Alley. He had been given one week, a deadline that long passed. The letter was signed: Someone you've burned.
The second document was a draft article for a newspaper, almost mirroring a gossip column. A picture of Harry and Hermione embracing tightly covered half the page. It had been taken after the one year anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts when the media coverage of Ron, Harry and her had been relentless. Hermione recognized the photo from a previous Rita Skeeter article that had stirred up quite a bit of speculation. The camera angle was unfortunate as it had created the illusion that the two were kissing. She remembered how angry Ron had been about rumors flying around suggesting she and Harry were together, and how Ginny had teased her for months for 'thieving' her boyfriend.
Hermione skimmed the article portion, noting a few cringeworthy phrases. A note in the same scratchy writing was attached, reading: This is only the beginning.
Having seen enough, Hermione set down the papers and sighed. "Any idea who it could be?"
Harry snorted. "Only about a hundred possibilities."
"And nothing since?"
"No," Harry said. "That's why I think it could be a bluff."
"It's strange, I mean, why now?" Hermione wondered aloud. "If this person does actually know something, why use it two decades after the fact."
"I don't know," Harry replied with a shrug.
"Whoever wrote this," Hermione began, the wheels in her mind turning. "Whoever he or she is, may know something, but without any evidence, it'll fall flat."
"I agree," Harry nodded. "We've seen this story about us done before. Everyone is tired of hearing it. Without something tangible, people won't give it a second thought."
"I guess that begs the question," Hermione said as anxiety washed over her. "Is there any proof?"
"No," Harry replied. "At least not as far as I'm aware."
"I think you were right when you said we should come up with a plan. Let's say this person does have something, we certainly can't allow ourself to be blackmailed."
"No, we can't," he confirmed, and then added, "I think at the first sight of any of real, physical evidence, we tell Ron and Ginny."
Hermione sighed, hoping it wouldn't come to that. Although she was less worked up about the situation, she was dreading the possibility of having to come clean with her husband and best friend.
Harry sensed her hesitation.
"I have it all mapped out in my head," he said. "I know exactly what to say to them. I've been thinking about it for awhile. If the time comes, you won't have to say a word. I could also tell the kids. Give them the PG version."
"And what about what we'll say to the rest of the world?" She asked with one brow raised.
"The truth?" Harry suggested.
"I suppose that's the most mature course of action."
"Hermione," Harry said with a small sympathetic smile. "It happened over 20 years ago. Other than the reaction from our families, mainly Ron, you really think it will be that bad?"
"You're being naive," Hermione said, annoyed that he didn't seem to appreciate how much this could impact them. "People are obsessed with this romanticized idea of the Golden Trio, and the noble quest we went on to defeat Voldemort. We're in the history books. There are statues of us! You really think people will just shrug their shoulders and move on when they find out there was more to the story?"
"There has always been way more to the story than what's printed in the history books. Good and bad," Harry countered. "So what's the worst, a few months of tabloid pages and snickers behind our backs?"
"I think that's best case scenario."
"You won't be sacked for this," he said genuinely, as if he could read her mind. "It has nothing to do with how you run the Ministry."
"I'm only the second Muggle-born Minister in history, Harry!" She cried with frustration. How did he not understand? "People are just waiting for me to slip up."
"Well if you do happen to slip up, it won't be this." Harry said firmly.
Since the war, Harry had become an eternal optimist, and Hermione couldn't help but be proud of her friend despite how annoyed she was. He truly believed he could fix anything. She sighed in resignation and offered him a small smiled before her eyes drifted to the clock on her wall.
"I have to run," she said, rising from her chair. "I almost forgot I'm meeting Ron for a quick bite."
"Right," Harry said, also standing. "I'll catch you later then."
"You'll tell me if you get any more suspicious mail?" She asked, her hand on the doorknob.
"Of course."