Author's Note: I know Cursed Child's been out for years now, but I only recently finished reading it. And, honestly, this is the only way it makes a remote amount of sense to me. Sorry, not sorry, for all of my Harry Potter stuff being crack so far.
Cursed Writing
Harry snorted as he tossed the manuscript onto the kitchen table. Ginny glanced over at him—halfway through cooking dinner—and her eyes fell on the offending document. Understanding quickly dawned on her, and she rolled her eyes.
"Don't tell me you're reading that again," she groaned.
He grinned and raised an eyebrow. "I have to admit, the sheer audacity is amusing sometimes."
"Well, that's certainly one way to put it," Ginny replied dryly.
The script in question belonged to a play that had been written several years ago by none other than the once-infamous Rita Skeeter. Titled 'The Cursed Child,' it contained all kinds of ludicrous scenarios featuring not only Harry and his friends, but also their children. Honestly, Harry could handle ridiculous stories about himself; he'd gotten used to it back in his Hogwarts days, after all. But involving his children in that nonsense? Really, did Rita have any shame?
Harry had promptly stepped in, having the Magical Law Enforcement office confiscate as many copies of it as they could find. He'd then burned all of them. Well, all but the one copy he'd kept. Ginny was (understandably) skeptical, but Harry insisted he only kept it around for amusement purposes.
He was offended on his son's and friends' behalves. Really, he was. But some of the situations Rita had put into her 'play'—if one could call it that—were so mind-boggling that Harry couldn't help but laugh.
"I mean, come on, Gin," Harry said incredulously. "Would Hermione ever keep something as dangerous as a Time Turner in her office? And leave behind clues that a couple of teenagers could easily solve? Not that our children are stupid, of course—"
"To be fair, even Skeeter acknowledged that one." Ginny shrugged. "Though of course that begs the question of why she included something like that if she knew it was mad."
"And me telling Albus I wish he wasn't my son! Honestly!"
Okay, that one did make Harry feel personally indignant. To be honest, he'd been a little worried about his lack of good examples for fatherhood. Still, despite the occasional struggle, he'd never lost his temper that badly with any of their kids.
Ginny, apparently sensing his mood shift, strode over to him and gently rested a hand on his shoulder. Harry reached up and gave it an appreciative squeeze in response. After taking a deep breath, he grinned again and looked back up at her.
"And, you know, the idea of Malfoy's son being Voldemort's child is complete nonsense," he continued. "Even considering some of the other rumors the Wizarding world's believed—I mean, he looks nearly identical to his father!"
"Not to mention Voldemort having a child at all. Ugh, can you imagine?"
The two of them paused, then simultaneously shuddered and said, "Ew."
Finally, Ginny cleared her throat and said, "You know what would make you feel better, Harry? If we stuck Skeeter in a jar again. Would that help?"
Harry's grin widened. "I've always liked the way you think. I'll send an owl to Hermione right away."
A few days later, there was a jar sitting on the Minister of Magic's desk containing a very peculiar-looking beetle. It stayed there for nearly a week, prompting curious questions from any Ministry workers who noticed it.
"Oh, there's no particular reason for it," Hermione replied airily when prompted. "I just thought it would be nice to liven up my office, you know? And I do like its eye patterns; they're quite distinctive, aren't they?"
The beetle gave an annoyed buzz in response. Maybe writing propaganda pieces in response to twenty-year-old grudges didn't pay off after all.
