A/N: A big thanks to my readers, reviewers, followers, and those who have put the fic on their favorite list.

Thank you to: Guest, Andykins, Analelle, Silver doe 3, Angelus Draco, Katherine Julia, Jordana Babe, and chyaraskiss for the reviews.

A little something about the chapter: I'm introducing another made up character of mine. I thought hard about which Harry Potter character could pull off what I wanted to happen, and no one could pull it off nor would any post-war HP character have the gumption to do so. Like I said, I had to make one up. I expect he'll be hated.

Also in this chapter, there will not be any Hermione or Narcissa. I'm sorry, but we'll see them next chapter. There was only room enough in this chapter for a select few, and those troubled ladies didn't make the cut.

I now present Chapter 20! Read and Review and tell me what you think if you'd like. I'm sorry for any mistakes.

Philip Jacobson received a droll look from the bartender, so he smiled reassuringly at him with a 'how do you do' nod and pointed at his glass. "Another, please, if you don't mind?"

The bartender smiled back at him quizzically and said, "Your glass isn't empty, sir."

Philip flicked his eyes to the full glass and then back at the bartender. "That it isn't. Good to know." He lifted up the glass. "Cheers," he saluted and took a sip and put his focus on the two ladies on the opposite side of the room. He placed his glass back down and lightly pressed his fingertip to his earlobe and muttered, "Finite Incantatem," and mentally thanked George Weasley for upgrading his Extendable Ear product into a spell a few years ago. The Charm was of the 'need to know' variety but quite handy for those whose profession depended on other's private business.

"So where are you from? You've got an accent," the bartender chatted while polishing a wine glass.

Phil turned his attention back to him and replied with a smirk, "It's not I who has the accent, sir, it's you. Since you asked so politely; though, I'll answer your question. I'm from England."

"London parts?"

"Yes."

"Visiting the US? How are you liking your stay in Salem?"

"It's a lovely town with lovely people."

"Are you visiting for business or pleasure?"

"That's an excellent question." Phil smiled widely and took another sip of his drink. "Excellent, indeed. I say that because when I first arrived here this afternoon, I thought it was for business. However, I do believe things are about to get fun."

The bartender raised his eyebrows and chuckled curiously. "Okay. What do you do?"

"I'm a reporter for The Daily Prophet. Ever heard of it?"

"Yes. No offence, though, but I don't care for it. It's more of my girlfriend's taste. She loves the gossip, and I prefer non-fiction. But, hey, no hard feelings, man. I respect that you've gotta bring home the bacon."

"No offense taken. I, unfortunately, do work with reporters who like to milk an event or completely lie. Not me, though. I expose the truth. The world needs to know what's happening around them."

"Well, good luck to you. Hope your stay is in enjoyable."

"Oh, it will be." Phil's eyes drifted back to the two ladies at the table. "It will be, indeed, but I could use some information. Where is the International Communications Center in this town? I'd like to drop a Floo call to a friend of mine back home."

"It's on the other side of town next to the county library on Tabby Lane. Bigger than a Quidditch stadium. You can't miss it."

"Thank you." Phil gave one lasting look at the two women and then picked up his fedora and placed it on his head with a nod to the bartender and left four plinkets next to the empty glass. On his way out, he purposefully passed by the table of his interest, sneaking his Muggle cellphone out of his pocket and snapping a few photos, hoping the device wouldn't short circuit and fry in the process. Merlin knew how many times he broke his toys while merely trying to do his job. He loved magic but it could be a right bastard on his Muggle things for sure. Perhaps he should stop by that Muggle to Magic shop which was the gateway to Muggle Salem. Maybe the employees there could give him ideas on how to keep his phone and iPad from shooting sparks. First thing on the order of business; however, he needed to make a long distance call back home. He checked his watch and winced. It was going to be a suicidal call to his boss, but once she heard what he had to say, he'd be getting that shiny new office on the third floor, not Dennis Creevey. Phil's days in the basement in a shoddy cubicle were coming to a close.

Leaving Marnella's, he quickly Disapparated and arrived outside of the International Communications Center, showed his visa and identification, and was let through by the surly looking night guard. After waiting in line for about ten minutes, Phil was guided to a private booth by an attractive, leggy blonde. Inside the booth were a polished, black metal furnace, a compatible chair, and a small round table with different bowls of powder.

"For security purposes, your conversations will be monitored."

"Isn't that a violation of my privacy?" asked Phil with an upset frown. The girl, whose badge read Matilda, cocked an eyebrow to the side and canted her hips.

"If you were on your own property, but since you are on government property, technically speaking, the conversation belongs to them and they can do whatever they want with it. Will that be a problem for you?"

Shaggable? Yes. Dateable? Bloody hell, no!

"No, it shouldn't be a problem. It's a merely a business call to the slave driver back on the motherland. If you'll excuse me," Phil gestured to the bunched up red, white, and blue velvet curtain that would act as a barrier between him and the hallway. "I'll get started."

Matilda left and Phil sat down in the chair and extended his hand over to the neighboring table and scooped a little less than a handful of pinkish hued powder and tossed it into the fire.

"London, England," he said into the fire and the flames crackled. He then scooped up some green powder and flicked it into the flames. The fire turned green and he spoke clearly, "Penelope Archer's Residence."

Phil waited a few minutes for the connection to go through and for his employer to get the call and silently prayed she wouldn't ignore it given the hour it was back in London.

Finally, he heard a crisp, bright voice saying, "This is Pen."

"Thank you for taking my Floo. I'm sorry if I woke you, but it couldn't wait. This is Phil.

"Phil, good to hear you, and no, you didn't wake me. I was already up."

"Spectacular. Look, Ms. Archer, I have so-"

"It's wonderful that you've called. I have good news. Dennis was awarded the new office on the third floor."

Phil goggled into the flames. "What?! When did this happen?!"

"An hour or so after you left the office to do whatever it is that you were going to do in the name of work," she explained lightly.

"I told you I had a story! A lead for Merlin's Sake! You can't give the office to Creevey! He doesn't even write articles. He takes bloody pictures!"

"They say a picture is worth a thousand words, Jacobson, and you haven't written a single one in over a month. Be lucky you still have a job…maybe."

"I told you before I left that I had a lead."

"A lead of which you had no idea what it was. Listen, this year has been dismal for you, and the only reason I've kept you on board was because you were the one who covered Draco Malfoy's death. The first reporter anywhere to get the raw details, and six weeks ago, that was bloody fantastic. But the public has moved on completely from the Malfoys. No one cares who they are anymore because their legacy is gone. The Malfoy reputation is officially burnt to hell. Even Draco's latest squeeze, Astoria has moved one."

"What?!" Phil sputtered..

"Oh, yeah. Big news. When you left yesterday before lunch and didn't come back, Dennis was out having a lunch date with his fiancé at the Panda Shack and noticed the girl canoodling with that Quidditch Illustrated model Oliver Wood. Dennis got their photograph, and that's what's going to make the Front Page in the morning.

"Okay...they weren't canoodling. She was crying into his shoulders, but the scene looked rather cozy enough to raise questions. Honestly, Phil, did you not read the pre-print of The Daily Prophet that's going out in the morning? And where the hell are you, anyway? Why didn't you ever return to work, and why am I going to be charged for this Floo call?"

"Listen," Phil wheezed, wiping his brow with a handkerchief. "I'm in Salem. I told you I had a lead."

"Salem? In the States? Why are you there? I better not get a receipt for the Portkey you had to purchase to get there, Phil. The Daily Prophet will not be covering your vacation."

"I'm not on vacation! I'm on a lead! Will you please listen to me? It's concerns the Malfoys!"

"And the Malfoys are old news! Nothing in that family is worth printing about anymore. Their glory days for headline stealers are finished!"

This was when he started laugh, his heart thumping with delight. "But your wrong, Penny! You're so wrong! Their glory days are just beginning!"

"Phil, have you been drinking?"

"That's beside the point. Are you listening to me?"

"Maybe if you say something worth my ears, I'll listen! So far, I'm bored, England's bored, and we can make Astoria Greengrass look bored!"

"Well, tighten up your knickers because I've got something that's going to blow away the entire UK, and it has everything to do with the Malfoys and…even better…Hermione Granger."

Phil could practically see Penelope Archer nee Clearwater in her home office faced away from her desk and glaring into the fireplace behind it, donned in her heels and a Muggle suit. There would be a dubious scowl on her face while she messaged her right temple, mentally asking herself why she returned to the Magical World after the war.

"I know it sounds a bit-"

"Unbelievable. Hermione Granger? Really, Phil? You were spouting off about the Malfoys when they are old news but decided to bring up Hermione Granger and thought that would save your arse? The Malfoys are months old. Hermione Granger is years old, Phil! Years! The Golden Trio was impressive…thirteen years ago! Let me tell you how famous the Golden Trio is now. I'm picking up The Daily Prophet and flipping through right now. Flipping through, flipping through and zilch! There is not a damned thing in there about them which is funny because Harry Potter's wife just gave birth to their third child yesterday! Lily Potter's birth didn't even make the paper, did you know that?! Last year, Ronald Weasley's investments in his brother's joke shoppe transformed into billions of galleons over a space of six months! Do you remember that making the paper?"

"No, but-"

"The only interesting thing keeping Hermione Granger's name so well-known is that no one says it. Her name has become the new Voldemort!"

Phil cringed and shuddered, but Penelope kept on ranting.

"They say her name is cursed because she died!"

"That was just a rumor and the rumor died, and it was a ridiculous rumor. I swear, people in the Magical World think think the worst if no one has seen anyone in a while. But she's not dead, Penny, she's here! She's here in Salem. I just saw her, and I'm not lying!"

Phil heard Penelope sigh wearily. "I'm sure you thought it was her. I know you've been dying for another headline since Draco Malfoy's death, but don't go digging for something that will only turn sour. Whatever you're doing, it's going to blow up in your face, and I'm going to have to fire you."

"I'm not lying. I saw her. She was dining with…I hope your listening. She was dining with Narcissa Malfoy, and I caught wind of what they were talking about and-"

"You're fired."

"No!" Phil bellowed.

"Phil!" Penelope moaned. "Narcissa Malfoy? Really? Narcissa Malfoy is cooped up in her Manor, curled up into a ball, and sobbing over old pictures of her son!"

"She's not! I have proof! I took pictures, dammit!"

"Even if I did believe you, why would she be in Salem?"

"That's why I contacted you. To tell you what's going on here."

"Oh, really? And what's going there, Oh Wise One of Who is Now Unemployed?"

"Blaise Zabini."

"Oh, for the love of-"

"Hear me out on this! Be patient. So Shelly, who works in the cubicle next to me, was talking to Annie in the cubicle next to her. This was where I found out that Shelly had been moonlighting as a bed-warmer for Zabini for the past three months. She was in tears because he suddenly called things off, saying he had some business to take care of in the States and was unsure of when he would return to England. Now that sounded dodgy to me so naturally I gathered my things, told you I had a lead, and went straight to the United Porktkey Associations.

"When arriving, I asked a few questions, paid a galleon here and there and hopped on the trail while it was still somewhat toasty. Blaise Zabini had purchased a Portkey for two to Salem and was not alone. According to Sasha, who likes poetry and cupcakes, Narcissa Malfoy was with him. That sounded dirty, and I've been covering the Malfoy stories for two years, so I had to follow. Of course, I was a day behind. I arrived 8am here and had to go by my instincts from thence. Asked the locals where the nicest, most expensive hotel was in town and BAM! There's Narcissa Malfoy exiting the hotel via lobby looking like she was in rare form.

"Unfortunately, while tailing her, she Disapparated and I lost her trail…until two hours ago. I was waiting outside of the hotel, praying I'd see Zabini or Mrs. Malfoy and then who should be strolling out a few minutes before six? It's Mrs. Malfoy dressed to the nines, and this time I was lucky she didn't Disapparate. She did a bit of shopping, bought odd things but thought nothing of it at the time, and then took a carriage a whole two blocks, and I was able to follow. The carriage took her to some upscale restaurant where I had to transfigure my attire, so I wouldn't stick out like a Hippogriff in a bed of white lilies. Told the Maître'd I'd like a seat at the bar. He let me choose my seat, and I got a view of Mrs. Malfoy alone at the table. Minutes ticked by, and I started to feel antsy. Not long, though, and a woman shows up, and I can't believe my bloody eyes. It's Hermione Granger lookin' fit and not at all dead and with an ingenious whispered Charm, I was able to eavesdrop on their entire conversation. Penny, you are not going to believe what I rudding heard!"

"I don't believe anything I just heard, Phil!"

"I have pictures, and if you truly thought I was lying about any of this, you would've disconnected the call earlier. You didn't, so you must believe something, Pen."

"I believe I heard an interesting story that is a complete lie but an imaginative one. I'll give you points for it but no stock."

"I have pictures! I will send them to you. You'll get them by noon London time, but Pen, I haven't told you the best part."

"Do I have to hear it? I think I want to go to bed now."

"You're dying to hear it, aren't you? You know I couldn't have cooked up all that."

"Just…Say it! What were the lookalikes of Narcissa Malfoy and Hermione Granger discussing?"

"Well, it took me a minute to figure it out but-"

"Phil!"

"Draco Malfoy had a child!"

Phil actually heard Penelope suck in a breath, and he grinned.

"What?!"

"Draco Malfoy has an effing child here in Salem and the bleedin' mother is Hermione Fluffing Granger, Pen! Did you hear?! Did you hear what I said?! A child! No! A son! His name is Alexander, and his father was Draco Malfoy!"

"Phil!"

"What?!"

"Did you take those pictures with your cellphone?"

"Yes, I have them right in my pocket."

"Phil!"

"What?"

"You said you listened in on their entire conversation?"

"Yes."

"Phil!"

"Pen?"

"Do you have a vial on your person?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Phil!"

"…yes…?"

"Get to Muggle Salem this instant and send me those damned pictures. I expect to see them on my phone in ten minutes. Phil, I want that conversation on my desk by ten o'clock in the morning."

"I can't send the memory to you that quick. I still have to find an owl and-"

"Then get going before I really fire your arse. This story belongs to the UK, you fool! This entire bleedin' conversation is being listened to by the Yanks!"

"I doubt the American government cares about the progeny of Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger. It's not a threat against national security. Oh wait…" Phil snickered. "If you think future-wise, it may very well be."

"Don't be cute! I'm betting someone up there in that building is dying to get their wallet heavier. Christmas is coming, you know? Leave. Now!"

The fire diminished into smoke, and Phil fell sideways off the chair, scrambling in haste to get out of the booth, out of the building as soon as possible. The blasted stars and stripes curtain wouldn't move fast enough and wasn't that just ironic. He finally breathed the air of the hallway and jogged down it towards the elevator. Pounding his finger into the button, he waited for the gate to open. Finally, the lift arrived and he stepped on, the liftman and another fellow already occupying it.

"To the lobby, sir?" the liftman asked and Phil nodded. The gate closed and the elevator moved downwards at a snail's pace, the contraption stopping to pick up other people. As the lift filled, his shoulder began to brush against the fellow who had been first one on.

"I'm sorry," he apologized to the man who appeared sweaty and anxious.

"It's okay," he rushed out and chuckled nervously. "Should've taken the stairs, I guess."

"You know that's a good idea," Phil said as the lift stopped again. "I think I'll do that."

"No!" The man gripped his arm and then let it go, chuckling forcedly. "I mean…"

Phil frowned at the man and eyed him carefully and then realization hit him. "Keep the gate open!" he yelled and pushed passed the other passengers, nudging them out of his way, ignoring their curse words at him. He weaseled out of the lift and out into the hallway of the third floor and ran towards the door to the stairs and rammed it open and sprinted down the stairs. When he reached the second level, he heard running footsteps behind him. He spared a glance and saw the man from the lift following behind, his face beet red and sweaty.

"The story's mine, dammit!" he exclaimed. "It belongs to the Americans! It's happening here!"

"It's Britain's business!" Phil called behind him, reaching the first floor. "Malfoy and Granger are English!"

"The child is American!"

"You don't know that!"

"I pulled the damned kid's records when listening. He's red, white, and blue!"

"…English then?" Phil couldn't help but sass back.

"No! I meant he's American!"

Phil reached the lobby level and burst through the door and ran passed the front desk as fast as he could, throwing his pass at the receptionist and dashing towards the front door, passing the confused looking guard, and reaching Apparition Grounds. With a crack, he was in front of Muggle to Magic. Wasting no time, he opened the door and stumbled in, bending over and taking a deep breath, ignoring the stares from the customers and employees.

Having caught enough breath, he stood up and walked towards the backroom but was stopped by a young man with the name Bryce on his nametag. "Dude, that is one righteous hat, my man! Hey, have you ever needed to electronically send some awesome memories like pronto and kinda think storing them in vials and Owling them is so 1990s?"

"Penelope," wheezed Phil, his chest heaving while he rested his head against the filthy brick wall on the Muggle side of Muggle to Magic, his cellphone smashed to his ear. "Do you have the bloody pictures and the memory?"

"Hold on, hold on. I just sat down on some icky bench by Piccadilly Circus. Let me get out my iPad and turn it on. Okay, I'm in my email and…Oh I see I have a new message from you. I'm clicking on it and…it's loading. Hold on. Hold on. Hold on. Hold on. Hol- Okay, it's ready. I'm looking at the pictures now and the memory you sent as background. Let me plug in my earphones, so I don't wake the bloke taking up most of this bench. I'm going to hang up now, and I'll call you back once I've heard everything."

"Alright." Phil nodded and ended the call, sinking to his bottom with his legs spread out before him, his trousers dampening from the corroded, wet pavement.

Ten minutes later, his cellphone buzzed.

"Penny?" he said into the speaker. "You saw the pictures? Did you hear what they were saying?"

"Phil!"

"Yes?"

"Oh. My. Gods."

"Pen? Is it good?"

"Oh my Gawds! Oh my Gawds! Oh my Gawds! This! Philip, this is…I'm going to pass out! I'm going to pass out! I need to breathe! How do you breathe? I can't remember how!"

"I told you. I told you it was incredible," Phil chuckled lightly into the phone and beamed up at the sky.

"Phil!"

"Yes, Penny?"

"What do you think of 'Sex, Scandal, Secrets: Malfoy Line Perseveres'?"

"It's good, but you got to have Granger in there, too, somewhere. She can't offhandedly be mentioned in the article. She may very well be years old, Pen, but the public still knows who she is."

"You're right. What do you suggest for your header on the Front Page of The Daily Prophet that will print in three hours and will be Owl delivered in four to each subscribed household in the UK?"