Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or anything written over the following pages. JK Rowling owns it all.

Warnings: Swearing, sexual content, references to homosexuality, references and description of crime and violence, mental health issues, poverty, alcohol and substance abuse.

15/03/16 - This story is currently undergoing gradual edits by yours truly, but huge thanks have to go to Delancey654 who is sweeping her way through beta reading. Have a look at her stories, they are excellent!

Prologue

Elephant and Castle, London

An errant thought, the same one that had been distracting Hermione all week drifted in and took root in her mind. She blinked, attempting to refocus on the paper in her hands, but the fourth year attendance records stood no chance against her imagination. Hermione snapped shut the folder, tossed it on to her desk, leant back in her chair and rubbed her fingers across her eyelids and up into her hairline.

She tried to employ her tried and tested focusing tactic of mentally running through the speech she would soon be giving to Burbage High's new prospective students and their parents. She had spent weeks working on it, finely tuning the words so they walked the tightrope between informative and inspiring, but she found on this occasion the words were ceasing to mean anything at all. She may as well pull a Dumbledore and address them on Monday's open day with a line of gibberish.

But of course no one had ever needed convincing to attend Hogwarts. Burbage High, however, was another matter.

For a moment it had worked, but thinking about Albus Dumbledore led her straight back to him. In a way that it hadn't for well over a decade. Hermione finally gave into the compulsion to abandon her work, pushed back her chair and rose from the desk. She walked across the room to replace the attendance file on a shelf and paused at the open door that led into her assistant's office. Hermione's eyes were irresistibly pulled to Laura's desk where another seemingly incongruous file lay. Pre-emptively cursing herself, as she had done countless times that week, she summoned the thin file and flicked through it.

These were the letters from parents that had confirmed their eleven-year-old child's place at the school. There were only a pitiful amount so far. All were Muggle-born or half-bloods and, Hermione assumed, from low income families. Why else would anyone chose the free Burbage High over the fee paying Hogwarts without having even visited the school or met any teachers?

It wasn't like they had a good reputation. Yet.

None of the students were purebloods - except for one. The writing on the cheap, lined Muggle paper was beautifully written in dark green ink, all expressive curves and executed in near-perfect calligraphy.

Dear Ms. Granger

This letter is to confirm that Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy will be attending Burbage High this September the 1st.

I am also writing to confirm his place on the open day on August the 2nd.

Yours sincerely,

Draco Lucius Malfoy

It arrived last week, a Trojan horse in the Muggle post. Draco Malfoy, his influence on her life frozen in time along with his image. To Hermione, Malfoy was still slumped in chains in Courtroom Ten, the last time she'd seen him. Lank hair, gaunt face, only looking up to gaze into the shadows at the back of the seats, where his wife and baby sat. Then came Azkaban, release, obscurity, fourteen years had passed and she had long stopped wondering.

But now here he was. The elegant script twining into her life like an ivy around an oak. Poisonous, distracting and leaching her attention from the mission that had been her life for the past seven years she had worked at the school. Like with Hogwarts, letters from Burbage High were sent out to every child in the UK that showed magical potential, but no one ever awaited a reply from a recognisable Wizarding name. Especially one like Malfoy. The letter was so unexpected, such a detour from the way things were meant to be, Hermione could not comprehend how she was meant to feel. The words, disarming in their apparent simplicity, days later and after countless re-readings, still had not lost their effect on the witch. Confusion was a rare and unwelcome feeling in Hermione Granger.

Malfoys and their ilk existed in that old world, where rather than ability, it was down to luck of your birth that decided your place in the hierarchy of Wizarding society. Today, despite changes in laws and fashions, and though outward disdain those with pure-blood gave to those without was more likely to close doors than open them, Hermione had no doubt that the opinions of the most deeply old-fashioned had ever really changed. The pure-blooded, both old and young would continue to regurgitate those opinions, but of course, in the privacy of their manor houses and hundreds of miles away in Scotland, in a certain dungeon common room under a certain Black Lake.

But this letter challenged that and threw everything Hermione took for granted back into her face. Draco Malfoy had confirmed he wanted to send his son to her school. Burbage High, the school that championed the Muggle-born. Where plenty of half-bloods could be found, but where no pure-blooded child had ever walked the halls. Didn't Malfoy understand the status quo? What was he playing at? Hermione's mind leapt desperately between unlikely theories in an attempt to understand. Each possible answer more ridiculous than the last both in substance and for the amount of times she had come back to them.

Malfoy had attempted murder in order to protect his own family, so with these protective impulses, how could he place his own son in a school full of Muggle-borns, to learn Muggle subjects and under the influence of the worst Mudblood of them all, just to commit some horrible deed? None of it made sense. Hermione ran a finger down the page. The paper was smooth and light, mass-produced in a factory. Malfoy writing on Muggle paper? Using Muggle post?

The only explanation she could fathom was that perhaps Malfoy had changed. The thought felt so fanciful she was inclined to dismiss it as being as unlikely as the rest of her ideas. But she simply could not imagine what or how he would stand to gain from his son's admission to the school if Scorpius was attending under false pretences. And Hermione knew Malfoy was not the type to undertake anything unless he directly gained from it in some way.

Hermione shivered, the hairs on her arm inexplicably rising. She suddenly felt very alone, standing in a dark, empty school thinking about Draco Malfoy when she should have already been at Harry's birthday party, having fun in the sunshine with the rest of civilisation. She flipped the file shut, put it back on the desk and went back to gather her things from the Headmistress's office. Or her office, she remembered to call it.

Chapter One - A Very Harry Birthday

Hampstead, London

The sound of an Apparition cracked down the quiet suburban road, startling a couple of pigeons into flight. Hermione emerged from a derelict bus stop and into the warm evening sunlight. She picked her way through the brambles and nettles and on to the pavement, brushed down her dress and ran a few fingers self-consciously through freshly straightened hair, marvelling at how soft it felt.

After a quick glance behind her Hermione began to walk west towards the sun, the trees overhead causing the dappled light to dance and flicker in her eyes. With each step she attempted to forget about work, in particular to forget about that letter.

The Victorian homes on either side were red-bricked and beautiful and she smiled as she came into sight of a few balloons tied to a gate in front of one particularly large house. It was all so inconspicuously Muggle. However, the small boy crouching behind the fence, clutching a wand with both hands and using it to poke at a rather annoyed looking cat, was anything but. So much was his concentration on the spell that he did not even notice the witch coming to stand beside him. His face was screwed up with effort and she could just make out a frantic whispering.

"Mr Potter, are you attempting to perform underage magic?" she intoned and gamely raised an eyebrow as his head shot up, emerald green eyes incriminatingly wide, the picture of guilt. In surprise the child fell back on to one hand but then a large, guileless smile broke across his face. The expression was so warming, so welcoming, that already Hermione felt her connection to this world strengthen as the feelings of isolation and disquiet she had felt only hours before weakened. This was where she was meant to be. Not in dark hallways obsessing over the past.

"Hermione!" Albus Potter exclaimed.

She grinned and held out a hand to help him up as he scrambled to stand. His palm was warm, soft and slightly clammy. Still a child's hand. Had she been this young when she had left home? She still couldn't believe that in a month's time he would be off to Hogwarts. It was absurd how quickly Harry's children had grown up, and how long ago this rite of passage had been for her.

"Come on then Al, I want to hear all about it!" she requested.

In response he held the wand in two upturned palms and gazed down upon it in rapture. Hermione knew what he was thinking, it was written plainly on his face. Suddenly she felt the keen pang of nostalgia, an echo of that nervous, excited anticipation. Of magic, of Hogwarts. She wondered if those few confirmed to Burbage High were having a similar experience. She sorely hoped so.

"It's 10 and a half inches, birch and with a dragon heartstring core. Mum and Dad finally took me today." He raised his eyes solemnly to hers and Hermione had to fight the urge to fling her arms around him as if he were still her little baby godson. This was a grown-up moment, and Al deserved to be treated as such. Instead she nodded, as outwardly serious as he was.

"Do you know, that's the same core as mine," she offered.

"Really!" He was smiling again now, apparently amazed by this information.

"Yes. Although you have to be careful with it. Poor Archie wouldn't appreciate losing his tail, would he?" She softened the reprimand with a smile. Albus glanced over at the cat who had stalked off into a more distant patch of sun.

"James taught me a spell to turn him yellow," he said uncertainly. Hermione frowned and felt the poignant twinge of melancholy even more deeply, reminded of another poor naïve boy once upon a time. Deceitful brothers were two a penny in the Weasley family. Sadly the trait was still alive and well in this generation.

"Well, as much as I'm sure your brother knows what he's doing, why don't you save the magic for Hog-" She was interrupted by a disgustingly wet squelching noise and jumped a little in shock, causing Albus to crack up in maniacal laughter, his spell of unease broken. "What the-?"

Albus, still giggling, pointed up into the tree at a delicate looking pink origami butterfly decoration. "It farts if you stand too close! We got the idea from Uncle George. Me and James have been making them this afternoon!" He pointed to a baby blue paper mâché heart hanging nearby. "That one blows slime bubbles into your hair if you stand underneath it!"

Hermione started to back away from the tree, wary of the impending slime. If George Weasley had been involved she was not risking anything. "Those are beautiful decorations Al, I'm really impressed," she said slowly.

It was quite a good bit of advanced magic, charming an object with a motion-detection spell release. Of course James can achieve such magic at age 12, she thought, though she decided to play along with whatever story the children had concocted. "So how does James get away with magic in the holidays?"

"Well, technically I'm not allowed but Dad said that as it's his birthday and so a special occasion, he thought it would be okay." James Potter's voice called out from behind them. He slid through the gate at the side of the house and slowly walked down the garden path towards where Hermione and Albus were standing.

"I mean it's just some prank stuff I managed to remember from school last year," he added with a nonchalant gaze up at her, chin held in an ever so slightly defiant angle. Suddenly he blinked and flashed her a beguiling smile. "Please don't mention it to Mum?"

Hermione, after several years of practice, did her best strict professor impression, raising her eyebrows and looking down on him steadily. "But you know that for an underage wizard like yourself, James Potter, you're breaking the laws set down to protect you from harm? You are not only in serious breach of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery but also that which governs performing magic in a Muggle area. I'm afraid I'm going to have to notify not just your mother, but the Improper Use of Magic Office at the Ministry itself."

Even James with all his bravado couldn't help but pale slightly at the weight of all those official sounding words. Albus looked completely panicked. "Hermione! Please don't tell anyone! James didn't really make any magic, Dad did all of it really! We just helped make them!" he cried.

"Albus! You moron! You can't just blurt things out at the first threat! You've ruined the plan! Hermione's only bluffing..." James said with a quick glance at her face to reassure himself. "You wanna get involved in the pranks at school, but why should I let you if you act like a scared baby?"

Al appeared to diminish into himself. His serious confidence and the touch of adultness Hermione had witnessed earlier vanished in the face of his older brother's cutting jibes. "James! But you promised! Please," he whined, his voice painfully childlike. He edged further behind Hermione. "Dad said you have to - The Cloak - The Map..."

"Just shut up! You're so annoying! Why do I have to put up with you?!" James snapped.

Hermione floundered, unsure whether it was her place to step in, or let Al defend himself. To her utmost relief she saw Harry approaching around the side of the house. She may interact with children on a daily basis, but she had no idea how to deal with the domestic and ugly rivalry of brothers. Harry, however, looked all too used to it. After a brief smile at Hermione as he walked towards them, he frowned as he took in the scene; James with his arms folded, an unpleasant sneer on his young face, and Albus, almost cowering behind Hermione as he battled tears.

"Whoa guys! What's going on here?" Harry asked. When nobody answered, he continued, "James, I thought I asked you to go and fetch your brother, not make him cry-"

"I am not crying!" Al choked from behind her, sounding very much like he was lying. Hermione lifted a hand to rub his shoulders but he shrugged her off. She let her hand fall, feeling useless.

"No, I'm sorry Al, of course you're not," Harry said, looking pained. He turned to James who looked at the floor. "Apologise to your brother."

James snapped his head up, "For what? I haven't done anything!" he said.

"For -" Harry looked at his youngest son, "Al?" But Albus just shrugged and continued to glare at the floor. Harry sighed and rubbed a hand wearily across his chin as James puffed himself back up.

The sight of him pulling a smirk that reminded Hermione a bit too much of Malfoy caused her to say, "well, James wasn't being very nice to Al -" But with that Albus leapt away from her and began to stalk up the garden path towards the house. Hermione stopped talking and winced at Harry. She mouthed an apology that he shook his head at before turning towards Al's retreating back.

"Al! I came here to tell you some of the other kids have been asking about you!" Harry called out after him. "Why don't you go find them and entertain them for a bit?" The boy faltered and looked back at them, his eyes wide, before running off.

"Did they really?" James asked his father with raised eyebrows once Albus was out of earshot.

"Yes," Harry said, resolutely. "I don't know what you're playing at James, but you treat your brother with a bit more kindness. Otherwise it will be no more sleepovers at Teddy's for the rest of the holiday. Now go catch up and play with your brother and the others."

James rolled his eyes. "I'm twelve, Dad. I don't play." But he sprinted off anyway in his brother's wake.

The two adults followed sedately behind, Harry laying an arm around Hermione's shoulders. "How are you? I feel like I haven't seen you in ages. And where on earth did this tan come from? I got the impression you hadn't left your office all month," he said, squeezing her shoulder.

Hermione grinned round at him, moving her left hand up to meet his at her shoulder and squeezing back. "Well, I may have been doing a bit of work in the garden. Oh god Harry, it's so good to see you. I'm sorry I've been rubbish lately, and I'm sorry I'm late. I'll make it up to you." She rested her head back into his shoulder and felt him hum in sympathy.

"No, no, don't worry. I know how busy you've been. I'm just relieved you've managed to pull yourself away. I've been worried about you."

Hermione laughed off his concern. This conversation was routine. "Harry, You don't need to worry about me. You know I can handle it."

"I know. It doesn't mean I like the idea of you working yourself to the ground in that school alone all summer," he frowned.

"I'm not alone, the other staff have been in." Hermione changed the subject, not wanting to endure another lecture about the importance for 'taking time for herself.' Whatever that meant. "What's up with the boys? I thought they were past all that?"

"I don't know... but they're brothers, they'll work it out," he said, though he sounded troubled.

"And what's with those decorations hanging out in plain view of your Muggle neighbours?" she added in exasperation.

"Come on, you really think I wouldn't have put at least a couple of mild Muggle repellant charms on them? Don't you trust my judgement? You know this place is practically dripping with wards like that. Anyway, if you think the decorations are bad you should see what I've got planned for later..." Harry smirked.

Hermione laughed again, more sincerely this time, feeling her troubles already begin to drop away. "Oh god, it really is so good to see you, I've got a feeling this party is just what I need..." She sighed. "Though I'm not going to drink much. You have no idea how much I've got to get done at work in the next month. Thinking about it is enough to make me feel a bit sick. And you have no idea what else I might be dealing with." She opened her mouth to tell him, feeling a sudden need to share the strange news of the letter, despite promising herself earlier not to bring it up, but Harry spoke before she could begin.

"Hermione, stop it. You are here to celebrate my birthday, which as you know is always the party of the year. No excuses, you have to be present, and you have to fucking enjoy it. Do you remember why, Miss Granger?"

This was another of their routines and so she dutifully said, "yes, Harry, to make up for all the crappy birthdays you had to endure alone, throughout your entire miserable life, I know, I know, its the same every year."

"Excellent! Ten points to Gryffindor," he said, as they rounded the back corner of the house. "Now let's find you a big drink."

Hermione attempted to heed Harry's words and push work and Malfoy to the back of her mind as she allowed herself to be led into the large leafy garden. Trees surrounded the fences on either side, effectively blocking it from view from the neighbouring houses. A mini, bouncy replica of Hogwarts was at the far end of the garden, covered in a collection of Weasley children, all screaming, shouting and seemingly flying rather than bouncing, defying the laws of gravity. There was a large unlit bonfire in the middle of the lawn, and a stage over to the left with a band starting to set up their instruments. "Yes, I have got the Whomping Willows to play, you know how it pains me to use my infamy for the greater good..." Harry sighed.

Hermione snorted. "Yes, you're a true martyr."

They arrived at a table groaning with alcohol set on the patio next to the house. "What shall it be?" he asked. "I've been taking Muggle cocktail classes as a pre-birthday present to myself. Mojito? Cosmo? Sex on the Beach?" Harry deadpanned, raising an eyebrow.

Hermione snorted again. "Please, Sex on the Beach? Try no sex for god knows how long... I'll have a hot water bottle and an Earl Grey in front of Eastenders thank you."

"Okay, an extra strong Mojito coming right up!" He turned and started pulling together a few different bottles and splashing around the lime and mint.

"Albus seemed really happy. I mean, before James came along. He was telling me all about his wand," Hermione said with a smile, watching Harry measure out a large quantity of rum.

"Oh my god, he can barely contain his excitement. Since he got his letter it's Hogwarts this, Hogwarts that. When we were on the way to Ollivander's earlier, Herm, I seriously thought he might just burst. I'm worried, though." He bit his lip and frowned as he poured in a brown syrup. Hermione, cursed with the eternal guilt of a child of dentists, ran her tongue over her teeth in anticipation of the damage. "He just seems so young! It feels too soon for him to be off to Hogwarts... And I worry that if he's not put in with James then he won't cope. Despite how it looks I know they're still devoted to each other. Deep down..."

"You don't think he's going into Gryffindor?"

"I'm not sure he will. I've got my theories."

"What? Ravenclaw?" Hermione said. Harry shook his head slightly as he picked out a few healthy sprigs of mint from the bunch. "Slytherin?"

Harry nodded. "Of course I keep telling him it doesn't matter to me or James or Gin where he goes but I can tell causing him a lot of anxiety, even if he's bottling it up. He's so desperate to be involved and accepted by his brother, Teddy and his mates. He really does worship them. I just really want him to make some of his own friends too, but he doesn't seem to be able to."

"Harry, he'll be absolutely fine, he's got a wonderful family and I'm sure he'll make friends. Well, if not, he'll have James anyway." Though Hermione was doubting even this after seeing the children's earlier exchange. "If you're that worried about Hogwarts, then at least you know you have another option!" She quipped, trying to sound light-hearted, knowing even Harry would never chose Burbage High over Hogwarts.

He seemed to sense the lack of conviction in her tone. Glancing over at her, he passed her one of the drinks with kind smile that made his eyes crinkle in warmth. "You are going to be an excellent Headmistress, Hermione. If anyone can turn that school around it's you. I'd be proud to send the boys there," he said sincerely.

Hermione felt herself flush slightly at how easily Harry could read her. But it was a comfort as well. He knew her better and more deeply than anyone.

"Let's toast to your esteemed academy of magical excellence! Burbage High! And to you, Headmistress Granger!"

Hermione laughed reluctantly and raised her glass, clinking against Harry's. She took a sip and winced. "Merlin, Harry, what is wrong with you? Do you want me to last past eight? I told you I wasn't going to drink much."

He threw his head back and laughed. "Come on, you're tougher than that." he said while scanning round the garden, eyes lingering on a tall wizard with long hair wearing heavy dragon hide boots. "Ah, I've just spotted Marv, the singer from the band... Gotta dash love, you know, got to be a good host and all that. Speak in a bit! I know you find it hard, but try to behave! We have impressionable young witches and wizards around." He gave her a wink, squeezed her arm, and started across the garden, a slight sashay in his walk.

Hermione watched as Harry gave Marv a quick pinch on the arse before going in for a kiss and a furtive drag on his cigarette, head quickly scanning the garden to make sure the boys were out of sight. She wrinkled her nose. But it was at the smoking rather than the public display of affection.

In the years since Voldemort's death Harry had changed beyond what anyone had expected. He had spectacularly unfulfilled what the public wanted of him; i.e., to remain married to the school sweetheart, raise a large Weasly-ish brood, and forge a promising career in either law enforcement or politics.

Indeed, it was what Harry himself had originally thought he wanted and it was how he had begun, before inevitably coming to the earth-shattering revelation that he only loved Ginny as a friend, and all he needed - and deserved - to do was whatever the hell he wanted. Which, as far the public could see, was not that much. Lack of ambition, disgrace to the name of Potter, waste of space, bad role model. Bad father. Just the tip of the iceberg of comments the press had dealt him and that had temporarily driven him further away from those who loved him as a result.

What Hermione knew, and that most others refused to see, was that these days Harry was fulfilling the humble yet heroic ambition of being a good father and providing a stable and loving home for his children, even if it was in a unconventional way. Hermione didn't know that much about Harry's childhood, as he barely talked about it, but she knew enough that she could understand that providing the opposite for his own children was the most important thing in the world to him. If that was not enough for his critics - those that were disappointed with how he had turned out - it was Harry's attitude that they could go fuck themselves. Hermione wholeheartedly agreed.

The witch took a longer sip on her drink and scanned the rest of the guests. There was a smattering of the usual mixture of old Hogwarts school friends and acquaintances, all dressed casually in dresses, shorts and t-shirts. In fact there were quite a few people who were dressed so well and seemed so comfortable that she was sure that they were Muggles. All were young, mostly good looking, and seemed to gravitate towards Harry.

Hermione wandered around, smiling and greeting people she knew, catching up with those she knew better and started to relax as the alcohol's familiar warmth spread through her body, small talk coming more and more easily. "Yes, I'm great thanks, work's fine thank you, how're the kids?" "No I didn't read that article." "Yes I heard about the Muggle attacks in Slovenia, I know, it is worrying, yes, lovely to see you too."

During a refill back at the drinks table she found herself chatting with an immaculately dressed man in his late twenties. She widened her eyes at his admission that he worked in fashion P.R. "Oh, how do I know Harry? Well, everyone knows him! Met him I think one night at Fabric. You know, the club?" he stated with an unimpressed look at her blank one. "Well anyway, Harry throws the best parties, even though usually I can barely remember any of it!" he laughed breezily. "I mean, the flashbacks I get are all quite strange, but I guess that's to be expected anyway!"

Hermione wasn't sure what he meant by this so kept quiet. His face took on a dreamy look as he gazed over at her best friend. Hermione recognised the telltale swish and flick of Harry's wand and widened her eyes as Marv's drink floated over to pour itself into Harry's awaiting mouth. Hermione cleared her throat, unsure whether she should be outright panicking at the magic Harry was so carelessly performing in front of Muggles. Apparently, this particular Muggle didn't even seem phased. "Oh, what was I saying? Yeah, crazy shit usually happens, but that's just Harry!" She frowned, deciding to file away this blind acceptance of magic for examination later on (once she could corner the host), and laughed along uneasily.

A moment later, Hermione's eyes lit up at the flash of red hair and loud, flirtatious laugh of Ginny Potter. She said goodbye to Mr Fashion P.R. and made her way over, coming up behind her other best friend. Ginny was holding hands and leaning in to talk to her boyfriend, Dominic. An image of Richard from 'Friends' suddenly swam to mind. He was in his early 40s and was channeling the same very grown up look, a complete contrast to most of the people at the party. She stepped round and cleared her throat, suddenly feeling a bit uncomfortable at interrupting. But Ginny's resulting warm greeting and embrace were comfortingly reassuring.

The conversation soon predictably turned to the children. Hermione loved her friends to death, but she did sometimes wish they could talk about other things. As with Harry, Ginny's concern lay with Al.

"I just want him to be happy. I mean, maybe he is? You know how Harry is - so protective of them both... I'm hoping that he's just overreacting. Al will be fine," she said, speaking more to herself than Hermione.

Dominic put his hand gently on Ginny's shoulder. "Of course he'll be okay. He just needs toughening up a bit," he said brusquely, glancing around the garden at the smattering of toys and games lying around on the grass. "Of course you've done a fantastic job, darling," he added to Ginny, "but you haven't been the only one bringing them up."

Hermione frowned at this. "Harry is an excellent father, Dominic," she said, feeling a bit defensive for her best friend.

"I'm not saying he isn't! Just that maybe the boys have been allowed to get away with quite a bit here and he does tend to give into their every whim doesn't he?" He raised his hands in mock defence as the two women opened their mouths to argue. "I know, I know, Harry obviously loves them, but maybe this kind of instability isn't healthy in a child's life." He pointedly looked over to where Harry was stretched in the grass with his head on the lap of Marv the singer. Albus was sat chattering away with them, still clutching his wand, causing a smattering of sparks to fly out every time he got to an exciting part of the story and gesticulated.

"Oh, Harry," Ginny said to herself with a sigh. "I told him to make sure he encouraged Albus to try and make and play with some children his own age today. He finds it so hard to make friends..."

"Well more to the point, do you really think it's wise to parade casual relationships in front of your children? What kind of example does that send? Every time the boys come back to yours, Gin, they're talking about a different Tom, Dick or... Henry."

"Dom, we decided that we were not going to have this discussion today. And don't you think that's slightly hypocritical?" Ginny said with a frown and a nervous look around them for anyone who may have heard.

Dominic looked like he wanted to say something else on the subject but Hermione spoke before he could get it in. She liked Ginny's choice in partner but the conclusions that he was drawing from his limited exposure to Harry's lifestyle were starting to grate on her and she had to stop herself from snapping at him. Suddenly all Hermione wanted was to catch up with her friend, alone. There was one trick she could use that was guaranteed to achieve this. The redhead was a massive gossip. "Ginny, you'll never guess what I have to tell you!" she said, looking pointedly at Dominic.

Ginny's eyes widened in understanding. "Dom love, do you think you could go and get me another drink? Get one for Hermione too, thanks," she requested dismissively.

Waiting for him to be out of hearing range, Hermione launched straight in. "What was that about? Is everything alright with you?"

"Yeah, yeah it's fine. He's just so normal that anything a bit unusual alarms him quite a bit. He'll come round." Ginny trailed off as Harry came sauntering over.

"Ginny! My favourite ex-wife! So lovely to see you!" he said, beaming at her.

"Harry, I've been with you all day, for goodness sake!" she said, grinning back.

"Ah yes, of course. And how is your hunk of a man doing?"

"What do you want?" she asked, eyebrows raised.

"Nothing! Well I was wondering what time you were thinking of taking the boys back to yours...?"

"Getting bored of the child friendly entertainment already?"

"No! I just need to plan my evening, that's all."

"Hmm, right, well I dunno, maybe around eleven-ish?" Ginny laughed at his dismayed expression. "No, we were thinking around nine. Let them watch some of the band and enjoy the fire. Now Hermione was just about to tell me something before you waltzed over..."

Hermione raised her eyebrows at the two expectant faces turned towards her. Her triumph over getting rid of Dominic died as she realised she would now actually have to deliver the promised gossip. Her mind automatically strayed back to Malfoy. She couldn't, could she?

"Well, actually now I'm thinking about it, you know it was be very unprofessional for me to give out this information..." She laughed, the rum already affecting her, as her two friends turned to each other in exaggerated disbelief.

"Please tell us Hermione? I know you'll tell me later anyway. So you may as well just tell us now?" Ginny wheedled.

Hermione sipped her drink and thought about that letter. Its implications didn't seem so sinister and mysterious here in the sunshine in Harry's garden, happily buzzing off the feelings of goodwill and drink. They would know eventually anyway, and even thinking about sharing the secret in this happy setting somehow lessened its gravitas. In fact, why should Malfoy's writing make her feel like it had? She should be able to tell whoever she wanted.

Hermione took a deep breath and leaned in to whisper, feeling reckless. "Fine. Okay. Guess who is signed up to start at Burbage High this September the 1st...?" She paused for dramatic affect. "Scorpius Malfoy!" She took a long sip on her drink and waited for their reactions.

"What the fuck?" It was Harry who broke the dumbstruck silence. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure. Malfoy accepted the place last week." They both continued to gape so she added, "It was certainly his handwriting, and he still uses Slytherin ink."

"What? Hermione, you remember his -" Harry shook his head, finally lowering his drink from where it had frozen on route to his mouth. "I don't understand, "Malfoy? Draco Malfoy?" He repeated, though they both knew there was only the one left. "And you've kept this quiet all week?"

Hermione shrugged. "Well, I've been trying to work it out myself."

"And? What have you decided? That he's for real?"

"Well yeah," Hermione said. Harry looked at Ginny, his expression pleading for backup in judging Hermione's level of insanity. "Well nothing else makes sense, Harry," Hermione added, irritated. "You remember what he was like. He wouldn't be doing this if he didn't have to."

"But what the hell is he doing sending his kid to your school instead of Hogwarts?"

"Well that's what I don't know."

Harry shook his head and gave a short, dry laugh. "Draco Malfoy. I bet you thought he'd be the last person you'd have to deal with when you accepted the job."

"Yeah. Well I hadn't given him any thought at all. I forgot he had a son Al's age."

"I hadn't. How disappointing. I've been planning their rivalry all summer. Sowing the seeds of inter-house distrust, warning him against befriending anyone with unnaturally pale hair and a pointy face."

"Harry," Ginny said, rolling her eyes. Harry grinned.

"Well, I'm meeting them on Monday, on the open day," Hermione said. "I'll find out then if this is for real - if he's being serious. I can't wait."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "What, to meet Malfoy, or his son?" he said.

But before Hermione could answer, Ginny turned to Harry, her expression incredulous. "Why would she want to meet Malfoy? How can you joke about this? He's dangerous, he was a Death Eater." Hermione looked down into her drink, fiddling with the straw, immediately feeling scolded. Molly Weasley came out in her daughter at the most inopportune moments. "Hasn't he been in Azkaban for years?" Ginny went on. "He's probably as insane as his aunt was. Nothing good will come from this. If it's not all some kind of joke anyway. I know you both were on a crusade for his innocence-"

"I never thought he was that," Harry said, but Ginny spoke over him.

"Harry, he lived with You-Know-Who-"

"Voldemort," Harry said under his breath, and was as usual, ignored.

"-God knows what kind of Dark Magic he learnt and used. Harry, you weren't there, during that year at school. He did things, they all did, to us, to the other students, children-"

"They were made to, I thought the Carrows forced them-"

"I didn't! Seamus and Neville didn't!" Ginny's voice was becoming shrill and Hermione took a deep drink from her glass. "He'd have turned us in if he found us outside the Room, killed us if he'd had the chance."

"Ginny, you don't know that. In fact, we all know that he didn't."

"Oh yes, your big escape from Malfoy Manor. We all know that story, and it worked. You both managed to get his sentence reduced. But do you know what I'd seen him do just days before? To a second year Hufflepuff girl?"

"Ginny," Harry said gently, laying a hand on her elbow. She shook her head but didn't say anything. She pursed her lips and looked into the distance beyond Hermione's head. "Malfoy paid for what he did. He went to Azkaban, he turned himself in. How many Death Eaters did that? Especially after sucessfully evading capture for two years. People do change," Harry said. "I mean last time I saw Malfoy was at his trial... He was completely different. He'd had a baby at what, nineteen, twenty?"

"Honestly? How can you defend him, Harry?" Ginny snapped. "Anyone can have unprotected sex. It doesn't automatically make them into a good person. Just an idiot."

Harry dropped his hand and took a long drink rather than reply. There was a brutally awkward silence.

"Ginny, he's not defending Malfoy," Hermione finally said, after Ginny refused to look up from her drink. "But he's saying that people might not always be how they seem. And people do change. Of course Malfoy committed those crimes, and maybe ones we're not aware of, but he did pay for them. How can we judge him for maybe wanting a fresh start for his son?"

Speaking those naive hopes out loud seemed to give them strength. With Harry's resultant nod Hermione didn't feel as foolish as she had done when she had wrestled with the idea in solitude.

"You know his wife died?" Ginny said with a low voice. She glanced up at Hermione, who despite wanting to role her eyes at Ginny's hypocrisy, couldn't help but lean in closer. "Astoria, she was in my year at school."

"While he was in Azkaban?" she asked.

"Yeah, when he got out he took custody of the kid off her parents."

Harry snorted and Hermione caught the word, unbelievable, muttered under his breath.

Ginny carried on as if she hadn't heard. "I don't know much, but I've got the impression it was a bit messy. After that they disappeared."

Dominic arrived back at that point, Harry slunk away and the topic of the Malfoys was quickly dropped. But Hermione couldn't help but dwell on one point. In all the furore over Draco, she had failed to think about his son. And as she pieced together what Ginny said with what she knew, the picture she started to make of his childhood was not a happy one. If he really was to be a student at her school, then it simply didn't matter what his father had done, or whether or not he had really changed. Making sure Scorpius had the best possible experience was her priority, especially if his life up to that point had been so unstable.

The rest of the night passed by in a blur of Mojitos, dancing, and laughter. Hermione felt as if a real weight had been lifted from her shoulders with her admission, despite Ginny's reaction, and for the first time that summer found herself having fun. Things were good. The letter didn't mean anything, she was on track for the new term, her preparations and changes were in motion, she was exactly where she wanted to be. Hermione found herself back with Mr Fashion P.R. at some point and may have even shared a tentative kiss in front of the roaring magical fire that had flared and danced to life a couple of hours hence. They lay back into a large bean bag and watched the flickers of coloured light leap into the night's sky, the tendrils forming the shapes of prancing animals and swooping birds in a beautiful, harmless echo of Fiendfire.

At some point, a hissed conversation taking place behind them stirred Hermione's giddy high. "Don't be ridiculous. We may be broke but send him to Burbage High?" Hermione stopped giggling abruptly and dragged her neck away from Fashion's nibbling lips. The answer was murmured too quietly for Hermione to hear, but she thought it must have been a warning as when the man replied his whisper was more controlled. But Hermione was listening now, her body rigid. She waved away Fashion's concern, tilting her ear towards the couple behind. "What, I don't care if she's here. She can't hear me. Can you see her?" There was a pause. "I'm sorry, but I'd rather do it myself. You'd run that risk?

"Darling," it was a women, the man's wife presumably. She'd raised her voice though Hermione failed to place it. "Please calm down, it's not too bad there. We just can't afford-"

"You know what they say?" He interrupted, "that they're just churning out Muggles that can do a few crap charms." His wife was attempting to quieten him again, but Hermione still caught the last part, hissed with awful derision. "Granger might have plans but they won't last five minutes."

It was enough. Hermione staggered up, wavering on that hysterical line between anger and tears, not daring to look round at who it was, not wanting them to know she had heard. It was the same spiteful argument that she had heard time and time again against the school, though it was the first time her own name had been dragged in.

Hermione wove her way through the couples sprawled around in the grass and began to search for Harry. She found him eventually still dancing away with Marv, but with one look at her crumpled face he took her hand and led her away from the music. "Hey, what's up? Too much excitement for one day?"

She dredged up a weak smile and rubbed her eyes, knowing she was smudging the mascara. They found a lone deckchair in the dark shadows of the trees at the far end of the lawn and sank down on it sideways, their thighs touching. The air was fresh and smelt of cut grass and dew this far from the fire. Hermione breathed in deeply, feeling the cold reach deep in her lungs, leant back and gazed upwards. The night was clear, the moon was a crescent, Jupiter was overhead, the Andromeda Galaxy - there was a click of a box, a rustle of paper, a flare of light, the sound of inhalation. Hermione swung her head back down the moment the smell of burning tobacco hit.

"Harry! Please don't smoke in front of me! You know I hate it." Hermione tried to reach for the cigarette, swiping at Harry's face as he leant back, the glowing orange tip just evading her fingers.

He shrugged, inhaling again. "It's a one off. You'll survive."

"You won't." she said. "Besides, it's disgusting."

He tilted his head, blowing smoke into the sky. "It's my birthday. I can do what I want."

"You're thirty-two not twenty-two."

"Thanks for the reminder."

She snorted. "You ruined my moment."

"Sorry." Hermione could hear his smile. "But it's my birthday."

Hermione hiccuped a little, glaring at the glowing tip of the cigarette as it danced about in the darkness, presumably floating on a route towards Harry's mouth. But after a few moments she realised he couldn't see her, it was too dark, so she gave up on him and her appreciation of nature and twisted round to face the house instead. They watched the distant fire in silence, watched the couples in eachother's arms, their laughs and shouts sounding quiet and far away. The music changed, the chiaroscuro figures began to dance with slow, strange movements as their shadows darted and swooped like marionettes before the flames. It was like observing a ritual.

The sight filled Hermion with a strange melancholy. She'd read up on ritualistic magic years ago, it was classified as Dark, but she personally thought that was a generalisation. Not that she'd ever practice it of course. Or allow herself to get swept away on currents of Wild Magic. Or hand over control of her body to the irrational part of her brain, the way the dancers were, shaking and spinning and twisting. She was numb in comparison, emotionally stunted, a shell -

"Hermione," Harry said, squeezing her elbow. He'd wrapped his arm around her waist. She hadn't noticed.

"Mmm?" She nestled into Harry's side, her hands finding goosebumps on her arms.

"Are you ok? You keep going all silent on me."

"Why can't I dance like them?"

He laughed. "You were about half an hour ago."

So she had been. "Oh."

Harry laughed again, resting his head against her shoulder. "You're such a sad drunk."

"I am not sad."

"What's on your mind?"

Hermione heaved an enormous sigh. Maybe she was a little sad. But those people, that man. How could she not be? They just didn't understand, didn't get the point. She told Harry exactly that.

"What point?" Harry asked after a pause.

"You know what point! Burbage High is doing something so important. We're encouraging the next generation of witches and wizards to be tolerant, liberal and unprejudiced. We're giving people real choices with their futures. We're keeping together the families of Muggle-borns and not alienating them from their magical children!"

She thought of her own parents and their irrevocably damaged relationship and found herself teetering towards tears again. Damaged not only from the measures she took to protect them during the war, but also from before that, when magic seemed to give her an inmate sense of superiority that she was not even conscious of having. "Harry, you know what the point is."

"Of course I do. Was this what happened then? Someone get too drunk and forget whose party they were at?"

Hermione nodded, but then said, "yes," when she remembered again that Harry couldn't see her.

He sighed and the light of his cigarette dropped to the ground and vanished. "You can't listen to what other people say, you know that." Hermione's felt his hands, warm and big enclose around hers. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled them both back into the chair so she was lying in the crook of his arm, her head on his chest. He smelt of smoke, both bonfire and cigarette so Hermione pushed her face into the cotton of his shirt and breathed in until she caught it - his own smell. Finding solace, Hermione felt the threat of tears begin to withdraw. "So much has changed in the past fourteen years that people have begun to get scared," Harry went on, his voice deep and soft where it rumbled through his chest into her ear. "That's just the older generation though. We all know, and more importantly, the kids you are teaching will know. I know." He wasn't making much sense, the alcohol both muddying and crystallising their trains of thought, but Hermione understood.

"Thanks Harry." She squeezed his hands, hugged closer into his warmth and closed her eyes as the garden spun around them.