The House That Cedric Built

March 1, 2018: This is my mum and dad

"Look, they may not even be there," said Astoria, brushing her hair at the mirror. "The Potters certainly won't; they had nothing to do with Diggory House. And who knows, Ron may be busy as well." She tsk'd at him as she met his eyes in the mirror. "I swear, Scorpius wasn't this recalcitrant when he was a toddler."

"He was," said Draco, doing up his cufflinks. "If you wanted to get him to do something he really, really didn't want to do."

"You agreed to be involved," said Astoria. "And you should be setting a good example for him." She set the brush down and murmured a spell to keep her hair out of her face while still allowing it to flow down loosely in a smooth chestnut mass.

"Well he's not here now, is he?" asked Draco, admiring the effect.

Astoria turned. "You will behave when we get there, won't you?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Yes. Of course." He finished straightening his tie, drew his cloak around himself, and took Astoria's arm.

They Apparated outside the gates of Hogwarts and were soon ushered into a Great Hall bustling with people of all ages. Draco glanced around curiously, pleased that the Hall didn't look crowded despite having all four tables filled, the teacher's table, and the Diggory table expanded to fit almost seventy people, including the current group of Diggorys.

Somehow, even after all this time, it never seemed quite right to use Diggory's name the way one used Slytherin's, Gryffindor's, Ravenclaw's and Hufflepuff's. Salazar, Godric, Rowena and Helga had been dead over a thousand years; Cedric less than thirty. Draco could still remember the boy, still picture him smiling and serious and confident and scared and triumphant and dead. When he'd been in eighth year, he and his housemates had been called the "members of Diggory House." Not "Diggorys", as if they were clones of Cedric.

The people holding the name now had never had a chance to know him at all. There were twelve of them this year, and the only one who had even been alive before Cedric Diggory died had come from New Zealand.

Draco and Astoria approached the Diggory table, and Astoria smiled warmly at Hermione as she spotted her.

"Hermione! I'm so glad to see you here!" she said, and they hugged.

"It's exciting, isn't it?" said Hermione. "Hello, Draco," she said happily, and gave Draco a peck on the cheek. "It's so wonderful that you're here. I did tell you we'd win in the end, didn't I?"

Draco rolled his eyes, but couldn't help smiling back at her. "Yes, you did. You were right."

Hermione's eyebrows went up. "I'm... not sure I heard you right," she said. "Sorry, could you say that a little louder?"

"You were right," he repeated patiently.

"I'm going to have to write that in my calendar," she said to Astoria, who laughed. "Oh, Ron," she said, and stepped aside. "See, I told you Draco and Astoria would come."

Weasley gave Astoria a polite smile, and Draco a forced one.

"Good to see you," he said, and somehow managed to direct his words at Astoria only.

"Likewise," she said. "Have you gone to see the kids yet?" She looked in the direction of the Ravenclaw table, but it was impossible to see anybody through the crowd.

"No, we just got here," said Hermione. "I'd like to see Rose before the speeches start, though. I must admit I probably wouldn't be here if it weren't for the opportunity to see her." She smiled at Draco and Astoria. "Shall we go, then?"

Draco found himself exchanging a mildly annoyed look with Weasley, because yes, of course he wanted to visit with his son. And he had no objection to meeting Scorpius' little friend Rose. But having Rose's father right there...

He was struck by the thought that Weasley was probably thinking the exact same thing.

They made their way through the crowd milling about the Diggory table, and Draco quickly spotted his son's white-blond hair, right next to a fiery bushy head that could only belong to Rose Weasley. Both were beaming at their parents, hardly able to sit still, and Draco felt his own face break into a grin that only his son's bright smile could provoke.

As they passed the Gryffindor table and Draco suddenly recognized Albus Potter, Harry and Ginny's son, talking animatedly with some other boys and moving his hands around - most probably recounting some mad Quidditch move. He really was a younger version of his father, thought Draco. He hadn't really noticed it at King's Cross last September, but the resemblance was uncanny. Much like the resemblance between himself and Scorpius. And thank God Scorpius had no use whatsoever for Albus Potter. Not only was he a Gryffindor and "therefore probably too thick to do up his own shirt buttons" according to Scorpius, but he was obsessed with Potions and Quidditch and had no use for anything Scorpius was interested in.

His son and Potter's, who could have carried on the childhood rivalry between the two of them into the next generation if they had chosen to, not only had no hatred for each other; they didn't even register one another's presence.

"Rose!" cried out Hermione, and hugged her daughter close for a moment before Weasley picked them both up, sweeping them around in a circle and making them both laugh and Hermione protest, "Ron! Put me down! For heaven's sake!"

Draco shook Scorpius' hand warmly, and both of them ignored Astoria's discreet wiping of her eyes. Scorpius was jiggling with excitement and despite the lack of decorum Draco couldn't help grinning at his enthusiasm.

"Did you see the Diggory table?" said Scorpius. "It's huge! I didn't know there were so many of you!"

"Well it does also include spouses--" Draco began.

"Father! This is Rose!" interrupted Scorpius, obviously not interested. "And this is Patsy! And this is Wendy! And this is Philip! This is my mum and dad!"

"Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy," came a chorus of children's voices, and Draco smiled at their open, friendly faces.

"But you already know Patsy from Christmas," said Scorpius. "Did Tiggy come tonight?"

"No, she couldn't," said Draco. "She's not feeling well right now. She did ask us to bring you this, though." He pulled out a box of home-made Honey Ducks, their quiet quacking hardly noticeable in the din of the huge, crowded room.

"Brilliant!" Scorpius said, and turned to his friends. "I'll share them when we get back to the dorm, yeah?"

"Ladies and gentlemen," the Headmaster's voice amplified floated over the large room, "if you can all take your seats, we shall begin our dinner."

"We'll see you after dinner, Scorpius," said Astoria, and the four of them headed back to their table.

*********

March 1, 1999: Which brother is that, Draco?

Draco wrinkled his nose in distaste. Grang - Hermione was glowing and he was, he supposed, glad for her sake that Weasley had come to visit her on his birthday, but he couldn't help feeling impatient and eager for the visit to end. He glanced at his watch and sighed. Supposedly Weasley and Hermione would be going to Hogsmeade for a birthday date after dinner, but dinner time was far, far away and until then Weasley looked good to stay put, his arse firmly planted on the maroon loveseat that had been Diggory House's latest acquisition, with an uncharacteristically giggling Hermione on his lap. Around them, the other former Gryffindor boys were sitting and reminiscing about old times, asking Weasley about Auror training, some of the younger students were staring at Weasley in fascination, and Draco wanted nothing more than to escape to the library. Except that Astoria was here, and he hadn't seen her much lately. And she didn't look like she was going to clear off any time soon either as she listened in what looked like rapt attention to Weasley's story about the centaur and the banshee that the Auror Trainees had been sent to practice with - and who had apparently accidentally damaged Potter. Which was probably the first time Draco had felt anything like sympathy towards either species.

Draco didn't mind not really being part of the group. He'd only exchanged a handful of words with Weasley when Weasley had arrived and said "So, you're staying here too, then?" with awkward politeness.

"Yes," Draco had said.

"D'you like it?"

"It's all right," Draco had said.

Weasley was older now, Draco realized. Not that all of them weren't, but Weasley was out there doing things, getting on with grown-up life, for all that he was studying too. And he was serious, now. A lot more serious than he had been in school. Draco watched the faces of the people around them, comparing what he remembered to what he saw now.

They'd all aged. Sometime during the year that Thomas was on the run, then imprisoned, then hiding with the Order, he'd grown up. Neville, Goldstein, Finnigan, Ernie - they'd all endured torture and risked their lives and fought and come out men, not boys. Hermione too, was no longer a schoolgirl. She might be a student, but she was a woman who had endured and accomplished the almost impossible, and when he saw her and Weasley together, so happy to be together and acting silly, it made him wonder when he had lost his own childhood and if the change had been as visible on him as it was on the Gryffindors.

He turned to his Muggle Studies homework, plunging into the nigh-incomprehensible morass of Muggle politics. He had learned that the Muggle's equivalent of Minister For Magic was called a Prime Minister, the current one was named Tony Blair, the only female one had been Margery Thatcher, and the Muggle Wizengamot consisted of parties, which were a bit like Houses, but for adults. And they Sorted themselves, apparently. And although he'd read up on all of them, and memorized the most popular ones, and had decided Labour was the closest to Hufflepuff he could see, for the life of him he could not figure out which of the Conservative and Liberal Democrats was Gryffindor and which was Ravenclaw. Or why on earth any self-respecting wizard would need to know any of this.

He was musing on a few unfortunate similarities between the British National Party and Slytherin House when a general rustle of movement broke his concentration.

"All right, then, let's go," Weasley was saying, and the other older students stood up too.

"Draco, are you coming to the Great Hall?" said Hermione.

"What?" Weasley turned to her, baffled. "Why would you ask Malf--"

"The invitation was for all of Diggory House, Ron, remember?" Hermione said through a slightly strained smile. "Draco is part of that."

"No, that's all right," said Draco hastily. "I have... I have a paper to write for Mug- I mean, for Arithmancy."

Weasley looked relieved, though probably not nearly as Draco was himself. He paused for a moment, watching the others get ready to go, then made himself approach Weasley and speak to him as the others bustled about.

"Weasley," he said, his voice low, "I... I never told you, by the way." Draco took a deep breath. "I'm sorry about your brother."

Weasley's eyes widened slightly, then narrowed and his lips pressed together. "Really?" he said, and his voice was loud enough that the others looked towards them. "Which brother is that, Draco? The one in the ground? Or the one whose face looks like mincemeat?" Draco blinked, startled, and Hermione's mouth fell into an O and she covered it with one hand. "Or is it the one who spent Christmas on the suicide ward, and then got to read all about it in the papers when he came out?" Draco stepped back, not sure whether Weasley was about to punch him or not, but Weasley was strangely calm. "Oh, sorry, that's old news. You must have read the new stories from your friend Skeeter - d'you mean the one who feels so guilty about leaving the family that he's developed a bit of an alcohol problem, and can't get a job to save his life? Or the one who's too scared to go near a dragon now and is working at Gringott's and living at home again?"

"Those stories were true?" Draco asked stupidly, and Weasley sneered at him.

"Bloody hell, Weasley," said Astoria. "I hadn't even heard about the drinking thing." Weasley looked at her, startled. Her face reflected pity, and profound distaste. "Skeeter was all over that one, was she?"

"Yeah. Surprised you didn't read it."

Astoria's lip curled. "After reading the tripe she wrote about Dumbledore? Not that I was the man's biggest fan, sorry to say, but that rubbish was only good for--"

"You didn't like Dumbledore?"

Astoria looked uncomfortable. "I... sorry. Don't mean to speak ill of the dead."

Weasley gazed at her thoughtfully. "No, I don't suppose Slytherins would be that appreciative of him."

"It wasn't really a Slytherin thing... not really." She cleared her throat. "He was very powerful, though. And he meant to do good. I think it's... overly high expectations. And it's easy to feel resentment towards him. Forget it."

Weasley nodded slowly.

"And your brother Charlie, he can't work with dragons any more?"

"No," said Weasley.

"God, that's terrible. He was amazing."

"How do you know what Charlie was like?"

"Our cousin Elenora... had a sort of a crush on your brother," she said, embarrassed.

"A crush on a Gryffindor?"

"Are you joking? Charlie Weasley, the Quidditch captain who went to work with dragons. It's not that hard to believe. He really can't do that any more?"

Weasley shook his head. "He could, but... he was hit with a fire hex during the battle. Not Fiendfyre, but close. And he saw two Death Eaters get incinerated in front of him. He's afraid of fire, now. Plus he'd be away from the family, and..." he closed his mouth. "And it's private," he said, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"Right. Yeah. Sorry," said Astoria quickly. "I didn't mean to... right, I'll shut up now." She cleared her throat awkwardly. "I just... I only wanted to say I'm sorry."

She turned and left, leaving Weasley staring after her.

*********

March 1, 2018: Grit and determination

The speeches were over, the visits were done, and the children had gone to bed still buzzing with excitement. It had been wonderful meeting Scorpius' friends and seeing that although he wasn't hugely popular (a little too jittery, apparently) he had found at least some other children who seemed to understand and appreciate him.

Less wonderful had been spotting the signs of subtle disapproval that Scorpius didn't notice. Some of the older students at the Ravenclaw table, who nudged and whispered to each other when they saw Draco and Astoria. Some of the other former members of Diggory House, who had also come in order to visit with their children, who'd nodded coolly at Draco, then looked with distrust at Scorpius and whispered to their children things Draco didn't want to imagine.

Raising a child in the wizarding world was such a tricky thing. Until age eleven, most were home schooled and never exposed to anybody their parents found objectionable in any way... and then they were suddenly thrown into a foreign environment and expected to sink or swim among people their parents had never even met.

He and Astoria had raised Scorpius to be happy and secure and free of prejudice. They had carefully kept him away from anybody who might have taught him the bigotry that both of their families had espoused for generations. Draco still had to suppress the instinctive revulsion against Muggles and Muggle-borns that he'd been raised with, no matter how much he respected, admired, and even cared about various Muggle-borns and, by extension, their families. He had vowed that Scorpius would be exposed to none of that. He had even refused to allow Narcissa to be around him when he had overheard her making disparaging remarks about Muggle-borns near Scorpius, until she had promised to never do so again. And they had explained to him that both of their families had espoused some objectionable beliefs, that some people still resented them for that, and that that resentment was not Scorpius' fault.

And then they'd sent him here.

Draco sat alone at the Ravenclaw table, nursing a Butterbeer, and gazed out over the Great Hall, where small knots of people here and there were getting ready to go. Not all the members of his year at Diggory had shown up; only himself, Hermione, Neville of course (sitting at the Diggory table and not the teachers' table, to his students' amusement), Hannah, Millicent, and Ernie. The rest were from other years. There were so many of them...

And so many of them still didn't trust him. His own housemates. There was still that slight chill in the air when they spoke to him.

"Glad we came?" asked Astoria, breaking into his reverie and sitting down near him.

"It was nice to see Scorpius," said Draco.

"It was nice," said Hermione, sitting down as well. "And I'm sure there'll be some good press for Diggory House. Did you notice the Prophet photographer?"

"It was just a small dinner celebration," said Draco. "Besides, the larger story has already been over-hyped."

Weasley snorted, joining them and putting an arm around Hermione, who leaned back against him. "Couldn't not be over-hyped," he said. "A former Slytherin made Minister For Magic? That's the first time in... well, since before Voldemort, that's certain."

"Since 1956," Draco informed him. "Slytherins prefer to be the power behind the throne. Besides, you'll notice she chose to do her inaugural dinner here, and like this," he waved a hand at the Great Hall. "Nicely done. Homey, familiar, and surrounded by children. And no doubt hoping to make people identify her more with Diggory House than Slytherin."

"Whyever she did it, it's good press for Diggory," said Hermione. "People are already very excited about the museum exhibit. And the book."

"As excited as anyone can be over a museum," said Draco.

"Didn't you see the advert in The Prophet? It's being hailed as a tribute to 'how the wizarding world not only healed its wounds, but came together to build a shining future, united in peace.'"

"Ugh," Draco grimaced. "A Hufflepuff came up with that slogan."

"That doesn't make it less true," said Astoria.

"And it's due in part to you," said Hermione.

Draco rolled his eyes.

"It is." Astoria shook her head. "We helped build this. What we did mattered. We didn't build it through political intrigue and power games. We did it on grit and determination and accepting that we were wrong. Apologizing and atoning. That's what mattered. That we went forward, instead of back. Why can't you value that?"

"It's just a House," said Draco.

"The Fifth House, Draco. Do you know how many important wizards and witches now are former members of your House?"

"Well obviously the new Minister For Magic," said Draco. "And the Headmaster, which is why he let this happen here."

"And that's an accomplishment to be proud of," said Hermione earnestly. "Because all the holding hands in the world would not have mattered a damn if you hadn't been there too. If the old money had just sat and sulked, or fled to wherever and started their pureblooded shit somewhere else."

"Some did," Draco pointed out.

"A lot didn't," said Weasley. "Because of you."

Draco blinked.

"Because you helped them see they could still be part of a school, or a House, or society in general," said Hermione. "And you should be proud of what you've done." She paused. "Speaking of which, have you done your interview yet?"

"No. Doing it in a few weeks."

"I'm so glad. It wouldn't be the full story without you."

*********

March 1, 1999: You can't always be perfect

Astoria walked out of the common room, and hurried down the corridor. Draco went after her.

"Astoria! Wait!"

"What?" she said, turning around.

"Are you all right?"

She scowled at him. "I just told Ron Weasley, one of the heroes of the war, that Saint Dumbledore was an idiot. Do you think I'm all right? Why the fuck did I do that?!"

"Because he was?"

Astoria gave him an impatient look. "I know better than that!" she raged at herself. "What is the matter with me?"

"You're tired of saying everything they believe is right."

"But I believe it--"

"Not all of it. Dumbledore may have been a great wizard but he was also barmy as a bat and you shouldn't be scared to say so."

"Oh, grow up and live in the real world, Draco!" Astoria shouted at him. "People like us cannot afford that type of attitude!"

"I thought you were being pretty diplomatic, to be honest," he said.

"I wasn't," she snapped. "I let down my guard, and I shouldn't have."

"You don't have to keep your guard up all the time!" he shot back. "You can't always be perfect!"

"I have to be! I told you that!"

"And that's rubbish!"

"People are looking at me, Draco! They watch me for every misstep--"

"Get over yourself! People don't care that much!"

"Oh really? I should take my cue from you, then? The school pariah whose own House doesn't want him?"

Draco stepped back, literally speechless for a moment.

Astoria covered her mouth with her hand in horror. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I... I didn't mean that."

"Yes, you did," he said.

"I didn't - that was true before, but not now, you know you have friends in your House--" she reached out for him and he stepped back.

"Get away from me," he said coldly. He turned on his heel and started to leave. No idea where he was going, really, only that he wanted it to be far away from her.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" she said, and there were sobs between her words. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't... I'm sorry."

Draco stopped and turned around. Tears were streaming down her face, and she was staring at the ground. "You're... you're the only person I don't have to watch myself around," she said. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."

He hesitated, then slowly made his way back to her, and glanced down the corridor. Nobody there. He reached out to her and she came into his arms, and tried to stifle her sobs. He patted her back awkwardly, and wondered how he could help at all. She'd been holding in so much all year, and it was starting to show. She'd driven herself harder than anybody should, and...

He held her, not knowing whether what he was doing was any help at all.

Finally she sniffled, getting control of herself once more. "I'm sorry," she repeated quietly.

"It's all right," he said. And didn't know what else to say.

She looked up at him, and then as if it was the most natural thing in the world, he wiped away her tears. And she smiled hesitantly, then glanced down at his lips.

The atmosphere suddenly felt very, very different.

And then, without a warning, she kissed him.

*********

April 3, 2018: Dear Father

Dear Father:

Thank you for your letter of last week. It's always good to hear from you.

We're doing fairly well so far this year. Scorpius is doing relatively well at school. In answer to your question, yes, in addition to getting good marks he has also made many good friends in Ravenclaw, among them Wendy Nott, Filomena Carewe, Rose Weasley, Jonathan Eddings, and Patsy Nicholson. No, we don't know why he mostly has friends among the girls. He has reported two incidents of unpleasantness due to his family name, but seems to be genuinely enjoying his year so far, and is mostly unconcerned with the two incidents.

Mother has been in poor health this year but it has mostly consisted of minor illnesses, nothing alarming. She is quite pleased to think that you will be home by next year. Thank you, again, for agreeing to the procedure suggested by the Healer.

Astoria and I are keeping busy. The family investments take up a great deal of my time, and Astoria continues to do work with various charities. We do not have a terribly full social life, but are content with our hobbies. Astoria has taken up Charmed Needlework, and I have been redesigning the hedges with the help of Anderson's Garden Services. You recall I invested in them when Anderson left Hogwarts a few years ago and began his business. He has now grown quite profitable, was featured in Beautiful Home Witchcraft Magazine last month, and wished to thank me for my help by doing all of our gardens for free.

We look forward to your next letter, and to having you home next year.

Yours,

Draco

*********

April 3, 1999: Enough is enough

"All I know is if Hannah doesn't take care, she's going to get hurt," Astoria was saying in the corridor one day as she and Draco headed for the Great Hall. "Devlin Pierce is dangerous, Draco. You know how he ranted about Muggle-borns last year. And now he's sniffing her out like a dog in heat. It's frightening."

"He could've changed his mind," said Draco without much confidence.

Astoria shook her head. "He hasn't. He's sick, Draco. The only reason he didn't end up in Azkaban too was that he was only fifteen. But he's sixteen now, he's angry and he's bitter and he's heard that Hannah'll give it up for anything with a prick and he's... he's almost stalking her. And he's got nothing at all to lose. His family's all already in Azkaban, both parents and his older sister, he's failing all of his courses..."

Draco shuddered. Pretty, trusting, reckless, slutty little Hannah Abbott, in the hands of Devlin Pierce, was an alarming thought. He absently stepped aside for one of the more belligerent fourth-year Hufflepuffs, Bruce Hexley, who'd grown gangly and awkward and righteously violent since the war, and had already sent five students - all Slytherins - to the Hospital with serious "accidental" injuries. Draco had no desire to become yet another victim. The boy looked up at him and sneered as he passed, spotted Astoria behind him, and gave them both a look of suspicion and undisguised malice.

Merlin, it was always a bit of a kick in the bollocks when he saw that kind of thing and realized just how wise it was for Astoria to insist on discretion in their relationship. She got enough hatred just for hanging about him as a friend; what would people like Hexley do if she were openly dating him?

He brought his attention back to Astoria and Devlin Pierce. "Have you thought of talking to Hannah?"

"I don't know how. She... she's almost compulsive about this. I think part of her almost wants one of these boys to hurt her. I'd be afraid of encouraging her."

"Maybe I can talk to the other boys in my dorm," he said, musing aloud. "I think they'd all be willing to try to keep an eye on her, make sure she's always safe--" and he broke off as he was shoved from behind and stumbled a few paces, whipping around with his wand in his hand.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" Bruce Hexley, the belligerent Hufflepuff, was yelling at a scared little Slytherin girl, waving his wand wildly. The little girl ducked her head, bringing her arms over her head and cringing, and suddenly Draco had had enough.

"What the fuck is the matter with you?!" he snapped, grabbed Hexley's wand out of his hand, and snapped it in half.

A horrified silence fell upon the crowd. Everyone was gaping at him, and he couldn't quite believe what he'd done, but his heart was still beating triple-time and fury was coursing through him.

"What the hell?!" said one of Hexley's friends.

"How could you--" began another.

"Because he's a bloody menace!" Draco said angrily. "He's been in and out of the Headmistress's office all bloody year--"

"It's accidental, it's just magic discontrol--" said another little snot-faced Hufflepuff.

"No it's not! He's a manipulative, lying little shit, and he doesn't deserve to be here."

"Takes one to know one, Malfoy!" sneered a fifth-year boy. "You don't know a bloody thing about what the rest of us went through during the war, you've no right to judge--"

"Yeah, maybe, but you don't see me hexing anybody, do you? Hexley's suffered, has he? Look at some of the kids in Slytherin one of these days. They've suffered too. Hell, look at Longbottom one of these days, or Finnigan, or Hannah!"

"People react in different ways to trauma--" an older girl began.

"And Hexley's way of reacting is traumatizing more people. We shouldn't just leave him to it. If he were attacking anybody but Slytherins he'd have had his wand snapped in half months ago!"

"You bastard," Hexley said weakly, still gaping at his wand pieces, lying on the floor.

"Hexley, if the Headmistress says you should have your wand back, I will personally pay for it. In fact, I will personally give you the money right now-" he paused, and figured it out, "Ten Galleons, it'll buy you the finest wand anyone can have, but it's not going to do you a damn bit of good because you can't handle it!"

"It's not about money!" said Hexley.

"You're bloody well right it's not about money," said Astoria heatedly. "It's about safety and not continuing the hell that went on here last year!"

"You're defending him?!"

"Absolutely," she said, and drew close to Draco, taking his hand in hers.

There was a collective gasp.

"Right. We have to go to the Headmistress with this, don't we?" she said crisply. "Who can be neutral here?"

"What?" said one of the Slytherin girl's friends.

"We need to go to the Headmistress," said Astoria, her hand still clutching Draco's, so tightly it was starting to cut off circulation. "We'll need witnesses to what happened, and I need somebody who cannot be considered to be biased to gather them, as I am, naturally, considering that the 'victim' here was about to traumatize a Slytherin and the 'attacker' was another former Slytherin. And I'm too close to him. Who can take over here?"

Hannah Abbott stepped up. "I will," she said. "All right, who saw what happened?"

A gaggle of little kids started jumping up and down and chaos reigned, until Hannah finally got enough witnesses from both sides and marched them all down to the Headmistress's office.

Astoria's parents were going to be furious, Draco thought as they headed off.

But god, what a feeling, when Astoria took his hand in hers and threw away a year of appearing neutral and keeping her family name snow-white.

It didn't occur to him until later to wonder why he hadn't spared a thought as to what his own parents would say.

*********

June 19, 2018: We'd like to know a little bit about you for our files

(Transcript of Draco Malfoy Interview, Part III)

And what do you think of the House system? Do you think Diggory House strengthened or weakened it?

What do you mean?

There are those who say that it's outmoded and divisive; others say it's one of our traditions and should therefore be maintained, regardless of whether it is beneficial or not.

I think there's merit to both points of view.

Your own son went into Hogwarts this year, didn't he? Which House was he Sorted into?

Erm, I would rather not have anything about my son in the interview. It wasn't among the questions you sent.

Oh. Erm... I've already asked a number of questions that weren't on the interview sheet. What was sent to you was only an idea of what we were likely to discuss, to get you familiar with the general thrust of our interviews--

Yes, I understand that. I just don't want my son anywhere in there. He's a little young to be in print.

Oh. Well, we won't include that question, then. Which also means... well, that's page five of my questions scuppered right there. No matter; there's still plenty of other things to talk about.

Why were they included?

Archivist Lore wanted to explore whether Diggory House has influenced the thinking of parents who've had children since then. But we got quite a bit on that from some of the other parents.

That's good.

So, moving on... when did you decide to start supporting Diggory House financially?

During my NEWTs, actually. As I was writing the one for Muggle Studies.

You got E on that one, didn't you?

Yes, I did. It was one of the only courses I took that year that was completely new and unfamiliar to me. I studied like mad.

Why make a decision during a school test?

I remember thinking that although I knew the Muggle Studies material quite well, I was unlikely to ever need it for my future. Then I thought about NEWTs level Astronomy and couldn't see a use for that either. I wasn't likely to get a job using either one; and in fact I wasn't likely to get any job at all, considering my family background.

Were you worried about that?

Not financially, no. My family's funds were far lower than before the war, obviously, but still strong enough that I didn't need to work to make a living. But it didn't seem a satisfactory way to spend my life, merely living off the proceeds of my family's wealth. I didn't particularly want to pursue a career in what my wife referred to as "thumb twiddling."

And then?

I thought about what I actually had learned that year. And it didn't have much to do with academics; it had much more to do with building things, working with people. But there wasn't much I could look forward to in that direction either; it wasn't likely that I'd find another group of people who would want to be associated with me outside of school.

No, I suppose not.

Then I thought of how I'd done fairly well at Arithmancy. And we had all of this money lying around. It seemed to make sense to try to use it for something useful.

And you began donating to the upkeep of Diggory House then?

I did. There were still things that were needed - the place had been rather bare. And some of the students who were going to be in it the next year didn't have parents who could easily afford to send them. There were a lot of places and people that were in need of a bit of help, financially.

And when did you start investing in Diggory House alumni?

The year after that.

Why was that?

Susan Bones had some interesting ideas about communication development, but couldn't get any loans or funds for her research. And I found out that Anthony Goldstein was hoping to start a gemology company. And Charlie Weasley had some ideas about dragon habitat preservation - forests were being severely depleted in Bulgaria, and dragons were getting ill and vicious. More vicious, that is. He wasn't part of Diggory House, but Hermione Granger introduced us at her wedding, got us talking about how to deal with the situation.

But those were people you knew. Why decide to continue helping, people you never met? Just because they'd been part of Diggory House?

Almost by definition, people who ended up in Diggory were unusual and able to think outside the box. More likely to be able to use the help I gave to actually achieve things.

There must have been some who entered because they were lazy. Taking an eighth year to avoid going to work.

Yes, that's true, but they were the distinct minority. For most of those who entered Diggory - then and now - there had to be something driving them to be there. They were passionate about furthering their studies in one area, or they were willing to travel large distances and live in a foreign country, or they had something they very much wanted to do, that couldn't be done by merely following a path already laid down for them. I thought that was worth encouraging. I thought those people would bring value to the wizarding world.

Ironically, though, by making Diggory House an established part of the school, it is the path already trod by others.

Well, yes. There's not much to be done about that. It'll still never be the way of the majority, I don't think.

And when did you decide to get more involved? Because you don't just invest money; you also do advertising, market research, help them make connections... when did that start?

It started with Anthony's project. He had some brilliant ideas, but simply didn't know how to turn them into anything workable, and I realized that all the money in the world wasn't going to change that. So I asked if I could get involved as a silent partner, doing all of the business things that he didn't know how to do. And after I'd done it once, it was easy to continue from there.

Why a silent partner, though? Not just for him, but for all the companies and individuals you've helped since then? Why didn't you tell anybody about your investments? After the first few years, when you worked with alumni that you knew personally, all the rest has been done through a company called DAGM Research and Marketing. Your name is nowhere in there.

That was deliberate. I didn't think having my name included would help the people I was trying to help. The point of getting involved was not to make myself famous or fabulously wealthy--

Though most of your investments have paid off.

Oh, absolutely - and very well, too. It's never been a charitable exercise. But the point was to help people who might bring improvements to the lives of ordinary wizards and witches. Susan Bones created we-mail and text message parchments, so that we can communicate instantly like Muggles do, but in our own way, using magic. Claire Tachus has done work with gem preservation and pulverization that has revolutionized Potion-making. Charlie Weasley's work with dragon habitats has helped protect magical forests. Would their ideas have been as well-received, would they have worked at all, if they'd been closely tied to the Malfoy name? I don't think so.

Why are you going public now?

Because you're doing this project, showing people what Diggory House contributed to in the wizarding world, and this is part of that story. And because I think by this point people may be ready to see that the Malfoy family isn't the point here. We're no longer about pureblood prejudice. We have not brought up our son to believe any of that, and we have been supporting good wizards and witches regardless of blood status, regardless of family background.

Those don't seem like terribly Slytherin ideals, there.

They're Diggory ideals.

Touché.

And maybe I'd also like to show that Slytherin ideals aren't necessary the opposite of Diggory ideals either. We Slytherins are ambitious, but ambition doesn't necessarily have to be selfish or harmful. My wife and I were ambitious about doing something good for the wizarding world, whether or not it knew we were doing it. And we were both Sorted into Slytherin.

I guess there is something to be said about that.

Severus Snape isn't the only example of a Slytherin who was able to do good in the world. Look at Professor Horace Slughorn, head of Slytherin House after Snape. He was working behind the scenes to move along wizarding society till the day he died, spotting people who he thought might do great things, getting them in touch with each other, encouraging them--

Harold Slughorn? I haven't heard of him.

Exactly. And it's Horace. Slytherin as they come, but not particularly interested in fame for himself.

I'll have to read up on him.

He's mentioned in the museum exhibit that was opened for the twentieth anniversary of the end of the war.

Did you go?

Yes. We went to the memorial service at Hogwarts in the morning, then took our son out of school to see the Museum in the afternoon.

Well. Do you want to take a break before going on to the last set of questions?

Yes, I'd love to. Would you like another tea?

Oh, yes, thank you.

Tig- on second thought, wait here, I'll go get it.

You don't have a house elf? I thought all purebloods still had them.

We do. She's... not in best spirits right now.

Oh dear. What's wrong with her?

What isn't wrong with her. Somebody used cinnamon near her last week; she's been burning everything she touches for days. Unless you'd like tea that smells like a camp fire, I'll be getting it for you.

Ah.

Back in a minute.

*********

June 19, 1999: Childhood's end

"Sorry to go?" asked Astoria.

"A bit," said Draco. He glanced around the dormitory, now almost bare again. It had taken on life, sometime during the year, and he didn't know when its depressing bare walls and utilitarian furniture had turned into mismatched homeyness, but he was already missing Finnigan's plaid window seat, Anthony's photograph of the Bulgarian Quidditch team's Veela mascots, and knew he would miss Neville's weird little singing bonsai trees when they both left tomorrow, for all that he'd hated their off-tune wake-up warbles during the year.

Astoria pulled him close. "So it's just you and Neville staying here tonight, then?"

"Just us. And Hannah and Hermione and Millie in the girls' dorm."

"If only the bloody pipes hadn't gone down," she mused. "I'd still have the Head Girl's place for one last night."

"Where will you sleep instead?"

"Probably Slytherin. It's almost empty anyway."

Draco nodded, and Astoria laid her head on his shoulder, then made a soft noise in her throat.

"D'you know something," she said, and moved her face to nuzzle his neck.

"Yes?" he asked, squirming a bit as her breath tickled him.

"The thing is," said Astoria, nibbling his neck and distracting him, "there's hardly anybody at the Slytherin dorm."

"I suppose not."

"So there's hardly anybody who would notice if I never made it back there."

Draco pulled back and looked down at her.

"What do you say we christen this place, then?" Astoria said.

Draco blinked. "As in..."

"How many people can say they've had sex in the brand new Hogwarts House?" She paused for a moment, then gave a most unladylike snort. "Ah. Let's not go there, considering Hannah. Still. How many have had sex in this very bed?"

Draco swallowed, his mouth dry. "Nobody."

"Have you ever?"

Draco shook his head. "Have you?"

"No." She paused. "D'you want to?"

Draco cleared his throat and looked down sheepishly. "Erm."

Astoria giggled and moved against him, sending a shiver through Draco and making him even harder. Did he want to. What kind of question was that?

Yes. Yes, more than he'd ever wanted anything.

"You're leaving tomorrow, and so am I," he said quietly. "You're going back home. And your parents..."

Astoria's lips pressed together briefly. "They still don't approve of you. I don't care."

"You will, once you're with them."

"I don't care. They are my parents, but I'm of age. I'm going to go to the Salamanca Potions Institute in Spain, and they have to pay for that, but I will not let them tell me what to do."

Draco shook his head. "That's what you say now, but--"

"Listen," Astoria told him, and took his hand, gazing into his eyes intently. "You were there for me when nobody else wanted to do anything other than take from me, or help me with school-related things. You were the only one who cared how I felt outside of the whole Head Girl, what's-best-for-the-school thing. I'm not going to forget that, believe me."

Draco looked out the window, where the Quidditch pitch sat empty, no banners, no life.

She was the only person who he'd been himself with this year. Who knew how he still felt about Muggle-borns - how he'd probably always feel about Muggle-borns - and still accepted him. Who thought that he was worthy of the new wizarding world that was being built. Who made him feel like he hadn't fallen so far down in the estimation of his world that there wasn't any point in hoping for anything any better.

But how long would this last, with her? She was leaving.

She touched his cheek gently, turning his gaze back towards her. "I'm going to my parents' house tomorrow. And then after that I will go to Salamanca, and spend fourteen months there. I can't pay for that on my own, so if my parents tell me I can't be in contact with you, I will not be. No Floo calls, no owls, no nothing." She took a deep breath. "And the day I get my certificate, I will call you and we'll see if you still want me. I know I'll want you."

"You can't make a promise like that," said Draco.

She nodded. "Well, if I change my mind during my studies, I will give you a call." The corner of her mouth twitched slightly. "I'll tell my parents I'm doing it, too, so they'll be proud of me. But if you don't hear from me, please assume that I still want you."

"And what happens after the Institute?" he asked.

"I'll be with you," she said simply. "And if my parents disown me, I will work and repay them all they spent on my education, plus interest." She paused. "After that, why don't we get married?"

Draco laughed. "Just like that?"

"Why not?"

Draco shook his head. "Weird. Harry Potter and me, both getting proposals from our girlfriends."

Astoria chuckled. "Or we can get married right here, right now."

"What?"

"How quickly you forget History of Magic." She shook her head in mock dismay. "Ancient wizards sometimes lived very far away from everybody else. And often they didn't have any clergy of their own, or any kind of civil government, so there was nobody to officiate weddings. So in order to get married, a couple just had to share a bed, a meal, and a spell. Let's do that."

"Right now?"

"Right now. I would say lunch in the Great Hall counts as a meal, so that's step one. Yes?"

Draco nodded slowly, and took the hand she held out to him. She drew him to his bed, and pulled him down on it, and their mouths met and it was a little surreal, that after all the times they'd snogged in the corridors and in her Head Girl's room, always with the door partly ajar to remind themselves to keep things from going too far... they were actually going to go too far. Deliberately, knowing what they were doing, not carried away by their hormones into doing something both would regret as soon as it was over.

He'd kissed her before, but never like this. He'd been hard for her before, wanting to go farther, frustrated and impatient, but never let himself want so damn much.

He'd imagined this a dozen times at least. But every time he'd imagined it, it was something beyond their control, something unexpected. Her self-control swept away by desire, or by their mutual need, or by an unexpected opportunity to be perfectly alone.

Although as far as 'unexpected' went... he certainly hadn't expected this. And although they weren't alone, since Neville and the Diggory House girls could come in at any time, once Astoria drew the drapes around his bed and they cast spells on them to make them soundproof, it felt as though they were in an entire world of their own. They were lying down and kissing more passionately than they ever had before, and she was undoing his shirt buttons, and the only slight downside to their current situation was that Draco was becoming increasingly certain that he was going to embarrass himself before it was over. Because if he was this hard, and this close to coming, at this relatively early stage of the game...

He started to unbutton Astoria's shirt, his heart skipping a beat as she shifted to help him. This was as far as he'd ever gone with Pansy. From here on, it was unexplored territory. He drew Astoria's shirt off her shoulders, and cupped her small breasts, marveling at their softness, at the fact that he could do this at all, after wanting to, so much, for so long.

She drew him close and their mouths came together again, and he sighed as she fit her body against his, her hair falling back in a curtain onto the bed. He moved over her, exploring her tongue with his, caressing her, relishing the soft moans coming from her throat almost as if she couldn't stop them.

There was so much to do, so much to touch, so much to gaze upon. He'd felt her up a few times when they were snogging in her room, but with the door ajar there was no way they would've gone as far as undoing any clothing. Now her breasts lay bare before him, and feeling them over her school robes was no substitute for feeling their warmth and weight in his hand, the silky feel of them, the nipples hard little points, the small cries falling from her lips as he touched them.

He brought his mouth down to her nipple tentatively and she cried out, jerking up slightly, startling him into backing up and he narrowly missed hitting his head on her chin. They were as clumsy as kittens, not really knowing what went where and how, but it didn't matter. She squirmed under him, and then pulled him on top of her fully so that his length was pressed against her hip. There was a moment of confusion when the feel of her against him was electrifying but unsatisfactory, awkward somehow - and then she moved and suddenly her thighs parted and somehow he was resting against her, feeling the warmth of her through her knickers, and he couldn't help thrusting instinctively. He was so close, only a few layers of cloth between them.

She reached down, awkwardly undoing his trousers, and he tried to calm himself, resting his forehead against hers and closing his eyes as she reached into his trousers.

"Merlin stop I'm going to - oh, stop," he moaned, and she held still. He breathed slowly, trying desperately to bring himself back from the edge. So close, so very very close... he needed to thrust against her, but he didn't want this to be over too quickly and it would be, wouldn't it, if he didn't stop it right now...

Astoria whimpered softly and he opened his eyes, finding her gazing up at him, her pupils wide, her features flushed and her lips parted. He brought his lips down to hers and kissed her deeply, forcing himself to concentrate on her, on her movements, her small cries, the way she pressed herself against him, held him close...

He broke off their kiss, and with trembling hands undid the buttons of her skirt, pulling it away. She took his hand and brought it to her knickers and he slipped his hand inside, and she gasped, warm and wet and grinding herself against him.

He caressed her, trying to be gentle and finding that she really didn't want that as she pressed herself up, took his hand and pushed it against her, showing him how to stroke her, firmly, making her writhe.

"I..." Merlin, how to tell her how much he needed to... he pushed his trousers and pants off, helping her with her own skirt and knickers, and suddenly they were naked, together, and he wanted to fill his eyes with the sight of her body, her chest rising and falling quickly, but there was no time, the need to do more than look was too urgently overpowering. She kissed him again and he closed his eyes, losing himself in her, making himself think of her instead of what he so wanted and needed to do...

She broke off their kiss and shifted again, and suddenly he was at her entrance.

"Oh - wait, wait," he said quickly, his senses almost on overload and the words he needed hiding out of sight. "You - I don't, we have to be safe, I don't want--"

"I've been taking a potion for a while," she whispered, "just in case." She moved - and suddenly he was inside her. And he didn't know what he'd ever expected but it wasn't this, the incredible pressure and heat and Astoria's small cry of pain.

"Did - did I--"

"It's all right," she said, gasping. "Please--"

And he came on the first thrust, going quickly from shivering delight and relief to mortification to relief again as Astoria cried out, thrusting up against him several times, then shivered and sighed in what he could only assume was pleasure. He panted for breath, still nestled inside her, his mind perfectly at peace.

She gazed at him, her eyes glistening, then pulled him close and kissed him, and it felt more real than anything ever had in his life. Like something that had been hurt and alone inside him for a long, long time, was finally well and whole again.

Opening Day

Draco, Astoria, and Scorpius made their way into the newly expanded hall of the British Wizarding History Museum, walking through the galleries with the alarming newspaper headlines from Voldemort's first rising, and The Prophet's headline from October 31, 1981 (Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, Defeats You-Know-Who). They went past the displays for Albus Dumbledore, Severus Snape, and Potter, Snape's expression still forbidding and gloomy despite the glowing words of praise surrounding him. They passed a portrait of Dumbledore's Army, all of them so young, so very very young, and a diorama of the Room of Requirement, where the DA had come together to practice as a phoenix song played in the background.

Another gallery, put together to look like the Great Hall the day of the final battle, far too lifelike and far too reminiscent of what Draco still saw in his nightmares, twenty years later. Carefully drawn maps of who was where, which tunnels the Death Eaters had tried to enter, where they'd been beaten back, where they'd blasted their way in, where Voldemort had come in from the Shrieking Shack. It looked so well-planned and neatly organized. Nothing like the chaos it had really been, despite the simulated ruin and stone dust hanging in the air of the gallery.

Another gallery, this one of the Hogwarts dead. Remus Lupin. Nymphadora Tonks. Fred Weasley. Colin Creevey. Justin Finch-Fletchley.

Vincent Crabbe.

Scorpius slowed them down in the next section, and they stopped to watch the Beauxbatons flying horses bringing in school supplies from France to Hogwarts. Photographs of people rebuilding the castle. A display of Muggle tools that had been used, because the castle had held so much ancient magic that it was deemed too dangerous to do too much by magic alone. He spotted a picture of Dean Thomas, using a power tool to drill into stone, and then a picture of himself, listening sullenly as Hermione showed him and Millicent how to use a hoover to remove dust from one of the rebuilt rooms.

And here it was, the newest part of the exhibit.

Cedric Diggory's handsome young face grinned down at them from the branches of a tree - a photograph apparently taken by his father, as he mouthed the words "Come on up, Dad!"

Draco gazed at Cedric's smooth features and thanked God for his and Astoria's laugh lines, for the streaks of silver through her dark hair, for his own slowly receding hairline, badges of middle age they were lucky to bear. Cedric Diggory never got a chance to have any of that. Or to get married, or have children, or do any of the hundreds of other things the members of the House named in his honour did.

They gave the security wizard their names, and were allowed into the exhibit room proper. He nodded a greeting to Susan, who was gazing at a picture of Cedric Diggory from The Prophet - his name misspelled, because Harry Potter had also been picked as Hogwarts Champion and that was all the news people wanted to hear about.

Queenie was showing her daughters a "Potter Stinks" badge, still blinking "Support Cedric Diggory, The Real Hogwarts Champion".

Hermione gave Draco and Astoria hugs and shook Scorpius' hand, then returned to Weasley, who was showing Rose and Hugo two articles telling of Cedric's death. The first had been written at the time, declaring it to be accidental; the other was from The Quibbler, in Harry Potter's words.

More newspaper clippings, this time from after the war, proposing a Fifth House. Anthony, rather stout now, was showing his wife some of the drastically summarized transcripts of the debate that had broken out in the Wizengamot, discussing the pros and cons of the idea until Kingsley Shacklebolt had bluntly told them they didn't have time to fart around interfering in the school, and should bloody well let Hogwarts run itself and get back to the business of rebuilding their shattered society. The summary of his speech was far kinder and more diplomatic than Shacklebolt himself had been at the time.

Lavender Brown gave him a small smile as she gently ran her fingers over the names on a copy of the plaque that still hung on a wall of Diggory House:

Abbott, Hannah
Bones, Susan
Brown, Lavender
Bulstrode, Millicent
Finnigan, Seamus
Goldstein, Anthony
Granger, Hermione
Greengrass, Daphne
Longbottom, Neville
Macmillan, Ernest
Malfoy, Draco
Patil, Parvati
Thomas, Dean
Turpin, Lisa

Lisa Turpin was listening to a recording of Headmistress McGonagall's speech, incomprehensibly described as 'inspiring' by the museum staff. Gah. Draco remembered it as one of the only things that had made him actively miss weird old Dumbledore and his "tweak, oddment and flibbergit" or whatever bizarre thing he'd said at the time.

Ernie Macmillan was showing his daughter the only group picture ever taken of all fourteen of them, taken during the speech. And there was Draco, looking so damnably young, and so nervous, at the edge of the Diggory table. He wanted so much to reach out to the boy he had been, tell him life got better eventually, he found love, he grew up...

Letters from parents to their children in Diggory House.

A letter from Millicent to a friend overseas.

One of Finnigan's weird exploding shamrocks.

A brittle old journal, open to a page that started with the neatly formed words There were forty-one of us when we were Sorted eight years ago.

A teddy bear labeled as Parvati Patil's.

One of Neville's horrible little singing bonsai, or possibly one of their descendants.

Pictures. So many pictures. Including one of Draco and Hannah Abbott, dancing together at the Valentine's Day dance, smiling at each other. And his was a genuine smile, for all that he'd still felt uneasy around her, still felt instinctively deep down that she didn't belong in his world. Somehow she'd wormed herself onto his good side.

Pictures of some of the kids who'd taken refuge in Diggory during the year. Little Augustine Cornfoot, whose bio claimed had moved to South Africa and become a Herbology practitioner, and never returned to England.

Brief "where are they now" bios of the other kids, most of whom had gone back to their real Houses eventually, some of whom had left and never finished their education. One committed suicide, two others died of bad recreational potion reactions. Two had ended up in Azkaban. They hadn't saved everyone.

The seven new Diggory House members from the following year.

The names of every member of Diggory House, though after the second year not all had pictures or bios attached, just general descriptions.

Schoolbooks.

Valentines.

Uniforms.

Dean Thomas' sketches of West Ham football players.

The gold and purple insignia of Diggory House, when somebody finally got around to designing it, six years later.

He and Astoria stopped, stunned, before a large display case for DAGM and Malfoy Investments, a long list of former Diggory House members who got their start because of him acting as centrepiece.

Heartfelt letters of thanks from many of them.

The Goldstein's Gemologists logo, a copy of the first we-mail, a wedding announcement from a couple brought together by Macmillan Magical Matchmakers. A photograph of Draco and Charlie Weasley, watching a dragon's cage being opened, and the dragon flying out with a burst of flame, and disappearing into the sky.

"Dad! Is that really you?" asked Scorpius, but Draco could tell it didn't really interest him that much, what with the four miniature players of the 2016 Diggory Quodpot Team shooting around the exhibit, tossing their Quodpot Cup back and forth. A twelve-year-old boy had better things to think about than investments.

"Yes, that's really me." Astoria squeezed his hand. He looked around the exhibit. "It's really us."

A picture of Herman Blackstone, the first Hogwarts Headmaster from Diggory House - also the second youngest person ever to be made Headmaster.

A picture of Philippa Cassidy, the first Minister For Magic from Diggory House.

And the woman herself, coming into the exhibit and clearing her throat, standing next to Archivist Maximus Lore, who beamed at them all.

"My friends, welcome to the opening of the Diggory House Wing of the British Wizarding History Museum," said the Minister For Magic. "If you would all follow me to the lobby, we will be holding the official opening ceremony there, after which time the general public will be permitted to enter this wing." She turned to Archivist Lore. "Shall we?" she asked, and he took her arm and led her out.

Draco smiled at Astoria, and together they each took one of their son's hands and followed the Minister, and their friends, out of the exhibit and to the lobby.

*********

Author Notes:

1. The poem quoted by Rose Weasley (Five Things Observe With Care) was either written by W.E. Norris, of whom I know nothing, or Laura Ingalls' mother Caroline, from Little House On the Prairie. I've always envisioned Hermione passing on her love of obscure books to her daughter ;)

2. Future imperfectable is not a real verb tense. Unless you speak a language used by people who can do Divination.

3. Margery Thatcher never ruled over any country, let alone Britain. That would be Margaret Thatcher. Hey, if they can get eckeltricity and fellytones wrong, even the Iron Lady herself might find herself mislabeled by wizards, right?

Well, the_birdnest, I was able to sneak in Neville/Hannah, Teddy/Victoire, possible future Rose/Scorpius, imperfect sex, a strong female character, couples working together, shared goals, us-against-the-world, a box of Honeyduke's chocolates, a bottle of Firewhiskey, and non-trophy!wife/pampered socialite Astoria, but for the life of me was unable to figure out how to get merpeople or Time-Turners in. Sorry! Hope you liked it anyway :)