Chapter Text
Dear Mr Potter,
I hope this letter finds you well.
I understand you are very busy and I wasn’t sure whether to write to you at all, but I’m in need of your help. I was wondering whether you might agree to meet me at Hogwarts this coming weekend; Saturday afternoon, perhaps?
I realise that this is asking a lot of you, given the fact that you only know of me but don’t actually know me. However, I hope you will agree anyway. I promise to explain it all in person.
Sincerely,
Scorpius MalfoyP.S. My father does not know that I’ve chosen to write to you and I’d rather you didn’t tell him. Thank you.
Harry wasn’t sure how many times he’d read the letter since a Hogwarts owl had dropped it off at Grimmauld Place yesterday morning. At first, he’d thought one of the teachers, maybe even Minerva McGonagall herself had written to him. Then he’d discovered the letter had been from Scorpius Malfoy and he’d been more than a little confused – and surprised. He couldn’t fathom why Draco Malfoy’s son needed his help, but he couldn’t deny that he was curious. Very curious.
“And you’re sure it isn’t a fake?” Ron asked, pointing at the letter.
Harry shook his head. “Cast an Authenticity Charm. It has his magical signature all over it; the boy is smart.”
“Maybe Malfoy is trying to trick you,” Ron suggested.
That idea had also briefly crossed Harry’s mind but he’d banished it, deciding it was utterly ridiculous. What reason did Malfoy have to trick him? The war was history, they weren’t friends but they no longer snarked at each other. Their relationship was one of amicable silence and toleration. “I don’t think so. Malfoy has no reason to do any such thing.”
“It’s Malfoy! When has he ever needed a reason to be a prat?” Ron said.
“Ronald Weasley!” Hermione slammed her palm down on the table, making both her husband and Harry jump with a start. She’d been calmly eating her sandwich and listening to the conversation, but clearly, Ron’s idiocy had riled her up eventually.
“Draco Malfoy hasn’t done anything wrong since the end of the war. Cut him some slack, won’t you? Sometimes I think you got stunned one too many times,” she snapped. Ron shot her a rather furtive glance; he knew better than to argue with his wife. After all, he still had to go home with her tonight and he didn’t particularly enjoy sleeping on the sofa.
Carefully folding the letter back up, Harry placed it in the pocket of his black trousers and rubbing his tired eyes, he rose to his feet. “I need some fresh air,” he mumbled, and without further ado he reached for his coat and exited his office, leaving his two friends to finish their lunch without his company.
He headed down the corridor into the small hall and called one of the Ministry lifts. It arrived soon enough and a moment later he found himself in the Atrium. Several people greeted him as he passed, and while he nodded in polite acknowledgement, he didn’t stop for a conversation. Instead, he headed for the Floo, grabbed some green powder, and shouted his destination. It wasn’t long after that he found himself wandering the streets of Muggle London. He tried his best not to think of anything in particular, but Scorpius Malfoy’s letter and his plea for help persistently pushed itself to the forefront of his mind again and again.
The boy definitely has bollocks, Harry decided. He’d contacted him at his private address, asking for a meeting. Harry racked his brain for a while, wondering what kind of help Scorpius Malfoy might need from him. He couldn’t come up with anything that made any kind of sense, and so he soon gave up trying. He supposed he didn’t have any plans this weekend. There really was nothing stopping him from making a trip to Hogwarts to meet the boy. At the very least, it would put his mind at ease. Or would it?
Harry couldn’t help but wonder what Draco Malfoy was up to these days. He hadn’t given much thought to him and he couldn’t honestly remember the last time he’d seen Malfoy. He vaguely remembered reading something about the death of his wife, Astoria Greengrass, in the Daily Prophet several years ago, but it had been a quiet announcement and there hadn’t been much fanfare about it. He didn’t even know whether Malfoy still resided at Malfoy Manor or whether he had moved.
He and Scorpius, and possibly also Astoria, had apparently lived abroad for a while but Harry didn’t know any details, nor did he know for sure whether what he knew was even true. What he did know, it was easy to discern, was that Malfoy kept a quiet and solitary life. He’d seen him once or twice when he’d dropped Teddy off at King’s Cross to board the Hogwarts Express, but post-war that had been the extent of his encounters with Malfoy. There had been the trials, of course. Back then, Harry had stood up for Draco and his family, and while Malfoy had thanked him in person sometime later — there’d even been a handshake — they hadn’t kept in touch.
Much later that evening, long after Harry had finished his dinner, the fire in his living room roared to life and Hermione, dressed in pyjamas and a dressing gown, stepped out of the flames. With a silent cleaning charm, she removed the soot from her clothes and the carpet, and then placed her wand back in her oversized dressing gown pocket. Harry lowered his book and shot her an expectant look. She often invited herself over, and short of blocking the Floo, there was nothing Harry could do about that. Not that he really minded her company. She cared and Harry loved her for it.
“Are you okay?” she asked, sitting down on one of the comfortable armchairs across from him.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” he smiled, “Draco Malfoy’s son is asking for my help, nothing out of the ordinary; just another day in the life of Harry Potter,” he shrugged and Hermione smiled, gathering that his sarcasm was his way of dealing with the unexpected invitation.
“Are you going to go?” she asked.
Harry nodded. “I reckon if he had the guts to write to me without his father’s knowledge, he must have a damn good reason to want to meet with me.”
“I spoke to Neville, you know,” Hermione said, “this afternoon,” she clarified before Harry could ask her when she’d taken the liberty to do so. “He’s an excellent student, very smart but quiet. He tends to keep to himself, studies a lot, and excels at pretty much all subjects.”
“Not much in common with his father then. You sure he’s not your son?” Harry laughed, wistfully remembering all those times Draco Malfoy and his goons had done a spectacular job at making his school days memorable, though definitely not in a positive way. That was all in the past now though. While his time at Hogwarts had been anything but ordinary, he still didn’t want to change anything about it.
“I reckon Draco instructed him to focus on his education and keep out of trouble,” Hermione said, and if Harry flinched at her unexpected use of Malfoy’s first name, he didn’t show it. “Well, I’ll leave you be. Let me know what comes of your meeting with Scorpius Malfoy,” she added.
Rising to her feet, Hermione moved towards the Floo and grabbed some Floo powder. She was about to throw it into the crackling flames when Harry stopped her with a soft “Hey.” She turned and looked at him and he mouthed quiet thanks. She smiled and shrugged.
“Anytime. Good night, Harry.” With that, she vanished into the green flames and a moment later silence descended over the room. Harry sat in quiet contemplation for a moment and then turned his attention back to his book.