Rewritten || Scorpius x Hermione Time Travel AU

1 | Scorpius' Awesome Plan

"Oi, Scorp, you all right?"

Sixteen-year-old Scorpius Malfoy sighed and warily gazed at his approaching best friend. Albus Severus Potter tentatively sat on the dewy grass near the Black Lake and lightly scowled at the Daily Prophet displayed beside the blond Slytherin. Mindlessly, Al drew out his wand and Incendio-d the bugger away, much to Scorpius' amusement.

"That must be the tenth you've burned today," the Malfoy heir pointed out.

"Eleventh, actually."

Scorpius snorted and plopped supine on the grass. His eyes gazed heavenward, trying to make up funny shapes of the drifting clouds. "Hey look, that looks exactly like Rosie!" he pointed out. Albus shifted and also splayed down beside him, peering at the cloud he was pointing at.

"Nah, the hair isn't bushy enough," Al replied. "And I know what the bloody hell you're doing, mate. Refusing to talk about it isn't going to work."

He sighed and glared at the worried Potter beside him. "We don't have to talk about anything, Al," he interjected. "You've seen what the news already bore, anyway. What's left to talk about?"

"I talked to Dad. He said they're working on it, Scorpius. You shouldn't worry anymore."

"Ugh, Al, seriously." Scorpius rolled away until he was facing away from Al's stupidly worried green eyes. It was the same shade of famous Auror Harry Potter's eyes and Scorpius was reminded once more of the inevitable. "The whole Wizarding World fucking hates my family. Your dad should champion other people worth saving because nothing is going to happen. I talked to Mum. She said everything's bleak. At least she has the decency not to sugarcoat her words."

He heard Albus sigh before tentatively placing a hand on his shoulder. "They're still speculations, you know," he continued. "Nothing's been proven yet."

"The Daily Prophet is having a bloody field day, Potter," he snarled. "I won't be surprised if they'd twist the story until my father is finally thrown to Azkaban and be given the blasted Dementor's Kiss the whole world's been crying about ever since the conclusion of the War."

Scorpius felt his blood boil with rage, his breathing growing rapid and shallow as the possibility of his father being thrown to Azkaban finally sank in.

Earlier this morning, while he was eating breakfast, the Daily Prophet came. Scorpius normally skipped immediately towards the Quidditch section for the latest sports news, but when his father's face greeted him on the front page, his heart dropped to his feet. Suddenly, everybody seemed to stop talking and were looking at him. Albus had worriedly gripped his arm but Scorpius already tore away from the Great Hall and back into the comforts of his four-poster bed.

The news spoke of an unexpected ministry raid into the Malfoy Manor and the officials were able to seize illegal dark artefacts. Scorpius wanted to scream at someone, to blast them away, because he had spent most of his childhood summers painstakingly helping his father and mother and their bloody house-elves to clear these dark artefacts. It had taken them years before Malfoy Manor seemed liveable once again, the remnants of dark, residual magic long dispelled from the place he now felt comfortable to call home.

Therefore, he was undoubtedly sure these dark artefacts were planted in their home. His father, Draco Malfoy, was now rising as a respectable Curse Breaker. He was bloody brilliant in what he was doing and Scorpius had respected, loved, and admired his father despite all his past shortcomings. Despite all these achievements, the Wizarding World seemed to always see him as one thing alone – a Death Eater.

He had quite forgotten that the Wizarding World was cruel and unforgiving. Scorpius learned at a very young age that bearing the Malfoy surname was a curse. Five-year-old him always felt confused and heartbroken why his father refused to bring him to Florean's in Diagon Alley or buy him a new toy broom so that he could play Quidditch with his father on their vast lawn. His mother always soothed him with bedtime stories, peppering kisses on his forehead to abate his tears with promises of chocolate cakes and ice creams and all the desserts his little heart loved.