Albus twiddled with Scorpius's hair. It was soft, and he enjoyed the feel of the silky threads between his fingers. He leaned in to whisper in Scorpius's hair. "Whatcha readin, Scorpy?"

"Muggle poetry, and don't call me that," the blonde replied, not looking up from his book.

"What's it about, Hyper?" Albus all but sang.

"This one is about a grasshopper, and if you call me that again I'll rip your hands off."

"Why would you want to read about a grasshopper, uh, Cory?"

"Because it's inventive, and I would prefer you call me by my given name."

"… How can a poem about a grasshopper be inventive, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy?" Scorpius sighed and shoved the book into Albus's lap. "What?! You can't even read this! It's a mess of symbols and letters. I don't think there are any actual words here."

"That's why it's inventive. The author wrote the poem as if the words follow the patterns of a grasshopper's jumps. If you can follow the grasshopper's path, you can read the poem." Scorpius took his book back and Albus's hands found their way back to the pile of blonde hair.

"This doesn't seem like a very fun way to be spending our summer, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy."

Scorpius might have growled. "How do you propose we spend it then, Albus?"

Albus shrugged. "I'm not complaining. Just pointing out that you're wasting a beautiful, sunny day by feeding your brain."