Thank you, Iwao, for being such a wonderful beta :) I blame Harvey Specter's attitude for this. And quite possibly Stuart Broad's hair.

The way Al saw it, Scorpius Malfoy was a disaster in waiting.

Things would never have turned out the way they did if Scorpius didn't have eyes like molten silver, and hair as pale as a Veela's, and almost as luminescent. His hair had always been that unnatural shade of white-blond, what had changed was, he now apparently also had the urge to flaunt it. He wore it trimmed, tousled, perfectly styled. It was breathtaking, and the way the soft strands fell over his face, and licked at his cheekbones in an obscene caress was, quite frankly, nothing short of pornographic.

In fact, everything about Scorpius was downright indecent.

Al knew what he was talking about. Having to share a dormitory with Scorpius and the flimsy, barely-even-there silk of Scorpius' pyjamas, and those soft breathy sounds he sometimes made in his sleep, had given Al an acute case of blue balls that had lasted all through sixth and seventh year—and still made the occasional comeback, when Al's mind dared to venture down those lanes.

Scorpius, on the other hand, seemed blissfully unaware of the effect he had on people. Therefore, if anyone were to blame for the way things turned out in the end, well. In truth, it would be James.

But if anyone else were to be blamed, it would totally have to be Scorpius, because if Scorpius hadn't decided to show up to the Annual Reunion of Hogwarts Ex-Alumni, all charm and shy smiles, and looking like bloody sex on a stick, James would never have noticed him.

Unluckily for Al, Scorpius had shown. And James, being James, immediately took notice.

"Say, your housemate—"

"Former housemate," Al corrected. His brother appeared to have an awfully hard time coming to terms with the fact that Al was no longer a schoolboy.

"Right. That's what I meant." James' eyebrows were raised. His gaze, somewhere between speculative and impressed, followed Scorpius' every movement. Across the room, Scorpius took a careful sip from his drink and went on chatting with Poppy Goyle, utterly unconcerned by the attention. "Does he always look like the lawyers in those American shows mum likes?"

"How do you mean?"

"Smart Muggle designer suit, but worn comfortably enough to look casual"—James held up a finger—"fashionable hair, impossibly white teeth, an air of amused disinterest." Three more fingers. "Is he always like that? Was he like that at school?"

"I … I don't know."

Truthfully, Al couldn't remember a single instance of Scorpius not looking like that, but it wasn't as if he'd been watching all that closely. As a matter of fact, he'd been very studiously not watching. Looking at Scorpius had a series of unpleasant side-effects, the most embarrassing being that it made Al sound like a bumbling idiot, (which came with its own set of added side-effects when you were in Slytherin—all those snakes just biding their time, sharp dagger in hand.)

No, certain hazards were best avoided, Al thought with a shudder, especially at Hogwarts. Self-preservation and all that rot. Teenagers were unpredictable enough without wands and magic.

"You reckon he'd still look like that after a good shag?" James mused. "Perfectly put together, not a hair out of place?"

Al only found his voice several minutes later, when the images of grey eyes, smooth skin, and pale, slender limbs on dark sheets finally halted the assault on his mind. "You want to shag Scorpius Malfoy?"

James hitched a shoulder.

"And here I thought you were supposed to be the straight one."

"Any sane human being would make an exception for that," James said defensively. Al bravely fought the itch to point out Scorpius was not an inanimate object, and as such, should probably be referred to as 'him'. "Besides, I'm sure he looks androgynous enough from behind."

"Sweet Salazar, James, that's …" A dear old recurring fantasy of Al's, one he had wanked to often and enthusiastically enough. His brother starring in it was a new addition, however—new, and highly unwelcome. And it sounded so crass when James put it like that! In Al's mind, it had always been tender and dreamlike and … Al briefly considered Obliviating himself. "I'll thank you not to shag any of my housemates."

"Former housemates."

"Yes. That," Al snapped, irritated beyond belief at having his own words thrown back at him. But that was James. Exceedingly irritating bastard.

"Trust me, he wouldn't be the first of your former housemates to wind up in my bed. He wouldn't even be the first one in your year," James informed him with an annoyingly condescending smirk. Al's brain quickly drafted up—very much without permission—a list of likely candidates. Ugh, that memory charm was sounding better by the minute; it was that, or Avada Kedavra. "But fine—" James sighed exaggeratedly, "—this particular Slytherin I won't touch, since you're so invested in protecting his dubious virtue."

"He'd never go for you, anyway." At least, Al hoped he wouldn't. But what if Scorpius had a thing for Gryffindors, or, Merlin forbid, uniforms. What if James showed up in his Auror robes, what if … "He's definitely out of your league." There, that sounded convincing.

"Not so sure about that." James leant forward, setting his pint down on the bar. "To be honest, I think I'd stand a better chance than you."

Older brothers, Al thought, were by far the most disgusting thing since grass-flavoured beans. They always thought they were better, somehow—and most importantly, they always, always thought they knew best. "Never mind that you only think so because you're your usual, annoyingly overconfident self."

James shrugged. "Actually, it's because I didn't go through seven years of school without ever so much as talking to the poor sod. But hey, whatever flies your broom."

"Oh, fuck off." So Al got a little tongue-tied around Scorpius. So what? "I can totally get into his pants, all right? I've just never tried."

As it often happened, no sooner had Al opened his mouth to speak those words than everyone else at the gathering decided to fall silent. Al spied several people giving him odd looks, and even Scorpius deigned to spare him a glance, with a bemused—and entirely too adorable, in Al's opinion—tiny crease between his brows.

Thankfully, the moment passed. Conversation resumed all around them, louder than before, and Scorpius quickly looked away.

"Tell you what," James said. The speculative look returned in full force, only this time directed at Al. "If you manage to shag little Malfoy over there in under two weeks, you can borrow my bike for a month."

"Really? Sirius Black's bike?"

"The one and only." James smiled winningly. "So, what's it going to be?"

Al didn't answer right away.

It made for a rather sordid gamble, all in all—but he was a Slytherin, first and foremost; baseness was practically their raison d'être . Plus, Al was always in favour of proving James wrong, and he'd wanted to get his hands on that bike for a very, very long time. And on Scorpius, a treacherous little voice in his head reminded him. "I want the bike and the invisibility cloak, and I get them for two months," he said eventually, not wanting to appear too eager.

"Very well, then"—James wiped his palm on his jeans before holding it out for Al to shake—"I'd say we have a deal."

That, they did. And two shots of Firewhisky and several deep breaths later, Al also had a plan. He figured there was no better time than the present to set it into motion.

Granted, it was a fairly simple plan—Al would approach Scorpius, thoroughly dazzle him with his wit, and watch in triumph as Scorpius fell at his feet—but one that had seldom failed Al in the past, even if Lily often claimed that had more to do with Al being a regular in the pages of Seeker Weekly than any merit of the plan itself. Ha! What did she know, anyway?

Standing in front of Scorpius, Al was beginning to suspect Lily might have a point after all. He could already spot a few flaws in his plan, like the fact that he couldn't for the life of him come up with an appropriate way to greet Scorpius.

A nod and a curt 'Malfoy' seemed too aloof for his purposes, and 'Fancy meeting you here' was bordering on idiotic when one took into account where here was, and that the both of them had unfailingly attended these reunions for the past four years. 'Fancy a shag?' while short and to the point, would probably get Al's bits hexed off—Al would really rather keep them; they seemed crucial if there was to be any shagging.

In the end, he settled for a fidgety, "Er, hello."

Scorpius blinked and quickly glanced over his shoulder, as if he expected Al to be addressing any of the nonexistent people at the empty table behind him.

"So …" Al tried. It was a shame the part of his brain in charge of such mundane tasks as small talk had gone all soft and gooey in light of Scorpius' proximity. Al could have used it right about then. "Lovely weather we're having, don't you think?"

"The rain, Potter? Really?" Scorpius blinked, again, but at least he now seemed reassured that Al was indeed talking to him. That should count as a step in the right direction. "I'd say it's pretty usual at this time of the year."

"Right. Of course." Time for a different approach, then. "Can I buy you a drink?"

"No, I don't think you can," Scorpius said slowly, as if talking to a particularly dimwitted child. "Drinks are free, you realise."

"Can I fetch one for you, then?"

Scorpius' eyes narrowed. "And why exactly would you want to do that?"

"It's a party." Ordinarily, such a question would have convinced Al that whoever he was talking to was somewhat socially challenged. However, because this was Scorpius—who was, admittedly, a tad odd, but by no means friendless—Al could only assume he was being contrary just for the hell of it. "It's what people do at parties. They drink. And dance. And I'm not going to ask you to dance because, frankly, their taste in music—"

"Not that." Scorpius waved an impatient hand. "I meant, why me specifically?"

Al picked absently at his sleeve; this really was a bit off-putting. He had a feeling 'Because James dared me to screw you' wouldn't score him any points.

"Actually, Potter, go right ahead. I can see I'm nowhere near intoxicated enough for this … this … whatever it is you're trying to do here." The look Scorpius gave him clearly stated he believed Al would feel right at home at the Janus Thickey Ward. "Go get that drink. And make sure it's Blishen's, none of that substandard crap they're serving."

Al dashed to the bar, feeling immensely pleased with himself. Fortunately—no matter what Lily thought—there was still something to be said for his schemes. Not so fortunately, by the time he made his way back, drinks in hand, Scorpius was nowhere to be found, and Al was beginning to realise he'd just been made into a giant prat.

"Well, that couldn't have gone better," James said cheerfully, giving Al's shoulder a light punch. "Do I get to keep the extra drink?"

Al glared. "You're a lush. You know that, right?"