A/N: Hey guys- I know I've been talking about writing a new AS/S story since time began, and here it is! Yay! This story is a little bit dark but not in the horrible character death kind of way. More in the mystery/ film noir kind of way. Think of Albus Potter as a private eye solving crimes in the 30s, staring at Scorpius Malfoy in a a long silk robe, unsure if he's evil or not. That sort of thing, but the dubstep remix, lol.

Part One:

Albus adjusted his collar uncomfortably. His robes felt too tight. When had the high-necked robes come back into fashion, anyway? Albus was sure that he looked like a fool. A well-dressed fool, but a fool nonetheless.

Albus adjusted his collar once more. It was rapidly becoming a tic, of that he was certain. About him, the patrons of the Blue Siren were consuming their meals, partnered up in the same little circlets that had governed over the world since Hogwarts had begun to hold Yule Balls. Albus sat alone, in a darkened corner, milking his second glass of wine for all it was worth. He was sure that he looked ridiculous. No one was looking, but this wasn't the sort of place that anyone had ever gone to alone.

He ought to go, anyway. Albus was taking up a table that could have better been used by a couple making plans for their elopement. Or by that bizarre looking man and that witch that looked like a child, her face twisted by too many glamours.

Albus frowned at that. That was going too far- even for the upper class.

"Tempus," Albus whispered covertly. He had been waiting here a half-hour. Albus scratched at his ankle awkwardly. He longed to take off his good loafers, put on his trainers, and sit down to watch the Quidditch highlights. Writing for a living meant that Albus had gotten used to being his own man, and making his own hours. He wasn't used to being held up anywhere, and he liked calling his time his own.

But this was worth it. Albus had been planning this night since he had been fifteen years old. The dream had grown every day at Hogwarts- sitting across from the boy he had loved in Potions; listening to him laugh with his friends every day in Herbology. There had been no rivalry, there had never been a row or even a misunderstanding that had distanced them. Instead, they had simply never gotten on. Albus didn't know if that hurt more than all the rest. If they had hated each other, at least it would that have meant that that lovely boy would have noticed him. But no. Albus had always been a dreamer, and a writer, and too remote to interest someone as earthy and passionate as he always had been.

Albus could remember him- dirty face and knees, glowing after Quidditch. Or, broken bones, in the Hospital Wing, surrounding by Albus' own boy had been their best mate, while Albus had been the one they tested WWW products on. No one ever cared for Albus- not even when he tagged along and made a fuss. It hadn't stung at first, but when Albus had learned what love meant- well, it had burned worse than any caustic potion.

And of course he was late. Albus tried to be angry, tried to hold onto some sense of self-righteous indignation, but he couldn't find the will. They had never been close, and if some old classmate had Floo'd out of the blue, Albus wouldn't have bothered showing up as well. Albus tried to reason that he would have at least had the decency to send a note, but in all actuality, he wasn't quite sure. Albus was a writer, and he liked to be on his own with a drink and a sheet of parchment. He also used that as an excuse to be abominably rude.

Albus lifted the wineglass to his mouth again. He was half-way through now. When it reached the dredges, no matter what, he was leaving. He wasn't going to be ridiculed by the staff, and that poor waitwitch looked as though she was dying to accio him an entree, or at the very least another glass of wine. Albus toed off his left shoe, trying to look innocuous as he did it. Even though he said that he was leaving, he was making himself far too comfortable to make a quick Apparation. Obviously, he was going to stay longer and torture himself.

Stay and wait like an idiot.

Albus looked across the room. The Blue Siren was lit with lovely orbs of charmed lights that floated up by the high ceiling, in appropriately chosen shades of navy and indigo. The lights were beautiful- glittering works of magical art, really, but they didn't do much in the way of illumination, and so Albus had to strain to see anyone at the tables around him. Albus should have taken this as a good sign- if he couldn't see much of them, then that meant that they couldn't see much of him, conversely. But at this point, Albus was wandering on the road toward drunkenness, and since he was pretty sure that he was going to be stood up, he at least wanted a scene for amusement.

The couples around Albus, though, were little more than pressed together shapes of shadows and caresses.

Albus tried to imagine them, and their stories- doing so was a stretch of his imagination, and Merlin knew it was the muscle he needed in shape the most for work. Albus sighed. He ought to join a dueling center, and get the rest of his muscles in shape. He was going to run to fat before he was thirty- he had his grandmother Weasley's genes. Maybe he ought to play pick-up Quidditch with Hugo on the weekends. But it was just like being twelve again and being picked last- and Albus was always made to be Chaser. He hated being Chaser.

"Hey," a breezy voice broke into Albus' thoughts. "What are you thinking about?"

Albus jolted to attention. He was here. Albus could feel his face flush. He had been on alert the entire time that he had been here, waiting, and yet the first moment that he started to daydream- Well, it didn't matter. He had come. Albus could feel his insides begin to squirm erratically- there was no nice way to put something as nerve wracking as what was happening. Had they ever been alone together, like this? No. Wait- yes, once before. Queuing for the loo, at Illusion, the nightclub off hadn't spoken much; the music had been too loud, and the situation awkward.

Would it be like that now, again?

Albus flushed once more, thinking about the pressure that he had put on the evening. For a writer, he realized that he had written an abyssal script.

But it was Scorpius Malfoy.

Albus looked at him, as Scorpius slid into the dragonhide seat across from him. Scorpius looked almost exactly as he had when he had been eleven years old, and Albus had stared at him, fascinated, across a train platform. His hair was styled differently, and he was taller, but Scorpius was almost exactly the same.

Everything about Scorpius seemed to exude warmth and friendliness. He wasn't traditionally handsome, but that was most certainly part of his allure. Scorpius had dark grey eyes which were almost black, surrounded with white lashes which made his hair look potioned. He had curly white blond hair, but he kept it trimmed too short, which only made him look pale and slightly unwell. And then his mouth was too large for his face, and far too feminine- it was his mother's only gift to his Malfoyisan appearance. Apart each feature would have been rather plain, but combined they were lovely, even beautiful.

Albus had never been able to look away from the glint of his dark eyes, or the turn of his plush mouth.

"I'm late," Scorpius put a hand over his chest. "I'm so sorry, Al. Really, I am. I was going to send you a message here from work, but I got caught up in a million different parchment airplanes. I'll make it up."

"It's alright," Albus smiled. His face was trying to recreate incendio, apparently. And Scorpius Malfoy was going to make it up to him. "You're here now. Is everything all right at work?"

"A million different things," Scorpius did look distracted. Albus looked Scorpius over carefully, while trying to look as though he wasn't looking at him that carefully. It was far too early for all that, surely. "Feeling pressure. You know how it is, especially with your writing. Deadlines. Speaking of, Jamie told me about the piece in Portkeys and Potions. Why didn't you tell me about it?"

Because I didn't think we were friends enough, Albus thought as a waitwitch came to their table, thankfully giving Albus a chance to think up a response. Albus took a breath, swallowing the bezoar in his throat. Scorpius had changed for their meeting- from his red work robes into a cozy looking black jumper with a white t-shirt underneath. He had worn jeans, but they were that type of wash that slid into appropriately dressed up. Albus didn't know how to take that. Should he be hopeful because Scorpius changed out his uniform, or should he be pessimistic because Scorpius hadn't bothered to put on dress robes?

After Albus ordered his meal, he looked over at Scorpius. The waitwitch had gotten Scorpius a Firewhiskey, neat, in a heavy cut glass tumbler. Albus looked at his wine. Somehow he felt like a plebian and an impostor, even though Scorpius was the one in Muggle clothes.

"What's it about?" Scorpius asked, downing the glass in one smooth stroke. If Albus had tried that, he would have breathing out fire for weeks after. Gryffindors.

"What?" Albus asked, bewildered. Scorpius' mouth was red and moistened from the drink. He unconsciously licked away a bead of liquor on his bottom lip and then smiled, his lips curving wide over crooked, white teeth. I love you, Albus thought absurdly, struck painfully in the chest. I've fancied you since I was eleven years old.

"Your story," Scorpius laughed, tossing his head back as if his hair was still shoulder length. "What is it about?"

Albus snapped back to earth. "A father who takes his three daughters on holiday after the death of their cousin."

Scorpius nodded slowly. The story was vaguely based on Albus' own life, as most writers did. But when his mum had died, there had been no holiday abroad for the Potter siblings. There had only been silence; a long, thorough silence that had taken up every room, and every corner of the cottage, until it beat out every word. Finally, Dad left them. Not on holiday. Instead, he had worked every case that came into the Ministry. He had solved every crime he could himself, and when he was tired, he took Pepper-Up and then took the trainees out on Stealth missions. That lasted for a long time- during all the years that Albus dreamed of Scorpius, and Jamie flew his way though Hogwarts, and that Lily had snogged every bloke with a pulse.

Finally Dad became Head Auror, and they had graduated. It was like Mum had guided them through Hogwarts, and then had faded- her memory becoming something warm and soft and gentle- not something pointed and painful and raw.

"You're very brave," Scorpius smiled softly. "For writing about all that. I don't know if I could do it."

"It's not my own life," Albus shrugged it all away, though inside he could feel himself warm with pride. Scorpius thought that he was brave. Scorpius admired him. "I've never been on holiday to half these places. I had to do a lot of research. Especially on Salem."

"Ah," Scorpius smiled. "I've been there."

Albus paused. The waitwitch had arrived with their meals, but Albus was still thinking about Scorpius' minor revelation. Albus had always paid attention to Scorpius, and to all of Scorpius' comings and goings, as desperate as that made him sound. It had been easy, though- Scorpius was Teddy's cousin, Scorpius was Lily's best mate. All through Hogwarts, Albus had never noticed the Malfoys take a holiday to America. They stayed in Scotland during Yule. They went to Greece during the summer. But never America.

So when?

"When did you go to the States?" Albus pressed the question, suddenly feeling an invisible ward go up between them. Had he asked a question that had brought up a bad memory? Or something that was off topic? Had his holiday been with an ex?"

"Last year," Scorpius smiled, but his expression was a bit too glamoured on to be natural. "I went by myself for my birthday. I saw the Quodpot quarter-finals. Do you like Quodpot, Al?"

"No," Albus shook his head. He could barely understand why the sport existed, let alone the rules. "Too brutal."

"Too brutal," Scorpius scoffed loudly, and one of the shadowy figures in another booth definitely turned to peek at them in annoyance. Albus smirked internally- they were disturbing their night, now. That was what it would be like, dating a Gyffindor. The spotlight would shift and Albus would receive some of it's glow, if only by association. He'd be apart of it all, for once.

"Too brutal," Scorpius continued, with a small sigh. Albus thought it sounded fond- he was almost certain it did. "In Quidditch you can get killed by a Muggle aircraft chopping you to bits if you're not careful."

"What's the likelihood of that?" Albus finally cut into his entree, forgetting to be nervous for the slightest moment. Everything was going really well, Albus couldn't help but cheer himself on, as though he was a spectator in his own life. Author's habit. It was a bit of a choppy start, but a fine recovery, that, Potter.

"I don't know," Scorpius shrugged good naturedly. Scorpius had always been like that at school. He had been friendly, kind, but remote- he hadn't been the type to break up a row, but he hadn't been the type to bully anyone, either. Albus supposed that Scorpius had made Gryffindor on his amazing Defense skills, amongst those other traits. No one could beat Scorpius in DADA when he had his mind set on a goal. Albus only ever took DADA with the Gryffindors in sixth year, but he couldn't help thinking back to his fantasy from those days; of being tied up by Scorpius Malfoy's incarerous, and being left defenseless in some field . . .

Well, it made a good hour alone, at least.

"Maybe you could research it," Scorpius grinned. He had a good mouth. Was that an idiotic thing to notice? Maybe Albus was giddy from too much wine- Jamie always said he was looser than a cauldron with a crack. "It would make a good exposé for somewhere. I dunno."

"Yeah," Albus smiled back. He needed to stick to water now. He was going to do something stupid, and he was not a Gryffindor, and not bold. Asking Scorpius to dinner had been his great leap of faith for the month.

"So," Scorpius drawled. "Lily's birthday."

"Yes," Albus smiled back thinly, wondering if Scorpius noticed the faint change in his demeanor.

This had been his excuse for Flooing Scorpius, after all, so he really had no reason to be upset. What other reason could he have logically used to Floo up an old classmate that he had no contact with, except through his family? Anything else would have been odd in the extreme. Albus tried not to be resentful of the reminder that he had never been a part of his brother and sister's social lives. Usually he was rather relieved that they no longer asked him to play twentieth wheel in their flying car trips. Right now, though, all Albus could see was how much he really did miss out by being the resident reclusive writer.

"She's going to expect something," Scorpius continued on, obliviously, drumming his fingers on the broad violet tablecloth in time to an invisible beat. Albus couldn't help but grin at his nervous tic. "Lily loves being the center of attention. Do you want to hire somebody?"

"Who?" Albus was sure that his voice was far too loud now. The shadowy shapes were murmuring now.

Scorpius tossed back his head and snorted once. Albus really wished that he would grow out his hair at least a little. He had such lovely blond curls- all the witches at Hogwarts had wanted to run their fingers through it, or had imagined what their children would have looked like with Scorpius' angelic ringlets. Albus sniffed thinking about it. Cows.

But Scorpius did have lovely hair. And this cut aged him terribly.

"Not like that!" Scorpius protested. "Not a- not a- you know. But maybe a singer. Or someone to put on a performance. Not put on a performance."

Albus laughed back, his face doing that woeful impression of incendio again. The evening was going well. The conversation had the usual awkward stops and starts that would occur during a meal between two people that hardly knew each other, but it wasn't anything that would make Albus lose hope.

"So-" Albus began, mustering up the courage to solidify plans to meet again to continue planning for Lily's party. One step at a time.

"Ooh," Scorpius reached into his pocked and retrieved a red-hot and vibrating silver disk. Albus couldn't read the inscription on it- no one could but Scorpius himself, but Albus knew the person who had created the spells that charmed those coins. Everyone in his family did.

"I'm sorry," Scorpius frowned, and he did look apologetic. "Work. I've got to go."

"Yes," Albus forced a smile. "Never mind this, I'll settle the bill."

"We should meet up again," Scorpius smiled vaguely, pocketing the coin Aurors used to summon each other. "You have my Floo."

Albus nodded, his teeth gritted.

Scorpius had said it in the way wizards did when they had no intention of speaking to that other person again.