Chapter One: The (Not So) Subtle Science And Exact Art of Persuasion

"Oh please, please, please, Al!" Scorpius begged in a whining tone.

The couple was seated facing one another on their new, big, and expensive leather sofa in the lounge of their new, big, and expensive London flat. Finally, due to certain events of late, and after three and a half years of living in a shoebox together, Scorpius and Al could afford a nice flat, and nice things to put in it. For the first time in the history of their cohabitation, the decor of the rest of their flat matched the charming pictures that had adorned their walls all along. The moving photos depicted two people so strikingly different in appearance, that when placed next to each other, they made up a singularly gorgeous couple. These pictures showcased everything from two eleven year old boys who were best friends at Hogwarts pulling funny faces and waving at the camera, to two hormonal seventeen year olds snogging in front of the Shrieking Shack, to two twenty-one year old men beaming up at the camera at their graduation from Healer training and many other moments in between.

As for the two events of late that accounted for their sudden financial gains, the death of Lucius Malfoy had by far been the most lucrative. Scorpius's evil, ex-Death Eater grandfather had, by some miracle, remained blissfully unaware of the fact that Scorpius wasn't exactly the kind of pure-blooded heir he'd probably convinced himself he was leaving his considerable fortune to. It helped that he had gone somewhat senile in his advanced age. But, whatever the ultimate cause, and luckily for Scorpius and Al, Scorpius had managed to remain the sole heir to the Malfoy fortune. Draco got to keep Malfoy Manor, as Narcissa was still living out her remaining years there, but everything in the legendary Malfoy Gringotts vault was Scorpius's (and therefore, by extension, Al's too). And oh, what a vault it was. The first time Scorpius had taken Al to see it, Al's bright green eyes had nearly popped right out of his head, even considering the fact that his own family's vault was certainly nothing to sneeze at. Scorpius hadn't been able to wipe the smirk off his face. Sometimes Al felt guilty about spending inherited blood money on vintage wines and a flat with a view, but ultimately, it felt more like retribution than anything else. On the whole, they had spent the money wisely, too, and even saved the vast majority of it. The (now charmed, flying) Mercedes-Benz was admittedly an impulse buy, but considering the sheer number of Galleons they had been given to squander at their discretion, at least one stupid investment was bound to happen.

The second happy occurrence that accounted for their newfound riches was definitely more honourable. As of slightly over a year ago, Al and Scorpius had both completed their Healer training, and had both secured great jobs at St. Mungo's. Scorpius worked on the fourth floor, in the Janus Thickey ward for permanent residents ("Call it redemption," Scorpius would say to anyone who commented on his career choice), and was already gaining a sterling reputation for having one of the best bedside manners Mungo's had seen in a great long while. He also dabbled in potioneering, and was working toward developing new potion therapies for Cruciatus victims.

Al worked as a Mediwizard, mostly in the field, and he was currently training to specialize in Quidditch injuries. Furthermore, he had just landed his dream position as a trainee to the Mediwizard who was on-call at every Holyhead Harpies game and practice (and his mother had only been ever so slightly involved in getting him the job). All in all, things were splendid for the couple, and they were happy, but things were definitely not perfect, which brings us back to the present conversation:

"I just don't know, Scorpius. The whole family expects me to be at the Burrow. And besides, I don't exactly fancy spending my Christmas being called 'Potty' accidentally-on-purpose by your forty nine year old father." Al responded to Scorpius's pleading in an uneasy tone.

"I know my father's an immature prick, babe. Trust me, no one understands this more than I do. The party won't be all bad, though," Scorpius sounded as if he were trying to convince himself as much as Al. "There will be champagne, and caviar, and shrimp cocktails, and escargot, and calamari -"

"- Okay, okay, I get it, your parents serve pretentious foods. But do you honestly expect alcohol, fish eggs, ocean bottom-feeders, snails, and squid to make this any more tolerable?" Al sounded slightly annoyed now.

"Well, perhaps not the snails, but the alcohol..." Scorpius trailed off.

Ever since the night Scorpius had showed up at Al's flat with a trunk and a duffel bag containing all of his material possessions (slightly over five months after the two of them had left Hogwarts), Scorpius's relationship with his father had been in a steady downward spiral. That night, Draco had questioned Scorpius about his "objectionable" relationship with Al, and Scorpius had found himself unable to lie any longer. What had followed was four years of awkward (at best), and forced (at worst) encounters between Scorpius and Draco, usually instigated by a crestfallen and conflicted Astoria, that had finally culminated in an embarrassingly public row over the inheritance between Father and Son at Lucius's funeral. Since then, Scorpius had vowed never to return to Malfoy Manor unless personally invited by his father, who was acting upon a desire to bury the proverbial hatchet. Unfortunately for Al, that personal invitation had come by owl post a week and a half ago. It was an invitation to the annual lavish, and even more snobbish, Malfoy Christmas party.

"Al, please. You know I can't possibly face this without you; and I've already told mother I'm coming." Scorpius was now adding emotional appeal and reasoning to his begging.

"Well, then maybe you should have asked me if I was alright with this before you implicated me in your plans and made promises to your mother!" Al was bordering on angry now.

Scorpius took both of Al's hands in his upon sensing danger.

"Come on, Al. Don't be cross, please. I promise you we will go to the Burrow before we go to my parent's, but I need you to do this one thing for me, babes. Then I'll owe you one. You know if you're not there with me I'll probably go mad with frustration again like I did at Grandfather's funeral, only this time I may end up doing something worth while with all of my righteous anger...like smothering Father with a pillow."

"Merlin knows you'll owe me one," Al replied tersely, under his breath.

"Does that mean you'll do me the pleasure of accompanying me?" Scorpius sounded hopeful.

"That depends. How much richer would we get if you did smother Draco with a pillow?" Al asked sardonically.

"No richer," Scorpius replied matter-of-factly. "Mother is the only person on Father's will."

"Well, in that case, fine, I'll go. But Merlin knows I am only agreeing to this because I love you, you git." Al seemed to have resolved himself to the worst. He had long since learned when Scorpius wouldn't take no for an answer. Despite the rest of his innumerable differences from his family, Scorpius was a Slytherin through and through.

Scorpius launched himself across the sofa and began kissing Al all over his face, knocking his glasses askew. Al managed to fight him off, though.

"However," Al said in a stern tone, "the first rude thing your arse of a father says -"

Scorpius cut him off.

"- If my complete and total arse of a father so much as looks at you rudely, I will ruin his party and his reputation, seeing as how numerous colleagues, old friends, and snooty relatives of his will be in attendance; and that, sweetheart, is a promise."

Unfortunately for everyone involved, Scorpius is not known for breaking promises.