Scorpius woke up thirsty. At first he tried to ignore the fact and go back to sleep, but when you're thirsty, you're thirsty. There's really nothing you can do. He slipped out of bed, out from under the arm wrapped casually around his waist, and padded down the unfamiliar stairs of the Potter family home, down to the kitchen. He stepped into the dimly lit room, toward the sink, and gasped almost inaudibly as he realized the kitchen was already occupied.

Ginny Potter was sitting quietly, nursing a cup of tea. Scorpius was about to creep back to bed when she noticed him and beckoned him in. He wordlessly poured himself some water and sat in the seat she indicated. She open her mouth, as if about to speak, but Scorpius cut her off with the words, "You don't need to pretend you like me right now. Al's not here to see, and I already know you don't like me. I swear I won't tell on you."

The odd thing was that there was no bitterness or malice in his words. In fact, the last utterance was even a little playful.

He continued, "I get it, you know? Dad's the same way with some people--it's nothing personal, but there are parts of the past he just can't get beyond."

Ginny stared at him, searchingly, for long enough that he started to squirm in his seat, before she finally said, "You're much more mature than my son, it seems."

Scorpius was visibly startled by the change of subject, but collected himself enough to ask, "How do you mean?"

"Well, mostly just that little speech you gave me. Tell me, does it ever bother you?"

"That I'm more, how did you put it, I'm more mature? No, I really don't mind. You and Mr. Potter have put together a stable, supportive home for your children, and even if they don't always appreciate it, it shows in their personalities. They've had the chance to grow up at their own rate, and it shows, but there's nothing wrong with that. Al's bright and loyal and happy, and he makes me laugh. The fact that he's not much like me is a virtue, in our friendship."

"What a very flattering analysis, Mr. Malfoy," Ginny mocked, gently, "No wonder you ended up in Ravenclaw. How long have you and my son been together?"

"What?"

"Come now, feller-me-lad, if there ever was a speech dripping in puppy-love, it's the one I just heard, and Al's been mooning after you for months now--I could even tell in letters."

Scorpius smiled, conceding victory in this round of the exceedingly unlikely verbal fencing-match he found himself entangled in. "Nearly two and a half months now, since April."

Ginny found herself dying to ask what had happened in April, to learn more about the life of her middle child, who she'd become gently estranged from since the conception of his friendship with Scorpius Malfoy, and her subsequent disapproval, which she quashed in the interests of a familial truce, but which had never entirely dissipated. She felt, however, that if she started pumping this odd boy for information, he'd snap shut and not tell her another word.

Odd, she thought, how I'm begging for information about my son from the boy who's the reason he doesn't speak to me, which was not entirely true. Albus spoke to her, he was friendly, and as scrupulously polite to her as she was to Scorpius, but he didn't come to her with his problems and concerns, didn't tease her for her Quiddich obsession, like the rest of her children, and sent home stiff, formal letters, dripping with news of Scorpius, as if to grind her nose in her failure.

Instead of begging for details, she stood slowly, and said, formally, "I realize that you're both teenage boys, and sharing a bedroom, but while you're under my roof, I'd appreciate it if the two of you didn't do anything--er--inappropriate.

It seemed she had struck the wrong nerve, as Scorpius stared her down and replied coolly, "We haven't shagged yet, if that's what you're driving at. Different dormitories, remember?"

Ginny blushed to the roots of her hair and stammered, "Er, well, good. Right then. Maybe keep it that way while yet?"

A cheeky grin. "Yes, Mrs. Potter."

Ginny retreated up the stairs, filing the new, blush-inducing piece of information away with the other bits and scraps of information about her younger son she'd managed to gather in the last few years.

Scorpius emptied his glass and crept up the stairs and into bed beside Al, who stirred and murmured sleepily, "Where were you?"

"Just went for a glass of water."

"You get lost or something? You were gone for ages."

"Why? Did you miss me?"

A sleepy smile, a kiss pressed into soft, pale hair, a murmured whisper, "Always."