"You should tell her, Al. You really should."

"But it's so hard," Albus whined. "She's our friend. I don't want her to think I don't like her."

"Well, you don't. Not like that. And how is it hard? I tell boys I don't like them all the time!"

"You've only done that twice."

"Three times."

"Two times to the same person doesn't count, no matter how thickheaded Remy is."

Albus Potter and Rose Weasley were taking a walk to the greenhouses the night of their arrival at Hogwarts for their seventh year. It had been Rose's idea, as was using the entire 20 minutes to berate Albus for leading on Dora Thomas. Albus hadn't been leading her on—at least, not intentionally—but Rose didn't seem to believe that.

"Honestly, Al, it would be a lot easier for everyone if you just came out already."

"I shouldn't have to do that," he said, trying not to complain, but not being able to help himself. Rose was the only one he ever got to complain to, and he liked taking advantage of that. "Alfie and Nicolas, all they had to do was start dating. And Scorpius, he didn't even have to do that. He just started ... swaggering a bit more."

Rose giggled. "Swaggering?"

"Oh, you know what I mean." Albus launched into an imitation of Scorpius' walk. "'Lo, Rose. Didn't see you there. Too busy matching my socks to my underwear."

Rose laughed so hard she could hardly breathe. Hiccupping slightly, she asked, "Does he really do that?"

"How would I know?" Albus shrugged and fell back in with Rose. "Scorpius is my friend. He doesn't tell me that kind of thing."

"I bet he would if you asked. I can tell he fancies you."

Albus fought off a blush, successfully for once. "No, he doesn't. He treats me the same as all his friends."

"Except for the part where he practically gropes you whenever you're together," Rose said with a snort. "And the way he doesn't look at anything but you in Potions or Care of Magical Creatures. Or—"

"Oh, stuff it," said Albus, rolling his eyes. "I get it. Scorpius is in love with me. Or you think he is, and I'll pretend you're right to get out of this conversation."

"Oh, now you want out of the conversation? Does that mean you like him, too?"

This time, Albus couldn't stave off the blush. Luckily, it was turning to dusk, just dark enough that Rose wouldn't be able to see it. "No."

"Are you lying to me?"

"No. I don't."

"But you did in fourth year."

"Right. When I was a kid."

"You're saying you outgrew Scorpius Malfoy?"

"Not Scorpius. Just fancying him," Albus corrected her. Naturally, that wasn't at all true. Of course he liked Scorpius. He had since he first figured out he liked boys and saw the look on Scorpius' face when he talked about showering, way back in their fourth year of school and second year of friendship. He'd told Rose then, but he also told her he wasn't interested in anyone every time she asked thereafter. Rose could have her relationship with Lysander Scamander—Andy, they called him, a much less horrible name—and that could occupy her time while Albus daydreamed about Scorpius' easy smile and creamy white skin and pale grey eyes. Oh, the eyes, that was what first got Albus hooked. There was a way about them, life or something, Albus was no poet so he couldn't describe it quite right. He just knew that when he looked at them, and Scorpius looked back into his, it felt like they were the only two people alive.

And yet...

He couldn't tell anyone, could he? Least of all Scorpius, because no matter what Rose said, there was no way Scorpius felt the same as him. For now, Albus would go on pretending there was nothing more than friendship on either side of his interactions with the best-looking, cleverest, most sincere boy he'd ever met.