Chapter Four: Albus: The Meeting

"Al, maybe you should go back to sleep."

"What makes you say that?"

"Your head is practically in your cereal." Lily was wrong, actually. My head was in this bowl of chocolaty goodness.

I lifted my heavy, pounding head and wiped my nose with the back of my hand. I yawned loudly as James sauntered into the kitchen, dressed in his Quidditch jersey from school.

"Morning," he said cheerfully, grabbing a bowl and sitting down at the counter beside me. "Al, you have a milk moustache."

"Probably the only moustache he's ever going to grow," Lily said nonchalantly, sniggering as she stirred her cereal. I wiped my face and yawned again, disregarding her comment completely.

What? I was too tired to argue.

Even if it wasn't not true. I have a moustache - you just can't see it.

Yeah, I'm manly. Don't worry.

"Where are Mum and Dad this morning?" I asked them, taking in another spoonful.

"Dad's at work and Mum's at Aunt Fleur's house to plan your wedding," James cooed, pouring cereal into his bowl. I groaned and stuffed another mouthful of cereal. For ten precious minutes, I had completely forgotten I was going to get married in two weeks.

"How did dinner go at Goyle's?" Lily asked curiously, flipping a page of the Daily Prophet in front of her. "We didn't get to ask Mum before she left."

"Fine," I said indifferently, munching on my cereal.

Dinner went brilliantly, actually. Emily is an amazing liar. They weren't even suspicious.

You know what? That really sucks, now that I think about it. Now I have to get married.

Emily's mom was thrilled for us. She thought that I did a chivalrous act in asking Emily to marry me before she could possibly be put in prison or die so that I could always have that bond with her. Her imagination is a little crazy if you ask me – I mean, I'm a seventeen-year-old male. That was the last thing I was thinking when I suggested marriage.

I fed Emily some bull about how I've got what my Aunt Hermione calls the "hero's complex." Sure, that may have something to do with it – I definitely would hate to have her family die just because we have a wimp for a Minister of Magic – but I kind of wanted something out of it.

She's a Slytherin, though. She'd understand… if I ever got around to telling her.

Our parents are completely convinced we're in love, though. We did the whole eye-sex and gushing show, and I am an excellent actor, if I do say so myself. The only problem we came across was at the end of the night – when we were expected to kiss goodnight – and we just hugged. Briefly.

It was really awkward. Not even the haha-I'm-making-this-awkward-and-it's-really hilarious kind of awkward. It was more like the wow-we're-supposed-to-have-snogged-by-now-and-we're-hugging-and-our-parents-are-watching-and-this-is-just-too-weird-for-words.

Even our parents gave us some looks. Just wait – Mum or Dad will let James know about the hug that night and he'll make a crack about me not getting any. Our whole plan will be ruined, I tell you – RUINED!

Sorry. It's kind of fun being overly dramatic.

Emily's father was really nice, though. I fawned over his work at St. Mungo's (Emily had mentioned that at some point) and asked for his blessing, just like James mentioned. He granted it and now he loves me.

A former Death Eater likes the son of Harry Potter.

It was a little creepy, I must admit.

"Anything good in there?" I asked Lily as she turned to the last page of the Prophet. She flipped the paper over and handed it to me, grinning widely. I unfolded it and spread it on the table as she and James burst into laughter.

I don't know why they were laughing so hard. That was a pretty good picture of me.

"Three people were arrested for being related to Death Eaters and youmade it to the headlines?" James chuckled and shook his head at me. "Pathetic."

I swallowed the last of my cereal and tore my eyes away from the picture. I've been in the paper before, but I've never made the headlines. Well, not directly – my dad has done a bunch of heroic stuff since he basically saved the whole world, so he's been on the front page and I've been mentioned – but I've never actually done anything.

"Reporter cornered us in The Leaky Cauldron yesterday," I mumbled, staring into my empty bowl. My siblings didn't seem to hear me.

"Aw, Al," Lily said mockingly, peering at my face. "Are you worried about your fiancée?"

"I was wondering when you were going to date again," James added with a full mouth. "Holly Birch was a bit –"

"Language, James!" called my mother as she emerged from the living room fireplace. "I was just at Bill and Fleur's, trying to find a wedding planner. I think we're just going to have to get your grandmother to plan the entire thing, Al." She set her purse down on the counter and heaved a sigh. "Two weeks isn't a long time."

"You know Mum, Al is really worried about Emily," Lily said conversationally, flashing me a wicked grin. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and settled for staring at the picture of me taking Emily's hand and pulling her out the door, again and again and again…

Ha, that was kind of funny. Emily looked terrified.

"Don't worry Al." Mum cut through my thoughts in a would-be comforting voice. "She and her mum are coming over soon to plan the wedding with us." I winced internally.

"When?" Lily asked curiously as James sent his spoon clattering in his bowl.

"In about half an hour. Al, why aren't you dressed yet?" Mum demanded as I slid off my seat.

"Mum, it's ten o'clock on a Saturday," I answered nonchalantly.

I think I'm perfectly justified here.

"Al, your fiance's going to be here!" she shot back, waving a spatula at me. "Go take a shower, you smell." I scowled ran up the stairs as Lily and James sniggered at me, looking thoroughly pleased.

I seemed to be at the butt end of their jokes those days.

It sucked.

Emily didn't bother to knock on my door when she arrived. Nope, she just opened the door and barged in loudly without a care in the world.

Okay, so she just poked her head in before entering. Same thing.

"Hey, Albus," she greeted, standing awkwardly after she shut the door behind her. "Did you see the Prophet this morning?" I grimaced and gestured to the couch beside my bed, where I was currently residing.

"Yeah," I said tiredly, rubbing my eyes a little. "I didn't read the article; do you know what it says?"

She rested on the couch, avoiding my eyes. "They were mainly going on and on that the son of Harry Potter is marrying the daughter of a Death Eater." She let out a small laugh, and I raised my eyebrows.

Wow. She actually laughed, and it wasn't hysterical.

"I see you're feeling better?" I asked, relaxing a little. She seemed surprised by the change of subject.

"Not really," she admitted, looking a little sick. "I've been up half the night, worrying about today." I nodded, rolling on my back and staring at the ceiling. I tried to ignore the blatant awkwardness, hanging in front of me.

"I'm bloody tired," I commented to no one.

"You and me both," she agreed after a few moments. "Can I put my feet up on your couch?"

"Feel free," I replied, and I looked over as she stretched out on the black, leather couch. Emily inherited her father's smile. That was about the only thing she got from him; she looked stunningly like her mother, except there was something unique about her. I hadn't been able to really appreciate how pretty she actually was when she was wearing the graduation gown yesterday.

I forced my gaze back to my ceiling, trying not to stare.

"You're a true Gryffindor," she observed, staring at the posters around my room. I couldn't even see the walls anymore; there were so many pictures of lions, Quidditch teams, swords… "All these Quidditch posters make me wonder why you became a journalist."

I pointed to my bookshelf, which was stacked with notebooks and papers. "That's why," I offered, smiling at my life's work. "I have a knack for working the truth out of people."

"And lying," she added, not quite keeping the astonishment out of her voice. "Brilliant work yesterday, even I almost believed you." I grinned and put my arms underneath my head.

"Same to you," I said politely. "I think my proposal was very romantic, don't you?" She snorted.

"You said you proposed without a ring and made up for it by giving me chocolate."

"So?" I asked in amusement.

"How does a ring and a chocolate compare?"

"You love the ring," I stated, looking at her left hand, where she was playing with it.

"So?" She didn't deny it. I was getting somewhere!

"I love chocolate." The corners of her mouth lifted reluctantly.

"That's for sure," she acknowledged, looking at the multiple posters of chocolate on the walls. "But –"

"Emily, our parents loved the story, just admit it," I said teasingly.

"I'll admit it when you confess you're a pack rat," she mocked back, referring to our conversation last night. I lifted myself onto my elbow to look at her.

"I'm not." She surveyed me doubtfully, as if I were lying.

"Quit trying to act innocent." She got up and walked over to my bookshelf. "You never throw anything out, do you?"

I rolled over and walked to the bookshelf, admiring it. "I couldn't bear to throw anything I've ever written." She rolled her eyes.

"That's the definition of a pack rat," she told me, smirking. I laughed and held up my hands in resignation.

"All right, I'm a pack rat. And…?" I leaned in eagerly, and she sighed.

"Our parents loved your story," she admitted grudgingly. I grinned again and bounded back to my bed, seemingly angering her. "That doesn't mean you win, though." I lifted my head up.

"Win what?" I asked, my eyebrows scrunching together.

"I dunno," she answered, flopping back onto the couch. "Our argument?"

"We're not arguing," I said, half-questioning the situation myself. Had I missed something?

"But we're battling, somehow," she observed astutely, "and I want to win." I rolled over and faced her, feeling much like a psychologist.

"And how does that make you feel?" A pillow was thrown my way, and I turned into my back again, my head hanging off the edge of my bed.

"If it makes you feel any better, I want to win this too," I considered out loud. Hey, if we were going to battle, she's going down.

She smirked, glancing to the ceiling where we were – surprise, surprise – more posters.

"Knew it."

"You know, I'm kind of amazed you're allowed in my room right now," I commented, not minding that everything was upside down.

"Why?"

"Isn't your mom scared, or something? We could be doing anything." I grinned, knowing perfectly well of the implications coming from that statement.

She rolled her eyes. "We're going to be married in two weeks, I don't think they care. Besides, Scorpius and I have been best friends for our entire lives, and we haven't done anything." I blanched.

"Not even once?" I asked in wonder. She shook her head, wrinkling her nose as she did so.

"Of course not. He's my brother," she said, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world.

I nodded, thinking of last night. "So what if I were to suggest that we practice snogging?"

Merlin, she falls a lot.

Emily emerged, red-faced and bewildered. "Did you just say what I think you said?" I flipped over and got up from my bed, walking towards her. She took a step back.

"Yeah," I confirmed, trying not to laugh. "Our parents were suspicious of our hug last night; Mum was teasing me about it, saying that we weren't very affectionate for being in love."

That was embarrassing, to say the least. They were gawking at us the entire time!

Blush bloomed on her pale cheeks, and she tugged at her hair. "I don't think so." I sighed.

"This is just for show," I emphasized, taking another step towards her. She didn't step back. "Remember?"

"Yes," she said, swallowing a little, "that's why I don't think we should. Our parents can't stop us from getting married, we're of age. Furthermore," she added as I opened my mouth, "I don't want to be used."

I looked at her incredulously. "You're the one who's using me in the first place!" I exclaimed, and she twisted her hair more quickly. "And I don't want to use you. I just think it'll be really odd when we have to kiss in front of everyone and it'll look like it's our first time."

She looked stumped. "I don't want to." I rolled my eyes.

"Neither do I, to be honest."

"Then we don't have to?" she piped up reasonably. I ran a hand through my hair.

"But we do," I replied, raising my eyebrows at her.

"But –"

"You don't get it, Emily. If we're not convincing, your family dies." I crossed my arms in front of me as her eyes found mine for the first time that day, and she gulped.

"I'm sorry that you can't find someone to satisfy your urges for the time being, but I'm not doing this," she decided, crossing her arms as well. I took in a deep breath.

"I don't want to have to resort to using blackmail," I said seriously, taking another step towards her. "I could go downstairs and tell everyone right now." Her eyes narrowed.

"You wouldn't," she growled.

"Try me." I took another step forwards, and she pressed her back against a poster of the Chudley Cannons.

"You have the capability to be in Slytherin," she said, her voice a little wobbly. I laughed, and she relaxed a little, thinking I had given up.

Poor girl.

"The Sorting Hat agrees with you," I replied, resting my hands on the wall around her. She immediately tensed up again, her eyes flashing.

"Get away from me, Potter," she whispered, her voice a little more sure of herself.

"No, thanks," I answered quietly, leaning in a little. She shrank against the wall and began to whimper. Actually.

Merlin, I'm apparently attractive to most girls!

"No, please don't!" she pleaded pressing her hands against my chest, unsuccessfully trying to push me away. She was beginning to panic – she thought I wouldn't actually do it. She knew that she couldn't attack me or I'd tell everyone, and she thought I'd never snog a girl that I've only known for a day.

And she was right.

I leaned in and kissed her nose lightly, making her jump up in surprise.

"Told you it'd be awkward!" I said happily as she opened her eyes, completely shocked and spluttering incoherently.

"You – you just –"

"I'd never kiss you without your permission, okay?" I said genuinely, leaning back from the wall and crossing my arms, my face still inches from hers. "But we're going to have to practise sometime, and you know it."

She took a deep breath. "We don't –"

"We're too awkward," I said, our noses brushing against each other. Her brown eyes flashed with decision and she stomped on my foot, storming out of my room a few seconds later.

I whistled optimistically as I followed her, sticking my hands in my pockets and smiling at her back. She glanced back, her cheeks still red. I laughed.

Hey, she was growing on me.

I didn't care what colour the napkins are. They could be invisible, or better yet, nonexistent. What was wrong with plain old white? Why was I even making these decisions in the first place?

"They don't match the tablecloth, Al." I glared daggers at my mum as Scorpius Malfoy fell out of our fireplace.

Oh, look! Santa's here!

… I couldn't believe I thought that. Even in my mind, that was sad. Santa was a fictional character made up by Muggles – and they believe in it, too! How daft can they get?

Besides, Santa had a white beard. Malfoy was clearly a blonde.

He glanced over to me, looking distraught and tired. His hair stuck out in odd places, and his clothes were littered with soot. With a jolt, I realized that this was the person my best friend (and favourite cousin) was going to marry.

I've never really had an opinion of Rose and Malfoy's relationship. I don't think anyone but Uncle Ron really cared all that much – and even he calmed down and listened to Aunt Hermione after a while. I suppose the only person shocked about his proposal was Rose; I mean, one minute, he was studying and the next, he was leaning down on one knee!

Isn't it awesome that I didn't have to have to kneel down and look like a complete prat, even if women really seem to like that? It was a pretty great deal, if you think about it.

You know, if I didn't have to put up with Emily.

But she wasn't so bad. I'd love to know the skeletons in her closet that she insists on hiding from me, or how she and Malfoy became such good friends.

Speaking of…

"Can I talk to Emily?" he asked me after greeting the mothers. I frowned.

"Why're you asking me?" I inquired, narrowing my eyes. He shrugged.

"She's your girlfriend – or fiancée, I suppose –"

"But you don't need to ask me," I interjected, still very confused. "I don't own her, in case you haven't noticed." Malfoy's eyebrows raised so high, they nearly hid in his fringe.

"You are the only guy who hasn't been intimidated by my friendship with Em," he said slowly, has though seeming in a whole new light. We hadn't really known each other that well, anyway.

"I don't have reason to be, do I? Anyway, Emily apparated back to her house to get something, you should probably go there," I lied easily, knowing full well what Malfoy wanted to talk about. He nodded and disappeared, just as Emily walked back into the living room.

Good timing.

"Emily!" I scrambled to my feet, ignoring the 'aww's' coming from our mothers. I pushed her back out of the room, and for the second time that day (granted, it was six hours ago), her back hit the wall.

"Al, not again," she groaned, taking my hands off her hips. "I understand we're awkward, but –"

"Not that," I cut across quickly, knowing I didn't have much time. I checked over my shoulder at the empty kitchen before speaking again. "You can't tell Scorpius about this plan, okay?"

She scoffed. "Why not? He's my best friend –"

"He'll blow it," I insisted confidently. "We need to keep this a secret between just us, okay?"

Us. That sounded weird.

Her shoulders drooped and she rubbed her eyes tiredly. "I'm probably going to talk to him while we're at the Ministry… where we're supposed to be in about an hour," she added, slumping against the wall.

"Are you nervous?" I asked curiously, momentarily forgetting about the rush we were in.

"Of course not," she snapped quickly. "Where's Scorpius?" I jerked back.

"Your house," I answered, "but you're going to have to think of a really good lie –"

"I'm a Slytherin," she emphasized, clearing her throat a little as made her way to the fireplace, grabbing some Floo Powder from a pot in the kitchen.

"A Slytherin whose favourite colour is yellow!" I called, smirking a little at her retreating back. I actually didn't care all that much; maybe I was just hoping that yellow was a sign that she wasn't really all that mopey when she was, well, normal.

Because, let's face it; I was getting married to her. I had no idea when this ordeal was going to end – it could've been years, for all I knew.

I shuddered at the thought as I made my way outside. I needed a run.

"Al, don't leave, we haven't picked the colour of the napkins!"

I made sure to slam the door.

"We still have so much to do." Mum was still conversing with Emily's mum when I came back from my run an hour later.

"I know, but I have to be at the Ministry very soon," Mrs. Goyle answered mournfully as Mum searched for a small piece of parchment. I filled a glass with water as they exchanged phone numbers.

Whoa, we were going to use the Muggle telephone? Awesome!

… why would a pureblood family have a telephone? The only reason we had a telephone is because of Uncle Dudley. We used to jump on his stomach when we were tiny little midgets.

Good times.

"… and you'll be able to talk on the phone with Emily too, before she moves here!"

Whoopee.

No, really. I was dancing with joy.

"Great," I replied politely, draining my glass with one last gulp.

"You know, Emily loves to run as well," Mrs. Goyle said thoughtfully, eying my sweaty clothing. I tried not to reveal my surprise.

"I know," I answered, putting my glass in the sink. "We used to go running all the time at Hogwarts. In secret," I added hastily.

"I wish you two would have waited to get married," Mum sighed, running a hand through her hair. "We could use the time." An idea suddenly struck me.

"We could have a really small wedding," I suggested hopefully. "Just us, Emily's family, Uncle Ron –"

"Can't," Mum cut in gloomily. "Aunt Muriel knows about it." My stomach lurched. That woman's going to outlive Dumbledore.

So much for that idea.

"Never mind, then," I mumbled, hoisting myself onto a chair. Mrs. Goyle accepted the parchment and a hug from my Mum before disapparating with a crack.

Crack. My father appeared, apparently home from work.

"Evening, Dad," I called to him. He pecked Mum's cheek before giving her a look. She nodded, escaping up the stairs. I frowned.

What was going on?

"Al, I think we need to have a little talk." He surveyed me closely as he spoke.

Well, that's never good.

"Sure, Dad," I answered, trying not to sound too nervous. "What's up?" Dad put his briefcase onto the counter and sat down beside me, dead silent. He seemed to be struggling to find the right words.

Where's the dictionary? There's one around here somewhere…

"You're getting married," is what he settled with. I frowned again. Interesting choice of words.

"In two weeks," he continued. I decided to stop being a thesaurus and listen to him.

"Marriage is a lot of responsibility," he said after a moment. "It's a very important bond, Albus. You can't just break it, and as you're seventeen, I understand you may not realize the full extent of this. Nevertheless," he added, looking at my sternly, "I can't stop you from making these sort of decisions about your life." I nodded, swallowing a little.

"I'm really sure about this, Dad," I began, wincing internally. I hated lying to my father. "I mean, I have a good job at the Prophet, and I really love her."

He put his head in his hands. "I can tell."

He can?

Oh, right. We were acting.

Bloody talented, too.

"It's just the new law; I really want to marry her before anything happens, you know?"

I could've slapped myself in the face. Mentioning the law? Stupid, stupid, stupid!

"Are you worried?" he asked, lifting his head.

Sure.

"Very," I half-lied. I was a little worried. What if the plan didn't work?

"You're growing up," he commented quietly, drumming his fingers on the counter. I nodded absent-mindedly.

"You must be intimate." I choked on my own spit.

This conversation had become a whole lot more awkward than a few seconds before.

"You'll probably want to move out soon, right?" Dad added as an afterthought, staring off into space. "Probably an apartment; you won't be able to afford a house yet, but the Prophetwill pay you a bit more later…"

"Dad, it's not like that!" I choked out, gasping for air. He looked amused, slapping my back and trying not to smile so widely at my reaction.

I'm practically dying here from a lack of cooperation between my lungs and wind pipe, and he's smiling?

"All right," he said, eyes sparkling. He picked up his briefcase and headed upstairs. I sat there for a few moments, trying not to let embarrassment creep up my back.

Crack. I slid off the chair and spun around, meeting the angry eyes of Scorpius Malfoy.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, completely bewildered. "You're supposed to be at the Ministry in ten minutes, aren't you?"

Instead of answering, he stepped forward and punched me, square in the jaw.

Well, that was kind of rude.

Crack. Emily appeared as I fell, clutching my face and swearing at the top of my voice. Malfoy stood over me, hatred blazing outwardly as Emily gripped his arms from behind.

"That's for getting her pregnant," he spat maliciously, and apparated promptly from the scene.

Wait. Pregnant?

Emily helped me up, looking worried. My parents' voices called from upstairs, but I took no notice; I could only stare into her terrified eyes as she pleaded with me.

"I'm so sorry!" she cried frantically. "This is all my fault, I told him not to overreact, but evidently, he doesn't listen to instructions all that well –"

"Goyle," I cut across in a whisper, my voice frightened and urgent. "Are you pregnant?"

She bit her lip, and I swore.