"At his club," Scorpius said before Grandfather Lucius could find a way to make the situation worse. "I didn't think you'd want to attend."

"I don't," his father replied. "Most wizards who frequent that establishment aren't the sort I wish to associate with. I thought you felt the same."

Scorpius did and he didn't. "The club is just a place to eat."

"Yes, yes, let's not overthink the matter," Grandfather Lucius said dryly. He held out the robes to Scorpius. "For you, dear boy."

"Your tailor works fast."

"I'm his best customer." Grandfather Lucius raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you going to see how they fit?"

"Perpetuate the charade that they were sewn this morning instead of the day he agreed to join the company?" Scorpius' father asked. His jaw tightened. "He's humoured you enough."

"Is that right?" Grandfather Lucius's smile had a dagger in it.

"I want to go, Dad," Scorpius said. He used the informality to show that he wasn't being coerced. "Edgar might be there." He hadn't seen his best mate in months—since the day Gregory Goyle, Edgar's father, was sent to Azkaban for kidnapping and attempted murder.

Scorpius' father still looked concerned, but he nodded. "We'll have lunch together some other time." He strode out of the office.

"Draco storms off pouting. Some things never change," Grandfather Lucius said.

Scorpius repressed the urge to defend his father. "But some things do."

His grandfather smiled.

.

The Walpurgis Club was within easy walking distance, but Grandfather Lucius preferred to Apparate to the side alleyway to allow Scorpius to put on his robes. The motive behind the concern for privacy became apparent when a trio of photographers lounging around the front entrance sprang to attention and began taking pictures.

"Does Rose Weasley know where you're having lunch?" one of the men called out.

Scorpius ignored him and addressed the photographer he recognized: Crispin Pry, a former Beater on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team. "I saw your by-line in the Prophet last week. Are you on staff?"

Crispin's burly shoulders slumped. "No. Still freelance."

"Then you're available to work for me," Scorpius said. "Come by my office."

"You don't want him," the third photographer said. "I've got the most experience."

"No, I do," said the one who'd asked about Rose.

The argument continued while the doorman ushered Scorpius and his grandfather into the Walpurgis Club.

Grandfather Lucius chuckled. "Finessed like a true Malfoy."

Perhaps, but the job offer had been real. Scorpius took in the silk and velvet upholstered groupings of furniture that gave the entrance hall the air of a massive Regency drawing room. He asked, "Is this where they hold the children's parties?"

"The ones your parents never allowed you to attend? Yes." His grandfather shrugged. "Hordes of unruly children gorging on sweets. You didn't miss much."

He'd missed the chance to make a wider circle of childhood friends than his pet Niffler Felix and Edgar. "I'm surprised you admit it."

"You're here now," his grandfather said simply. He gestured to the door held open by another green-robed employee. "Shall we?"

At the end of a torch-lit corridor, the dining hall continued the green and silver colour scheme of the entry, with dark wood panelling evoking a more masculine, almost medieval, atmosphere. Mounted on wide wood coving around the perimeter of the ceiling, the heads of house-elves seemed to await commands to provide service. Scorpius glanced away. "What's this called? The Salazar room?"

"I'll suggest it at the next meeting, right after I demand the maître d's dismissal for making us stand here instead of showing us to our table."

Two wizards, one in staff robes, the other wearing black edged with Slytherin green entered the dining hall through a side door. Scorpius said, "Looks like the maître d went to get the club manager."

"As he should have," Grandfather Lucius said, visibly relaxing. "This is a momentous occasion."

Scorpius smiled over the vanity, but the manager seemed to share his grandfather's opinion. He greeted them effusively and insisted on escorting them to their table next to the window overlooking the courtyard garden. A server hurried over.

"Everyone acts like you own the place," Scorpius said after the server rushed away to put in their order of lobster paired with a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc.

"I'm one of the largest shareholders," his grandfather replied. "Rank has its privilege, but any member can reserve a table." He looked past Scorpius. "Including Edgar Goyle."

Scorpius turned and saw Edgar seated at a table for two near the service doors. He wasn't alone. Scorpius asked, "Why is Marianne Willoughby allowed in hall? You told me women were only permitted to dine on special occasions."

"Today is special—to them, at least. Didn't you see the announcement in the Prophet?"

"What announcement?" He'd had breakfast with Rose. Neither of them had cared about reading the paper.

Grandfather Lucius said, "They got married."

.


.

A/N: Puts hands to ear, listens for screams of "No! You can't end it there!" Hopefully, it will make readers happy to know that, thanks to a writing pledge to post two chapters by the night of the 25th (made on October 1st when said pledge seemed easy to accomplish), I will post chapter 8 tomorrow.

I hate to admit it, but writing's become so hard and takes so long, I've felt like a zombie writer, shuffling along, occasionally muttering, "Brains!" because I'm in need of a non-depressed one. I'm trying new things to help, so wish me luck.

Feedback is life blood to writers (not literally, as much as I like The Walking Dead, I don't want to take the zombie simile too far), so thanks to acciohome, alix33, arrrgghimapiratenow, Calenmarwen, cinroc, ctc, drcjsnider, fynnsmom, Geneva, gracie, Il'Diko lalalove-Rae, Mageofthebooks, makoshark, Marina Del Pilar, Mislovetadance, MollyCoddles, Moontime, Nocturna Mae, Rose of the West, SGed, spencer4ever, tambrathegreat and VandyFNP for reviewing the last chapter.