The Seventh-Year Ball is only just staring by the time they arrive, all suited up in dress robes that Albus continues to tug at uncomfortably. It's still the formal dance of the evening– the rock band is waiting in the wings for their cue to start performing.
"Do you want a drink?" Scorpius asks.
Albus shakes his head. "I'd like a dance though," he says, gesturing to the dance floor.
Scorpius hesitates. "People will stare."
"So?" Albus challenges. "Let them."
Scorpius grins and holds out his arm in a gentle-man like fashion. "Albus Severus Potter, may I have this dance?"