A/N: This chapter is for Mary (Guest) it is lovely reviewers like you who take time out to write down sweet thoughts like that who keep lowly little scribes like us going. Thank you, thank you, thank you for everything you said, it was too sweet+perfect. To answer your q- AoL is not done. It has about 4 chapters left, depending on how I manage to break down the final hurdles. Anyway, this is a New Year's chapter while I watch my Twilight's Zone. Hope everyone is alright and feeling optimistic for the 13th year.

Can you figure out what's going on here between AS+SM and SM+ Harry? I know it's early days but y'all are such great detectives that I want to send you on the case and see who can get it first.

Part Three:

Albus flipped the menu from one side to the other with dissatisfaction as he searched for something edible to eat in the endless arrays of lattes and teas. Albus should have learned how to cook years ago, but he hadn't, and he really didn't have any excuse as to why he hadn't, as his flat had a perfectly serviceable kitchen. Albus supposed he had always used the excuse that he was too busy writing, or too busy Apparating toward deadlines in his career to take a class. When they were younger, Albus should have learned, but he had been too much of an idiot, and he had thought that their lives would never change.

And after Mum had-had died, Albus thought, putting the menu down, far too harshly, they had already been in school. On holidays they had eaten takeaways when Dad had worked, and on the rare occasions he had to cook- well, Dad knew how to manage a fry up, or pasta. Anyone could manage that much.

Albus wondered how Lily and James managed. Lily, Albus supposed, most likely had a chef, or someone to fetch her food from the best restaurants. James was another matter. He couldn't cook- Albus knew that much, Jamie couldn't distill a potion, there was no way that he could manage a roast dinner. But perhaps in the Portkey list of girlfriends that James had, one or two of them had managed to sit him down and train him on a meal or two.

It was more than Albus could say for himself. And for some reason he felt envious. Albus had always been the reasonable sibling, the sibling with the proper career- the career that wasn't grasping headlines, in any case. The thought that his sister or his brother could be more adept at basic life skills filled him with an odd sort of envy. At Hogwarts Albus had thought had James and Lily had needed to rely on Scorpius Malfoy for anything attempting logic.

Scorpius-

Albus bit his lip. He supposed he'd have the cinnamon pomegranate bilderberry tea. Everything else looked as though it was so sweet you'd need a Healer's appointment for your teeth before trying it, or the name was so Italian that Albus would need one of the Zabini siblings before he ordered.

"Hello trouble," a voice sing-songed.

Albus tensed. He did not appreciate being called by nick-names, or being shouted at- especially in an open area like this bistro on the high street. But telling Dominique to stop would never make her reconsider her stance on drawing attention to herself. Instead, it would only make her more likely to continue doing whatever was annoying Albus.

"Your hair," Albus frowned as Dominique snatched the menu from his hands with a quick accio. Albus had long ago learned to suffer in silence as his older cousins treated him like the little Squib relation. It was best to simply shut up and put up with being told to accio things for Teddy, being told to leave one's own bedroom, and being the one that everyone practiced experimental potions on. Everyone knew that the more you complained, the more the older ones tortured you.

Well, Albus had been tortured, until Hugo and Lily had been born. Thank the gods for them.

"It's a wig," Dominque said proudly, tossing her head from side to side, so that the sunlight bounced off the synthetic lavender strands. As she swung her head, a bloke trying to land his motorbike nearly crashed into a display of charmed stuffed crups in the toy shop across the alley. Honestly.

"I'm shocked," Albus drawled. "It looks so natural."

"Tosser," Dominique laughed, slapping her stolen menu against the table. That was why Albus got on with her so well- while the rest of the family fell rapidly into Gryffindorian success, Dominique was happy with her wigs. And her robes. And her blokes. "You know they say sarcasm is the lowest form of wit."

"They probably went to Drumstrang," Albus grumbled. It was taking far too long for him to get his tea. Why had Dominique suggested this restaurant? Most likely because they could see everyone on the alley, and she wanted them to see her in her purple glory. Gods.

"Fair enough," Dominque agreed, in her perennial good mood. "What are you drinking?"

"Well I was going to drink the bilderberry tea," Albus huffed, as happy to let out that complaint as children were to rip off plasters after being ill. "If we'll be served before I make it through the Veil, that is."

"Oh hush," Dominique said, rapping her knuckles against the wooden table to counteract Albus' grim words. "Why are you drinking this early in the day, anyway? I thought that you had brewed up that plan to shag Snitch Malfoy?"

"Don't call him Snitch," Albus chided, frustrated.

He had never liked that nickname for Scorpius, which had been started up by Jamie and the older Gryffindors. It had nothing to do with his name, and Scorpius had played Chaser for part of his school career, anyway. Actually, Albus had no precise idea where it had come from and perhaps that was why. Jealousy- the famous, and infamous Potter jealousy. Did Scorpius' parents call him Snitch? It was impossible for Albus to imagine Draco Malfoy calling his son Snitch across the grand foyer of Malfoy Manor. But perhaps he had. Perhaps it had given him some perverse pleasure to know that his son had been the Gryffindor Seeker, beating out Harry Potter's own children. And then beating all the other children in the school during his Quidditch career.

"Let me guess," Dominique said, too tenderly for Albus to handle. If only she could be matter of fact. If only she didn't care. "It was a no-go."

"Not that," Albus had been finally been served his slightly intoxicating tea, made from magical berries which had been distilled and fermented. Albus took a tentative sip. He had never had this particular brew before, but the introduction of other flavors had concealed the bitter taste of the distilled fruit.

"What then?" Dominique was eating a pastry. She broke a piece in half and offered it to Albus, but he shook his head. "I won't believe you if you say that Scorpius Malfoy is straight . . ."

"No, no," Albus scrunched his face slightly. "He had to leave early. I didn't even get the chance to ask him properly. I only had the chance to propose the idea of Lily's party. Which was a rubbish idea anyway- Lily and I don't get on, and Scorpius will talk to her and she'll tell him that it's a horrible idea, which it is."

Dominique broke the last bit of her pastry into crumbles, sprinkling them around her little white ceramic plate like bits of beige confetti. Albus frowned at that- he wanted to say something, but he was quite sure that anything he said would be classed as another example of Albus being a giant mother dragon.

"I still don't think it's a bad idea," Dominique said encouragingly. "You never come out to play with us, Al. And this is the perfect opportunity. Lily is turning twenty- it's a birthday that means absolutely nothing in the wizarding world-"

"So if I jinx it up, it won't unleash a floodgate of hexes," Albus said ruefully, relaxing into his seat. This tea actually wasn't that bad, all things considered. It was pretty good, once you got passed the taste and into the realm of intoxication.

"You won't mess anything up," Dominique didn't look entirely convinced, but she had always been too kind, especially for a witch born that unnaturally beautiful. "You'll have me to help. And Scorpius will help you too. He isn't the type to go and tell a secret like that, Al. You can trust him. He's a Gryf-"

"Watch yourself," Albus frowned.

"Sorry," Dominique laughed. "Forgot my company. Anyway, Teddy can help you too. And Jamie. Everyone will be in on it! I'm sure that Scorpius is just busy with work. It's the end of the year, you know."

"So?" Albus didn't particularly understand what that might mean.

"I don't know. I was only thinking aloud," Dominque was trying to adjust her wig without drawing attention to the fact that the charms were fading. Albus bit down a smile. He had the urge to make a snide comment, but Dominique was faster on her draw than any of the family's duelists, save Jamie. It still made Albus smile to think of the times she had jinxed Teddy.

"Well," Albus shrugged, "If he had anything to say to me, Scorpius said he knew how to find me."

Dominque sighed, finally reassured that her follicular nightmare had been adverted. Then she beamed at Albus again. But that smile ricocheted across the dining space, as one waiter stopped to stare at her, dumbly; his wand holding aloft a steaming platter filled with a thick purple soup. He was so engrossed that he didn't notice the fact that two children had come from within the restaurant, rushing to the warmth of the warded outside, far beyond the grasp of their mother's wand.

"Oh no," Albus said softly, watching as the children wrapped around the waiter's robes, laughing as their mother failed to catch up with them in time.

In time, that was, to stop the bald patron that the wizard was serving from being bathed in steaming grey soup. Dominique's smile faded at the precise moment that the middle-aged wizard rose, his skin on his head scalded red and dyed grey in a cap which went bizarrely well with his furried robes.

"I guess that wigs don't help much with the gift," Dominique sighed.

"No," Albus snorted. "Back to the parchment for another idea."

After his tea and show with Dominique, Albus decided to walk part of the way back to his flat, instead of just Apparating from the nearest point allowed. As they said their goodbyes, Dominique repeated all the reassuring things she has said at the lunch, but it was as if Albus could no longer hear her words. Dominique was kind, and lovely, and one of Albus' best mates and closest family members, but Albus was sure that was the reason that she was stating all of the frankly outlandish excuses she was inventing, and not because she believed in them with any conviction.

And there was something about being reassured by his older cousin- a very extraordinarily beautiful witch- that made Albus feel embarrassed. Perhaps it was because it reminded him in some faint way of his mother, another beautiful witch who had always taken the time to see his point of view. If Jamie and Lily had been more their dad's kids, bounding though life, then Albus had been more his mother's son, if only because he had been left behind.

In any case, Dominique had gone home, and Albus had gone back to his flat. Even though Albus had tried to come up with logical rebuttals for every one of Dominique's excuses in his mind, by the time he reached his flat, Albus still checked the common Owlery for a bit of post from the Ministry or from Wiltshire. But of course, there was none.

Albus sighed. What had he expected? Scorpius Malfoy had a career, and he had friends, and he very likely had an idea of what he wanted to do for Lily's birthday that didn't involve Albus Potter. Albus didn't fit into their little circle and for years that hadn't bothered him. Albus was beyond being annoyed by the fact that his unrequited infatuation hadn't worked out. He was a writer. Being miserable was probably better for work, anyway.

Albus toed off his shoes and walked through his flat to the kitchen. What post he did have was impersonal catalogues from cauldron makers and broom builders. What would Albus do with a custom broom, anyway? Ever since he had been born, people had been confusing him with Harry Potter. It wasn't enough that there was Teddy, and there was James to continue on the Auroring business for another generation. Albus had to do it too, or they wouldn't be satisfied . . .

Albus bent down and retrieved a bottle of cognac from underneath the sink. It had been a gift from his agent, Noel Burnbridge ,when they had secured the deal with the travel magazine. Albus lifted the bottle, expecting a heavy weight- but it was empty. Already. Albus frowned at that. It had seemed so full, but nearly a fortnight had passed since the deal had been secured, so he supposed it made sense.

Instead, Albus opened a fresh bottle of wine, acco'ing a plastic cup. His flat was in a state- his flat was always in a state when he was writing, and now was no different. Piled high on the dining room table were stacks of parchment- his story, written and rewritten. Pasted on the walls with spellotape were drafts, slips with reference notes, even photographs to help along the process. Right now, Albus was entirely focused on making his features a success, or he should have been.

Scorpius Malfoy should have not been a priority.

But he was. Albus slumped onto his sofa, tossing a shrunken sac of freshly laundered clothes onto the floor. All Albus could think about was Scorpius Malfoy, and it was driving him mad. It was as if Albus was creating a novel out of his own existence and he couldn't move forward until this one arc was seen until completion- but that was mad, wasn't it? Mad and wonderful in a sense. Lately, every time Albus closed his eyes, he could see Scorpius as he was, a golden curly head in the library at Hogwarts, pouring over Defense texts.

If only Albus had had the courage to say something then . . .

If only he had the courage to try a bit harder now . . .

Albus topped up his plastic mug of wine. It was a hideous cup, red, decorated with white hearts that Molly's daughter Hannah had given to him- once filled with chocolates that she had baked 'herself'. Albus was relatively sure that 'herself' meant that Molly had done most of the work. Albus reached for his wand, turning on the wireless. On his empty stomach the wine was working quickly and it had taken two tries for Albus to switch on the charmed device.

Regarding the increased rate of wanded robbery on Knockturn Alley this upcoming holiday season, the Head Auror, our Man-Who-Lived, had the following to say . . .

Albus quickly changed the station before his father, or a statement from his father was read aloud. It wasn't that Albus was avoiding his dad, no- he had no reason to do that. Albus saluted the wireless with his plastic child's mug- it was the fact that as a child, he remembered listening to the wireless, desperate to hear his father's voice on the other end. His father who would disappear for days at a time, chasing suspects, while Albus and his siblings were shut in the cottage; a home still lingering with the scent of their mum's cooking, her shoes still out in the hall in a neat, preserved row.

Albus was so caught up in his thoughts that he did not notice his Floo warp his wards for the first time. Or the second. It wasn't until the third time that Albus leapt up, the plastic cup tossed off his lap, spilling red wine onto his white rug.

"Great," Albus muttered to himself. If there was a spell or a cleaning potion to remove red wine from a white carpet, Albus didn't know it. And if he asked his aunt Hermione or even Rose, he'd have to sit through a lecture for the end result. "Brilliant, really."

Two spills in one day. Clearly this was his father on the Floo, to make it an unlucky three for Albus today . . .

It wasn't.

It was Scorpius Malfoy, his expression unreadable, yet pleasant in the crackling flames. "Al!" He smiled, and then Albus felt how much he'd really drunk. That or he was horribly, ridiculously nervous. Ohgodsohgodsohgods. "I bet you're shocked."

"No, not at all," Albus tried a smile, but his face felt alternatively too lax and too tense. "I mean, a little. I thought you were my dad."

"Imagine!" Scorpius laughed. "That would have given my father quite a shock twenty-two years ago when my mum gave birth."

Albus winced. Nice job. "Ugh. I didn't mean that."

"I know," Scorpius grinned. "Goose. Anyway I wanted to know what you were doing next Saturday. I said I'd make it up to you, since we didn't get to really talk about your plans for Lily's birthday. You could come by my house. Unless you don't want to, in which case, I could come by your flat . . ."

Albus thought of the wine stain, the parchment scrolls, the spellotape masses of inspiration. Going to Scorpius' house would leave him at a massive disadvantage, but it was better than inviting the object of his desire here. And Scorpius had called him goose.

"I'll come by," Albus smiled.

They didn't speak much longer than that, but when Albus stepped away from the Floo he realized that his robes had a massive stain on them.

Brilliant.