A/N: This is so so late. I'm so sorry guys, lately things have been so hectic in my private life that I haven't had a moment to do anything, but I *am* thinking of my stories and I * will* finish them. In the next chapter there is some revelation regarding Scorpius' situation, some AS/S action, and Scorpius wondering how this would all work out as a real relationship. (He should not be thinking he should be shagging). Reviews are lovely I love them, and thanks a lot for dealing with me everyone!

Part Seven:

"Don't drop that," Hugo frowned, attempting to swivel his body on the high rolling ladder that he had pressed against the library-like shelves in the storeroom. Albus bent his knees and dipped his back, as though the weight of the parcel was too much for him to manage without magic- but then he straightened right back up again before Hugo scolded him for dropping the parcel.

"What's in here?" Albus huffed, actually feeling the weight of the bloody thing as he carried it to the long oak table in the center of the room. When Hugo had called him, asking for his help, Albus had pretended to be busy for a half-hour before Flooing back a disgruntled yes. But that was only the Slytherin in him. Hugo was the best male mate that Albus had in the family, and Albus was experiencing a bout of writer's block so deep that even hexes couldn't penetrate it.

So a yes was the only real answer to give.

"Bottles," Hugo shrugged, making his way down the ladder with elaborate care. Hugo had a horrid fear of heights, and while the rest of the family flew, leapt and Portkeyed; Hugo barely got his Apparation license. Albus had offered to brave the torture of the ladder for him, but Hugo had said he was the only person who understood his filing system.

A filing system that seemed to consist of doxy-filled boxes on bookshelves; parchment spellotaped to the ground, and pairs of shoes, for some reason, left in a sink. Albus was not a neat person, but Hugo made him feel compulsive.

"No, that's the cauldrons," Hugo said, tapping a box to determine the contents. Albus wasn't quite sure the logic of that, but then again, Hugo had never been the most logical out of all the Weasley cousins. One of the smartest, yes; but intellect and logic didn't always seem to wander wand-in-wand.

"Couldn't you have tapped the box with your wand when it was up there?" Albus muttered; thinking of his poor back as he took a seat at the long table.

"No," Hugo hissed, horrified, throwing a hand to his chest. Albus bit back the very Slytherin urge to mock him. Hugo could be rather camp at times, even camper than Albus, though he was straight. Hugo simply was an animated person- from the top of his vibrant red curls to the base of his teal loafers; everything about Hugo seemed to stand in stark relief to the world's pastel hues. Hugo was the type of person that drew others in, and led where others followed. He was a sunshine personality, as Albus thought of some people he knew.

Like Scorpius.

Albus, with his stories and plodding along, was merely a moon. He was drawn in those bright beings. He was led, despite the fact that he was meant to be cunning.

"If I would have touched that box with my hands I would have fallen off of the ladder," Hugo reasoned.

"You only needed to let go with one hand," Albus started, but then he sighed. Fear was an illogical thing- if a spider would have crawled out from beneath one of Hugo's moldy old boxes; Albus would have Apparated home without so much as shouting a good riddance to his cousin.

Hugo made a face and opened the first box with an unsealing spell. A cloud of dust puffed up into the air, rather dramatically, rather like something in the Muggle films that Albus' father used to take them to see during the weekends when their mum would take Lily shopping on Diagon. Well, before everything.

"Rather like something in a novel," Albus muttered, clearing the air with a quick charm.

"Hmm," Hugo agreed. "Like something in a good novel. So nothing like yours."

"Ooh," Albus cried, striking his chest as though a Hex had managed the distance of the long table and penetrated his worn t-shirt. "That was almost caustic, Huge. Stick with me, and in a few years you'll be as bitter as mugwort."

"You catch more Faeries with wit than you do with cunning," Hugo retorted, opening another box. "Ah! Scrolls!"

"I don't want Faeries," Albus huffed, disregarding Hugo's sudden interest in some of the moldiest scrolls that Albus had ever seen in his life. The scrolls looked as though they had never met a single preservation charm. They looked as though they would disintegrate in Hugo's hand, as he stared at them lovingly, his eyes sparking as though a Dark Lord had bleached the parchment with a love potion.

"I don't want Faeries," Albus repeated, as though the scrolls were a group of screaming children and Hugo's wife was in another room. "What I want is a nice, stiff-"

Hugo dropped the scroll at that. He made a face between disgust and curiosity. It was information quarreling with information. But this time Albus' gossip won. Hugo tapped the scroll twice, and it rolled up into itself, folding up into a precise little cylinder which Hugo stored away. Albus did not remark on the fact that once again Hugo forgot a preservation charm. He was being magnanimous. Today.

"Bloke, I reckon," Hugo supplied with a grimace, returning to his box. "These aren't the files I need, burn the witch. And I thought Snitch Malfoy was seeing someone at the Ministry?"

As usual Albus was amazed by Hugo's ability to multitask. Multitask and deliver horrible, devastating news. Albus ignored the twisting, knotting, gnawing sensation in his stomach for a moment for a swift denial.

"Nobody said nothing about Scorpius Malfoy," Albus muttered, not bothering with proper English.

"You might not have," Hugo had finally released that bloody box with an audible thump. "But Jamie did. He told Molly that you had let your crups start sniffing around his tree, if you know what I mean."

Albus made a face. What sense did that make. Scorpius Malfoy was gay and James was straight. At least Jamie told himself he was straight, Albus thought snidely. James had always been one of those straight wizards whose swaggering masculinity and over-reaching charm seemed to compensate for some insecurity. Or at least that was what Albus told himself when Jamie when out night after night with his mates, and Albus stayed at home, alone.

Scorpius, on the other hand, had never seemed to fit in with Jamie's mates. He had always been outlandish and loud, but he had never taken things to the extremes James did. Albus tried to imagine what Scorpius did when James chatted up witches at the pubs Aurors went to, but the Arthimancy didn't equate in Albus' mind. Maybe Scorpius hung about with the rest of blokes, drinking cider and ale, betting on Quidditch and Quodpot.

Or maybe he did have a boyfriend.

"Who is the bloke?" Albus forced the words through his teeth. He was not going to say boyfriend. Saying that was going to make this real, and Albus refused to make that a possibility.

"No clue," Hugo made another face. Clearly Hugo was not interested, but he was playing along for Albus' sake. Hugo had never entertained nonsense, and an obsession with a wizard who never noticed you was nonsense. "Someone big. Enough to get Malfoy shipped off to America for a while."

Salem.

"How do you know all this?" Albus asked faintly. Had Scorpius slept with the Minister? An Unspeakable? Someone married in his own department? Albus tried to think about it- nearly all the wizard Aurors were married, and Scorpius was beautiful. Very, very beautiful.

"Well," Hugo huffed. He was reaching the limit of his tolerance, and despite the vibrancy of his robes, he wasn't one to be meddled with. Being tormented his whole life with Weasley products had made Hugo stronger than a giant. "Victoire told Dominique and Dominique told Molly and Molly told Lily and Lily told Rose and that's how I know."

Albus blinked. Twice. He added in a third for good measure. "And how does Vic know in the first place?"

"No idea!" Hugo flopped his hair forward in his favorite affectation. "It's just gossip, Potter!"

"Then why tell me!" Albus cried, jinxing Hugo right in the center of his overpriced robes.

Albus traced the edge of his wand as he walked along the gravel path. Two days ago Hugo had casually tossed out the ward-breaking news that Scorpius might or might still be in a relationship, and Albus still could not get it out of his mind. Albus went to the magazine to work, and he thought about Hugo's statement- in the middle of meetings; ruining opportunities for furthering his nonexistent career. Albus went to florists that Scorpius had booked for him to choose from, and Albus couldn't help but link the two in his mind, bizarrely.

Albus wrote, and of course he wrote about clandestine love- instead of the commissioned work he had piled up on his desk.

He had seen Scorpius once since his meeting with Hugo. It had been quickly- just a little Floo drop off to agree to disagree on some decorations. Scorpius had acted the same way he always had around Albus- friendly, polite, funny, and just a tad bit impersonal. Scorpius was the type of person that it seemed it would take a Hogwarts legacy to get to know; maybe an Auror's career worth of time. But Albus didn't have that luxury. He needed him now.

But back to the matter at hand. In the brief minutes that they had been alone together after Hugo's news, Albus had watched Scorpius up and down, trying to gauge him using any of the inherited detective techniques that Albus might have gained from his father. But Albus saw nothing to give away a lover. Scorpius was aloof, but he wasn't remote. At one point, Albus deliberately put his hand out on the table; touching Scorpius' sleeve, just to see what would happen. Alright- and to feel the soft, wonderfully tailored fabric against the warmth of his body, if only for a moment.

Scorpius did nothing. He didn't flinch back, alarmed; blushing and making excuses. He just smiled, and flirted a bit in that manner he had. Sweet. Smooth. If he was in a relationship, Albus doubted that Scorpius would act that way.

He had to believe that.

These were the thoughts running through Albus' mind as he made his way to Scorpius' cottage. Albus had felt a supreme, yet bizarre sense of pride when Scorpius had amended the wards of the Manor and granted him access. But right now, Albus felt none of that joy or excitement. It all felt tarnished, and abused- Jamie had been here first, anyway- and even if Albus didn't count James, there was Lily, who was Scorpius' best mate. And whoever was that shadowy boyfriend, if he even existed.

Albus was going to draw Hugo up and hang him. Bloody gossiping apothecary that he was. What a cliché.

Albus had been so caught up in his own thoughts and rampant emotions that he hadn't noticed that the latch of the cottage door had been left undone. And that Scorpius was not in the sitting room as he normally was; with tea and a confident, flirtatious grin on standby. Instead, in the kitchen, just off the small hall, was Scorpius' mother, Mrs. Malfoy, staring at him as though he had descended on a besom fashioned out of a collection of stolen wands.

"Gaia," Mrs. Malfoy whispered. "You do look like your father. My sister fancied him terribly at school. Of course she wasn't supposed to, being Slytherin and that sort of thing."

Albus could feel his face begin to burn. Albus had always thought growing up that Scorpius looked just like his father, but this wasn't the case. Mrs. Malfoy was the photograph to Scorpius' negative- she had dark, curling, lustrous hair, while Scorpius had hair that was fine, delicate and wavy; but swallowed up all the light in the room due to it's fairness. She had given her son her bone structure as well- high cheekbones, though the pointed chin was all Malfoy. Her last and wisest bit of genetic parting had been her large, sensuous mouth. On a woman's face, it was simply an addition to a puzzle. On a young man's it made a handsome visage become dangerously erotic.

She was stunningly beautiful, and because she had a Greek, olive complexion she looked so young; young enough to be her husband's young sister. It was hard to stare at her. Albus wondered vaguely how Malfoy, in the post-war world, had managed to accio a witch like Astoria Greengrass.

"Scorpius looks just like you," Albus blurted out and then winced at his gaffe. Smooth.

"Nonsense," Mrs. Malfoy said, although she did look a bit taller at the compliment. "He looks just like his father. Acts just like Draco as well. It's just that you haven't seen them in the same room together, my darling. Scorpius said you were a writer?"

"Yes," Albus nodded, holding back a smile. His stomach was doing some sort of a happy jig to the tune of Scorpius talks to his mother about me- Scorpius talks to his family about meee- "I mostly do freelance pieces for magazines and newspapers."

"Ah," Mrs. Malfoy didn't look upset, but she didn't look particularly pleased either. Bloody hell. "And you are planning a party for your sister? Scorpius told me that this was your idea?"

"Ye-es," Albus had a rush of realization. Scorpius wasn't in a relationship at all. Albus was going to save up, and one day he was going to buy out the lease of Hugo's shop, and evict him for being such a giant, gossiping shit. At this moment Mrs. Malfoy was interviewing Albus. Interviewing him for a potential mate for her son. Albus took in a large breath. Albus was in, as Jamie was prone to saying before he went out to pull at clubs and pubs. There was a chance now.

"Well," Mrs. Malfoy smiled her own son's flirtatious smile. How odd to see it on another face. "I wish you luck with my son. He's so scatterbrained, you're going to have to put in a lot of work to keep him focused. Now I really must go."

"Oh," Albus felt vaguely disappointed. "Well it was nice meeting you, Mrs. Malfoy."

"Goodbye," Mrs. Malfoy called, swirling around in yards of velvet and silk. "Have Scorpius bring you up to Scotland. My husband and sister would love to meet you."

Albus took that for Slytherin prose for: a slow dissection and careful anaylsis, and then a decision of what to do with his bones. Albus sighed as Mrs. Malfoy left. He had one Malfoy's approval at long last. It just wasn't the Malfoy he was trying to impress.

There a moment of silence between the Floo fire crackling down to embers, while Albus sat down to berate himself' cozy in his eternally brooding fashion. Of course at that moment Scorpius rushed back -bringing the cold, and all the warmth of his personality with him. He was wearing a Muggle t-shirt and no cloak; the kind of shirt that everyone at Hogwarts had loved to wear during Hogsmeade weekends. Scorpius' shirt, of course, was as unique and Gryffindor as he was.

A Black Family Heir, it said in a font that mimicked the labels for the most popular butterbeer brand in England. Limited Edition - Get One While they Last!

Scorpius paused in the entryway of his own sitting room, blocking out the names of the Minister's children on his wall. "Al? You're early! Has my mum gone then?"

"Yes," Albus wondered if Scorpius was trying to calculate what his mother had said to him, and internally, Albus grinned. For a brief moment, Albus had the upper hand in their little duel of a relationship. Whatever it was. "I'm not early. You just forgot I was coming. Again."

"I could never forget about you coming," Scorpius stuck out his tongue slightly, stroking the edge of his bottom lip, and whatever ground Albus had had, he lost. Albus stared too long, reacted too easily. It was Gryffindor versus Slytherin all over again, but Scorpius knew too many of the rules of the other team.

And he was too bloody fit to ignore. Especially in those jeans.

"Yes, well. " Albus tried to sound annoyed, by Scorpius' little tease, but even to his own ears his voice sounded splintered. Scorpius came around the sofa, and sat down. Normally, Scorpius flopped beside Albus, charmingly and boyishly, but today he sat down, carefully. And closely.

And he didn't say anything. Albus frowned; his intestines threatening to burst like a combustible potion. Scorpius usually brought out a receipt from the caterers or some other news about the fete, and offered him a drink. Albus didn't cope well when people didn't follow their normal scripts. Damn Scorpius for acting like a Gryffindor, again.

"You told your mum about the party," Albus tried for conversation. If Scorpius moved an inch closer, Albus was going to try to Apparate out. For Merlin's sake, he could feel Scorpius' heat, even if they weren't touching. Albus flushed, involuntarily.

"I told my mum about you," Scorpius said, and Albus could smell the faint tinge of alcohol on his breath. The announcement, and the distinction gave Albus more hope than he could express. But Scorpius had been drinking. But to put on another pair of robes, Scorpius had been with his mother. Wizards hardly got up to mischief in the company of their mums.

"Oh," Albus finally mumbled, rather stupidly. He had waited too long and there was that horrid, awkward pause that made Albus sound simple. Which he sometimes felt. But Scorpius really didn't need to know that.

"Al," Scorpius was touching his shoulder- touching his shoulder. "Albus. I'm going to snog you."

And he did just that.