It fell to Albus to play intermediary after that. He wasn't happy. He didn't like it. He never liked it. Because no, it wasn't as if Rose and Scorpius had never fought before. They fought regularly, like clockwork. They fought for the fun of it, and Albus had to sit there and stroke their hair soothingly until one of them climbed off of their high-horse and apologised.

Now, he sat by Scorpius's bed and tried to ignore the blond's gloomy glower. Albus was scratching away at a notebook, adding everything that Professor Longbottom had mentioned about the Venomous Tentacula on the walk back from the greenhouses. Rose, as far as he was aware, was steering clear of Scorpius. Albus did not know what had happened, but he knew that this was different. This fight had left Rose looking sad - rather than the usual state of indignation and outrage. It worried Albus, but not enough to act like the child of two divorced parents.

"Al," Scorp said thoughtfully, a short while later. "Albus."

"Probably not, whatever it is."

"Not helpful, mate. Say you fell off, say, a broom,"

"Mmm." Albus mumbled absentmindedly. Not green. The leaves are not green, you fool. The leaves are a muted olive with purple undertones.

"Yeah, okay, so you fell off a broom – you got hit by a, by a dragon." Still talking. Scorpius was still talking. "A low flying dragon." Warming to his theme, Scorpius pushed himself further up in his bed. Knott had told him that his muscles were on the mend just this morning, and that he would be allowed out by this evening at the latest. So in that regard, he was feeling fairly chipper! "Just it's wing, but you fell. And you pulverised most of, y'know, you."

"Did I die?" Albus turned a page. There was ink all over his fingers. He frowned briefly at the marks it left on the snowy parchment, completely uninterested in the stains on his shirt sleeves.

Scorpius shook his head impatiently. Albus insisted on missing the point. "Almost, but here's the thing – who would you expect to come and see you?"

Albus looked at Scorpius shrewdly over the edge of his book. Scorpius was not as subtle as he liked to think. "Hopefully, the people who cared. And Marilyn Monroe, circa 1960."

"I have no idea who that is."

"You ignorant twat."

"I'm wounded."

Albus waved a disparaging hand and turned back to his notes. "Why are you plotting my death?" He asked, carefully modulating his tone to stay level and unflappable.

"You would do the same for me." Scorpius replied at the same speed as usual, but without the same levels of snark.

"I often ha-" there was something in Scorp's face that cut Albus off, midstream. He turned in his seat to look to the doorway of the infirmary, and was not surprised to see Rose carefully shutting the enormous door behind her. "I'm going."

"You don't have to."

"I really do. I have-" panic "a date!" Crap.

"At four on a Tuesday?"

"Strict parents. Her curfew is six."

"Al-"

"I'll swing by later!"

Scorpius watched Albus hurry away with something similar to a pout. He knew that whatever Rose had to say was probably worth listening to, but God, couldn't a bloke lick his wounds for just a little longer?


Rose had left the hospital wing that day and realised that her hands were shaking. She hadn't gone straight back to the Common Room, instead sneaking out of the castle via the kitchens and breathing in deep lungfuls of still Scottish air. Rose argued with people, fine. She had her father's temper, her mother's deep rooted sense of righteousness. But she never came away from those fights feeling as though she had staked her entire hand and lost it. The blood in her veins felt as if it were burning her alive on the way to her heart. Her head pounded.

Over the next few hours, this urge to move dictated Rose's every action. She was a blur of activity, she was a wildly scratching quill finalising the homework that had been piling up since the accident, she was a blur of black and crimson as she turned Amy's and her dorm upside down and dusted everything. She was doing anything to try and hush the white noise in her head.

But as night drew in, and Rose collapsed exhausted next to her concerned roommate, who tentatively petted her hair, she realised that half of her assignments were illogical. The dorm was in disarray. This had to stop.

"I just don't want him to get hurt." Rose replied tiredly when Amy asked what was wrong.

"Did you tell him that?"

"I told him that his head was rammed up his a-"

"Oh, Rose."

So, here she was.


Scorpius sat up straighter. The beds weren't really suited to those who stood at six foot three, and this was not a conversation that he wanted to have with his knees drawn up to his chin. Or, ideally, at all.

Rose stood straighter. She wasn't short - she was average, thank you very much - but when your dignity is at stake, you want to stand a little taller than five foot four.

Scorpius watched Rose come towards him, and he saw the way she put her chin up. He caught the way her thumbs slipped into the belt loops of the black jeans she was wearing under her sweeping robe. He saw the barely perceptible movement in her eyes. And he realised something.

Rose had given up the instinct to stubbornly stick to her guns last night. And again, when Albus had brushed past her and glanced at her from under his unfairly long lashes. And again, now, with Scorpius watching her as if he knew everything already, as if he had seen her soul stripped bare.

"I'm sorry." Rose said, and at the same moment, Scorpius said "I was a dick."

Stunned silence fell.

"Really?" Rose demanded, as Scorpius went "What?" and blinked once, hard and surprised.

"Well, yeah, you just – what did you mean?"

"I came to apologise. Naya is holed up in the library, and God knows it wasn't my business anyway."

Scorpius gaped. Rose clung to her resolve. "I'm just - I'm sorry, Scorp."

Wordlessly, Scorpius slid over in the bed and nodded at the empty space. Rose raised one eyebrow, and he huffed. "Oh, come on. I have the high horse right now. Come sit next to me, Weasley."

"No, you don't, because you actually were a dick. I am not a dog. I do not just come when you whistle."

"That's what she sai- No? Please?"

The mattress gave as Rose perched on the edge of the bed. She left a good twelve inches between them, and it seemed like a massive distance to Scorp. Massive, but not insurmountable.

"I said a lot of things I shouldn't have done." Scorpius stopped, corrected himself. "A lot of things I didn't mean."

"So did I."

"No," Scorp shook his head, blond hair flying. It wanted cutting. "No, it was – it was fair. I get why you said it."

Rose glanced over at him sharply. Did he? Because she wasn't sure she did.

"I'm lucky. I'm lucky to have you. And Al." Scorp finished simply. "I wouldn't do well on my own. And-" He paused and Roe watched him carefully.

"And?"

"I'm sorry, for what I said about - about Leonard. You date whoever and I'll - I'll cheer you on, or whatever. You just deserved better than that asshole."

Emotion welled up inside Rose, even as she tried to hide it by scraping her hands roughly through her hair. "Scorp, that wasn't your fault."

Scorpius had been watching the strands of fire settle around Rose's shoulders. "Kind of was. I knew he was violent, Rosie."

Silence settled around the two for a moment, but the space between them had evaporated. Rose's shoulder rested comfortably against his bicep - Sitting like this, she came all of the way up to his chin.

"Friends?" Rose offered her pinky finger. Scorpius linked his own through it, and for one long, silent moment, their hearts beat in unison.

"Friends."


That evening, Scorpius was discharged from the hospital wing. Coincidentally, Tuesday evening was also the evening that Albus Potter realised that he was broke. Currency in Hogwarts varied from actual galleons and sickles to Bertie Botts and Grimer's Best Broom Polish. Whilst many students – the admirable, moralistic ones – made well do on the allowances that their parents sent, many more bartered and wagered and, in certain older students, gambled. Albus had never been particularly moralistic. Fortunately, neither had Hugo, Ronan, or James.

"Aaaaaaaaaand Weasley takes the lead, Potter falling behind and Finnegan dropping back into third place! Thirrrrd place!" There was a colossal crash. "Took that bed leg a little too sharp, did we? They're onto the straight. Weasley has a straightforward run but Potter isn't giving up easy, he isn't giving in, he – Oh, you bastard!"

There was a scuffling, an indignant yell, and then "James Potter should be disqualified. All in favour? Good. Sorry, Jamsey."

"Assholes." A voice muttered darkly. "It barely singed it. Wasn't that nice a tie."

"It was a gorgeous tie. Gentlemen, if we could continue…? Excellent, thank you. They're off! Left in the running is Weasley and Finnegan. It's all to play for, chaps – Think of the honour, the pride, the glory!"

"Albus, we all know you're backing Hu."

"I'm impartial, you asshole."

Scorpius pushed open the door to his dorm at the very same second as a miniature broomstick came flying straight at his midriff. The other lads in his room watched in muted horror and delight as the sharp handle of the broom collided with his stomach and Scorpius's face went from confusion to understanding to outrage.

"Why?!" He pleaded with the silent room.

"Aaaaaand it would appear that Weasley's broom has hit an obstruction." Albus continued, meeting Scorp's eye in the second before peals of raucous laughter spread around the room, passing between one lad and the next contagiously.

The rest of the evening passed in a state of heady revelry. There was a celebratory feel in the air as the boys staked their wealth of Fizzing Wizzbees only to lose them on the next hand. Despair and jubilation chased each other around the room; It was only when Hugo Weasley found himself alone in a sea of Bang Bang Boggart Bangers that things took a turn for the unexpected.

"Now, with this next hand – Finnegan, I swear to Dumbledore, if you take one step closer to that plant…!"

"You're a bloody Type A, Potter."

"With this next hand," Al continued blithely, utterly unfazed, "items with a worth exceeding fourteen sickles can be placed against each card. This excludes trick wands, okay? No more."

The room's occupancy had doubled in the past hour, with so and so yelling for so and so until the dorm was full of lanky teenaged boys sprawled over the beds and crammed onto the floor. "What if it's a jaw breaker?!"

"No good, Lector!"

"I'm in a galleon!"

"I've got – wait, that's a squib singlet – I've got whatever this is from Honeydukes and the latest copy of the Chudley Cannons calendar."

"I've got Wealth of Witches?"

"Nine sickles and - Potter, give that, get your own! – and Ollivander's own spell shine."

Bets were placed, flying around the room in a wave of barely-controlled chaos. Albus readily kept track of them, hollering over people and measuring the worth of miscellaneous offerings with an expert eye. Scorpius bet half a plaster cast signed by Celeste Moriarty ("And she kissed it,") James tossed in the prototype that Fred Weasley had owled him last month, Albus produced a potion that offered the user a full face of stubble until midnight, and Hugo-

"Come on now, mate! You've gotta play for something?"

Hugo cast a panicked look at the items in his hands. "Merlin's beard, why no trick wands?! I've got nothing?!"

"Sell your body!" Finnegan called, to howls of laughter.

"Yeah, mate! You could do an escort service!"

"Bastards! You're all bast- I'll set you up with Rose! For the World's Ball. I'll make her be nice."

The room split in two – those who found the entire thing hilarious, and those who were struck dumb.

"Please." Brannagh croaked out hoarsely. Scorp shot him a look. Albus, however, looked thoughtful.

"I'd say that's worth a good ten galleons, provided you can actually convince her." It was common knowledge that Rose was far from one to go quietly.

"She still owes me." Hugo said, confidence growing. "She'll play nice. But, no touching."

Murmers. Murmers and possibly a soft whimper.

"Very well." Albus scribbled the deal onto a scrap of parchment. "Weasley wagers the company of his sister at the World's Ball, but no touching is permitted. Let's play."

Cards bristled, snapped and glowed. Roars and exclamations interspersed a concentrated silence. Sparks flew as the cards shredded themselves, threw themselves into midair. Matches ended the game for some, were safety nets for others. One by one, victory by victory, loss by loss – players left the game, taking nothing with them but shreds of dignity.

James Potter went out with the same good-natured curses that he had bet his old broom case with.

Karl Kidminister went out with a sob.

Albus went out with the quiet grace that losing occasioned in him.

Eventually, two players were left. Ronan Finnegan's broad shoulders were encased in a black sweater, and his eyes gleamed in the lamplight as hand after hand dealt itself and destroyed itself in a flurry of spitting flames. He played his cards with heavy hands, moves sure and decisive.

Opposite him, Scorp's hand – curled tightly around a butterbeer – was the only sign of tension in his battered body. His tall frame stretched out in the available space between two beds, and he placed card after card with an almost lazy flick of his fingers. They drifted onto the pile before flipping themselves over, revealing king, queen, ace… joker.

The tension built and built in the room as Albus kept track of who was currently winning what.

"That hand goes to Finnegan. Bets?"

"Malfoy, that hand is yours. Bets?"

Minutes past, and students drifted out of the room until only the original seven and several invested stragglers remained.

"Malfoy's. Bets?"

"Finnegan – that goes to you. Bets?"

"Bets?"

Scorp's hand was diminishing, and he was pale under the ruddiness caused by the heated room and the alcohol. It took a moment, before his jaw tightened. "I'm all in."

Ronan started, staring at Scorpius carefully. The other boy had done that several times this game already – it was his death blow, his way of wiping the other players out. When you have nothing, his reasoning seemed to go, you had nothing to lose.

"Sure about that?" He asked, hedging his bets. "Because, you know, there's a lot at stake."

"Dead certain." Scorpius said levelly. He caught Ronan's look, and arched an eyebrow roguishly. "Not scared are we, Finnegan?"

Ronan's card slapped down on the pile with a sound akin to a gunshot. "All in, then. I'm all in."

Scorpius took a slug from his drink, resting the bottle against his lip for a moment as the cards played themselves out. One rose from his stack, another from Finnegan's, and they mirrored the other for a brief moment before snapping around to reveal themselves.

Scorpius watched keenly as match by match went by. It started well – His ace to Finnegan's queen, his jack to Finnegan's ten. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Albus's forehead tighten.

Hugo shifted, stepping over limbs to come and settle next to Al. "He's not happy." He hissed into the dark haired boy's ear.

"Shh," Albus hushed him, eyes not leaving the games. "It's not over yet."

And then, all at once, it was.

Scorpius's King bested Ronan's Joker – the final two cards squared up - beads of perspiration had appeared on the stockier lad's forehead. The list of items at stake was crumpled in Albus's fist as his hand tightened involuntarily.

King, ace.

Four, eight.

Nine – ten.

Ronan's card landed in pristine condition, whilst Scorpius was left to brush ash off of his black trousers.

The two players sat in silence, almost catatonic. Meanwhile, the dorm erupted into a near frenzy with congratulations and commiserations flying around the room at breakneck speed.

In the flurry of it all, Scorp reached out to clap Ronan on the back. "Merlin, Finnegan, that was tight. Played, mate. Enjoy that plaster cast."

Ronan gripped Scorpius's shoulder briefly, easy smile on his face, "Couldn't have said it better. But gotta be honest, quality time with Rose Weasley? I'll take that over Celeste Moriarty's kisses any day - it's rarer."

Scorpius smiled, but it felt painful and probably looked more like a grimace. Merlin knew that Weasley could look after herself, but that didn't stop a red haze descending over Scorp's eyes for a moment. She was his friend. She was his.

It felt like hours later that Albus called a halt to the evening, yelling something about pyjamas and badly needing beauty sleep. In reality, it was a few short minutes but Scorpius had had a long day. James was the last to leave the room. He paused to scruff up his younger brother's hair, turning it into even more of a mess than it had been before.

"Out." Albus said sternly. "Out, out, out."

"Yeah, yeah," James laughed him off, tossing his sweater over one shoulder. "But consider this – you two have got to look after Hugo after he's told Rose that he signed her up for a date with Finnegan. That should be so much fun." And with a wicked grin, he followed his friends out.

There was a pause. Scorpius collapsed onto his bed, newly repaired joints screaming at him. "Bollocks," he sighed.