The new term starts in the midst of a howling blizzard. The Hufflepuff common room is unusually crowded as a result, but Scorpius manages to secure his usual spot, which, due to its obscure position far from the fire, tends to be less coveted. He's lost in an enticing muggle novel Al sent him (Murder on the Orient Express) when a short cough draws his attention back to the present. It takes him a moment to focus his bleary sight on a head of glossy brunette curls.

"Emily?"

"Scorpius."

A pale pink dusts over Emily Ramsey's olive cheeks. She looks distinctly uncomfortable, but her dark eyes blaze with determination. Scorpius tilts his head and watches the girl with puzzled apprehension.

"I'd like to apologize," she says finally, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I was mean last term and I—well, I have Muggle parents, you see, and everyone warned me that you—your family—and I believed them because I didn't know better, and—no, wait, I know that's no excuse. At all. I talked to Mum over the hols about this and I realized that I've been terrible, and I'm sorry!"

Scorpius blinks. Emily looks like she's worried to death and about to burst into tears. Her loud apology has drawn everyone's attention and the common room stills into anxious silence as everyone watches the two with bated breath.

Slowly, Scorpius's lips curve into a small smile.

"That's all right," he says quietly.

"Really? You aren't mad? Oh, thank goodness!" Emily lets out the breath she's been holding and her face lights up with a wide grin. "I knew you'd understand—See?" she exclaims, turning to the room's other inhabitants. "Didn't I tell you guys! He's perfectly—he's wonderful!" She turns back. "I'm so sorry, Scorpius. Again. It was rather—I mean, I wasn't a very good Hufflepuff at all! Do you think we could be friends?"

"Absolutely," says Scorpius with a look of wonder. He thinks that his own face must be as bright as Emily's.

The term is off to a good, if surprising, start.

~*8*8*~

~*8*8*~

~*8*8*~

Scorpius finds Albus under the statue of Artemis two weeks later. He knows he should've looked sooner, but it was so easy to get roped into miscellaneous ventures—homework sessions, impromptu broom races, afternoon tea parties in the common room—that he's put it off until now.

He glides quietly up to Albus with an abrupt, Aren't you cold?and laughs when Albus tenses in surprise. "No need to be so jumpy—it's just me. Did you miss me?"

Albus shrugs after he adjusts to Scorpius's sudden appearance. "Not really."

Scorpius's smile falters just slightly. He plops down next to Albus and tries not to feel disappointed when the other boy tenses again. He can feel him inching away. Scorpius goes for another smile, but it's a poor imitation at best. "Well, I've missed you, believe it or not," he offers.

Albus hums noncommittally.

"And...and thanks for the gift, by the way. The novels are surprisingly good, for a Muggle author. Even Father enjoys them."

This catches Albus's attention and he furrows his brows a bit, almost despite himself. "Even your father? Draco Malfoy?"

"Oh yes! Well, not openly, of course," Scorpius replies, pleased that Albus is speaking to him again. "But Mother was rather cross with him when he stayed up to read them in private. Did you send them because you thought Father would be angry? And here I thought it was because you saw that I liked the Wizard's Detective Agency series."

Albus banishes all expression from his face and shrugs. "I got them for you because I knew your pea-sized brain couldn't handle any real literature."

Scorpius frowns at the slight, but then brightens again when he recalls his own gift to Albus. "Say, how's Tess?" he asks. "Do you like her?"

"Tess?" Albus looks momentarily confused before he, too, remembers Tess. Scorpius sees a tic at the corner of his lips—the beginnings of a smile, perhaps? He's hopeful. "Malfoy, hasn't anyone taught you that baby peacocks aren't appropriate Christmas gifts? Mum was absolutely livid."

Scorpius bursts into peals of laughter. "Oh, it was Father's suggestion," he explains. "The manor's overrun by peacocks, you know, so we've been trying to fob them off to others for years, and Father thought your father might enjoy one."

"Well," Albus concedes with a wry smile, "Dad was rather amused. Though less so when Tess started squawking at odd hours. And then not at all when she tore some of his files to strips."

Scorpius laughs again, despite the tiny prick of guilt he feels towards poor Mister Potter. A brief silence settles over the pair as Scorpius recovers himself. The storm's calmed—puffs of snow drift about harmlessly—but it's still cold. Scorpius shivers just a bit and realizes with another bout of disappointment that Albus has forgotten to cast a warming charm over him.

"Al, I haven't seen you around," he says after a moment.

Al looks away, to his chagrin. "You know where to find me, obviously."

"Well yes, but, I haven't...I mean, we haven't spoken in class, or at the library, you know. I almost feel as if you might be...you might not want to see me."

Al glances at him quickly and Scorpius sees a flash of accusation before the other boy looks away again. "You seem to have enough people flocking about you nowadays. I hardly thought you'd miss me."

Scorpius bites his lower lip and struggles to form an excuse. Because it's partially true—there's Emily now, and Emily's brought along other friends—and he's no longer so alone. But Al—Al's different; he's—

"It's alright," Al says with a humorless smile. "We were never friends. It was just an arrangement of convenience—I helped you with Potions and you amused me with your stupidity and now that you've been accepted into your Hufflepuff ranks, I would hardly want to be seen with you. It'd be quite embarrassing, so if you could save us both the trouble, I'd be eternally grateful—"

"—I'm sorry!" Scorpius cries, face ashen. Albus stares at him in astonishment, and any other time, Scorpius might have laughed—it's a funny look, when Albus's eyes get all large and round; he almost looks his age. But at the moment, Scorpius only repeats himself a second time, softer but just as contrite. "I'm sorry."

"What?"

I'm sorry I haven't sought you out sooner.

"I'm sorry, I can't leave you alone now," Scorpius all but yells. "I-I promised Father that...that my Potions grade won't go down, you see! You can't abandon me now, just because I've become more Hufflepuff! That's unethical!" Scorpius exclaims, scrounging for words.

I'm sorry I've been such a poor friend.

"And-and actually...in fact, I told Emily and Jonathan that you'd help us—all of us—with our essays, so you'd better come to the library with me after dinner!"

Albus blinks owlishly a few times, as if he can't quite comprehend Scorpius' words. "What on earth, Malfoy? Why would you tell them that? And why in the world would I come?"

"I...well," Scorpius stutters. He wonders if he's saying the right things, if these are excuses that strange Albus will accept without poking right through them. He wonders if it's enough of an apology.

"I'll tell my father! If you don't come, I'll tell him, and he'll—he'll—"

"He'll what, Malfoy?" Albus's lips quirk in a slow, aggravating smirk.

And somehow, that's when Scorpius knows that they'll be okay.

"He'll send you another peacock, that's what!"

Scorpius's cerulean eyes are wide open. He stares unblinkingly at Albus, sincerity pouring out the windows of his soul. Albus's lips twitch just a little at the corners.

And then they're both laughing.

~*8*8*~

~*8*8*~

~*8*8*~

February's spent largely indoors, huddled before warm fires or over creaking library tables.

Scorpius's newfound friends are strangely taken with Albus, his particular brand of mean-spirited humor notwithstanding. Albus summarily dismisses their affection—it's the Potter fame, that's all—but Scorpius suspects he's secretly pleased. Scorpius also suspects that the Hufflepuffs see right through Albus's act, that for all his eye-rolling and uncharitable deprecation, he's willing to read every word of your Charms essay, just as he's willing to walk you through every step of a knotty Arithmancy calculation. And sometimes, he might even sit by you when you're down and pelt you with insults until you can't help but laugh or fight back.

Scorpius imagines it's an odd sight to see Albus among a crowd of Hufflepuffs. Sometimes, when they walk together, they run into groups of sneering Slytherins. Albus's green eyes flare with anger, but Scorpius grabs his arm and gently steers him away.

Some people aren't worth it, Scorpius thinks. And he's happy enough, with or without their blessing.

~*8*8*~

~*8*8*~

~*8*8*~

It's still chilly when late March rolls around. Scorpius shivers as a blast of wind hits him, but he trudges on, ever regretting that he's waited until now to pick baby clovers from the garden for the next morning's Herbology class. The grounds are mostly abandoned at this hour. Scorpius picks up his pace as he cuts across the quidditch fields—Hogwarts in the dark is more ominous then he would like.

A sudden woosh in the skies above gives him pause. It doesn't feel like natural wind, and yet he does feel a definitive breeze skirt the top of his head, blowing his lightened golden strands all out of order. He peers up curiously and is surprised to find someone riding a broom, whirling in the night sky.

The person catches sight of him too, slows down, `and carefully descends to the ground.

"James?" Scorpius ventures, squinting the dark.

"Scorpius! Thought it was you," James says with an easy, if slightly embarrassed grin. "Can spot that hair anywhere, you know. You'd make a terrible undercover detective."

"Er..."

"Sorry, it's just that I saw you reading those Muggle books Al likes—the Poirot ones. I thought you'd want to be a—well, anyway..."

Scorpius blinks. He's not sure what to say. He hasn't spoken to James since those few minutes of interaction in December. He's seen the older boy around, of course, but he's always surrounded by his Gryffindor posse, so Scorpius has largely given up trying to approach him.

Albus had scoffed—as if James would talk to you in public, where everyone can see. He doesn't even talk to me, don't you see?

Scorpius hadn't really understood that, but Albus never bothered to explain, merely concluding the whole conversation with a dismissive: James is like that.

But here in the dark and empty quidditch field, James appears his usual friendly self—he even knows what books Scorpius reads!—so Scorpius really can't take Albus too seriously. He smiles shyly at James and asks, "What are you doing out here at this hour?"

"Well, you know." James makes an incomprehensible gesture with his hands before running his fingers through wind-mussed auburn hair. Scorpius stares at him in confusion. "Er...maybe you don't know. I guess you must not follow quidditch much. I'm playing in the next game in a couple weeks! The last one this term, you know?"

"Oh! Are you?" Scorpius exclaims. Of course, he'd known that James was Gryffindor's reserve seeker, but he isn't as consumed by quidditch developments as some, so he hadn't heard that James had made his way off the reserve. "Congratulations!"

"Thanks! Anyway, I thought I'd pack some extra practice in."

"Oh, are you nervous?"

"No, not—well, a bit," James admits bashfully. "It being my first game and all. And Dad was so great, I just thought..."

"I'm sure you'll be great too!" Scorpius offers when James trails off into self-conscious silence. "That is, everyone says you play brilliantly."

James perks up a bit. "Do...do they?"

"That's what I hear. I wouldn't worry too much if I were you."

"Yes, well..." James frowns momentarily. "I guess that also means I have more to live up to."

"Oh, I didn't mean to put pressure on you—"

"No, not at all!" James protests. "You've motivated me. Thanks, Scorp."

Scorpius knows he's staring again, but, "Scorp?"

This brings a look of alarm to James's face. "Sorry! I didn't mean for that to slip out! It's just shorter, that's all. And I thought since you're Al's friend...no, sorry—"

"It's all right!" Scorpius blurts. "I don't mind at all." He feels ridiculously special, actually, to receive a nickname from James of all people.

James smiles in relief. "That's good."

They stand in silence for a few moments before Scorpius shivers again—he's forgotten to put on his heavier sweater. James frowns. "Are you cold? You'd better hurry back! No need to stay out here with me. I'll just fly a couple more rounds and head back myself.

Scorpius nods and wishes James good luck. "You'll do great!" he shouts as he walks back towards the castle. When he looks back after a couple steps—because how can he resist?—James has already disappeared into the darkness.

~*8*8*~

~*8*8*~

~*8*8*~

"Where've you been?"

Scorpius jumps slightly when Albus accosts him unexpectedly in the hallway. Under the light of the flickering torches that line the walls, Albus could easily be mistaken for a ghost with his pale skin and raven hair. It takes Scorpius a moment to calm his heart.

"I was picking clovers," Scorpius explains, holding out his box of the fresh-picked grass for Albus to see. He leaves out his encounter with James, intuitively feeling that Albus wouldn't like to talk about that anyway.

Albus rolls his eyes. "I knew you'd wait until the last minute." He peers at Scorpius's clovers with a look of disdain. "And that you would pick the wrong ones."

"What?" Scorpius takes a look at the clovers and frowns. "Aren't we picking the four leaved clovers?"

"The white clovers, yes. But you've got the red ones."

"Oh!" Scorpius groans with a note of distress. "I couldn't see clearly in the dark—this is ridiculous. And I suppose I'll have to go back now—"

"—Luckily for you, I've never underestimated your ability to fudge things up. Here you are." Albus steps forward from where he's leaned against the wall, takes away Scorpius's box and replaces it with his own in one fluid motion. "I picked extra this afternoon and have been trying to find an opportunity to hand them off to you."

"Al Potter," Scorpius exclaims, staring at his newfound clovers with disbelief. "You're wonderful!" He would have thrown his arms around his friend had they been free. "This is brilliant!"

Albus's ears grow red at the tips, but he tries to maintain his air of aloofness. "It's nothing. I just knew you'd mess up, that's all. Don't be late for class tomorrow."

"I won't." Scorpius smiles knowingly but doesn't call him out. He watches with a happy grin as Albus stalks away.

The following night, after he finishes Transfigurations homework and parts ways with Albus, Scorpius finds himself yearning to return to the field again. It's as if he's discovered a secret, a secret about the boy that so many idolize and want to befriend. And the secret is all his!

He sits with his friends for awhile in the common room, but before he knows it, he's already standing and slipping away, waving absently to Emily and Jonathan, resolutely ignoring their queries as to his destination. He's not ready to share.

He's delighted to see that James is indeed flying again, and when the older boy comes to a steady landing by his side, he offers him a cup of hot chocolate that he's nicked from the kitchens.

"Scorp, don't you know that I have to maintain my figure," James scolds with a faux-frown. Scorpius laughs, because James couldn't be in better shape if he tried. Girls don't ogle after him just because he's a Potter.

"Can I do anything to help?" Scorpius asks after James finishes gulping down the warm drink.

James eyes him thoughtfully and after a pause, asks "Well, can you play?"

"P-play?"

"I mean, do you want to play against me? It might help me practice."

"Well, I'm not—I'm no good, I don't think, and you're, you..." Scorpius stutters.

But somehow, James presses him to try and they manage to fetch him a broom. Scorpius is still lightheaded with confusion when he ascends and begins chasing after the elusive snitch against James Potter, the two of them zipping among the stars. Scorpius isn't nearly as good as James (or even decent, objectively speaking), and James beats him five out of five matches, but all the same, he doesn't think he's ever experienced a more exhilarating flight in his life.

When they land again, both of them are a bit out of breath and Scorpius's pale cheeks are pink from the wind. James grins at him. "You're not so bad, Scorp. You could probably try out next year, if you wanted."

"Do you think so?" Scorpius asks brightly, even though he doesn't really believe it. Father had made it sufficiently clear, though not explicitly, that Scorpius had failed to inherit his superior quidditch genes.

"Sure! It's all about practice."

In fact, James adds, Scorpius is welcome to practice with him again. "It really does help," he insists. "And it's fun! I mean...if you'd like to, that is."

Scorpius stares at James with wonder—he's beyond flattered—and he nods his assent as if his life depends on it. James laughs and shoos him back to the castle, after assuring Albus that he'd very much like to play with him again the next night.

Scorpius falls asleep with an air of impatience; he's already longing for the next day. He dreams of snitches and James's easy smile.

~*8*8*~

~*8*8*~

~*8*8*~

Playing with James late at night when no one's watching becomes routine over the next week. Scorpius knows it's an ephemeral arrangement, but he's excited anyway. And he doesn't share with anyone where he's heading off to so late at night, even though he receives a growing number of questioning glances; it's still his secret.

Perhaps that's why he's surprised when he runs into Albus on his way back to the castle. Albus is standing by the door that leads in from the fields. He crosses his arms over his narrow chest and wears a look of cold accusation.

"So this is where you've been," he says quietly.

Scorpius halts and, after recovering from surprise, faces Albus with an uncertain smile. "Hello Al. I-I'm surprised you're out here."

Albus shrugs, but the tension in his shoulders belies his nonchalance. "Was just curious what you've been up to. No one's been able to find you these past few evenings."

Scorpius lets out a nervous laugh. He tries to think quickly and come up with an explanation, even as he wonders why he has to explain at all. He finally settles for a half-defeated, half-annoyed, "I would've told you."

Albus lifts his brow in that aggravating way he's so good at, and Scorpius's irritation escalates. "Really. It's just that I didn't think you would've liked to hear about it. You get all—you close up whenever I try to talk about James."

"Ah. So you thought it'd be better if you just went about it behind my back."

Scorpius's eyes narrow. "What do you mean? You say it as if—as if I'm doing something wrong. I'm just playing quidditch, that's all! And with your brother, at that."

Albus's eyes glow uncannily in the dark and he speaks quietly, almost calmly, but it doesn't fool Scorpius. "Yes, my brother. The one who never speaks to me if anyone's there to see. In fact, who never speaks to you if there's anyone around to see. Who only ever speaks to the right people, which don't include the son of a former death eater or the sibling that's suspected of dark magic, in case you haven't figured it out. And who practices in the dark because he's scared that people will find out he isn't as great at quidditch as a Potter child should be. That brother."

Scorpius frowns in frustration. "Al, I don't know what you're on about. He's just nervous and wants to practice against someone—"

"Of course, that's right—practice against someone that he knows he can beat without any effort so that he feels better about himself—"

"—Do you hear yourself? You sound mad! I can't believe—"

"You don't know him Scorpius," Albus interrupts impatiently, his voice taking on a twinge of desperation. "You're just like everyone else. Mum adores him, you know, and so does everyone on Mum's side. He's perfect—perfectly normal. No parseltongue or dark magic or memories of the war they fought. He just smiles and does everything well enough, and he knows it too. Everyone thinks he's so nice, even when the truth is that he couldn't care less about anyone except his small group of perfectly normal Gryffindor followers, and everyone loves him—"

"—Except you."

"Because I see through him."

"Because you're jealous," Scorpius snaps in anger. He knows it's mean, knows it from the way Albus's eyes widen and fill with hurt, but he can't stop himself. "You're jealous that he's normal and that everyone likes him."

An uncomfortable silence envelops them, broken only by the occasional gusts of wind that rustle the newborn leaves.

Moments pass. Albus's lips press into a thin line. His eyes are cold, as cold as they were when Scorpius first tried to befriend him. He stares hard at Scorpius for a few seconds, then says in a clipped tone, "All right. If that's what you want to believe."

He doesn't slam the door when he walks away. All his movments are controlled, his face expressionless, as if he isn't burning with rage inside.

Scorpius waits until he's sure Albus has rounded the corner before he enters the castle. He's less controlled, turmoil plainly splayed across his fair face as he speeds towards his room.

~*8*8*~

~*8*8*~

~*8*8*~

"Scorpius, are you and Al all right?"

Emily's the one who asks, but Ernie and Jonathan stare at him in expectation. The trio has surrounded him at the breakfast table and he has nowhere to run.

"We're fine," Scorpius mutters crossly.

"You don't seem fine, mate," says Ernie with clear skepticism. "I don't think you've talked all week."

It's true. They hadn't spoken again since that encounter by the quidditch fields. In fact, Albus doesn't even look at him anymore, and since he doesn't eat in the Great Hall, Scorpius barely sees him. It's as if their five months of interaction has amounted to nothing, disappeared in an explosive puff of smoke.

Scorpius takes a particular vicious stab at the sunny egg on his plate. "Well, we would be fine,"—another stab—"if he weren't such a stupid, jealous, little git!"—a final stab.

Ernie and Jonathan slide away from him just slightly. Even Emily leans backwards, though she's sitting across the table.

"Er...what happened?"

Scorpius considers explaining. He decides against it. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing."

Fortunately, everyone's soon distracted by an eruption of cheers from the Gryffindor table. Scorpius looks over too and sees that a large package has been dropped right before James Potter. The boy looks puzzled at first, then tears away the wrapping to discover the newest broom model on the market.

Jonathan, who's particularly into quidditch, is practically salivating. "Do you see that! Do you know how expensive that is? I can't believe he just gets one—"

"Well, he is playing on the actual team next game," Emily says, staring more at the boy than the broom, "so I say he deserves it."

"But Em, you have to understand, there are a lot of zeroes, and I mean a lot ..."

Scorpius observes the delighted smile on James's face and feels happy for him. He tries to catch James's eye again, and to his surprise, he succeeds. For a brief second, he's staring into James's friendly brown orbs and his heart soars in excitement. Congratulations, he hopes to say.

James looks away quickly.

Scorpius blinks. Then again. His heart reverses course and plummets in confused disappointment. He thinks it must be a fluke and stares hard at James again, but James has already turned to his friends.

He only ever speaks to the right people.

Scorpius shakes his head. No, he can't let Al's silly, irrational jealousy get to him. James wouldn't...

"Scorpius, you alright? Scorpius?"

... would he?

~*8*8*~

~*8*8*~

~*8*8*~

Scorpius gets to the quidditich field a bit earlier that night. It's almost time for the game—just another week before Gryffindor versus Slytherin. James isn't there though and Scorpius's heart sinks some more as he plops down on the grass and closes his eyes. He wishes he could ask James, just bluntly, and banish these doubts, banish Albus's stupid voice from his head.

Then he can tell Albus I told you so to his face. And after that, maybe he'll apologize, because he was rather mean about the whole thing.

And he misses talking to Albus. A little bit.

Footsteps approach. Scorpius's eyes pop open and he bolts up with a nervous smile. "Jame—"

It isn't James.

Scorpius stares at the group of Slytherin quidditch players that have gathered around him. They look equally surprised to see him, but it's not long before identical smirks of malice bloom on their shadowed faces. Scorpius grasps at his wand with trembling fingers.

The tallest one—McNath, Scorpius thinks is his name—steps closer and taunts Scorpius with a sneer. "What are you doing out here all by yourself, Malfoy? Where are your little friends?"

"Yeah, where's Potter? The evil one, I mean." Scattered laughter. "Isn't he supposed to guard you, like some sort of dog?

Scorpius frowns and scampers up. He tries not to look at them or speak to them as he attempts to push past.

"Not so fast, Malfoy," someone—Nott?—yells. Scorpius feels his legs bind together by the force of magic just before he topples over, immobile. "Hasn't anyone told you it's rude to ignore your classmates? Not to mention stupid to turn your back on your enemies?"

Scorpius grimaces and tries to crawl up, but he's instantly hit by another blast. This one stings. Tears well up in his eyes but he refuses to let them fall, even as several more Slytherins draw their wands.

"Won't we get into trouble?" he hears someone whisper, tentatively.

"Oh please, no one comes out here at this hour," is the careless response. "We'll be long gone before then, and who's going to believe some death eater spawn?"

More laughter.

He's not sure what they hit him with after that but it doesn't matter because he can't fight back and he hurts all over. He hurts so much he can barely think, much less act. He begins to shut down, a despairing numbness spreading through his bruised body and replacing all panic and all hope.

He's teetering on the precipice; his vision darkens and darkens as he strives for escape through the unconscious. Then, just before he gives himself up to the abyss, he hears a familiar voice yell protego. A shield of magic flares to life.

"Oh shit," one of the Slytherins yelp.

"What the fuck is Potter doing out here at this hour?"

There's a flurry of movement—they must be trying to scatter in the dark. He hears that same voice—James, he knows it's James—cursing at the Slytherins with a rage he never thought possible.

When he finally blacks out, he's almost certain that James is holding him. He slips out of consciousness with the happy thought that finally, he can face Al and declare I told you so.

~*8*8*~

~*8*8*~

~*8*8*~

Scorpius creeps in and out of lucidity for an unknown period of time. Most days, his eyes flutter open to his parents' worried faces, but on occasion, it's to Emily shushing Jonathan, or Madam Pomfrey's pursed lips. Very rarely, his bleary vision identifies James by his reddish brown hair and his warm, concerned eyes.

And just once, he thinks he sees a flash of green. He thinks he hears an apology in that sarcastic voice he's missed so much and he wants to say it's okay, closely followed by I told you so. Or maybe the other way around. But he falls asleep too soon and when he wakes again, he's all alone.

"You missed a great match," Jonathan says, handing him a slice of apple.

It's almost a week and a half later. Scorpius still lives in the hospital wing though he's almost completely recovered. He thinks it's rather severe of Madam Pomfrey—even his over-anxious parents have returned to the Manor—but he daren't aggravate the nurse.

He does long to go outside though. Spring has finally arrived in full and Hogwarts is swimming in petals and sunshine. He stares wistfully out the window as Jonathan prattles on.

"Gryffindor won, in case you're curious. Slytherin had to put on all their reserve players since their actual players—those bastards—have been suspended. Rightfully so, obviously. But James played wonderfully! He—oh—he's...right here..."

Surprised, Scorpius turns from the window to the door and sees that James Potter is indeed standing there, his lanky figure filling the frame. He smiles at Jonathan with a quick, "Hello." Scorpius would have laughed had Jonathan's silly star-struck look not been all too familiar.

"Congratulations," Scorpius says after Jonathan leaves him alone with James and after he's thanked James for coming to his rescue.

"Thanks," James replies with a bashful grin. "Couldn't have done it without your help."

Scorpius laughs. "Are you referring to those late night practice sessions with me or to the fact that I got half of the Slytherin team suspended?"

He had meant to make a joke, but James takes him seriously. The older boy's friendly face takes on an expression of anger, which surprises and unnerves Albus. He finds the expression incongruous. It somehow doesn't fit him like it fits—

"By the way, where's Al been?" Scorpius asks abruptly, in part to change the subject and in part because the question's been nagging him since he's come to. He wants to apologize.

The question provokes a flash of discomfort in James. It heightens Scorpius's suspicions and he asks again, more urgently this time.

"I-hasn't anyone told you?"

"No," Scorpius says impatiently. "Everyone keeps dodging the question. But you must know." He adds, accusatorily because he feels testy, "Even if you don't ever talk to him."

James seems to shrink against his chair. This, too, worries Scorpius, because James doesn't ever shrink. He's a Gryffindor, he's Potter's son, he stands up tall.

James pushes his hair out of his eyes—an unnecessary act of stalling, before he finally faces Scorpius with something akin to guilt or apology or distress. "He's...gone."

"What?"

"He doesn't—he can't go here anymore."

"What are you..."Scorpius blinks rapidly, but that doesn't help. "What does that even mean?"

"I mean, he hasn't been expelled, but if he stays, the Headmistress said she'll have to put it on his record. So Mum decided—Mum thought it'd be best if we just transferred him, and the Headmistress agreed out of respect for our family."

Scorpius feels himself grow numb as the full story tumbles out.

Albus was so angry when he found out, James explains. And maybe he felt guilty, for leaving Scorpius alone. But it was mostly anger. He tracked those Slytherins down before their suspension—it wasn't hard, they still lived in the Slytherin rooms—and he brought with him—

"Snakes. He called the snakes out from the Forbidden Forest and they slithered into the dungeons somehow—there were cracks? I'm not sure—but anyway, McNath and Nott and their bunch woke up covered in snakes and snake bites. None of the bites were lethal but, I mean, they were creatures of the forest and...anyway. Mum's thinking about Durmstrang.

"I'm—I'm sorry," the other boy finishes in a whisper. "I don't think he's coming back."

Scorpius stares at James blankly. He doesn't know what to say. He doesn't think there is anything left to say. He wants to laugh—because really, he was going to Al I told you so? how fucking juvenile—but his throat closes in on itself. He can't make sounds; he can barely breathe.

James stares at him with concerned eyes. Absolutely swimming with concern. All the concern that Scorpius could have ever wanted. But of course, ironic as always, he's the wrong Potter.

Scorpius thinks: when he had parted from Albus that night, he had no idea that they would come to be apart for so long.