"Need help with that, Scorpius?"

Scorpius smiles wanly and shakes his head no. "I'm all right. It's just a bit of dirt."

Jonathan eyes him skeptically and takes a closer look at the contents of the buckets Scorpius is holding. He's only half right—it's not so much dirt as it is compact, wet mud. The buckets look heavy. "Are you sure?"

"Quite sure." The bead of sweat that trickles down Scorpius's damp forehead contradicts his words, but Jonathan shrugs and lets him pass.

Scorpius nods and trudges on.

~a~

A gentle September breeze caresses his heated cheeks when he finally makes it outside the castle walls. Scorpius's lips quirk into a relieved smile as he sets down his buckets for a quick break. Taking a deep breath, he's filled with the essence of autumn, a spicy scent he's come to associate with yearly returns to Hogwarts. He adds it to his mental list of things he'll miss when he graduates next year; already, he's begun to feel nostalgic.

Fittingly, a group of first years shuffle past on the yellowing grass. Scorpius watches them fondly as they chatter. He knows he's not so much older, but somehow, five years makes all the difference and he wonders idly if he, too, looked so small when he was their age. He smiles affably at two little girls that peer his way.

The girls slow their pace and stare, much to Scorpius's amused consternation. Their cheeks redden conspicuously and they shoot each other conspiratorial, questioning glances, nudging each other forward. All the while, Scorpius contemplates methods of extrication. Eleven-year-old girls, frankly, are not his cup of tea.

The boys of the group are less than pleased to be slowed down by the dawdling girls. Scorpius gets it—they're at that age when even the mere thought of romance invokes sickening revulsion. They shoot Scorpius looks of barely masked irritation and try to hurry the girls along.

"Really, you can't be staring at him," one says, loud enough for Scorpius to hear from several steps away.

"Well, why not? He's beautiful."

"Oh, that's-that's gross. Can't believe you said that, Sarah!"

The girl rolls her eyes. "You're so childish, Thomas."

The boy sputters indignantly. "Me? You're the one mooning after a Malfoy! Don't you know his family is full of traitors?"

Another boy, similarly frustrated, adds with a knowing smirk: "And I heard he did something awful and got one of the Potters expelled! Better not go near him, or he might get you expelled too!"

By all accounts, it's a completely illogical statement, but the girls look uncertain now. They peer at Scorpius questioningly. He half shrugs in response—what can I say?—and picks up his buckets again with a grunt. With a kindly grin—they're only eleven, what do they know?—he resumes his journey to the greenhouse.

~a~

It's not that he's bothered, Scorpius thinks as his dragonhide boots crunch into a layer of crisp colorful leaves. He's no longer the child who shrivels into himself and cries alone at night.

For one, he's not alone. There's Jonathan and Ernie and Emily and a whole host of Hufflepuffs who would come to his defense in a heartbeat. And for another, he's come to learn that people often say things they don't mean or care about—and really, what hasn't he heard over the years? Everything dies down eventually.

But one thing sticks: the boy's offhand comment about Albus, whose shadow trails him like a ghost, not completely visible but not quite dispelled. The ghost is only summoned to life by the occasional mentions of "that other Potter," and despite the passage of time, Scorpius sees flashes of green. And he begins to wonder. Where is Albus now? What's he doing? Has he changed? Why doesn't he ever write? Sometimes, Scorpius begins to compose Dear Albus in his head, but he has long stopped sending letters.

Maybe it's sorrow, or longing, or guilt that feeds the ghost of Albus. Whatever the cause, he lingers, the symbol of a relationship that remains unresolved, unfinished.

~a~

The greenhouse appears empty, as he had expected. Not many people frequent this place, though Scorpius finds it rather nice himself, especially as the weather outside grows chilly. From floor to ceiling, the glass structure is crowded with trees and flowers and herbs, both magical and not, and their sweet scents infuse into the atmosphere like a natural perfume. The air is mildly humid but delightfully warm; one could take a nice nap here, Scorpius thinks.

He makes his way to a small pond obscured by dwarf willows and carefully pours in the liquid soil he's carried over. The enchanted soil has made its way around the world from the bottom of the Amazon River. Scorpius can only hope that this expensive (not to mention heavy) purchase will help revive the transplanted magical lilies. They look disappointingly wilted.

The task done, Scorpius hovers by at the edge of the pond and watches the lithe candiru swim laps around the lily stems. He'll have to fish them out soon, kill them, and mash them into paste for Slughorn's first year Potions class, and he feels rather sorry. Indeed, he explains as much out loud to the fish, voice tinged with helplessness as he tries to convince himself that they understand him. His voice echoes against the glass walls.

"Who's there?"

Scorpius heart leaps. He could've sworn that he was alone all this time. His blue eyes dart about wildly before they pinpoint the intruder, standing just a few steps away, half hidden by the willows. His lips form a silent "o."

Dirt-splattered boots, Gryffindor crimson, broad shoulders and a smattering of faded freckles. Who but James Potter stands before him, surprised brown eyes a reflection of his own?

A few beats of silence are dedicated to a confused staring contest. Then James says, uncertainly, "Hullo...Scorp." The older boy blinks slowly, as if he had just woken and his mind had yet to reach full capacity, unable to comprehend Scorpius' presence.

But his words bring Scorpius out of his stupor. He straightens from his crouching position and greets James with a tentative smile.

"Didn't expect to see you here, James," he says. "Thought the place was empty."

"Yes, so did I," says James with a yawn. "Then I heard someone's voice—who were you talking to by the way? Is there someone else?"

"Er, no, I was-the fish-that is-er, no. No one else. Just me."

James quirks his brow. "I see." The words are laden with a sort of amusement that causes Scorpius to redden in embarrassment.

He clears his throat and changes the subject. "I've never seen you here before."

James blinks.

"That is, I'm here quite often, and I've never seen you," Scorpius explains.

"Yes, well, I've only just discovered myself that it's a nice spot for a mid-day nap. Warm, quiet, no one around to bother me." James adds, when he sees Scorpius's look of apology, "Not that you're a bother. Just that it's hard to get any peace and quiet up at the castle. People are always looking for me to help with random tasks..." his voice trails off. "Not that I mind."

Scorpius nods in sympathy. James is Head Boy now, and though he was always highly sought after, he really does seem to be pulled in all directions this final year.

"Well, should I leave you to your nap then? I've just finished my work so I'd best head back to the castle."

"No, no. I've napped all afternoon. Rather lazy of me, actually. And I imagine it's almost time for dinner from the looks of it." And indeed, the skies outside the glass walls have been dyed orange and purple. "I'll walk back with you. That is, if you don't mind. I haven't had the chance to speak with you for quite some time now, and it's been rather remiss of me."

"Oh," says Scorpius with a startled look. He hadn't expected that. It's not a long walk back to the castle, perhaps just ten minutes, but that's ten minutes of silence he has to fill when he hasn't spoken to James for so long. Only, it's rude to refuse when they're clearly going the same way...

The short pause is interrupted by someone bellowing for Scorpius. "Are you there?" asks the man urgently. "If you are, I would so like your help with the mandr—oh! James!"

Professor Longbottom's paunchy body enters the clearing by the pond. His eyes bulge at seeing James, but a cheerful smile quickly spreads across the plump face. "Why goodness, I haven't seen you in forever!"

"Since the hols, Professor," James says with an easy smile at the older man. "How are you?"

"I'm very well, thank you! Very well, indeed. And you, my dear?"

"Splendid, especially after my restful nap amongst the impressive array of wildlife you've gathered here."

"Yes, it is impressive, isn't it?" the professor exclaims with pleasure. He turns to Scorpius. "But I'll have to give this young man here the credit. Has quite the talent for cultivating exotic species, Scorpius does."

"Oh? Is that so?"

Scorpius can feel his pale cheeks redden again under Professor Longbottom's praise and James's questioning stare. "No, not at all," he says. "I just-I just like plants. They're... soothing, I suppose. And sometimes they listen when you speak to them."

It had been a surprise actually, his affinity for plants. Indeed, by third year he had come to the conclusion that he had very little talent for any subject, and he had just about resigned himself to the path laid out by Father, which is to say, rich Lord who pottered about and did nothing useful at all. But then came Professor Longbottom who, despite his colorful past with Father, clicked surprisingly well with Scorpius, perhaps due to their shared clumsiness. Somewhere between after-class lessons and impromptu teas at the greenhouse, they discovered Scorpius's strange aptitude for the cultivation of exotic flora and fauna. Now, as a sixth year, he helps Professor Longbottom run the greenhouse and tinkers with the plants whenever he has a spare moment.

James teases, "So you were talking to the plants just now?"

"No," Scorpius protests quickly, embarrassed. "It was the...the fish." At least they're sentient.

James chuckles. "The fish, then. Professor, Scorp and I were just about to go to dinner. Will you be coming with us?"

"Oh dear me, no! I had come to collect some mandrakes. A sudden order came in from St. Mungo's, needs them right away for something. Scorpius, you wouldn't mind, that is, I am terribly sorry but—"

"Absolutely, Professor. James, it was good seeing you again, but you go ahead!"

"Are you sure? I can stay, too—"

"No, no, James," Longbottom says, already turning his back to make his way towards a different part of the greenhouse. "It'll be quicker with just Scorpius and me. We're experienced. Go eat dinner, and I'll see you on Monday's class."

James shrugs at Scorpius. "Well, I'll see you around then, Scorp?"

"Of course." Scorpius is pretty certain he'll see James around, but hasn't much faith that they'll speak again for some time. Still, formalities must be observed. He waves goodbye.

Later, as he and Professor Longbottom work their way through the rows of mandrakes, the Professor remarks curiously that he hadn't known Scorpius and James were friends.

"Ah...no, not really," Scorpius says, wiping the sweat from his brow. "It's the first time I've spoken to him this year, I think. But you know James, he's friendly with just about everyone."

Neville Longbottom nods. "Well yes, I'm sure he is. Harry and Ginny raised him wonderfully, after all. And he's got such a good head on his shoulders. Really, a spectacular boy. Although," the Professor muses, "I do sometimes worry about him too."

As Scorpius plucks a stray root from a squealing mandrake, he asks by way of idle conversation: "You worry about James? But he's doing so well. Everyone thinks he'll be wildly successful after graduation."

"Well of course, there's that," Neville replies with a proud smile. "He is Harry's son after all. But I do wonder if he hasn't taken on too much." He frowns contemplatively. "You were friends with Albus weren't you? You must now that Ginny never did bond as well with Al, and now that he's gone to the Continent and with Lily being the baby of the family, I'm afraid she's put all her hopes on James and has been rather hard on the boy. And of course, Harry's so busy, he barely has time to see James. I do fear that poor James feels the need to be, well, perfect in some sense. I wonder if that doesn't take a toll on him."

Scorpius listens with growing surprise. "I'd never really thought of that."

Longbottom laughs fondly. "And why would you, m'dear? No, James does well enough. It's only wild speculation on my part. I'm sure he'll be quite as successful as your peers predict."

~a~

The Great Hall is rowdy as ever. Scorpius slides into place between Ernie and Jonathan and stares balefully at the empty plate of pumpkin pastries. He had been looking forward to the dessert all day, but alas...

"Where've you been?" Ernie garbles through a mouthful of food.

Scorpius wrinkles his brows in distaste but dutifully recounts his afternoon. "Could've saved some pastries for me, you know."

His friends shrug. "Too bad, mate. It's each man for himself here. You know we Hufflepuffs like our food." Scorpius rolls his eyes and reaches for a piece of bread.

"Emily's been looking for you, by the way."

"Oh, did she need something?"

"Didn't say."

"All right." Scorpius frowns as he thinks of something. "You know, don't you guys think she's been acting a bit strange recently?"

"Er..." Jonathan and Ernie share a look. "No. Nope. Not at all. Same girl."

"Are you sure?" Scorpius prods. "I feel that she's a bit...well, I don't know. She treats me differently somehow..."

A tenuous pause.

"Perhaps," Ernie suggests, "you find her more...womanly now?"

"What's that?"

"That is, more charming? More beautiful? Sexier—"

"Ernie!" Scorpius interrupts, scandalized. "What in the world are you saying? She's our friend! You can't—you can't just talk about her like that!"

Jonathan snorts and mumbles something under his breath. (Something that sounds suspiciously like you've got to be joking and we're sixteen, for Merlin's sake and maybe Scorpius hears the word hormones and sex, but he tries not to think of that.)

Before Scorpius has a chance to speak again, Emily herself approaches the table. She's slightly out of breath and her cheeks are pinked from exertion. She slides into place across from Scorpius and steals glances at him from lowered lids. Scorpius can't understand why, since she can very well just look him in the eye. He almost says as much, if not for Jonathan shooting him a warning glance.

"Scorpius, I've been looking for you all afternoon!" Emily exclaims after she settles herself. She presents to him a gift box wrapped in a large pink ribbon. Scorpius eyes it skeptically but accepts it.

"Well, open it!"

"Er, all right." Scorpius smiles uncertainly, but his doubts are laid to rest when he sees what's inside: a batch of freshly baked pumpkin pastries! They smell heavenly and Scorpius lights up. "Wow! These look amazing! And I was just complaining that all the pastries are gone. Are they for me?"

Emily grows pinker. "Well, yes. I know you like them and I was baking with the girls today and I thought I'd whip up a batch...tell me if you like them! I can make more, any time you want."

"Thanks! This is great!" Scorpius bites into one and hums in pleasure. "And they're delicious." He offers the box to Jonathan, "Try one?"

"No thanks. They're for you, obviously."

Scorpius blinks. "I'm sure Emily won't mind, right Em?"

"Well, I...I'd prefer if..." Emily stutters. "I mean, of course. It's no big deal."

"Right..." Scorpius isn't sure if Emily means what she says, because she looks a bit annoyed now. But he can't fathom why, so he takes the easy route and turns the box to Ernie. "They're quite good, you should try one!"

Ernie groans. "No thanks. Also, are you daft?"

"What do you mean—"

"I just remembered, I've got to go." Emily pushes up from the table. Her lower lip trembles and she throws an accusing glance at Scorpius before she stomps off, her brown curls flying dramatically behind her.

Scorpius blanches. "But you...but she just got here. Where's she off to? Do you see what I mean, guys? She's behaving so strangely!"

Jonathan slaps his forehead. "Mate, you need to work on this."

"On what?" Scorpius exclaims, earnestly confused.

"Oh for Merlin's sake, she's got a crush on you!"

"What?"

"And it's so obvious; you must be the only person in Hufflepuff who hasn't figured it out! And don't tell me you haven't seen the way Anna and Daisy have been staring at you?"

"What?" Scorpius screeches, and it's rather undignified, but he can't be bothered. "You're joking!"

Ernie sighs morosely. "Merlin knows why all the women go for you. You're as oblivious as a cow."

"Hey now," Scorpius frowns, "That's not very nice—"

"—He's got the whole blond pretty boy thing going for him, Ernie. We can't compete. Women like that, you know—hair like spun gold, thin as a stick type."

"Wait, I'm not—"

"—You'd think they'd go for masculinity, but no. It's all about beauty and androgyny. They're all bonkers if you ask me."

"And actually," Jonathan muses, "I'm not even sure how this happened. To Scorpius, I mean. Scorpius, you used to be such scrawny, pointy child, do you remember? Like really unattractive, I mean-"

"—Thanks so much for the kind comments—"

"—But then you turn up after summer looking all...willowy and, and...and pretty and stuff. It's unbelievable."

"Bollocks, really," Ernie grumbles. "And he's rich. Some people really do have it all. Heard you've even been turning the heads of some lads."

Scorpius's eyes widen. "Now you are having me on."

"Nope. Should see the way Edmund eyes you." Ernie snickers gleefully.

Jonathan chortles along too and asks, "So, will it be ladies or lads for you, Scorpius? You certainly have your pick."

Scorpius frowns indignantly. "Don't be silly. You're making it up."

"Come on now, Scorp. Don't you fancy anyone? Because everyone seems to fancy you now. We won't tell Emily, promise!"

Scorpius glares halfheartedly at Jonathan and turns away, refusing to partake in their ridiculous conversation. Turning the heads of lads? Please.

His eyes roam the room aimlessly as Jonathan and Ernie continue badgering. Then suddenly, they meet James Potter's. He's sitting at the Gryffindor table, swarmed as always by his ever-growing fan base. Scorpius thinks idly to himself that Jonathan is wrong; everyone fancies James Potter, not him, and clearly, masculinity is still attractive. After all, James is tall and broad where Scorpius is thin and lanky, and James must be made of at least twice as much muscle. So there.

As Scorpius finishes the thought, he notices with a start that James has been staring back this whole time. Scorpius blinks, wondering if it's all in his mind. But no, the mild brown eyes are still gazing at Scorpius, and they now begin to look amused. The corners of James Potter's lips lift into a slow smile.

Scorpius feels disconcerted, though he can't say why. He turns away and lets himself fall back within the ambit of Jonathan's inane but harmless chatter.

"—Scorpius? No one at all catches your eye?"

With a pronounced groan, Scorpius declares emphatically, "No. No one at all."

~a~

Sixth year moves along nicely. Scorpius settles into the comfortable if monotonous routine: classes, homework, friends, gardening. Some of his peers begin to show signs of strain, from love or grades or worries about careers. But not Scorpius. His life remains remarkably devoid of romance despite all the teasing, his grades are terrible to the point of being unsalvageable, and Life After Hogwarts is still a safe distance away.

It's different for seventh years though. They spend their days pouring over dusty old tomes of knowledge in the library and they spend their nights tossing and turning in anxiety over the near future. Life After Hogwarts looms just beyond the horizon.

"I'd say the only person who isn't worried is James Potter," grumbles Stephen Pewter, a seventh year Gryffindor.

He and his friend Rafe Sanderson walk briskly towards their Defense Against Dark Arts class, where visiting aurors are to hold a special session explaining the work of the auror department and how to join the training program. Scorpius, whose on his way to his own class, trails a few steps behind and catches bits of their conversation. He hasn't seen much of James beyond the norm since their greenhouse run-in, but Stephen and Rafe's idle chatter reminds him suddenly of what Professor Longbottom's had said that day. He listens curiously, almost despite himself.

"Why d'you say that?" asks Rafe.

"Because he isn't like the rest of us mere mortals," Stephen complains bitterly. "Not only is his father Harry bloody Potter, his father is also Head Auror. His own department isn't likely to deny James's application, now is it?"

"But has he decided to apply for sure? Last I heard, he was still talking about quidditch."

"Oh please, as if. The son of Harry Potter isn't likely to be some second rate quidditch player, let's be honest. James is good but not that good. Risky career at best. And auror is a much more respectable profession, especially for someone with James's grades."

"I suppose that's true enough," Rafe concedes. "Well, I'm sure he's qualified to be an auror, if he wants to be. He is top of our class. And he's Head Boy, and a nice enough chap all around. I'll admit I'm not close to him, but he's always been friendly."

"Well, that's just the thing! Sure, he's friendly and all that and he's got his group of followers. But he hasn't got any real friends, has he? I just don't think I really trust him. Don't you find him a bit odd...?" Stephen's voice abruptly trails off as they approach the DADA classroom. Class hasn't yet begun; a group of aurors hover by the closed door, mingling with students.

"But look, there's James now," Stephen whispers. "And he's standing with Harry Potter himself. Don't suppose he'll have any trouble at all getting into the program."

Behind them, Scorpius rolls his eyes. Where would James stand, if not with his own father? But out of curiosity, he too darts a quick glance at the Potters. The two of them are at the center of the crowd, but that only sets them apart from everyone else. There's a peculiar gap between father and son, as if they don't want to be too close. James wears a polite if blank smile. Mr. Potter, though physically imposing (if a bit short), looks as if his mind has wandered elsewhere, but the students are too awestruck to approach him and pull him back. Scorpius is struck by how much he looks like an older, more fatigued version of Albus.

"You wouldn't know they were father and son just by looking at them," Rafe muses quietly. "Completely different coloring. Indeed, they don't even look that comfortable with each other."

Stephen shrugs, disinterested. "Who knows. But James is definitely getting into the program while the rest of us ..."

Stephen again trails off. He and Rafe approach James and break into friendly smiles. James, too, drops his blank expression, grins widely, and greets them as if they were old pals of his.

"Stephen, Rafe, good morning!"

"Morning, mate! Missed you at breakfast."

"Yes, had to come a bit early to see—Dad, you've met Rafe and Stephen? They're good friends of mine—"

"Honor to meet you, Mr. Potter—"

Scorpius turns the corner and misses the rest of their conversation.

He runs into James serendipitously again a few nights later at the library. The place is almost completely deserted, and Scorpius wouldn't be have chosen to be there either had it not been for Professor Longbottom's urgent last-minute question on the uses of the African Spotted Wood Ear.

The Herbology section of the library is the most secluded and few students besides Scorpius ever go there at all. It is thus with some surprise that he sees James sitting by himself at one of the section's empty tables. James's thick N.E.W.T. study books are stacked neatly to one side while he stares blankly at a piece of parchment set before. Scorpius's footsteps startle him into attention.

"Sorry," Scorpius says as he squeezes past James to reach the books on African species.

James scoots in to give him more room. He watches Scorpius browse the books with a tired smile. "You're here late."

"Last minute research for Professor Longbottom."

"So hardworking," James teases lightly. "You're awfully dedicated to this whole plant venture, aren't you? Going to be a herbologist?"

"Haven't thought about it really," Scorpius answers absently. "I could be. I do like it—Ah! Found it." He grabs the worn old book off the shelf with relief. "Do you mind if I join you at this table? It won't take long."

"Of course."

~a~

Scorpius is making detailed notes on the effects of Wood Ear on magical burns when he feels the familiar prickling sensation of James's stare. He almost rolls his eyes to himself, because, really James Potter, again?

"Sorry," James says, embarrassed at having been caught. "I was just thinking that you're very absorbed in this work."

"Oh, yes," Scorpius replies, confused. "I mean, that's why I do it. I find it interesting."

"I see. Yes, that must be nice."

James stops there and lets his words hang in silence. Scorpius watches him uncertainly for a few seconds, waiting for more. But when nothing else is said, he turns back to his book and begins to peruse again while attempting to suppress the feeling of discomfiture that's begun to swell within him.

Of course, that's when James chooses to speak again. "Scorp, do you mind if I ask you a question?"

"Sure," says Scorpius, though he's getting rather antsy over this research. "What is it?"

"Would you ever...that is, say you decide to be a herbologist," James posits. He looks down now at his piece of parchment, brown eyes hidden by a curtain of ginger lashes. "But your parents are strongly opposed, because they find it to be a frivolous career or something of that nature. Would you—what would you do?"

Scorpius nibbles on the end of his quill thoughtfully. "I don't think my parents would be opposed, actually."

"No, but suppose they are," James insists. "Suppose they think you have no future if you choose this path. Suppose, just hypothetically, that you love what you do but you're not all that good at it and you certainly won't be the best at it. Would you do it anyway?

"Erm." It's an odd topic for a late night chat with omeone who's become barely more than a stranger and Scorpius is reluctant to answer. He settles for a half-hearted, "Well, sure, I guess I would. Or rather, if I can convince them that it's a career I truly want, I doubt they'll mind much."

"Do you really think so?" James asks doubtfully. "Won't they be disappointed?"

"I suppose they might be...Perhaps for awhile. If they really opposed me. But James, if you want to know the truth, I don't think they'd really care. They've never been disappointed before, not even when I failed to get a single O on my O.W.L.s. I doubt they'd stop me from doing something just because I won't be the best at it. Because then they wouldn't let me do anything at all!" Scorpius says with an amused chuckle. He quickly silences himself when he sees James's look of bewilderment. "You got all Os, didn't you?" he grumbles. "No wonder you worry so much about all this. Well look, don't they say that all parents eventually support their children? As long as they're happy? Something like that?"

James stares at him ponderously. It makes Scorpius feel as if he'd said something immensely stupid, so he shuts up and looks back down at his book. It's when he averts his eyes that he notices the parchment before James is the application for the auror training program.

"Oh!" he exclaims. He begins to understand. "Do you ask because your parents are against your joining the aurors after graduation?"

James laughs humorlessly. "No, hardly that. They couldn't be happier if I joined. It's precisely what they want."

Scorpius blinks in confusion. "But then...but you want it too, don't you? Everyone says so."

James doesn't answer. His expression grows progressively darker as he glares at the application, incinerating it with his eyes. Scorpius watches him with wordless surprise. It's not a very James like thing to do. He hasn't seen James glare at anyone or anything like that since, well, since first year, when he was still Scorpius's friend.

The lights dim, signifying that library is about to close. James takes a quiet deep breath and recomposes himself. It takes only a moment for him to return to his usual mild manners. He smiles apologetically at Scorpius.

"Sorry, that was strange. It's—I'm afraid—I'm afraid I'm not quite myself tonight," he explains. "It's just that what used to be the future is now so near and I don't know that I'm ready for it."

Scorpius tilts his head, puzzled. He thinks of Professor's Longbottom's words again and can't stop himself from asking, "What do you want?"

James gazes wistfully out the window towards the dark night sky. "I hardly know. Perhaps I just want to fly."

When the lights dim some more, James shakes himself out his reverie. He folds his application carefully and slips it into his bag. With an armful of N.E.W.T. books, he turns to Scorpius and says, "I'm afraid I disturbed your research."

Scorpius quickly assures him that it's all right and that he can check out the book for reference. They walk out together under the suspicious glare of Madam Pince and make the usual polite small talk until they reach the point where they go their separate ways to Gryffindor and Hufflepuff.

"Good night, James." Scorpius almost breathes in relief. The conversation this evening has been much too strange, and he's ready to settle down with his book in bed.

James doesn't speak for a moment. He studies Scorpius in the flickering torchlight.

"You know, I always remember you as the little boy who cried to himself in the corridors," he remarks ruefully.

Scorpius starts at the abrupt invocation of the past.

"But now you're all grown up," James muses. "And it's I who needs comfort. Ironic." The older boy's lips quirk into a self-deprecating half smile. "But thank you for listening. Good night, Scorp."

Scorpius blinks, and James is gone.

~a~

Friday afternoon finds Scorpius alone on the quidditch field, picking up odds and ends as the rest of the team heads off to after-practice showers.

Joining the quidditch team had been a mistake. Scorpius has known this for a long time, but at no time does he feel the regret as strongly as he does when left with clean up duties just before an impending storm.

Come on Scorpius, we need you!

Yeah mate, you'd be great!

Don't you want to play with us?

Lies. All lies.

It had begun innocuously. Scorpius was so young and excited and eager to please so of course I'll help clean up after practice,which soon became of course I'll help organize the storeroom. And because Scorpius never made it off the reserves, he apologetically agreed that of course I can take care of everything, you guys go ahead as I'm sure you're all tired from practicing. Then his role, to no one's surprise except perhaps his own, became accepted routine..

He sighs lamentably. On days like this, when the wind cuts at his face like knives, he can't help but feel that he was tricked.

"Having some trouble?" a voice says from behind him.

Scorpius jumps in surprise and almost drops the quaffles he's holding. He hadn't heard anyone approach him, couldn't hear really over the howl of the wind. Luckily, his toes are spared, but his heart is still pounding when he whips around to confront the person.

It's James, looking half-concerned and half-mirthful. "Careful with the quaffles there. Shall I take one?"

"Er, no I'm fine. Startled, that's all."

"Sorry about that, thought you'd have heard me."

Scorpius tells him it's nothing to worry about but James insists on taking a quaffle. They amble together towards the storeroom.

"Been seeing you a lot lately, James," Scorpius says, for lack of nothing better to say.

"You sound suspicious."

"No, not at all. Though I am surprised. What are you doing at here anyway?"

"Afternoon stroll," is James's bright response.

"In this weather?" Scorpius exclaims, staring at the other boy incredulously.

"Whatever do you mean, this weather? It's a beautiful afternoon!"

Another gust of wind sweeps past them. Thunder sounds in the distance. Scorpius mumbles huh uncertainly.

"Oh, all right. It's not the most scenic weather," James concedes. "And if you must know the truth, I'm...hiding."

"Hiding? From what?"

"Er." James stalls, then says with an embarrassed grin, "It's just silly, really. I was feeling rebellious and ran out here to evade some duties."

Scorpius rolls his eyes. "You and everyone else at this school. No one does his duties anymore at this school," he laments.

James laughs. "Yes, it does seem that way from the completely absence of your teammates. How in the world did you get stuck cleaning up all by yourself?"

"I haven't a clue," Scorpius grumbles mournfully. "It makes one feel rather taken advantaged of."

"I'm sure. You shouldn't let them."

Scorpius smiles fondly. "No, but I don't suppose I really mind that much. They're a good bunch otherwise."

This seems to surprise James. He peers at Scorpius thoughtfully before shaking his head in mock disappointment. "You're too nice, Scorp."

Scorpius gives a nonchalant half-shrug with his free arm.

They walk in silence for a few moments with only the whistle of the wind and the rumbles of thunder filling in the gaps in their conversation. Then James begins to explain: "Dueling club starts up again today. Right now, actually. They wanted me to help initiate the second years, be their special mentor and all that."

"Why that sounds fun!" Scorpius says. "I'm not much good at dueling, but I'm sure the second years would appreciate your help."

"Perhaps," James agrees, though his tone suggests otherwise. "But it's just that...Well, I don't know. I suppose it felt like an imposition today and I wanted to get away. Then I saw you from the window—or your hair, more specifically, and I suddenly wanted to get out of that stuffy old castle. So here I am." He smiles wryly and adds, "Makes me sound rather awful, doesn't it? Don't know why I told you that.

Scorpius chuckles. "I'm sure the second years can manage without you."

This surprises James too, though Scorpius can't fathom why. "You don't think I'm terrible? I mean, I think they were counting on me..."

"Oh, I don't know. It doesn't really sound like such a big deal. I think it's all right. Everyone understands, especially when it's something small like that."

James nods in agreement though his eyes betray a hint of uncertainty. "Yes, I think you're right. It's really not such a big deal, is it?"

Scorpius nods, hoping James will accept his silent assurance. They put away the quaffles among the other equipment and Scorpius turns to lock up the storeroom. But just before he slides the lock into place, James asks, "Say, since I'm out here anyway, would you like to play a game of quidditch with me?"

Scorpius freezes mid-motion, turns, and levels James with a stare of disbelief. "Wait, What's that? You want to play? In this weather?" Do you have a death wish?

James grins, all appearance of insecurity having vanished. "Sure! I was actually thinking that it'd be nice to fly again when I decided to come out, and what's more exciting than flying in a storm?"

"Erm. Well." Scorpius stalls. Of course, he knows James's love for flying—everyone knows-and he knows that James hasn't had much of chance this year after he quit the quidditch team to focus on his N.E.W.T. and Head Boy duties. But all the same, Scorpius thinks it rather unfair for James to drag him into this. "You know," he tries, "There's exciting, and then there's dangerous. I think your understanding of this distinction could use a little work."

James rolls his eyes and tosses Scorpius a broom. "Oh Scorp, let's live a little! It's my last year, you know! After this, I won't have a chance to do anything spontaneous ever again! AndI haven't played against you in years. One last game, for old time's sake?" he pleads.

Scorpius wants to say no, that it's too risky, that it's about to rain, that he's hungry and wants to go back for dinner. That the reason they haven't played for years is because James has been ignoring him for years and there's hardly cause for him to indulge James now.

But James implores him with a sense of earnestness, a plea that expresses a degree of vulnerability he's never seen from James. Scorpius thinks of their stilted conversation in the library from just days ago, recalls James's hateful glare, remembers the way he says he wants to fly. Scorpius thinks that perhaps this isn't just a game of quidditch for James. Perhaps it's precisely the danger of the act, the rebellion in the gesture, that he so craves and needs.

And well, Scorpius has never been particular good at saying no.

The regret hits immediately. The wind is colder up high, and while James glides smoothly among the currents, Scorpius flounders. The snitch has disappeared, and Scorpius soon begins to lose feeling in his cold, numbed fingers.

But all the same, when he hears James shouting challenges at him over the howl of the wind, he feels a familiar sense of exhilaration. And he realizes that it's not just a game of quidditch for him, either. It's the reenactment of a cherished memory, bringing to mind those evenings many years ago, small Scorpius chasing small James, harboring naïve thoughts of earning James's respect and affection. It was so silly of him, and over the years, he had come to view that as the cause for losing Albus. But now that he relives these memories, he finds that they aren't, perhaps, as painful as he had believed them to be.

When the first drops of icy rain splatters mercilessly on his face, he can't help but laugh. Maybe the rain can wash away the intervening years. Scorpius is nothing if not hopeful.

The snitch reappears; it flutters close to the ground, a golden speck descending in what resembles free fall. Scorpius sees it in the corner of his eye and knows that James has spotted it too. They dive.

Down, down, down—James speeds past Scorpius, and no matter how hard Scorpius tries, he can't catch up. But that's all right; Scorpius can't stop smiling. He never expected to win against James anyway. Still, he's right behind James when James curls his fingers around the winged sphere, and they can't quite maneuver themselves the right way, so they end up tumbling to the ground in a heap of entangled limbs.

When they finally come to a standstill, Scorpius is sprawled atop James, who's lying on his back. He's breathless with laughter. "James Potter, that was a terrible idea," he admonishes between wheezes.

James props himself up by his elbows, his back angled 45 degrees from the ground and his face leaning towards Scorpius. He's breathing hard but grinning, too; his face lights up with surprisingly carefree joy.

"Scorpius Malfoy," he counters, "It was a brilliant idea, and you know it."

Scorpius shakes his head ruefully—water splatters everywhere from the fine blond strands, and James sputters when they hit him in the face.

"Stop that!" he commands playfully as he reaches one hand up to hold Scorpius's head still. "You're getting water everywhere."

"James, it's raining," Scorpius retorts, swatting James's hand away. "We're surrounded by water anyway."

James laughs but stubbornly brings up his hand again to smooth Scorpius's hair back in place. "Your hair, it's so long now."

The gesture gives Scorpius pause. It is strangely intimate, especially with James staring at his face from such a close distance, so close that Scorpius can see the dark specks of his pupils, and it suddenly dawns on Scorpius that their current positions aren't entirely appropriate. Embarrassed, he pushes James's hand away once more and scrambles up.

"Well," he says with a cough. James looks amused as he too rises from the ground and dusts himself off.

"I'd better—er—we'd better go back. You're not still hiding?" Scorpius asks tentatively, suddenly remembering the original cause of James's woes.

"No, I don't think so," James replies with another laugh "Dueling club will have ended."

"Shall we go then?"

"Let's."

As they walk, two drenched figures in the pouring rain, Scorpius briefly feels eleven again, sharing a secret moment with the school idol that no one else will ever know about.

Moments before they reach the castle, James slows to a pause. He turns to Scorpius and parts his lips hesitantly. "Scorp, you really...you really don't care do you?"

"What?" Scorpius studies James with his clear blue eyes, trying to puzzle out this boy who's becoming less familiar by the minute. Here's another side to James he hasn't seen before, a James who looks his age and exhibits all the uncertainty of a boy on the cusp of adulthood.

"That I'm not...always a good person?"

"Oh," says Scorpius. "No, why would I? No one is."

He supposes that deep down, he's always known that James isn't the person he appears to be.

~a~

A few days later, Hogwarts is in an uproar. James Potter has, at long last, found a new girlfriend. His last one had been in third year, and that had been little more than a childish fling.

"Eleanor Moore," Jonathan explains, "is the most beautiful Ravenclaw ever."

She's tall, thin, and endowed with flowing flaxen hair and eyes the color of summer skies. She's smart and kind, well-read and well-spoken, and on top of all that, she comes from a good family, her father occupying a high position at the ministry and her mother a powerful figure in the nonprofit world.

"Like, if you could dream up a woman, you would dream up someone like her," Ernie says breathlessly. "How have you not noticed her, all these years?"

"Huh," says Scorpius. He squints at her from across the Great Hall. She's sitting next to James at the Gryffindor table, her head tilted towards his shoulder. They wear identical happy smiles and are surrounded by an assortment of Potters and Weasleys. Everyone looks pleased.

"She looks rather familiar though," Scorpius remarks, puzzled.

Ernie tilts his head in thought, then looks at Scorpius. "Hmm. You don't say."

James and Eleanor are the talk of the town for days after.

They're so adorable, so the girls coo.

James is a lucky man, the boys grumble.

Stephen remarks snidely to Rafe that James could run for Minister of Magic with Eleanor on his arms; they look like the perfect politician power couple. Rafe, a kinder boy, replies blithely that they look very happy together.

And for awhile, they do. While never overtly affectionate, they are nevertheless enshrouded in a bubble of exuberance when they sit together at the Great Hall or when they walk together in the corridors or when James carries Eleanor's books for her and Eleanor straightens James's tie. They are the picture of romantic bliss.

Perhaps that's why people are so surprised when things begin to go wrong, and so quickly, too. No one knows what happens exactly, or why, but James begins to fade away. Eleanor walks alone again more often than not, and when James is there, his face looks pinched and tired. When people ask, Eleanor explains with a strained smile that he's just busy with N.E.W.T.s.

But why don't they study together? They used to, in the library. Looked very pretty together too.

I hear she cries in the bathroom late at night. Jessica heard her, just bawling.

But it's only been a few weeks, hasn't it? What do you suppose went wrong?

Heard they aren't compatible in bed, if you know what I mean. Raucous laughter.

Do you think it's James? Where does he go these days anyway? I never see him anymore.

~a~

"James, my boy, here again? This must be the third time this week! I almost see you more than Scorpius!"

"Do you mind, Professor? I like that no one can find me here. It's the perfect study spot, really."

"Of course not," says Neville Longbottom cheerfully. "I couldn't be happier to see you. You're always welcome here, Jamie. And Scorpius enjoys your company too, I'm sure."

Scorpius nods absently in agreement as he concentrates on shelving their new order of seeds from plants that grow in the forests of Indonesia. The professor gives him an encouraging pat on the shoulder before bidding them goodbye; he has afternoon class to teach.

James meanders over to the shelves. "You don't mind, do you, Scorp?" he asks nonchalantly, though perhaps there's note of insecurity in there as well.

"Mind what?"

"Mind that I'm here all the time. It's just so peaceful here, that's all. No one else ever comes. But if I'm disturbing you, and you'd rather me gone, you can let me know..."

Scorpius finishes shelving the last jar of fungus before turning his attention to James. James is leaning lazily against the shelf, his long legs kicking idly at the dusty on the ground and his eyes peering at a shrub some feet away, looking as if he isn't at all concerned about Scorpius's response. But the sheer transparency of his anxiety wrings a laugh from Scorpius. "Please, James, you know I don't mind your company at all. You barely make any noise. All you ever do here is study."

"Now that's not true," James protests with mock petulance. "Sometimes I help you with your gardening. Just yesterday, I helped you pull thorny weeds, did I not? And I even suffered injuries for my efforts." He reaches out his scratched hands for Scorpius to view, as if showing off battle scars. "And not a word of thanks from you!"

Scorpius rolls his eyes with a smile. "All right. Thank you, James, you big baby." James grins brightly.

"Although, since you ask," Scorpius continues, a bit more seriously, "don't you think you ought to tell Eleanor that you're here? I hear she's always looking for you these days."

James's grin dissolves and he returns to scuffing at the ground with his boots with a downcast gaze. "Why does everyone think I have to tell her everything?"

"Well, hardly everything. But you are dating her so I suppose she'd have a right to know—"

"She doesn't have a right to anything," James says abruptly, viciously, almost.

Scorpius furrows his brows and bites at his lower lip uncertainly. "Well, maybe not right then. But shouldn't you want to tell her? So that she feels better? There are rumors that...that she's been sad, and well, I do feel awfully sorry for her."

James frowns silently, clenching and unclenching his calloused fingers. Scorpius wonders if he should say something, something soothing perhaps, as James does look so angry. He's just begun to part his lips when James lets out a soft sigh.

"I'm sorry, Scorp. I'm not angry at you," he says, apologetic. He also sounds strangely lost. "I shouldn't have asked her out. It was on a whim, you know. And she's a nice girl, Eleanor. But she always...she always wanted me to be there, wanted my attention. And at first, that was all right. But then she kept wanting more—" his words tumble out faster now, more exasperated—"Why don't you kiss me more? Why don't you hold my hand? Don't you want to have sex? Do you even like me? She kept asking and asking and I just—I don't—how can I tell her no? I don't like her? I hardly like her at all."

A tense silence descends upon them when James finishes speaking. James himself seems to deflate slowly as the anger seeps out of him, only to be replaced by a helpless frustration. Scorpius watches the transformation uneasily and struggles for a response.

Finally, he shuffles over to James and gives him an awkward pat on the shoulder. "It's all right, James. Everyone gets confused sometimes. I'm sure if you just tell her and explain yourself...she'll understand. Er. Eventually."

James quirks his lips in a sad imitation of a smile. "You know, Scorp. I often think that you're the only person who never expects anything from me."

Scorpius blinks at the sudden change in topic.

"Even now, I find it strange that you tolerate me and talk to me. It's almost like you've forgiven me."

"Forgiven you? For what?"

"You know what," says James enigmatically. A strange thought flits through Scorpius's head: it's just like James to refuse to even name his transgressions. But Scorpius doesn't dwell on this. He's never been one to dwell, so to speak. Maybe that's what James means, why James seeks him out again after all these years.

"Anyway, you're right. I'll speak to her one of these days." James stretches his long, muscled limbs and leans back against the shelf more comfortably. Scorpius knows he's recovered from his bout of brooding.

The skies begin to darken even though it's hardly past four. Late autumn is like that; nighttime springs upon you and catches you unawares. With a quick apology, Scorpius returns to his shelving task so that he can finish before dinner.

James shuffles closer to watch him work; in fact, he's so close that Scorpius catches occasional whiffs of his cologne, a clean and crisp scent. Scorpius's noticed that James has been casually shortening their distance lately, quietly hovering beside him when he works. It makes him feel a bit anxious, though not altogether with an unpleasant anxiety, and Scorpius doesn't want to be rude in pushing him away.

But today, Scorpius feels more antsy than normal, perhaps due their weighty conversation just now. James's wordless watching unnerves him. To fill the unbearable silence, Scorpius blurts, "Anyway, James, if you don't like her, why did you date her?"

James looks taken aback for a moment. Then he shrugs carelessly—"Who knows," he says—which annoys Scorpius, though there isn't any reason for it. He emphatically turns away and concentrates on reaching for a jar on the top shelf, straining from his tiptoes. To his side, James laughs. The taller boy leans over Scorpius and easily fetches the jar just beyond his reach. For one brief moment, Scorpius feels the strange sensation of his own smaller body being completely enveloped by James.

When Scorpius takes the jar, fingers brushing against James's for a split second, he feels his cheeks heat up in embarrassment. He murmurs a flustered thanks to the other boy.

James grins wider, a white toothy grin on that fits perfectly with his friendly face. Or, at least, much more perfectly than the stupid mopey look that he often wears these days when walks he corridors of the castle. The grin accentuates his handsomeness, somehow. Scorpius quickly turns away again.

Just as he turns his back, James remarks casually with a cheeky smile and quirked brow, "You know Scorp, maybe I chose to date her because I happen to like blondes." His brown eyes peer pensively at Scorpius's gleaming yellow strands.

~a~

Scorpius had smiled hesitantly. It was clearly a joke. But late that night, when Scorpius stares at his own reflection in the dirty bathroom mirror, he begins to compose in his head:

Dear Albus,

How are you? I keep running into your brother these days, and he's become progressively stranger. Today, he joked with me that he likes blondes. But there was something strange about the way he looked at me as he said it. (I'm blonde, if you'll remember). Anyway, I wonder if he was more serious than he let on. And if he was, what does he mean to say—

"Scorpius, are you done in there?"

The letter dispels in an instant.

"I'll be right out," Scorpius yells back. He takes one last, doubtful look at his reflection, shakes his head, and walks away.