Greater Expectations

by AelysAlthea

The Wizarding World is a changed society after the death of the Dark Lord Voldemort. Two decades after Britain's liberation and witches and wizards are free to pursue the lives they choose, the boundaries upon ideals and expectations unravelling. One of magic can be whatever they want to be. Such is the case for most witches and wizards, anyway. Albus Potter is not one of them...

9. Chapter 9 - It Couldn't Be More Perfect

Chapter 9: It Couldn't Be More Perfect

Frowning at myself in the mirror, I pressed at the wayward strand of hair that just wouldn't sit properly once more. I disliked using potions upon my hair; it acquired a smell strange after an hour or so for some reason. I think it was because of the reaction with the natural oils of the hair or something. But it was tempting when that single lock was the only thing keeping me from presenting a perfectly stately and immaculately groomed first impression.

Maybe I should just get my hair trimmed.

Christmas had passed with little excitement and much bemoaning of the hours spent sharing bored stares with the younger members in attendance at the Quillese House Party. Oh, we'd never admit it, of course, would remain silent under torture, but within the circles of the proper and upstanding there was a general agreement amongst my generation: yes, most gatherings were boring and a trial in and of themselves, so any displays of disgruntlement, boredom or drifting into sleep would be immediately covered up by one's fellows. It was an unspoken agreement, but I knew from experience that every single one of the witches and wizards of my age cohort took to it as though it were written lore.

So even though Christmas had been as dull and dreary as it always was, at least I had been spared the social blunder of falling to sleep amidst a gaggle of squawking geese that would have been horrified had they realised that my expression of neutral attentiveness was actually a the equivalent of closed eyes and barely conscious dozing. Thank Merlin for Gertrude McFergusson; if she hadn't nearly crushed my foot under the table to wake me up, I would have left a very disgruntled – a very loudly disgruntled – Lady Esterby to the delight of bemoaning the inattentiveness of youngsters these days for the rest of the afternoon. Bless Gertrude's kindly soul, and the strength of her downward step. I did think I'd developed a rather impressive bruise, though.

Unfortunately, today was the New Year's dinner with the Board of Directors. Other than perhaps one or two younger members of the family – and by younger I meant at least ten years my senior – it was unlikely that there would be anyone to rescue me from listlessness this time.

Except for Al.

I couldn't quite keep the smile from stretching across my face at the thought. It was only my reflection grinning stupidly back at me in the mirror that drove me to soften it into gentle good humour rather than foolish excitement.

I hadn't seen Al all holidays, and it was nearly killing me. That brief exchange on the station, my own confession that left me nearly quaking at the knees – a reaction I'd never experienced before – and his acceptance. His agreement, even. And that gorgeously infectious smile that lit up his face. The aftereffects had made the evening enduring bachelorette Mildred's simpering and clawing at my arm actually endurable. It was only regretful that I hadn't been able to see him since.

We'd exchanged letters at least three times a day in those first days. I told Al that, no matter how much I loathed not being able to see him, to catch up with him, to simply be together and explore the tenuous commitment we had so recently initiated, I had duties.

Al had been disappointed, which had actually filled me with a warmth that had me questioning whether I was actually a closet sadist. He'd accepted it, though, claiming he understood how important it was to attend the meetings, to sit down to dinner after dinner and converse with people four times my age in an attempt to impress my goodness of character upon them. He didn't, however, hold back on how much he regretted that we couldn't meet, which in itself was enough to hold me through many a dull conversation while simultaneously urging me to leap to my feat and flee to his house at once. I didn't, but only just, and only because I knew it would give Father a hard time if I'd disappeared so abruptly.

The separation was made slightly less painful when, on the third evening of the holidays, Al had sent me a silver-wrapped package very obviously tied for Christmas. The tag fastened to the top indicated that it was an "Early Christmas present, but I figured we could both benefit from it at the moment".

It was a phone. One of the newest models of those adapted to work in the midst of magical activity. Light and slim, basically a screen as its sole component, the incredibly narrow sides and shiny back were covered in a multitude of near-microscopic runes that protected the inner mechanics from being short-circuited by magic. It was well done, too; the industry had boomed in the last decade and Inscribed Devices hardly needed a touch up every three years now.

Father said I came from a technological generation. He said that, even having grown up with it sparingly and being instructed only rudimentarily in the basics of how Muggle devices worked, that there was something innately embedded in people my age that allowed us to just 'know' how to use them. I tended to agree with his suspicions, at least in part; maybe it was just my younger mind, but while I managed to work out the basics of the phone within hours – closer to minutes, actually – father only stared at the screen warily when I handed it to him for a look and tentatively pressed the buttons on the screen as though he feared it would blow up. Yes, part of me acknowledged that there was something to be said for Generation Z – as Rhali dubbed us; it was a Muggle term, apparently – and our ability to understand technology.

The other part of me admitted that it probably has something to do with my cousin Perpetua and her obsession with Muggle devices. I was fairly certain she'd completed an online course for IT that she still hadn't told my aunt and uncle about. We'd spent a good hour or so discussing it when I went to visit them before Christmas, phone in hand.

Al was right, though, disregarding all other interests in the present; the phone was a godsend. There was something entirely different about hearing his voice as opposed to simply reading his written words, to say nothing of the speed of our correspondence. Within a day we were messaging each other multiple times an hour. I brought my phone to the dinners and parties I was forced to attend and kept it silenced so that he was always on hand, but there was only so many times I could excuse myself to visit the bathroom before someone commented on my bladder capacity. I shudder to think what someone like the old crone Madame Ophelia would say if she saw me with a phone. The 'redundant Muggle contraptions', as she liked to term them.

But even better than messaging, we called one another; religiously at night and sometimes in the morning too if I could squeeze it in before I had to leave for whatever was planned for the day. I found that, unlike the quietness Al usually presented when around other people, he seemed to speak more freely when it was over the phone. Almost like when it was just the two of us, which I supposed it was. At times, it took my father actually frowning at me as he insisted that it was 'time to leave' for me to put the phone down.

It was terribly hard. I just wanted to talk to Al so desperately. I'd never wanted to spend time with anyone so much – ever – and now that I did, the restrictions placed on my social life were vexing to the extreme. Even with my old friends, all graduated and thoroughly embedded in their careers, I had never felt such an urgent desire to simply be with someone. Call it endorphins or the honeymoon period, I didn't care; I just wanted to see Al.

Which was why tonight, for the first time since we'd parted ways with mutual grins at the station, I was actually looking forward to a formal dinner party and not just because I moderately enjoyed tying Lord Hermenway into a tangle with my words; he was so fun to mess with.

A knock at my bedroom door drew my attention from attempting to fix my hair once more and I turned to my mother stepping through the doorway. Astoria Malfoy was as much an image of the public as her husband was, and she was wearing that image to a fault tonight. Resplendent in an azure silk gown trimmed in white lace, with paler blue lacing at the bodice, she was elegant and refined, regal and stately. Even her hair looked like it had been sculptured from marble, the brown curled coiled into ringlets that cascaded about her shoulders. She didn't have an unruly lock of hair that simply wouldn't stay put.

Stepping into the room, mother gave me a smile. "You look wonderful, dear." It was her usual praise, but nonetheless accurate. I didn't have to be arrogant to know as much.

"As do you, Mother," I replied, as much a pleasantry as because it was similarly true.

Mother smiled, her blue eyes shining as though she'd never received a compliment before. "Are you ready?"

"Just about."

"Yes, I would agree, save for…" Mother drew her wand from her sleeve and with a flick of wordless magic cast a charm at my head. I didn't have to look at the mirror to know that stray lock was now firmly affixed. She never did tell me what charms she used, though. "Perfect." She smiled, satisfied.

"Thank you, Mother. You perfectionistic tendencies are always appreciated." I deliberately omitted the fact that I pertained to such perfectionism myself. Mother knew the truth of the matter anyway.

"Well, we can't have you looking any less than your best for such a special night."

I sighed, hiding my embarrassment. I knew from experience that Mother hardly cared all that much about the Board meetings themselves, which meant she referred to only one thing. "Mother, he will hardly care what I look like, I assure you."

"Do you know that for certain?"

"I'm positive."

"Such confidence! It fills me with delight, truly." As though to punctuate her emotion, Mother clasped her hands together at her chest, her face slipping into a sickly sweet visage of fondness and adoration. I couldn't quite keep my cheeks from flushing. Mother frequently had that effect on me with the displays of her indulgences.

"Mother, please. It is the first time we've ever shared anything even approaching a date, and it's with the Board as an audience at that. Don't blow this out of proportion."

"I'm not, dear, I'm not," Mother held up a placating hand. "I am merely stating that in the early days of a relationship, it is favourable to put your best foot forwards. That is, if you intend to further pursue such a relationship."

"You know I do," I drawled, raising an eyebrow. Mother only smiled more widely. She looked like she would burst with pride.

Far be it from Al's worries, or his apparent suspicions as to the homophobia of my family, Mother in particular had taken to my request to bring Albus Potter along to the Board of Directors New Years dinner as though she were a child let loose in Honeydukes free reign. She'd gasped, she'd fluttered her fingers, she'd gushed and preened and demanded I tell her everything of our relationship so far, from how we had met, to how we had gotten together and up to the present.

I'd had to skim briefly over the details, especially of how we'd met – I think perhaps she would have looked less favourably upon our relationship had she known the reality – but Mother didn't even seem to notice. She was a gossipmonger for anything faintly romantic. It was a widely known fact in the Wizarding world: father was the politician, the diplomat, the businessman, while mother was as adept at configuring the relationships around her as a master matchmaker. She simply adored perfect young love and at the arousal of such topics turned into a completely different person from the refined middle-aged woman she appeared otherwise.

Father had been less flamboyant and ecstatic, but he had not expressed disgruntlement or even mild disapproval. He'd raised an eyebrow when I'd mentioned it was a boy I was dating, and the other eyebrow rose to join the first when I'd named that boy to be Albus Potter. He had not, however, commented on the relationship itself. He'd merely stated that, "So long as he's dressed appropriately and demonstrates adequate punctuality and manners, you are more than welcome to bring him to dinner."

In fact, later, in a show of surprising concern from a man largely regarded as being a bit of a cold-hearted minister, he'd called me into his office and elaborated. He was almost severe in his approach.

"Now Scorpius, the New Years dinner is not as ground in protocol and tradition as those we've attended these last days, but be wary."

I'd frowned. "Wary, Father?"

"I am not certain as to how young Mr Potter will take to such an environment. I am aware that the Potters largely avoid such formal meets."

I couldn't help my indignation from rising, from making itself known in my words. "Are you saying that you're worried he'll make a scene? That he won't know how to act appropriately?" I clicked my tongue, indignant towards my father that he would think as such in a way as I had rarely been before. "That is uncalled for, Father. I'm sure Albus is aware of the proper way to comport himself. And even if he isn't, it doesn't matter. He's my date, and that should be the only thing that concerns anyone."

I hadn't realised my back had straightened almost painfully until the moment I finished speaking. My indignation grew into annoyance, an annoyance that resolutely ignored the fact that, until recently, I probably would have been as sceptical of Al's ability to uphold any semblance of neutrality in public as my father apparently was. Al didn't exactly present a favourable first impression, what with his silences and introversion. That impression itself was so vastly different to the reality of his character that I felt I felt I should almost undertake a personal vendetta to ensure everybody else in the world was aware of how incredible he was. I only found him more so the more I talked to him, and I found that those little 'deterrents' of his first impression were actually truly wonderful parts of who Al was.

Surprisingly, Father had rolled his eyes and affixed me with a scathing stare. "Actually, Scorpius, that was not what I was going to say." He'd paused and waited for me to grasp a-hold of my vexation. Father had the patience of a pondering boulder, something that I lacked – I think it was the influence of my mother's more volatile nature, though Mother said Father was prone to outbursts in his youth too – and it was all I could do to let my annoyance appear to die, even if it didn't truly. "What I meant was that I hope you will keep an eye out for his wellbeing tonight. I am aware that, as a Potter, the Board will likely attempt to pry any inkling of knowledge or opinion that he grasps, irrelevant that it may be, and cast it upon the table. I hope I don't need to enforce your role in such a situation."

And just like that, my simmering indignation had switched abruptly to guilt. Oh. Father wasn't offending Al in the slightest. He was looking out for him. "Of course, Father. I understand. I understand my duty perfectly well." And I did. I would have to be the Protego before the aggressive charms loosed from the Board members as they sought to batter at any of Al's defences. Defences that he had likely developed only sparingly for such situations, if at all.

Father had stared at me silently for a moment, and staring back at him I was confused to see something like regret flicker across his face. Almost… sadness. It vanished quickly, however, and before I could consider it further he continued. "Many of the Board members are old and… bored." His lips had twitched at the unintentional pun and it had been my turn to roll my eyes. He'd become serious once more a moment later, however. "I am sure that, given his parentage, they would revel in the chance to prod and poke at him. And I am not unfamiliar with the image the media has painted him to be; Albus is something of the black sheep of the Potter family."

"There's nothing wrong with that," I'd muttered through gritted teeth. "He's perfectly –"

"I am not saying it is a conception I agree with," Father had overridden me, raising his voice just slightly. "I am merely indicating that I am aware of how others perceive him and that some of those 'others' include the Board members. I hope that you will see to ensuring the comfort of Harry Potter's son throughout the evening."

I'd always been curious as to my father's opinion of Al's father. They'd apparently been rivals in their adolescence, but in that moment the respect I so often witnessed when he spoke of him rose to the fore. It was odd, but I got the impression that Father actually cared for Albus' wellbeing; genuinely cared, if only because of his relation to the Saviour of the Wizarding World.

How odd.

But strange as it was, I'd felt a rush of warmth flood through me. I hadn't been looking for my parents' approval – at least not in this instance – and would have continued my relationship with Al even had they looked upon in unfavourably. Because I wanted it, with an intensity that surprised me, an intensity I'd never experienced in anything before to the point that it was almost daunting. But even resolute as I was, it felt gratifying that they would so respect my inclination.

There was something to be said for parental support, no matter how old you get.

Though admittedly sometimes it did get a little smothering. Such as in the way that Mother couldn't seem to resist attempting to smooth my robes, despite that she had told me only moments before that I looked 'perfect'.

"Mother, please. I'm not a mannequin; the folds will shift the moment I take a step. There is no need for your fussing," I said, sighing down at my mother's bowed head as she fiddled with my collar. She only nodded absently and patted my shoulder once more.

"I know, dear. I'm merely making sure." Of what, I didn't know. Nor particularly did I care.

Taking a step back from her picking fingers, I straightened my back. "I had best be off if we are to make dinner in time."

The distracted focus my mother fixed upon my robes shifted in an instant and she was beaming once more. "Of course." She waved a sweeping hand at me, as though urging me to hasten in my departure. "Away with you, away! Bring me my… your little date. I do so wish to meet him." And she clasped her hands at her chest once more. I didn't like to think what she was going to say before she'd so obviously corrected herself. Mother scared me a little with her intensity.

Nodding, feeling an excited – and admittedly nervous – smile tug at my cheeks once more, I strode from the room.

---

I'd never been to Godric's Hollow before. Apparently it used to be a small town, barely large enough to warrant the title of a settlement, but not anymore. Ever since the Potters decided to move there twenty years ago, real estate had soared through the roof. At that time, everyone had wanted a little piece of Harry Potter, and if all they could get was to be neighbours with him then… well, it was more than most people got.

I strode along the outskirts of town from the Apparation point, following what had obviously once been a negligible footpath yet was now extensive as it led to the Potter's house. It wasn't far, I knew; I made Al tell me how many steps exactly it took him from the Apparation point, just to see if he'd tell me. He hadn't quite snorted, but I could hear it anyway across the distance between us, and the next morning he'd messaged a simple '1981'. It was one of my favourite exchanges, as much for its pointed brevity as for the fact that he'd actually counted.

At exactly one thousand six-hundred and fifteen steps – because I suppose I had longer strides than Al – I stopped before the Potter estate.

It was picture perfect in a way that Malfoy Manor would never attain. It positively breathed homeliness. Fairly large, though nothing outstanding, it was a Tudor-style two-story cottage from the half-timbered façade to the cross-gabled roof, and yet despite the historical accuracy it carried an air of modernity about its whitewashed walls. Which was to be expected, really; everyone knew the house had been a burnt shell before Harry Potter had outfitted it.

There was nothing remaining of that broken husk now, however. Windows glinted off the last of the dying sun, casting a golden shine across a modest front garden and seeming to rid me of the chill of the approaching evening. It bathed the front lawn, colouring the thin blanket of snow in yellow and illuminating the little stepping stone path that led to the front veranda, up the shallow steps to the front door. Wide windows unshrouded by curtains beamed their own light – electrical, not candle – and gave an overall impression of merriment radiating from the house. I had nothing against my own home, but the Potter house certainly seemed more approachable.

Striding up the footpath, I alighted the stairs and, searching for and pressing the doorbell – it was always more proper to ring the doorbell than to knock, of course, even regarding a manual bell – I waited. A merry chime rung through the house, bouncing off walls and weaving through the distant, muffled voices I could hear from inside. There was a call, a raised voice, and a reply that sounded like Al's voice, followed by rapid footsteps. An instant later the carved oaken door swung inwards.

Al was already smiling at me before he'd even fully opened the door. He was a vision of excitement, with just a touch of nerves. Just like me. I couldn't contain my own smile in reply.

"Scor. Hi!" From that simple statement, I could see that Al seemed unable to withhold his enthusiasm; it trickled through his words and the little breathless, embarrassed laugh he uttered an instant later. He kept himself hooked around the half-open door, his head lowered slightly, and shuffled from one foot to the other. Well, maybe he was just a bit more nervous than I was, but I'd come to expect that from Al. He got nervous sometimes; it was just a part of his character that I found terribly endearing.

Merlin, I was whipped. Already. When did that happen?

"Good evening, Mr Potter," I intoned with mock solemnity, striving to alleviate his nervousness. "You look dazzling, as always."

It was meant to be a joke, and Al took it as such. Though a faint blush coloured his cheeks, he laughed again, more naturally this time, and actually took a step away from the shielding door. It was no less true, however, which I was rapidly coming to realise. I liked how Al dressed himself normally – it was just so perfectly him that I wouldn't want to change it one bit – but he cleaned up remarkably well.

Dressed in a flowing, bottle green robe just a shade darker than his eyes, he was outfitted as a typical high-class wizard so perfectly that it seemed almost impossible to consider that he lived most of his life in torn jeans and a dirt-stained t-shirt. The robes were tailored, fitting perfectly to his frame, and in the latest style of tight midsection, low collar and wide, draping sleeves. He'd done something to his hair, too, taming the usual tangled tresses into a perfect dark curtain that just faintly curled and settled a little above his shoulders. More than that, I don't think he wore make-up or used Blushing Charms, but there was something about his face that simply glowed. I couldn't draw my eyes away from him even if I'd wanted to and was only shaken from my appreciative gaze when Al finally found his words.

"And you, Mr Malfoy. Positively dashing, though I suppose that's only to be expected. I would have been ashamed to accompany you if you'd presented yourself as anything but."

I adopted an expression of false affront. "Me, less than perfection? Never consider the possibility, dear Albus. It makes me shudder to conceive!" I raised a dramatic hand to my temple, wrinkling my brow in feigned horror. It didn't last long before we dissolved into giggles.

My brief flight of nervousness dissipated almost instantly. I'd worried at first that there would be awkwardness. That the time we'd spent apart after so abruptly initiating our closer relationship would put a dampener on the situation. Even talking at every opportunity, even calling one another, wasn't the same as meeting in person. I hadn't realised quite how much of a difference there was until I experienced a demonstration of the 'meeting'. But it wasn't awkward. Not in the slightest. It was… fantastic.

Al seemed to have relaxed slightly too, the tightness slowly draining from his shoulders. "We should probably go?"

I nodded. "Yes, dinner's booked for seven o'clock, but decorum dictates that, as the bookers of the event, we arrive at least half an hour early."

"Oh, woe is me that I'm subjected to bloody decorum," Al muttered, but he was smiling. I snorted and completely failed to hide my own smirk. Shaking his head ruefully, Al glanced over his shoulder. "Mum! I'm leaving!"

Somewhere within the depths of the house, a voice echoed with the words "Oh! Oh, already?!"

"It's nearly six-thirty. I told you when I was leaving," Al called back.

There was the sound of footsteps hastening up the hallway. I peered over Al's shoulder to glimpse inside – a wide hallway, dotted with a low pew-like chair and a beautifully carved table boasting a vase of poinsettia and a garland of holly – and offered a subdued smile as Mrs Potter tottered towards the door. A relatively short, homely woman with vibrant red hair and a smattering of freckles across her face, she was the sort of person that immediately put others at ease. that reeked of 'affability'. She was beaming in a way that reminded me of my own mother's genuine smile, yet even more broadly, and I didn't need to be a genius to discern her thoughts. They likely adhered quite closely to Mother's.

"Scorpius, how wonderful to see you! Did you have a nice Christmas?"

Not really, it was horribly boring. "It was lovely, Mrs Potter. And yourself?"

Mrs Potter waved away the formality. "Call me Ginny, please. Mrs Potter makes me feel so old. And yes, wonderful; we had the whole family over for lunch and dinner, Mum made her famous banquet of pies, and even Charlie managed to get some time off –"

"Mum, please?" Al interrupted with a long-suffering sigh. I bit back a smile. Evidently Mrs Potter – Ginny – was something of a polar opposite to Al when it came to talking to strangers. Funny that. "When I said 'I'm leaving at about six-thirty', I really meant I'm supposed to already be gone."

"Oh! Yes, of course." Ginny quickly pulled Al into a hug and pressed a kiss onto his cheek. Surprisingly, Al didn't seem the least bit perturbed by the display of affection. I'd have thought he would be more reluctant, given the shyness of his nature. Ginny released her son a moment later. "Make sure you message me when you know what time you'll be out to, alright."

"Yes, Mum, I will. I'm not James, you don't have to remind me a hundred times."

"I know you're not; that boy would forget his head if it wasn't screwed on properly." She smiled fondly as though it were an old joke before turning to me again. "You should drop around some time, Scorpius. We'd love to have you over for a visit. Maybe dinner some time?"

I smiled politely, even if I felt a twinge of disappointment curl in my gut. "I'd love to, Mrs Po- Ginny. Perhaps some other time? Unfortunately I find myself a little overbooked this holidays."

"Yes, Al said you were busy when I asked him. But any time, really, we'd be more than happy to –"

"Mum," Al interrupted again. "Leaving. Now."

"Yes, yes, of course. Alright then." Ginny took a step back from the door. "You boys have fun!"

"We will," Al offered as he started through the door, nudging me down the veranda steps. The reply was very mechanical; I doubted he even heard himself say it.

"Lovely to see you again, Mrs… Ginny," I farewelled over my shoulder. "Until next time." Ginny waved in reply.

"Sorry about that," Al muttered as we tripped across the stepping stones and turned from the footpath onto the sidewalk. He pursed his lips, brow wrinkling. "I know you said not to be late and actually meant it."

I shrugged. "It's fine. I personally wouldn't mind if we were a little bit late. Maybe it would set the Director's noses out of joint a little."

Al shot me a crooked smile. "You wouldn't. You're far to punctual for that." He was right, of course; I wouldn't want to leave my father hanging, embarrassed by his son's tardiness.

In that moment though, my mind was as far from Directors and formal dinners as could be; I was just a little bit captivated with the boy walking at my side. So much that I didn't even really pay attention to where he led us; it was realistic to presume it would be back to the Apparation point, my rational mind told me. It didn't concern me in the slightest; my eyes were glued on Al.

How had I never seen it before? How had he hidden it until now? Because somehow, over the months I'd known him, I hadn't realised that Al was sort of, a little bit, maybe, hugely attractive. Or maybe it was just me; maybe I really was experiencing the honeymoon period, where everything seemed bright and perfect. Or perhaps it was simply driven by my delight at the assurance that this boy walking beside me was, to a degree, mine.

For whatever reason, the glow didn't die from Al's face and I couldn't draw my eyes away. Could barely shift my gaze from the perfect cupids bow of his lips and didn't even hear the words he said that drew my attention towards them. His eyes sparkled, whether due to the surrounding ambiance or just a marked contrast to the dark lashes that lined them. Even his jaw, his neck, the flatness of his brow; all of it just seemed fascinatingly appealing to me. Appealing in a way that I'd never found a girl, not even Winona.

Which, I suppose, might have been the issue with our relationship. There was nothing wrong with my partner, exactly. She was just… the wrong sort of partner. When exactly did I start to find men attractive? Did I actually find men other than Al attractive? I liked to think that I appreciate beauty in an individual regardless of there gender, but maybe -

"It's kind of Christmas colours."

There was a slight uplift to the end of Al's words that was almost a question, drawing my attention. "Sorry, what was that?"

Al shot me an amused sideways smile. "Off with the fairies, were we? You're worse than Ozzy."

"Something like that," I admitted. I couldn't even come up with a good retort because I was staring at Al's mouth again, and would it be too forward of me to kiss him? Too soon?

Al gave me a half-smile. "I just said that in red and green we're kind of like the Christmas colours." He gestured towards our robes, sweeping an appreciative hand along my own burgundy outfit. "How cliché of us. Though red does suits you remarkably well."

I bit back the upwelling of warm pleasure at Al's compliment. "Why, thank you. Just never breathe those words around my Grandfather?"

"Gryffindor-basher?"

"My grandfather is the definitive Gryffindor-basher." Which might have been exaggerating it a bit, but not by much. "I'm surprised my father turned out so well, actually."

"And you even better," Al added. It was off-handed – I didn't even know if he realised he said it – but the warmth grew further at that simple comment. He gripped my hand a moment later, stalling me to a halt. "You're gonna have to Apparate us. I don't know where we're going."

I nodded, pulling out my wand and paused in the act of initiating our jump as I glanced around us. Yes, it was right beside that old oak tree I remembered, just in sight of the pale brick house with the impressively overgrown lawn. "Are you nervous?" I'd noticed his run his hand quickly through his hair in his token gesture of 'I'm feeling a little bit – or a lot bit – uncomfortable right now'.

Al twisted his lips. "'Course. Did you expect me not to be?"

That was true. "There's nothing to be nervous about."

"Except sharing dinner with a bunch of stuck up, pompous Directors who all think they're god's gift to the world and would have a heart attack if they thought I considered them anything less? Or that I'm officially meeting my boyfriends parents for the first time?"

I couldn't help but chuckle slightly, even as a flicker of delight zapped through me at being referred to as AL's boyfriend. "Yes, apart from that. Nothing at all."

"Oh, well then, by golly, what are we waiting for?"

I laughed again, feeling the last residues of my disgruntlement that our first date would be with an audience of stuffy old men and women fade. My amusement seemed to ease Al somewhat, for when I offered him my hand to Apparate he readily dropped his own from tugging at his fringe and clasped it.

"We'll make it fun," I assured him. "I promise."

There was a faint apology to my words that I didn't mean to include but sincerely felt nonetheless. Al apparently heard it too, for his handhold tightened slightly around my fingers and he gave me a grateful smile. "I'll hold you to that."

Apparating to a place you've never personally visited was hard. Nearly impossible, really. Apparating somewhere you've visited only fleetingly is nearly as difficult. I managed, but allowed myself a faint sigh of relief when I glanced around myself and found that we'd upon on the corner of Pearl Street and the Boulevard. It was a predominantly Wizarding part of London, so basically the whole of Pearl Street was an Apparation point. Blessedly, really, because I'm fairly certain I landed about a foot to the side of where I'd intended.

"Alright, so the Hotel Marquess should be just about…" My hand still holding Al's, I tugged us down the street through the thin scattering of wizards and witches. It was an impressive street, all tall, old-fashioned buildings with the modern flair that of floor-to-ceiling windows on the lower levels, shining vibrant yellow light across the darkening ice-slicked pavement. Every single establishment was high-class and nauseatingly expensive, and the hotel we were dining at stood at the head of the pack. I didn't have to look far to spot it; ridiculously, the three-storey building actually seemed to glow golden, and it wasn't just from the light bathing through its wide windows.

"The Hotel Marquess… Jesus Christ," Al muttered, shaking his head incredulously, but there was a quiver to his lips that suggested he was more amused than disgruntled or intimidated. I couldn't help grinning at the sight of it; I had a feeling I might be fighting to withhold such an expression quite a bit throughout the night.

Leading Al into the lobby – through crystal-fronted double doors and onto Carrara marble flooring that reflected the dancing lights from the overhead chandelier because of course it would be as extravagant as possible – I immediately pinpointed my mother and father across the room. Standing before the wide, red-carpet draped marble staircase, they were talking to a party of men and women – the Directors and their accompaniments who had already arrived. All seemed in the process of avoiding being swatted by the grand gesticulations of Lord Alphonsus as he swept his arms widely and puffed out his bloated belly in a pompous bluster that looked ridiculous coming from anyone who wasn't entirely sober. Though it was hard to tell the sobriety of Alphonsus sometimes; he held his liquor well, a by-product of keeping a refillable flask of whiskey at his belt that he thought no one knew about.

Everyone knew, of course. And if Alphonsus ever read 'Secrets of the High-Class' magazine once in a while, he'd know that everyone knew, too.

Mother saw us the moment we stepped inside the warmth of the foyer. With a whispered word to Father, she glided across the room towards us. A sedate smile settled upon her lips, restrained in a way that contrasted to the delight that danced in her eyes. She spared a nod of recognition for me before focusing her attention entirely upon Al.

"Mr Potter, it's such a pleasure to finally meet you. Scorpius has told me so much about you."

Which I hadn't. Or… I didn't think I had. I was sure I hadn't. At least, not since Mother had commented that Al seemed to be coming up in conversation an awful lot since the holidays began.

Al, to my surprise, didn't withdraw from her and attempt to make himself as unobtrusive as possible. Nor did he adopt an overly-assertive-to-the-point-of-aggressive approach that I may have anticipated as an alternative if he was disconcerted. He'd never done so before that I'd witnessed, but it was always a possibility for nervous situations.

No, quite the opposite, Al offered a restrained smile of his own to my mother alongside a proffered hand. "Mrs Malfoy, a pleasure to finally officially meet you too. Please, call me Al. Or Albus, whichever you'd prefer."

Mother beamed, her eyes, if possible, flashing even more brightly. "Long awaited, is it not, Albus? I must thank you for joining us for dinner this evening, although I fear it may be a little dry for those of us not on the Board." She sighed lightly in a public display of blank-eyed dumb trophy wife. She played that role remarkably well at times, even more respectably given her true nature.

An instant later, however, she was smiling her genuine smile once more, her eyelids flickering briefly in an subtle wink at Al. "We'll have to leave the boring talk to my husband, I believe, and attempt to actually enjoy the night, yes?"

Al smiled once more, just the right amount for the situation. I felt my eyebrows rise slightly, surprised once more. Al was actually conducting himself… perfectly. "Of course, Mrs Malfoy. I believe that societal expectation dictates that someone must be the life of the party."

Mother laughed in a sound of actual amusement, unfeigned entirely. She seemed to have discarded her usual ploy of adopting a public façade for a greater purpose. "So true! We shall have to fill that role, then, Albus."

Their exchange continued back and forth, not anything particularly deep or interesting but enough that I could see Mother's curiosity of Al heighten and manifest into blatant favour. I myself was largely emitted from their conversation, which was probably a blessing in disguise. It surprised me to no end, seeing this side of Al, and though I found it slightly disconcerting I could also observe with genuine curiosity and attentiveness.

This was my Al, talking and acting with my mother as though he'd been raised in pureblood society his entire life. Even his words sounded a little different; I don't think he uttered a word of slang once, let alone cussed.

When the maître d', resplendent in tailcoat robes and slick-backed hair, announced in subdued tones that our table was ready, Mother offered a final warm smile – genuinely warm – to Al and drifted elegantly back to my father's side where he was beginning to lead the Directors up the stairs. She cast a telling glance towards me over her shoulder, then to Al at my side, as she rested a hand on Father's arm, and I had to bite back a groan. I could almost hear her thought blaring wedding bells and honeymoon plans. It was our first date, for Merlin's sake!

"We going?"

I glanced towards Al, shaking myself out of my exasperation. He was staring at me with an eyebrow quirked questioningly, an expression that was so like my Al that it was disconcerting how fast he could switch from being the public pure-blood lookalike to normal.

Nodding, I led us in the wake of the Directors. "What, pray tell, was that?"

"What, pray tell, was what?" Al replied, mimicking me like Caesar. And that was definitely my Al. Even his voice, his words, sounded grounded back in the familiar.

I rolled my eyes, easing with the return of the familiar as we made our way up the stairs. "Don't play dumb with me, Al. It's terribly unbecoming. I meant the whole act for my mother." An act I was sure she saw straight through but appreciated nonetheless. Being able to adopt a public character, I knew, was a verified skill to her.

"Oh, that." Al shrugged, tugging at his fringe before making what I could see was the concerted effort to stop himself. "Nothing, really. You do it all the time, I'm sure."

Which I did, but I'd still rather he answered me properly. "Yes, but I didn't know that you pulled stunts like that."

Al sighed, exasperated, and lifted his eyes from their rolling at the extravagantly carpeted steps beneath his feet. He fixed me with a stare that was faintly amused and a lot condescending. "Look, Scor, you're not the only one who has to pull an act in front of the world ever now and then."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning my dad's Harry Bloody Potter," Al stated shortly, as though that explained everything. I had to admit that it sort of did. He elaborated after a brief pause, however. "I've had to know how I'm supposed to act in front of random strangers and pollies and the media and whatnot since I was born."

The words hit a little too close to home for me, resounding thoroughly, though it didn't exactly hurt. More… I felt an upwelling of empathy towards Al, an empathy that I hadn't known could possibly exist before. We shared many common interests, but our family situations had always seemed so vastly different; the Potters were the fun-loving, loved-by-the-masses hero family, while the Malfoys were refined, upstanding and reserved. I'd never thought that we would both share the need to pretend in front of the world. It left me with an unexpectedly warm feeling.

"Tell me about it," I muttered, and Al nodded his own empathy at my side.

Dinner was, expectedly, a boring affair. Or it would have been boring had Al not been beside me, positioned between myself and my mother and offering an almost inaudible exchange of comments that left me struggling not to burst into laughter. Like when he commented on the Directors and their partners, one instance in particular leaving him looking utterly horrified at the observation what appeared to be a small, desiccated bird atop Lady Agrave's hair, though somehow managed to conceal it before anyone but me noticed. Not that it helped; I couldn't look at the woman again for the rest of the night.

Or when he muttered through a fixed smile at the excessive arrangement of cutlery, which I had always privately agreed with though never aloud, and why it mattered so much whether the duck was from Spain or Italy because it was still just 'duck'. I couldn't help but drop a vegan comment at the words; the hotel catered to practically every dietary specification, so Al didn't have to eat the Spanish duck, but it was too great of an opportunity to miss.

Or, most surprisingly, when he actually started humming along to the piano under his breath as though he actually knew the song, replying with a shrug when I whispered incredulously to him where such an interest had come from and simply stating, "the guy's no Bach or anything, but he'd pretty good".

I did my best to be as entertaining as possible within the bounds of propriety, and I think I did a fairly good job if my brief and confounding discussion with Lord Hermenway – it was bound to happen at some point during the night – was any indication. Al, unfortunately, had been taking a sip of wine at the time and performed perhaps his only social blunder of the evening when he snorted some of it back out through his nose in an attempt to suppress his laughter. There were a few frowns from some of the surrounding Directors, but I didn't really care and I don't think Al did all that much either. Besides, the only opinion I did care about, despite resolutely proclaiming that it didn't influence me at all, was that of my mother and father. Mother gave a small, vacant smile that managed to conceal her true amusement while Father frowned but tightened his lips in a way I knew meant he was suppressing the urge to do the same.

What had truly surprised me that evening, however, was when the dessert was served. Al was holding aloft the trio of three-pronged forks of different lengths between his fingers, looking pointedly between me and them in a way that required me to forcibly divert my gaze or else risk chortling aloud, when Lord Ponting spoke up from the other end of the table with a quiver of whiskered jowls.

"Albus Potter. It is you, isn't it?"

Not only my own and Al's attention was caught by the words; just about everybody else at the table turned too. Not because Ponting was particularly loud but because these were nobles who had an ear for that sort of thing.

I'd known it was going to happen sometime tonight. If no one commented on the fact that a Malfoy and a Potter were dating, then at least his presence would be noted. I was honestly surprised it had taken until dessert, actually.

Perhaps it was because I had been watching him so closely that night, but this time, before Al adopted the character he'd first presented to my mother, I saw a microsecond of uneasiness, of dread and almost queasiness, flash across his face. It was gone an instant later and he smiled politely. "It most certainly is, Lord Ponting."

"Ah, I didn't recognise you. How is your father doing?"

"Very well, my lord. I believe he has just finished a case."

Ponting, and several other faces, immediately became greedily curious. "Is that so? And what case might that be?"

"A classified case, to be sure," Al replied coyly. There was a ripple of amusement at his deliberately obtuse reply. It was entirely appropriate for the situation and would have seemed as though he were playing the room with utter finesse except for the slight tightening of his features. I doubted anyone else even noticed except me, but it was enough that I knew his casualness to be a farce.

Ponting didn't laugh at the statement; he seemed instead to take the comment with sincere solemnity. "Of course. Classified." He nodded, then made a deliberate effort to change the subject. "But my, how you've grown since last we saw one another. It's been, what, six years now?"

"Almost seven, my lord," Al corrected with another polite smile. "I think it was at the ball for the meet for the Reassessment of International Underage Wizarding Laws?" He frowned slightly, as though unsure. Uncertain or not I was quite impressed by his ability to recall anything of detail from that long ago. I wondered if he was making it up; he could have gotten away with it with Ponting.

"Yes, yes of course. The meet." Ponting nodded, squinting through his pince nez with wrinkled grey eyebrows furrowing further and jowls jostling slightly as his mouth quirked curiously. "You're in school now, aren't you? Fourth year or fifth?"

Oh. Right. I'd forgotten that Ponting was bordering on the truly forgetful at present. Reportedly he had been since he was forty, so it was no wonder that at nearly seventy he was a bit further on in his deterioration. I sighed quietly, sympathetic to Al at being the centre of the man's attention, and nudged him under the table with my knee. He nudged me back in acknowledgement.

"Seventh year, my lord. I've nearly completed my schooling."

"Seventh year? Really?" Ponting frowned further, a little listlessly, his overgrown eyebrows twitching like huddled mice squatting above his eyes. "Well, of course. And your brother – what was his… James. James?" At Al's nod, Ponting continued. "He'd be nearly finished by now too, yes?"

I bit back a groan and the urge to drop my head into my hands. I was almost embarrassed for Ponting. He really needed to be replaced. Unfortunately, it was likely to be his equally-addled daughter who succeeded him, and that would probably make the situation worse.

Al, to his credit, paused for only a second before replying. "Yes, my lord. He is." I almost smirked at the slowness of his tone, as though Al spoke to a child and deliberately prevented himself from correcting Ponting's oversight as to his brother's academic progression.

"And what are you to be doing with yourself when you finish school? Into Magical Law Enforcement like your father? Or is it quidditch that you'd rather pursue?" Ponting continued. "Follow in your parent's footsteps, eh? Just like young Scorpius here?"

I just managed to suppress a flinch at Ponting's words. I shifted my attention to my plate but for the life of me couldn't have said what was on it. The conversation around the table had begun once more, quietly in respect to Ponting's increasing deafness and the distance of his conversation partner, but it quietened at the question, eyes turning curiously towards Al. He was, after all, Harry Potter's child. His future was the concern of all wizards and witches.

I felt another upwelling of sympathy for Al in that moment. Yes, there was actually a little bit to be commented on between us, some very definite similarities. Of course the public would see Al as having only two options: Auror or quidditch player. Though I found myself similarly curious as to his response, I felt myself fighting not to scowl at Ponting. It was rude and hurtful to remind Al – and I admitted I saw myself in him at least a little bit – of the expectations set upon him. I was on the verge of speaking when Al replied.

"Actually, my lord, I doubt I'll pursue either. I've found my interests lie in other areas."

An eerie quiet met his words, eyebrows rising and lips puckering in surprise. Ponting's frown, impossibly, deepened further. "Other areas? And what might those be?"

I thought that, perhaps, Al paled a shade lighter than usual. And I didn't think it was my imagination that, when his hand slipped beneath the table, he clutched at the tablecloth tightly. His voice, however, was still steady. "I have long harboured a fondness for Herbology, my lord. I had hoped that my future career would allow me to follow that interest."

It wasn't quiet any longer, though the words of the whispering voices couldn't be clearly heard. Frowns deepened and lips turned slightly downwards, noses twitching in irritation. I could hear it nonetheless, however: Harry Potter's son, becoming a Herbologist? This was not how it was supposed to happen.

I exchanged a brief glance with my mother behind Al's back – his shoulders, I noticed, were markedly tighter than they had been five minutes before – and by unspoken agreement we decided to intervene. As my date and accompaniment, it was not only my desire but my duty to protect Al from the vulpine pecking of the

the Directors.

As it turned out, however, my intervention was unnecessary. For the husband of Lord Xiu spoke up with enthusiasm. "Oh, you have an interest in Herbology? How wonderful! I've always been fascinated by magical plants."

Like an ice-pick shattering thin glass, the man's words dispelled the darkly descending mood and stemmed any further whispers pertaining to it. What ensued instead was an animated descent into the discussion of plants, which lead to the status of international trade of Dancing Hyacinth's that had erupted recently, and the situation was diverted.

It took a while for Al's tension to ease, but when I nudged his knee again with my own, drawing his attention to my questioning and apologetic gaze, he offered a small smile and a shrug. I knew he was far from unaffected by the offhanded question and response of the Directors; more than that, I knew it felt absolutely terrible to be under such scrutiny, such disapproval and objection. But I didn't bring it up, and resolved not to when a moment later Al was back to rolling his eyes at the forks, the fourth one being presented with the delivery of the little fruit-bowl pallet cleansers.

The Directors dinner was not supposed to be a political or governmental affair. It had it's moments, of course – the Dancing Hyacinths and the current status of the Muggle-Wizarding exchange rate being two of them – but by and large it was simply a dance of verbal omissions and innuendos as each and every single board member and their accompaniments poked and prodded to get a rise out of their fellows. Such was always the way. They were like a pack of hyenas nipping at the heels of their perceived rivals. By the time the elderly swarm finally decided to make a move from the table, I was well and truly ready to leave.

Not, however, so ready to take Al home. Which I should have done, really, considering it was actually quite late. As we stepped out only the slick footpath along Pearl Street, Al and I were immediately cast aglow with the illumination of will o' the wisp lighting that danced before and above the front of each building. A faint, almost imperceptible shower of snowflakes had begun to fall, unfelt at first but enough to quickly fleck both Al and myself in tiny spots of pure white.

We wandered a little away from the milling Directors as they spoke their final words before cracking with Apparation. Mother and Father had become engaged in an animated conversation with the ever-enthusiastic Lord Alphonsus once more. As I glanced over my shoulder, I caught my mother's eye and couldn't help rolling my own at the gleam in them.

Dear Merlin, she was a woman with a mission. I was already anticipating her gushing when we got home. She seemed quite taken with Al, if the small smiles she'd showered upon him throughout the dinner was any indication, and had only restrained herself because it was 'proper'.

I wasn't saying that I wouldn't have dated Al if my parent's hadn't approved. I thought, given that I'd been on cloud nine since we'd officially decided to try dating – to say nothing of the realisation of my heightened feelings tonight – that even had they actively hated him I would have continued with this new thing we had. Still, it was gratifying to know, all the same.

We wandered in comfortable silence for a while, revelling in both one another's company and the absence of observers. I'd enjoyed our evening, surprisingly given who else was involved, and didn't particularly want it to end.

Still, it was late. And I had an early morning the next day. Again.

Al seemed to remember in the same moment as I did; I'd told him every booking I had over the holidays to try and work out some way of meeting up, and though it didn't do either of us any good to come up blank at least he knew.

"Thanks for inviting me along tonight," Al murmured as we reached the end of the street. His voice was quiet but audible in the absence of surrounding chatter.

"I can assure you, it was entirely my pleasure," I replied just as quietly, offering a smile and glancing at him sideways. "Speaking from experience, it would have been much worse had you not been there."

"Then I'm glad I could help," Al smiled back at me. And just like that, the last traces of that 'good little boy' that he'd presented to the Directors all night – if not me specifically – was shed.

It got me thinking. "You actually talked to people tonight." At Al's bemused expression I smirked and expanded. "I mean you actually chose to speak to people."

"I do that sometimes," Al replied slowly, mockingly with a note of condescension. "It's sort of expected."

Oh, did I know all about that. I shrugged. "I just assumed you'd do your usual quiet thing. The thing you do at school."

Al shrugged in turn. "I told you, I'm not exactly a barbarian when it comes to social conventions. Dad went through the whole 'important people visiting for dinner' stage when I was younger. I think he's managed to divert most attempts these days, but I know what's expected of me."

"But why? Why did you bother?" It was strange; at school Al never seemed to care much about what other people thought of him and actively excluded himself from our classmates with the exception of Rhali, Ozzy and, recently, myself. I knew he was prone to fits of nervousness, but he didn't seem to care what others thought of him. At least, I hadn't thought he'd cared.

Al stopped in the forward motion of his stroll, urging me to halt beside him. I turned curiously. "I don't usually bother. With anything. Seriously, Scor, don't you know me at all?" He smirked and I couldn't help but smile, even when he became serious a moment later. "I know you probably think it's because I'm lazy – and it is, a little bit. There's no denying that – but it's not only that. I don't really want to care about what they think." Al shrugged again. "But it was only for tonight. I can grit my teeth and suck it up."

"But… why?"

Al's gaze became curious and he cocked his head. "Isn't it obvious?" As I shook my head, frowning, he puffed out a sigh that blew his fringe in a flutter. He adopted a strange expression that I couldn't read for a moment until I realised… embarrassed? Was he embarrassed? Finally, after shifting uncomfortably beneath my stare, he continued. "I didn't want to screw anything up for you and make things awkward.

I was rendered speechless for a moment. Which was a big thing for me. An instant later, my legs were moving with a will of there own, urging me towards the inclination I'd been longing for days now. Weeks, even. Raising my hands to cup his face, I finally kissed him.

It was awkward at first. Awkward and chaste as Al froze in surprise. Until a moment later he eased himself into me, lips parting and head tilting and suddenly it wasn't awkward. Or very chaste.

It felt like bliss. I'd never experienced anything like it before; I didn't know something like kissing could be so good. The softness of lips, the exchange of breath, the feel of Al's hands as one clasped the back my neck and the other rose to hold mine that cupped his cheek.

When we pulled apart it was to the sound of gasps and regret that caused us both to remain as close to one another as possible. For we were close, I realised, somehow had closed the distance between us until we were nearly pressed against one another. I found I didn't have any objection to the positioning.

Tilting my head down slightly to meet Al's steady gaze, I felt a moment of apprehension at the intensity I saw presented. "Sorry, was that…?"

Before I could urge myself to finish, a stupid, loveable grin spread across Al's face. "And just what the hell do you think you're apologising for, Scorpius Malfoy? If you think you can take back a kiss like that with an apology then think again. 'Cause you're gonna have to fight me for it."

All of it, the smile, the affirmation, the very warmth of him as Al stood so close to me, driving away any chill of the winter night that managed to seep through the Warming Charms interwoven in my robes; all of it was too perfect. I couldn't help myself, and didn't really want to, so fell right back into kissing him.

Later, I would reflect that, as far as first kisses went, that which I'd shared with Al couldn't really have gone any better. At all. It was the perfect way to end an evening that could have been so dull I was driven to tear my hair out.

But it hadn't been dull. Not in the least. If nothing else I'd learned something new about Al, something I hadn't anticipated. Several somethings. He was a lot like me; he too was burdened by the weight of societal expectation. But unlike me, he chose to actively defy it.

To me, it was just a little inspiring. Almost as momentous as the kiss.

But not quite.