Chapter 8

Scorpius woke to a chill in the perpetually damp dungeon dorm that signalled a turn in the weather. He sighed heavily, stretching underneath the thick Hogwarts quilt so that his toes peeked out from the bottom and immediately recoiled from the cold. It was hard to tell exactly what time it was, since he had sealed the curtain of his four poster bed shut with a simple sticking charm, but he knew he had slept in late.

Scorpius hadn't been sleeping very well, not without Albus, who, more often than not last year, had crept into his bed to tell him a story, or to annoy him while he tried to read his books, or to ask him to proofread one of his essays – in all of these instances Albus had gotten warm under his blankets, and refused to leave. Even though Albus was a terrible bed hog, and Scorpius had learned to contort his body in very interesting ways to avoid sleeping right up against him, they were the nights that Scorpius slept best.

It had been two weeks. Two weeks since Scorpius had cried in front of Albus, and accused him of something he knew wasn't true. Two weeks since they'd spoken. Just as Scorpius had planned.

It started this summer. Scorpius had been at Malfoy manor, for his obligatory two-week 'holiday' at his grandfather's house. He was thirteen now, with hair on his chest (three very coveted strands, thank you very much). His voice cracked at unexpected times now, and he, to his great disgust, was convinced that he sweat more.

He'd gone to bed early that night, excusing himself from the study his grandfather spent all of his time in, bent before a fire even in the middle of summer. His grandfather had protested, until Scorpius had explained that he had spent the entire day practising on his broom. This was met with an approving nod, as Scorpius had expected it would be. From a very young age, Scorpius had learned people. He had learned what to say and what not to say. He had learned to guess likes and dislikes based on minute hand movements and twitches of quickly tamed lips. He had had to do this, to survive.

Scorpius' father looked up briefly at him, from where he had been reading a very thick runic book, barely in reach of the fire's glow. He nodded once at Scorpius, before returning to his study. Scorpius knew his father wished he could use the same excuse he had. He also knew his father still chose to come here, every summer and every Christmas. It was complicated. This was part of his inheritance as a Malfoy, the same as his silvery hair and slender frame – complicated feelings about his parents.

Scorpius took the dark wood stairs two at a time, amusing himself by trying to land squarely on the head of the repeated pattern of serpents on the runner. He was happy to be out of the study so early tonight – he expected a letter from Albus and had planned all of this out so that he could read it, and re-read it in peace.

Sure enough, when he finally yanked open the heavy oak door of his guest bedroom in the house, there was the diffuse white heart shape of a barn owl's face peeking through his half-open window. Scorpius hurriedly let Albus' owl Xerxes inside, and fished out a few treats from his bedside table drawer. Xerxes nipped Scorpius' hand affectionately once, before heading out the window, likely to find a suitable perch to rest for a few hours before heading back to Godric's Hollow. Xerxes knew better than to wait for Scorpius to write an answer – these letters were often long, and Scorpius liked to read them over several times before he composed his answer. The letters sometimes took days to finish.

Scorpius sat cross legged on his emerald green silk sheets, and excitedly opened the thick envelope in his lap. The first piece of parchment contained a three panelled comic depicting a rather inappropriate bar joke involving three hags and a vampire that made Scorpius blush, even as he laughed. The next page was an excellent sketch of Scorpius' own Atalanta, the great horned owl he'd been given as a birthday gift from his father the year previous. Scorpius admired it for a few moments, before attaching it to the growing number of similar sketches that were hanging above his desk.

Finally, Scorpius settled back onto his bed, and opened the real letter, his eyes greedily drinking in the words so quickly he had to force himself to slow down, so that they could be understood. The letter started without any formal introduction, as was Albus' custom.

Morning, afternoon, or night, depending on when this finds you, Scor. Thank you for the last letter, I'm glad that "The Manor" capital T, capital M, hasn't been too bad this year. I agree that next year, you should be old enough to decide if you want to go yourself, though.

I haven't much to report about Elle and Isidre – dad's been pretty tight lipped about it all, but I know they've been under pretty heavy security. I'm sure you've read Elle's letters. I think she's going to be quite loony, by the time she gets out. She keeps sending me a list of "PR"s, and then a bunch of numbers that she's recorded from her treader mill, or whatever it's called. Like I'm supposed to know what they mean? I have no notes on them from last year's muggle studies, I checked.

Anyways, we (the Potters, that is) will be taking her to Diagon to get her school stuff next Tuesday – damn. I've only just remembered I was supposed to write to her and tell her that, too, but I sent her owl off before yours, and we're leaving in about fifteen minutes to the beach. I guess it'll be a surprise. You should come that day too, though. I want to see how much you haven't tanned this summer.

About the beach – Mum's forcing all of us to go, even Dad. She says we all need a break. My dad's rented us some villa in Spain, and he's insisting we take something called an aero plane, "for the experience", which is why we have to leave in a strict twelve minutes (just checked my watch). I assume we have to go to the aero station. I wonder if it's at king's cross.

James is being a right git about going. He's still upset his girlfriend dumped him right before the hols. She told him it was because he has too many detentions and never spends time with her, but he thinks it's because she's spending the summer in America with her aunt and wants to 'keep her options open' while she's there. Whatever that means. I've caught him sniffling in the loo at least twice this week about it.

I swear, it's like James just woke up one day and started caring about girls. It's all he talks about. I'm not entirely convinced it's not all he thinks about. That, and maybe quidditch. God. I hope that never happens to me.

Mum's just barged in and demanded I check my bag to make sure I've packed everything, so I really must be going. In fairness, I probably haven't. I can't find my swimming trunks from this year (I swear Lily's hid them to get back at me for VERY ACCIDENTALLY staining her new dress pink – Mum's got all these muggle stuff in the house now, because she's realized that because they don't use magic, it means we can help her with the chores. I've been in charge of the clothes washing, in the washer machine. Did you know that one red sock can dye an entire load of white stuff pink? Powerful stuff. Mum's made me keep wearing my pink polos all summer, because she swears she warned me that would happen, but I swear she didn't… Anyways, I digress (that is a good word by the way, I looked it up after you used it about five times in your last letter).

I really do have to go now. I can hear Mum coming back up the stairs, and she DOES NOT like to ask things twice.

Hope "T.M." isn't too bad for the rest of the week, and please do come next Tuesday (not tomorrow, obviously).

Throw an entire can of mushy peas at grandpa M for me,

Albus

P.S. I've just found out Lily's BURIED my swimming trunks in one of Mad-Eye Moody's old bags, and my mum can't find them, even with a summoning charm. Mum's proper pissed and I'll have to squeeze into last years' trunks if I want to swim at all. The little git, she's almost as bad as James, but she gets away with it because she's cuter. The good news is I really have grown because these trunks are WAY too short!

Okay, now I'm truly late. Give Xerxes a treat for me.

Albus (again)

Scorpius had read that letter at least four times over, because it was shorter than most of the ones they sent to each other. Then, he had fallen asleep quite accidentally, even though it was early, because he really had spent the entire day on his broom, to make his excuse convincing. Scorpius half awoke when his mother carefully slipped his new letter out of his hands and placed it on his bedside table, blowing out the still-burning candle next to it, but was still asleep enough that he wasn't embarrassed about it.

He'd heard the door softly click shut and had turned on his side in the full darkness, slipping back into a deep sleep very easily.

And then Scorpius had had a very confusing dream centered around too-short swimming trunks, and when he had woken up a few hours later his bed was sticky, and he had wanted to die.

Scorpius remembered this entire incident quite clearly, as he listened carefully through his bed curtains for any sign of movement in his dorm. Not hearing Tobias's snoring, or Albus's heavy footfalls as he hunted around the room for his perpetually lost socks, he cautiously peeked outside.

The dungeon dorm room was blessedly empty, save for Esmond's very fluffy cat, which was curled up on his owner's pillow, fast asleep. Scorpius cautiously emerged, not putting it past Albus to be hiding under his bed for some sort of sneak attack.

He stepped out and counted to three, then breathed a sigh of relief. Alone. Scorpius fished a clean jumper out of his drawers, and was halfway through pulling his pajama shirt over his head when a voice to his left said "hey."

Scorpius jumped about three feet into the air, his arms still above his head and caught in his shirt, causing him to tumble down onto the hard stone floor. Esmond's cat, extremely upset by the rude awakening, yowled, before shooting out the door, disrupting several loose papers on Albus' desk as he passed through them.

"Sorry, sorry" the voice gushed, as Scorpius finally fought his head back through his pajama shirt. His tailbone was very sore, and half of his pale chest was exposed to the cold air (somehow one of his arms was in his shirt, and one was out), so it was with more venom in his voice than he intended that Scorpius exclaimed "Bloody hell Elle, I really hate it when you do that." Elle appeared in front of Scorpius out of thin air, still apologizing profusely as she leapt around the room, retrieving the loose parchment that had been scattered all over.

Scorpius sighed, wiggling his arm back into his shirt, and smoothing down his sleep mussed hair. "It's all right. I've been expecting someone to ambush me for a while. I just didn't think you'd manage to get into the dorms."

Elle threw up her hands in exasperation, dropping the last piece of parchment in her enthusiasm. "You left me no choice. You haven't left the common room all weekend!" Scorpius acquiesced with a lowering of his head, handing the parchment back to Elle. It was a sketch of Atalanta and Xerxes, up in the owlery.

Scorpius sighed, and pulled himself up onto his bed, wincing as his tailbone hit the mattress. "Alright" he said. "Let's hear it."