Archive of Our Own

Al crumpled the letter in his fist. Not again.

He turned in place, thinking. Could they send another person in time? He cast a Tempus spell. Perhaps.

In the Floo he was calm. “Yes, ASAP. It’s very important.”

“Anyone or do you have a preference?” the owner asked.

He gulped. “I prefer a blond, but it’s understandable if none are available.”

“Very good, sir. I will see what I can do. Again, we are terribly sorry to inconvenience you. It won’t happen again.”

“Thank you.” Al ended the Floo. Merlin. He didn’t think this night could get any worse.

He went to his liquor cabinet to pour himself two fingers of whiskey. He drank deeply and ignored the heavy disappointment in his stomach. He’d been looking forward to Nathanus and his very perky bottom.

His Floo chimed. He waved his wand to let his visitor through.

He stilled when he saw who it was.

Standing in his living room, brushing the soot from his trousers, was Scorpius Malfoy.

“Potter.” He was not surprised to see Al.

It took Al a moment to find his voice. “It’s been a long time.”

Scorpius nodded. “Yes.” He gazed around. “Nice place you got here.”

“My father bought it for me.”

Scorpius’ eyes flashed. “I know.” He smoothed out the front of his cobalt robes. “I was told you need me for a dinner.”

“That’s correct.”

“Then afterward—”

“We shag.”

“Right.” Scorpius turned away. He examined the books on his bookcase, his hands clasped behind his back. “You have some good titles.”

Al licked his lips. “The dinner—”

“Of course. My apologies.” Scorpius went back to the Floo.

Al hesitated. He’d never been with an escort who didn’t immediately saunter close. He crossed the room to the fireplace, not looking at Scorpius. His hand trembled as he scooped up some powder. He should just ask Scorpius to leave. This wasn’t going to work. They had too much history.

Scorpius seemed to sense his thoughts, because he leaned in to whisper: “Don’t worry. I’m worth it.”

Al looked at him. Scorpius was trying to be seductive but his face was strained, his eyes adverted.

“You don’t have to do this.”

Scorpius laughed. “Yes, I do.” He linked his arm in Al’s and guided them into the Floo.

Al pressed closer. Scorpius’ cologne was woodsy and pleasant. He felt the heat of Scorpius, heard his nervous breath. Maybe tonight wasn’t doomed after all.

He threw down the powder. “Knightsbridge Hall!”

They appeared in an elegant atrium. The walls and floor were white marble, the large chandeliers shiny brass and crystal.

Scorpius stared at the other guests. “I thought this was an intimate affair.”

“It is. The restaurant’s upstairs.”

Scorpius visibly relaxed. “Good.”

Frowning, Al led him up the ornate staircase. Was this his first time with a client? He sure wasn’t acting like a high class escort.

There was a line outside to get into the restaurant. Al went straight to the host.

“I have a reservation,” he said.

“I doubt that,” the host said without looking up from the seating chart.

Al grew icy. “Look at me, you fool.”

The host glanced up and gasped. “My apologies, sir!” He flipped through his chart nervously. “Yes, you have a table in the east corner.” He paused. “Will your father be joining you tonight?”

“No,” he said, gritting his teeth.

“Very good, sir. Please follow me.”

Al glanced at Scorpius, wondering if he’d caught their interaction, but Scorpius was too busy watching the other guests.

They were led to a circular table in a tolerable part of the restaurant. An older man was already seated, his white brushy eyebrows damn near covering his eyes.

Al sighed. Arnie Arwyn. This would be fun.

“Mr Arwyn!” He yanked the man’s arm into a handshake. “I’m sorry I’m late. This is my date, Sco—Scott.”

Arwyn took Scorpius’ hand. He examined Scorpius’ face. “What’s your last name, Scott?”

“Err—Land. I mean, Landing. I’m Scott Landing.”

Arwyn hummed. They sat down at the table.

“Thank you so much for meeting me,” Al said before opening his menu.

“Yes, well, it’s not like I had much of a choice,” Arwyn said.

The waiter came by to take their orders. Al didn’t give Scorpius a chance to speak; he ordered them a bottle of wine and the same dishes. Scorpius closed his menu and smiled pleasantly.

After the waiter had poured their wine and served them beluga caviar and grated truffle salads, Al placed his hands on the table and leaned forward. “So, Mr Arwyn, about my proposal to buy Arwyn’s Aero Products—”

Arwyn paid him no attention. He was furrowing his bushy brows at Scorpius. “You remind me of someone . . . Oh, yes! You looked exactly like a chap who models for our broom catalogue.”

“I remind you of a model? That’s quite a compliment.” Scorpius smiled shyly at his salad plate. He’d done that gesture a lot at Hogwarts, and Al was shocked that he remembered. They’d both been in Slytherin, but they hadn’t been friends. Nobody had been friends with Scorpius.

Arwyn frowned. It was obvious he didn’t mean it as a compliment, more as a truthful observation.

“Bloody brooms,” Al said moodily. “A waste of good magical timber if you ask me.”

“But your father is Harry Potter,” Arwyn said, looking shaken.

“I’m quite aware.” Al caught the eye of the waiter and glared, making it perfectly clear that he wanted their main dishes now. “So, Mr Arwyn, your company.”

“Oh, all right,” he said. “Let me have it.”

Al blinked. “I’m not here to lecture you. I’m here to buy you.”

“I’m not selling.”

“Yes, you are,” Al said, smiling. “I’ve seen your finances. You must sell or your company will go belly up.”

“Mr Potter, please understand, I treat my employees like family, and that takes some money,” Arwyn said.

Al suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. “And you must understand that is a terrible way to run a business. Your company is hemorrhaging Galleons. You have no other choice but to sell.”

“I will not!”

Al’s smile widened. “Please, Arnie, I’m on your side.”

“Bollocks!” Arwyn stood and threw down his napkin. “You’re only here to line your pockets! I assumed as much, but I thought I’d give Harry Potter’s son a chance.” He glanced at Scorpius. “Scotland, it was a pleasure to meet you.”

“You as well,” Scorpius said quietly.

Arwyn stormed off. Al sighed and finally dug into his salad. His eyes lit up when he tasted the caviar.

“This is quite good, isn’t it?”

Scorpius nodded. “It’s divine.”

Al watched him. “That man’s a fool. I hope you understood as much.”

“Yes.” Scorpius focused on his salad.

Their main dishes arrived, and they ate their roasted duck and wild mushroom agnolotti in silence.

When their plates were cleared, Al asked: “Do you want dessert?”

Scorpius delicately wiped his mouth. “Only if you want some.”

“No, not exactly.” Al placed his hand on Scorpius’ knee, and there was only a brief hesitation before he widened his legs. Al dragged his fingers up his thigh. “Are you ready to get out of here?”

“Yes.”

Their walk back to the Floo was just as awkward as their arrival. Al was already imagining their shag: adverted eyes, fumbling fingers, Scorpius saying in his quiet monotone deeper please. Al grimaced.

At home he went straight to his liquor cabinet. Dinner had killed off any buzz Al had achieved from the whiskey, but it was all right. He had bottles of the stuff.

“Would you like some?”

Scorpius nodded. He was eyeing Al’s bookcase again.

“You may look.” Al brought him a whiskey. “See anything you like?”

“Your Stony Silverbert collection is amazing.”

Al frowned. He didn’t know what Scorpius was talking about. His Aunt Hermione had bought him most of the bookcase and he wasn’t a reader.

They finished their drinks and Al spelled their glasses back to his cabinet. They moved away from the bookcase, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. Al sighed. Best to just crack on with it.

He took a step back and whispered: “Strip.”

There was nothing flirtatious in Scorpius’ undressing, but he also wasn’t shy. He stared evenly at Al as he unbuttoned his robes and stepped out of them, then did the same with his shirt and trousers. His pants were of good quality, but Al spied some frayed ends on his socks. Scorpius hastily kicked them off.

Al circled him. He knew he should compliment Scorpius, call him beautiful or something, but it was deeply arousing to say nothing, to make Scorpius doubt what he would do next. He grabbed Scorpius’ arse cheeks, kneading and smacking them, and everything about his touch said: I own you. He spread them to examine Scorpius’ hole. It was very pink and well-groomed.

“I see your arse is ready for me.”

“Yes.”

Al came around to face him. “Do you say anything other than ‘Yes’?”

His eyes glittered. “What do you want me to say?”

“It’s no fun if I have to tell you.”

“I see.” Scorpius took a deep breath. His mouth curled into a smirk. “I’m desperate for your cock.”

Al sat in his leather chair, the one his Uncle George had gifted him. He felt agitated, moody, and he wanted to challenge Scorpius.

“Kneel.”

Scorpius stepped forward.

“No. Kneel where you are.”

Scorpius dropped to his knees. His arms hung awkwardly at his sides.

“Say something. Do something,” Al huffed.

Scorpius fell forward on his hands. He slowly crawled closer. When he met Al’s feet, he massaged up Al’s thighs, his fingers almost brushing his cock. He pouted a little.

“Please, Daddy.”

Al grimaced. “No.”

“Please, sir.”

“Better.” Al yanked his wrists. “Come closer.”

Scorpius shuffled forward until his knees hit the chair. He stared wide-eyed at Al’s groin.

“I’m not paying you to stare at me.”

Scorpius unbuttoned his trousers with trembling hands and gently helped Al pull them down to his thighs. Then he was mouthing Al through his pants, his tongue oh so very moist.

“Don’t tease me.”

He pulled Al’s pants down too to reveal his half-stiff cock. Scorpius hesitated again. He was breathing harshly, his eyes still enormous.

Al was uncomfortable. “Get to it.” He threaded his fingers in Scorpius’ very soft hair and urged him down.

Scorpius made a noise in his throat. He was shaking. Al was about to ask if he was all right when Scorpius sucked down his cock.

Fuck! Al threw his head back. Fuck. Fuck. He was not expecting Scorpius to be this skilled. The tip of his cock brushed the back of Scorpius’ mouth; instead of backing off, he inhaled noisily through his nose and took him deeper. He relaxed his neck, his back, and then Al was in his throat.

“Scorp,” he moaned, not knowing where the nickname came from. “Oh, Scorp.”

Scorpius whimpered; he clutched at Al’s waist, steadying himself as he bobbed quickly, messily. Al grabbed his head with both hands and fucked deep into his mouth, breaching his throat again. Fuck, he should’ve asked before thrusting so deeply, but Scorpius’ gorgeous mouth was making him savage. He wanted to only take.

Al pulled him up by his hair. “You like being choked by my cock?”

Scorpius nodded furiously, his eyes watering.

“Then show me,” Al said. “Show me you’re a slut for my cock.”

Al thrust hard into his throat again. Scorpius was making this terrible gagging noise, but there was no fight in his body. He moved his head as best he could, his mouth sucking, his tongue stroking. Al pulled away, already too close.

“Let’s move to the bed,” he said. Scorpius nodded, his mouth dripping wet, and followed him upstairs.

On the bed, with Scorpius laid out before him, Al took in his long legs, his trembling stomach. He was beautiful.

Al didn’t understand his emotions. He was nervous and frustrated; he wanted a fight. He wanted Scorpius to stop being so placid.

Scorpius seemed to sense something was wrong. He reached for Al. “Come here. I need you.”

“Liar,” Al said, but positioned himself between Scorpius’ legs anyway. He muttered a lube spell and trailed his fingers behind Scorpius’ bollocks.

“No,” Scorpius said, and muttered his own spell. He widened his legs. “No prep is necessary. Just fuck me.”

“Fine.” It was ridiculous, but Al felt hurt. He shouldn’t care if Scorpius wanted his fingers or not. They were practically strangers.

He roughly pushed at Scorpius’ thighs and then guided his cock to his hole. They stared at one another, and Scorpius’ eyes were defiant. He thrust into Scorpius, swiftly, almost carelessly. Scorpius flailed but quickly recovered. He curled his fingers and toes into the sheets, his neck straining as Al drilled into him. Al wanted to see those arrogant eyes flutter; he wanted to see Scorpius unravel.

Al reached for his cock.

“No, please don’t,” Scorpius said.

“I want you to come.”

“It’s not necessary.”

Al wanted to smack him. He could’ve probably gotten away with it, but he knew his mood would make him too rough. Instead he thrust as hard as he could. Scorpius flailed again.

“I know it’s not necessary,” he gritted out. “Do it because I want you to.”

He was determined for Scorpius to come before him. He realized now this entire night had been a competition between them. He was stupid for seeing Scorpius’ silence as shy instead of strategic, his hesitation as virginal instead of challenging. Well, he understood now, and he was not going to lose.

Al tried stroking him again.

“Please, no,” Scorpius stuttered.

Al carefully pulled out and slid two fingers into Scorpius, searching for that little nub. When he found it, Scorpius cried out and arched his back.

“Touch yourself,” Al said.

Scorpius’ hand finally wrapped around his cock, and his strokes were desperate. Al massaged his arse, making Scorpius’ mouth falling open. Al couldn’t look away.

It took a few minutes for Scorpius to tremble, his hips thrusting uncontrollably.

“Now stop!” Al said.

Panting, Scorpius dropped his hand to his side.

“Very good.” Al leaned over him so that his fingers reached deeper. He stroked his prostate firmly, continuously. Scorpius fisted the bedding, his pretty cock twitching wetly.

“You think you can come like this?” Al asked.

“N-no.”

“What do you need?”

“Nothing!”

“Look at me,” Al said, and Scorpius’ gaze was hooded and smoky. He stuck out his tongue and lowered his head until he almost licked Scorpius’ cock. “You want me to taste you?”

Scorpius groaned deeply and came all over Al’s face. Al forced himself to take it. The warm semen on his chin, his nose, even a little on his glasses, felt like a victory.

“Fuck—I’m sorry!” Scorpius said when he’d calmed down.

Al was laughing. “I knew you wanted it.”

Scorpius closed his eyes and took a deep breath. After a moment he opened them again and smiled at Al. “Let’s finish this night right. I want you to fill me with your seed.”

“I suppose,” Al said, rolling his eyes. He moved away so Scorpius could get into a comfortable position on his back.

He thrust into Scorpius again, and this time Scorpius whimpered. His arse was wet, so very warm. He buried his face in Scorpius’ shoulder, his hips slapping against Scorpius. He was close, the squeeze of Scorpius’ arse rendering him a bit delirious. He was bombarded by memories.

Scorpius staring at him from across the Hogwarts library. The back of Scorpius’ white-blond head in Charms. Scorpius’ long, delicate legs splayed out on the castle floor, some random seventh year driving his fists into Scorpius’ cheeks, his mouth, his twisting midsection.

He couldn’t remember what Scorpius had sounded like, but he heard Scorpius now: his hitched, panting breaths, his quiet, quiet whines.

Scream for me, Al wanted to say, and as his orgasm seared through him, he thought perhaps he was misremembering. Maybe it hadn’t been some random seventh year on top of Scorpius Malfoy. Maybe it’d been Al. Maybe it’d always been Al because he was on top of Scorpius now, inside Scorpius, and he wanted to hurt him, he wanted to embarrass him, he wanted to taste his beautiful lips and whisper: I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

He collapsed against Scorpius. He was trembling but Scorpius was very still. He rolled over and managed the strength to glance at Scorpius’ soft cock. Merlin. All of that, and Scorpius wasn’t even a little stiff again.

I hate you, Al thought, and covered his face with a sweaty arm.

Scorpius left the bed to spell himself clean and Summon his clothes. He came back over to Al, expecting his payment. Al was too tired to move; instead he motioned to his bedside table.

“Take the money bag in there.”

“Thank you,” Scorpius said, and retrieved the bag.

Al was having a hard time looking at him. Confusing, desperate emotion stormed inside him, and he knew it was completely one-sided.

Scorpius gazed at him dully. “Are we done here?”

“Yes,” Al said, and buried his head under his pillow. He heard Scorpius leave the room and descend the stairs. He sat up, suddenly frantic to not let Scorpius go. No, it was too abrupt . . . they had to talk . . . or something. He had to see Scorpius again.

But he forced himself to remain in bed. When he heard the roar of the Floo, he fell back against his pillows. He stared up at his dark canopy. Merlin, he hated Scorpius Malfoy.

The next morning Scorpius lay in a warm bath with a book hovering at eye level and a cup of tea at his shoulder. He’d forgotten how long he’d been in here, but he deserved this, dammit. His arse still ached, and he felt strangely paranoid, like somebody loomed right behind him to deliver a fatal blow.

Fuck Albus Severus—

No, no. He was not going to think about it. He was at home, not work, and he needed to focus on relaxing.

He touched his wand to turn a page in the book. His eyes moved over the words but his mind was elsewhere.

Potter had been so mean to that old man at dinner. Scorpius snorted. The Potters were known for their kindness, their bravery, but last night Scorpius had only seen cruelty and greed.

Merlin! Scorpius had made such a fool of himself. He’d acted like a silly virgin, like a painfully awkward novice who had no business being an escort. He was surprised that Potter hadn’t Floo’ed Ophelia to complain. The way he’d gaped at Potter. I’m not paying you to stare at me. He covered his moist face, groaning. Sometimes he could be such an idiot.

The frustrating thing was that Scorpius wasn’t new to prostitution. At one point he’d gotten quite good at shagging strangers. He’d just been out of practice. He’d convinced himself that selling his body was somehow in the past. He’d convinced himself that he meant something to Ophelia and her business when she’d asked him to attend her office. Ha! Ridiculous!

That’s not the only reason why you made a fool of yourself, his mind supplied. He groaned even louder and dipped his head under the water, vaguely hoping to not resurface.

Albus Severus Potter was the very last person Scorpius had wished to run into on the job. The very last fucking person. Why did the Malfoys have the worst luck? Somebody must’ve cursed him and his father because it was absurd what they had to just grit and bear.

And last night he’d gritted his teeth and fucked the one man who haunted him. Stop being so bloody dramatic, he thought. Potter didn’t haunt him; he was just an attractive bloke who had once, damn near twenty years ago, pretended to be his friend.

Scorpius finally came up for air. His head swam, and for a moment he couldn’t suppress how fucking hurt he was. He slammed his fist against the porcelain, reveling in the pain that shot up his arm. Fuck Potter for being perfect. Fuck him for having everything.

But, no, that wasn’t entirely true: Potter wasn’t perfect. He was an arsehole. He treated people like shite. He had never known struggle, and that made him weak. Scorpius was the strong one. He was—

“Scorpius?” his father said on the other side of the door. “Are you all right? I heard a noise.”

“I’m fine!” Scorpius called.

His father paused. “Do you want any lunch?”

No! Leave me alone! Scorpius wanted to yell. Instead he inhaled deeply. He knew how much his father liked to eat together. “Yes, please. I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Very good.” The hallway floorboards creaked with retreating footsteps.

He left his bath and dried himself off. He spelled on his clothes and met his father in their little kitchen.

“Hey,” he said, and sat down to his cheese and pickle sandwich.

“Enjoyed your bath? You were certainly in there long enough,” his father said.

Scorpius shrugged and took a bite of his sandwich. He chewed absentmindedly. Potter probably thought he’d been so toppy last night. He probably thought he’d blown Scorpius’ fucking mind, but it all had been a walk in the park for him.

He was used to putting on a show in bed. The only difference was that last night his antics had been real.

He remembered Potter’s growling voice: Show me you’re a slut for my cock. What a pathetic line. How many blokes had moaned the same? He honestly couldn’t count how many times he’d been called a slut.

Potter thought he was such a powerful man, but he didn’t have a clue what actual power was. Power was opening your throat, opening your arse, moaning beautifully, whimpering nicely, while still plotting to win. It was pure manipulation, and Potter obviously did not get that.

Scorpius snorted and gulped deeply from his pumpkin juice. Fuck Potter and his gorgeous cock. It’d been bigger than he’d imagined, its head so silky and red. He’d enjoyed taking it into—

“Scorpius?” his father said.

Dammit. He coughed, trying to hide his blush. This was what he got for thinking about work around his father.

“Yes?”

“Are you all right? You seem a bit . . . preoccupied.”

Scorpius wondered what they must look like in their dingy flat. They both had short hair, something that’d once been a big no-no for Malfoy men, but his father believed long hair reminded people too much of his grandfather. Their clothes were shabby, which was another thing that distinguished them from previous Malfoy men. The state of their clothes, however, wasn’t voluntary.

He used to wonder what his grandfather would’ve thought about all of it. He used to pretend his grandfather was still alive until one day his father had confessed that he wasn’t technically dead; his body was still breathing and shitting in Azkaban, but his mind . . . his soul . . . was long gone.

“Of course I’m preoccupied,” Scorpius said, annoyed.

His father picked at his own sandwich. “Yes, I know.”

No you bloody don’t! he wanted to say. His father had no idea what he did for a living. He had no idea that Scorpius sold his body to make rent, and Scorpius was determined to keep it that way.

“Right,” Scorpius said.

His father paused. “You know, one of our Hogwarts professors will be on the wireless soon to give a talk on the Werewolf Uprisings of . . . 1868.”

“You mean 1848,” Scorpius corrected. “Professor Binns? On the radio?”

“I guess,” he said, shrugging. “Didn’t you read a book about those uprisings? Perhaps you’d want to listen together?”

Despite his shite mood, Scorpius smiled. His father hated history and it was touching that he was offering to slog through a program just so they could spend time together.

“Brilliant.” He stood up to collect their plates. “I’ll join you in the living room once I’ve washed up.”

In the living room his father lounged on their lumpy sofa with a newspaper dismantled on his lap. Scorpius chose to sit on the floor with his long legs stretched out, his shoulder close enough to brush his father’s leg. The living room was quite drafty, and it comforted him to have his father near.

The wireless had to be turned all the way up to clearly hear Binn’s soft droning. Scorpius Summoned the book that his father had mentioned: We Howl at Midnight: Werewolf Packs in the Nineteenth Century and the Year that Changed Europe. Practically every page had tabs and he’d written in most of the margins. As Binns gave background on werewolves in the eighteenth century, then moved to what precipitated the Uprisings, Scorpius flipped through the book, comparing the author’s historical narrative to Binns’.

Scorpius huffed. “Binns’ leaving out key factors to support his conservatism! He’s such a bloody joke!” His father didn’t answer, which made him look over.

His father was slumped over his newspaper, his mouth hanging open in sleep. Scorpius shook his head and smiled fondly. He Summoned a blanket to drape over his father, then pulled out some parchment and quill from their coffee table. He was going to track every time he disagreed with Binns.

An owl arrived for Scorpius when the program was wrapping up. He took the note into the kitchen to read. He only ever received owls from Ophelia, and even though his father had never asked what they said, Scorpius was always very careful about where he read them.

Albus Potter requested your services again, Ophelia wrote. Are you available or should I give him back to Nathanus?

Scorpius’ vision blurred and he clutched at the counter. It never occurred to him that Potter would want to see him again. He stumbled up to his bedroom to finally count how much Potter had paid him.

Before opening the little bag, Scorpius thought, I’ll see him again if he paid me extra. He poured out the Galleons onto the bed. His eyes widened. Ophelia charged clients around two hundred Galleons per session, three hundred if a social engagement was included, but there had to be at least five—no six hundred galleons on his bed. Merlin. That was damn near half the price of a Firebolt 5 and it was certainly enough to cover the rent.

“Fuck,” he whispered, his stomach turning. He’d be an idiot to turn down Potter’s business.

Al hated Quidditch. Being Harry Potter’s son, everyone had expected him to be a brilliant athlete. He wasn’t. He was a brilliant thinker and strategist; he could talk his way out of anything.

The problem: He was afraid of heights.

It was ridiculous for a grown wizard to be afraid of heights. There were countless spells that protected from a fatal fall. But high up on a broom, his knees quaking, his hands sweating, thinking Only this piece of wood is holding me up, Al couldn’t remember any of them. He could barely breathe.

Unfortunately for him, Quidditch played ice breaker to most of Britain’s wizarding business dealings. It bored him to death.

That was why he usually brought a date along to these things. He’d hesitated before asking Scorpius. Maybe people would recognize him. Not everyone was as clueless as Arnie Arwyn, and they’d probably guess in a second who Scorpius’ father was if they paid any attention.

But Al realized he didn’t care that he was seen with Scorpius Malfoy. He’d cared back at Hogwarts. Merlin, had he cared. Being caught with Malfoy, the son of the man who tried to murder Albus Dumbledore, who was responsible for the marring of his Uncle Bill, would have been social suicide. Back then nobody talked to the children of Death Eaters. They hadn’t deserved it.

If he was being honest, really honest, his feelings for Scorpius Malfoy had always been complicated. He knew this when Scorpius had emerged from his Floo last week, and he knew it now, remembering his silences, his very, very pink arse. Perhaps he’d always wanted Scorpius. Perhaps, even as a child, when he sensed their compatibility, he’d rejected Scorpius so cruelly because the power Scorpius could have over him.

This time he’d asked Scorpius to meet him at the Quidditch match to avoid any private awkwardness. Isiah Zabini’s box was quite comfortable: spacious enough to accommodate two big sofas and a table of afters, and luxurious with velvet curtains, gold-tinted crown molding, and a team of elves to satisfy any need or whim.

Al watched as Scorpius looked around politely, his cool features giving nothing away.

“Up to your usual standards?”

Scorpius smiled faintly. “Barely.”

“Would you like some tea?”

“Yes, please.” Scorpius leaned over the box’s balcony, presumably to spy on all the spectators below.

Al had an elf bring him his tea. He would not go near the box’s edge.

Scorpius cocked an eyebrow. “You must prefer the sofa.”

In response Al sat down on the sofa farthest away from the balcony. Scorpius joined him, his teacup carefully following at his elbow.

“You can’t see anything back here.”

“I know.” Al gulped his tea and shifted in his seat. Their thighs were almost touching.

“Right. I forgot.” Scorpius sipped at his tea. “You think Quidditch brooms are a waste.”

“They are.”

“Why are we here then?”

Al raised his eyebrows. “Does it matter where I take you? You are still getting paid.”

“Yes, but why waste time watching Quidditch when we could be doing something you actually like?” He pressed closer so Al could feel the heat of him.

“I have to be here.” Al sighed. “I wouldn’t be a very good businessman if I skipped these matches.”

Scorpius was watching him. “Why are you even in business? You inherited a mountain of Galleons.”

He touched the inside of Scorpius’ thigh. “Money doesn’t interest me. Not really. It’s the competition I like. The struggle.”

“You love what you did to Arnie Arwyn.”

Al blinked. “It’s not my fault the old fool ran his company into the ground, but I will certainly enjoy the profit I gain from possessing his holdings.”

“You love the kill.” Scorpius smiled lightly.

“Does it make me unlikable if I do?”

Scorpius thought for a moment. “Not to me.”

Al rested his arm casually behind Scorpius’ shoulders. “Good. We’re similar creatures, you and me. We both screw people for money.”

This made Scorpius laugh, and Al was fascinated. Scorpius’ cheeks went pink, and his mouth was large and open. I bloody want you, Al thought, and blinked at the suddenness of his thoughts. Again, that confusing, desperate feeling built in him, and he didn’t know if he wanted Scorpius sexually, romantically, or if he wanted to take, and take, until Scorpius had absolutely nothing.

Isiah arrived then. He wore robes of gold twine and deep plum and big diamonds in both ears. He’d never been one for subtlety.

“Al! You made it!” He shook his hand and turned to Scorpius. His eyebrows shot up.

“Hello, Isiah,” Scorpius said, his face a calm mask.

Isiah glanced at Al; it was obvious that he didn’t know how to react.

Al rolled his eyes. “Just shake his hand and move on.”

Shrugging, Isiah smiled and said, “It’s very nice to see you.” He did not take Scorpius’ hand.

“Shake his hand.” Al glared and Isiah’s eyebrows rose even higher.

Scorpius laughed. “Completely unnecessary. I feel quite welcomed.”

“Do it,” he said through gritted teeth.

Isiah laughed as well and winked at Scorpius. “My friend Albus can be quite the drama queen.” He shook Scorpius’ hand.

“Yes, I agree.” Scorpius smiled widely.

Al took Scorpius by the arm and guided him toward the afters. As the elf cut them pieces of cake, he whispered: “Why are you smiling? He was disrespecting you.”

Scorpius’ smile didn’t waver. “I know.”

“You think it’s funny or something?”

“No.” Scorpius received their cake from the elf and handed Al his slice. “I just don’t give a fuck.”

“I see.” Al wanted to say more, but a group of men in business robes arrived. He grabbed Scorpius by the elbow and walked them over to the newcomers. “Time to work,” he whispered in Scorpius’ ear.

“Do you want me to talk?” Scorpius asked.

“I think so.” He caught the eye of his favorite in the group. “Ralph! Smashing to you see!”

Ralph Rittermitt was a short man with thick glasses and a black beard sprinkled with grey. “Al! Just the man I wanted to see! I’ve heard you’re about to buy out Arnie Arwyn!”

Al puffed out his chest. “I’m going to make a killing.”

Nodding, Ralph said, “Well it serves him right. He’s a moron if he thought giving his employees all that time off was sustainable.” The start of the match was announced. “Yes! Brilliant! I’m going for the Harpies, of course.”

“Of course,” Al said, grinning. The group moved to the balcony to watch the match, but Al and Scorpius sat on the sofa again.

“They are talking about business without you,” Scorpius said.

“Yes, I know.”

“You don’t want to join them?”

Al shook his head, refusing to be embarrassed. “No, right here is fine.”

They fell silent to listen to the match. About fifteen minutes in a player was hit by a Bludger and had to be substituted out.

“Oh, no!” Scorpius said.

“What? Why does it matter?” Al said.

“Xu is the Harpies’ best player! They’ll be destroyed if she’s out for the game.”

Al glanced at his associates’ faces, and realized it was true. Ralph looked like he might cry.

“Let’s get out of here,” Al muttered. If the Harpies were doomed to lose, there was nothing to be gained by staying around to watch the unfolding catastrophe.

“All right,” Scorpius said easily.

They left the box and went to the bottom level to the Apparition zone, the roar of the crowd growing faint. Al didn’t have to tell Scorpius where they were headed; they both knew it was back to Al’s.

He took Scorpius by the waist, and they spun and disappeared.

They appeared in Al’s garden, Scorpius blinking in the bright sunlight. “You want to shag outside?” Scorpius asked.

“Maybe.” Al grinned and took him by the hand, drawing him across his grassy lawn. His garden had been magically enlarged, and Al watched Scorpius’ face to see if he was impressed.

“This is all yours?”

Al nodded. “I might be wrong, but it seems like you know a lot about Quidditch.”

“I do.”

“But you don’t seem like somebody who’d know a lot about Quidditch.”

Scorpius smirked. “What do I seem like?”

Shrugging, Al said, “I dunno. Bookish. Like you’d more likely listen to the news than a match on the wireless.”

Scorpius laughed. “You make me sound like such a Ravenclaw!”

He grinned again. He loved the way Scorpius looked when he laughed. “Maybe you could teach me.”

“What?” Scorpius frowned. “I don’t understand.”

He didn’t really understand either. The prospect of being on a broom terrified him, but somehow he really liked the idea of Scorpius giving him tips on how to overcome his fear.

“Are you a good flyer?” Al asked.

Scorpius shrugged. “Sure.”

He licked his lips. He’d love to see Scorpius on a broom, his long, long legs straddling the wood, his thighs squeezing hard to balance himself.

Al Summoned his broom. It landed at their feet, dusty, unused, the yellowing price tag still hanging from its neck.

“Wow,” Scorpius breathed, kneeling to inspect the forgotten thing. “You bought this a few years ago, didn’t you?”

“Probably. I can’t really remember.”

Scorpius glanced at the price, and whistled. “This is a Timberus Loco. Everybody was mad for these.”

Al shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. That’s why I bought it.”

“You spent a fortune on it and then you didn’t even ride it.” Scorpius shook his head.

Al couldn’t read his expression. “I want to see you ride it.”

Scorpius closed his eyes for a moment. “Okay.” He grabbed the broom and spelled off all the dust and tags. “Anything I need to know before I go up?”

“No, I don’t think so. The charms prevent you from accidently crossing over into my neighbor’s garden.”

“How? It’s not dangerous, right?”

“No, you just bounce back.”

Scorpius nodded and straddled the broom; he kicked off and flew away, his robes streaming behind him. He circled back around, close enough for Al to see him, and Al’s breath caught. Scorpius looked confident and sexy, his hair blowing in the wind, his mouth softened up in a grin.

He did a few laps for Al’s enjoyment, and Al had to admit that he was a very good flyer. He was utterly in control of the broom, and his turns were quick and graceful. His speed was mesmerizing, almost frightening.

When he landed next to Al, he was still smiling, his eyes very bright. “Wow,” Scorpius said.

“Did you enjoy yourself?”

Scorpius nodded. His face was flushed, his hair tousled. He came close, and he vibrated with energy. “Do you want me to show you how to do it?”

Al gulped. “It’s not that I don’t know how . . . it’s just that . . .” He looked down at his feet and mumbled, “I’m afraid of heights.”

“Oh.”

Al looked at him, and he tried desperately to read his expression. “You must think I’m ridiculous.”

“I don’t.” Scorpius worried his lip. “Maybe . . . I could show you how not to be afraid.”

“Yes.”

Scorpius smiled a little. “I could talk you through your fear, get you to relax on a broom.”

“Okay.” Al gulped again. “But you’ll have to be with me the first couple of times I fly.”

“Of course.” Scorpius handed him the broom and stepped behind him. He whispered, “Straddle it.”

Shivering, Al did what he was told. He grasped the broom’s neck, but awkwardly, like he was afraid it would burn his palms. “What now?”

“Focus. What you need to remember is that the broom should do most of the work. The moment you think you’re the one with all the power, or the moment you stop trusting it, is when you start working against your broom instead of with it. In other words, don’t fucking fight it.” He yanked at Al’s arms. “Relax your grip. You need to start building trust.”

Al rolled his eyes. “My broom doesn’t have feelings. Stop talking like it does.”

“It might not have feelings, but it reads you like a dog.”

He grinned cheekily. “I like you like this.”

Scorpius stepped even closer and pressed his groin against Al’s arse. He nipped at his ear. “I’ll give you a treat if you fly by yourself.”

Al rubbed against him. Scorpius acting possessive, dominating, was deeply arousing, but he also felt himself resist. “I get a treat no matter what.”

Scorpius stepped back. There was an awkward moment of silence. “Why don’t you kick off and show me how high you can go?”

Al wiped his sweaty hands down his front. “I’m not some bumbling first year. Like I told you, my only problem is my fear of heights.”

“Fine,” he said, and his voice was agitated. He took the broom from Al and straddled it. “Get on and hold my waist tightly.”

“Can I cast an anti-falling charm?”

“I don’t care.”

Al ignored his sourness. He cast the charm and then threw his leg over the broom. He pressed close to Scorpius, smelling his hair. He might’ve imagined it, but he swore he felt Scorpius shiver.

“Ready?” Scorpius whispered.

“I think so.” Al tightened his hold. When they began to rise, he buried his face in Scorpius’ shoulder.

“Hold me a little less. I still need to breathe.”

Al nodded against his shoulder. They jerked to the right, the air rustling through his hair, chilling his ears. He knew they were up high; his stomach clenched and he tightened his fists in Scorpius’ robes.

“It’s okay,” Scorpius breathed. “Nothing is going to happen to you.”

“You can’t promise that,” he responded, his voice muffled.

“I can’t. You’re right.” He slowed down the broom. “But I can promise other things.”

“I’m listening.”

“Open your eyes and I’ll—” The end of his sentence was drowned out by the wind.

“What? I didn’t hear you!”

“Just open your eyes!”

Taking a deep breath, he did what Scorpius requested. They were skimming the treetops. “Merlin.” He clutched Scorpius tighter.

Scorpius laughed. “Isn’t it beautiful up here?”

He glanced down. It felt like somebody had a hand on his back and was pushing him forward until he unbalanced.

“Please . . . let’s go back to the ground.” Al was trembling.

Scorpius nodded and flew them back to where they first took off. He landed lightly on his feet, and then helped Al off.

He took Al into his arms. “It’s okay. Everything’s fine.” Al breathed in his smell, his skin very soft. He kissed Scorpius’ neck. “That feels good.”

“I’m glad,” Al murmured, not really knowing what he was saying or doing. He was still quite shaken. He kissed up Scorpius’ neck, needing comfort, and tried to kiss his lips.

Scorpius moved his head away. “No.” They sank to their knees, Scorpius still holding Al tightly.

Al pinned Scorpius to the ground, grinning, challenging him to resist. Scorpius smiled back, but his eyes were questioning. His hair shone a darker yellow in the sunlight, and his pale face was already taking on color.

“What do you want?” Al whispered.

Scorpius frowned. “What I want doesn’t matter. You’re the one who’s paying.”

“I want . . . to give you pleasure,” Al said slowly, not really knowing his own feelings. It was true that he wanted to pleasure Scorpius, but he also wanted to make him happy. He wanted to see Scorpius laugh again. If he thought too long about why he wanted to do these things, his chest tightened with panic.

It didn’t matter why he wanted Scorpius to be happy. It was only their second time together, and Al was meant to feed his fancy, his whims. That was what one did with prostitutes.

“It will give me pleasure to pleasure you,” Scorpius whispered hotly in his ear. “I will do whatever you want.”

Al rolled his eyes. “No, I want you to tell me what you want. I don’t want this to be about me.”

“I want to suck your cock.”

“No. What do you want me to do to you?”

“I want you to fuck my arse.”

“No.” Al leaned down to kiss Scorpius, but he moved his head away.

“No kissing on the mouth.”

“Okay.” Al tried hard not to be frustrated. “Do you really want me to fuck you or are you just saying that because I’m paying you?”

Scorpius blinked. “I really want you to fuck me.”

“What if I want to suck you? What if the only thing I wanted to do today was suck you?”

Scorpius tensed beneath him. “I guess that could work.”

“You guess?” Al didn’t understand why Scorpius was acting like this. “I’m offering my mouth to you.”

“That is very kind of you.”

“But you don’t want it.”

Scorpius was visibly agitated. “Like I said: What I want doesn’t matter.”

“I’m your client and it matters to me. Where is your customer service?” He meant this as a joke, but Scorpius’ eyes flashed.

“You are right. My apologies. Please, do whatever you want with me. My job is to please you.”

Al hated how much Scorpius wasn’t there. It was like he was touching someone who was only half-conscious, his body so incredibly motionless. It was obvious that Scorpius was shielding himself, and it made Al vaguely sick to be physically intimate with someone who was just so vacant.

Had the others been like this? They must’ve. He just hadn’t noticed.

He tore at Scorpius’ robes. Scorpius tried to help but Al pushed his hands away.

“Just let me,” he murmured, too confused to think about what he was doing. He wanted to taste Scorpius, consume him, make him squirm and babble.

Scorpius laid back on the grass. Thank you, Al wanted to say, and he knew he was being utterly mad. Finally he got Scorpius’ cock out, and of course it was soft. Al took him into his mouth, not caring, only wanting to feel Scorpius grow and thicken on his tongue. He sucked lightly and Scorpius hissed.

“Fuck,” Scorpius said.

Al took him deep into his mouth, hoping to make him cry out, but he only whimpered quietly. Al looked up, and though his robes obscured most of his vision, he saw that Scorpius had stuffed his fist into his mouth.

Scorpius caught his eye. “Oh, god,” Scorpius moaned, and his head fell back.

Yes, yes, Al thought. He drew back so he could stroke Scorpius, loving that his cock was now fully erect. He wants me, Al thought, and shivered. He licked at the head, and was thrilled when Scorpius twitched. He pushed back his foreskin and sucked and lapped, wanting to see Scorpius absolutely gush for him.

“Al,” Scorpius sighed, and Al moaned loudly.

“Again.”

There was a pause, and he imagined that Scorpius was biting his lip. “Al,” he whispered.

He took Scorpius deep into his mouth again, wishing he could relax his throat. He couldn’t. He gagged and coughed and dribbled saliva on Scorpius’ bollocks. He bobbed his head, working Scorpius’ shaft, sucking harder and harder.

Scorpius writhed, his thighs trembling. His hands were somewhere on the ground, and Al imagined he was tearing at the grass.

“Coming—I’m—”

Warm semen flooded his mouth, but he didn’t grimace or try to spit it out. He let it linger on his tongue, the flavor ghastly, but he was tasting Scorpius, and he had him in his mouth. He swallowed, desperate to get as much of Scorpius as possible inside him.

Al released his cock and gazed up at Scorpius. His face was very red, his eyes twisted closed. He wanted to kiss Scorpius deeply; instead he pushed his robes up even more and nuzzled his stomach, tasting the hair that trailed from his navel to his pubes.

When Scorpius stopped breathing heavily, he buttoned himself up and climbed to his feet. He didn’t look at Al.

“I need my payment.”

Al blinked. He cleared his throat and tried to wipe the drying semen from his chin. He Summoned the money bag he had prepared for Scorpius, and it came soaring out a cracked window.

Scorpius caught the bag and said softly, “Thank you.” He combed down his hair with his fingers and then spun and Disapparated.

“No goodbye?” Al said to the empty air.

A few days later Al was in a business meeting about the Arwyn takeover when he realized he was obsessed with Scorpius Malfoy. He hadn’t stopped thinking about the other man since their awkward parting, and he couldn’t stop glancing out the window or casting a Tempus charm and wondering what Scorpius was doing at that very moment. Was he with another client? Where did he live? Did he live alone or with roommates?

What did his bedroom look like? Did he ever think about Al?

Probably not. Al shook his head. For all he knew Scorpius could be married, or even have children, though surely he would’ve heard about it . . . but, then again, he’d thought gossip about Scorpius’ prostitution would’ve reached him way before last week.

He knew pretty much nothing about his old classmate, which frustrated him to no end. It made him want to hire a private investigator, to place a tracking charm on Scorpius, to borrow his father’s invisibility cloak and follow Scorpius through the streets until Al learned something about him. But even Al knew that was wrong. If he was serious about forming a relationship with Scorpius, which Al was still unsure about, then he had to go about it carefully, respectfully.

Then it occurred to him: He had to ask his father. While Al’s world was small, self-centered, his father’s was not. No doubt his father would be updated on the Malfoys. He was just that kind of a person.

Merlin. He really didn’t want to see his father.

He made a noise in his throat, which made his associates frown at him.

“All right, Al?” Ralph asked.

Al forced a smile. “Of course. Now, about what to do with Arwyn’s current staff, I don’t think it’s necessary to keep them employed through the holiday.”

“Why even keep them around for that long?” Isiah said. “If we fire them now, we will have enough time to find better stock before the Christmas rush.”

“I’m not sure if new hires can be trained that quickly,” Ralph said. There was some discussion about the training process, but Al wasn’t listening. Ralph was wearing dark blue robes that reminded Al of Scorpius on their first night together . . .

After the meeting, Al Floo’ed to his parents, vaguely hoping that his father was out. No such luck. His father was in the garden, working on fixing up an old broom. He was in a dirt-streaked shirt, and his jeans were torn at the ends.

“Hi, Father.”

He turned, and Al was looking at his own face, just twenty years older. People said they looked identical, but that wasn’t right. His father’s face was more open, gentler. He didn’t fight emotion like Al did. Comparatively, Al knew his face always looked like a dark cloud, strained, his eyes dishonest, jumpy, a little conceited.

“Al! It’s great to see you!” He pulled Al into a warm hug and Al did his best not to stiffen up, his chest tightening with what he guessed was hate.

His father was just so bloody perfect.

“It’s good to see you, too. I’ve come here to ask some questions.”

“Oh?” His father raised his eyebrows. “Have you had your tea? I haven’t.”

“No, please.” Al tried really hard not to sound so awkward, but he couldn’t help it. It was so hard to relax around his family. He didn’t understand any of them.

They went back inside to have their tea at the ancient table. His father had chosen to live and raise his children at Grimmauld Place, and Al knew every secret passage, every dark corner of the old Black house.

As a child the kitchen had been his favorite place. It was where his mum cooked for the family, where he could sneak tastes of desserts, where (when his father wasn’t obsessed with work) he could nab him for a game of chess or Hang the Hag. As an adult the kitchen looked dark, gloomy, old, and it made Al question why his father had chosen Grimmauld Place over sunlit luxury.

There were no house elves, so his father made the tea himself. He Summoned the necessary items, then tapped his wand against kettle to set it to boil. Their cups were like the house: chipped, secondhand, strangely ornate.

“Sugar and milk?” his father asked, even though he knew how Al took his tea. He probably didn’t want to come across as presumptuous. They both knew they weren’t close.

After they sipped some of their tea in awkward silence, his father grinned a little and said: “So, what are your questions?”

Al hesitated, unsure of how to precede. He didn’t want his father to know how much this subject meant to him. He didn’t want his father to think he was hiding anything.

“What do you know about the Malfoys?”

His father blinked at him. “The Malfoys?” He rubbed at his bristly chin. “Why are you interested in them?”

Al shrugged. “I’ve recently run into my old classmate, Scorpius Malfoy. He seemed to be . . . struggling.”

“I’m sure he is.” His father sighed. “What happened to the Malfoys is quite tragic, even if I’m the only one who thinks so.”

“The only one?”

His father shook his head. “Most people believe they got what they deserved.”

“I remember some of it. I remember that most people didn’t want to talk to Scorpius at Hogwarts.”

“Yes, and most didn’t want to hire his father, Draco Malfoy. I’m not sure how much you know about what happened before your birth, but the Malfoys were hit with incredible reparations. Their vaults were drained, their Manor possessed by the Ministry. Draco Malfoy and his parents were convicted of war crimes and sent to Azkaban.”

The tea churned in Al’s stomach. “Merlin,” he whispered.

“Yes, I tried to prevent Draco and his mother serving prison time, but I was just a kid and many top officials at the Ministry decided to simply ignore me.”

Al’s eyes widened. “But you’re Harry Potter! They should’ve immediately made you Minister of Magic.”

His father laughed. “At 18? I think not.”

“Why not? Everyone at the Ministry owed you their bloody lives.”

“How come you suddenly care about Scorpius Malfoy?”

Al gulped, and whirled his tea around in his cup. Would his father understand if Al told him the truth?

He gazed into his father’s tired eyes, and he realized he was dying to tell somebody about the feelings rushing inside him. Maybe his father wouldn’t entirely understand, but he also wouldn’t use the information to hurt Al. He was too much of a Gryffindor for that.

“That’s a good question,” he said, stalling, still not knowing what to do. He took another deep breath. “Did you know that Scorpius Malfoy is a prostitute?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

His father sighed loudly. “My department keeps tabs on all the sex workers in Britain. It’s for their own protection.”

“But . . . you’ve known and you haven’t done anything to help him?”

“What can I do?”

“I don’t know! Try to set him up with a job! Anything!”

His father looked genuinely confused. “Do you really think the Malfoys would take handouts?”

“They’re Slytherins! They’d do anything to survive!”

“They are also very proud, and I can’t imagine Draco Malfoy accepting a handout from Harry Potter.”

Al frowned. “That’s ridiculous!”

His father shrugged. “Sometimes it’s hard not to be childish around people you grew up around. This seems especially true for Malfoy and me because we had such a big childhood rivalry.”

“Yeah, we all know about that, but . . . I can’t imagine a Malfoy letting his child be a sex worker because of pride.”

“Maybe he doesn’t know.”

Al raised an eyebrow. “Please. He’s a Slytherin. Of course he knows.”

His father cocked his head. “You want to help Scorpius Malfoy.”

“Yes.” Al couldn’t meet his gaze.

“Hmm. Do you want to get him a job?”

Al thought about it for a moment. “Yes . . . but I want it to be something he would enjoy.”

His father knocked back the dregs of his tea. “Do you have any idea what kind of work he’d enjoy? I didn’t know you two were close.”

Feeling his cheeks warm, Al said, “We’re not. I just . . . care.” He peeked at his father and found his eyes very warm.

“I’m glad,” he said.

Al frowned. “Why?”

He shrugged. “Because I understand it . . . wanting to help others. So much of what drives you is a complete mystery to me.”

Good, Al thought. He smiled a little. “So . . . do you have any advice?”

“Think hard before you act.” He hesitated. “You probably shouldn’t tell Scorpius it was you who helped.”

Al laughed. “How Slytherin of you!”

His father grinned. “Yes, well the Sorting—”

“—wanted to put you in Slytherin. I already know. Everyone already knows.”

“Fine,” he said, looking a bit hurt. He sighed. “Then I will just repeat my original advice: Think hard before acting and do your best to not make it look like a handout.”

Al finished his tea too. He stood. “Thank you. You were very helpful.” His father remained in his chair, knowing that Al wasn’t a hugger. “I’ll be off.”

“It was good to see you,” his father said. “Hopefully you can come by again soon.”

“Yeah . . . maybe.” Al headed for the Floo.

His father called after him: “One more thing.”

He paused in the doorway. “Yes?”

“Don’t expect anything in return.”

Al looked at his father, and for once he couldn’t read his expression. “Of course not.”

His father just shook his head.

A few days later Al ran into Scorpius in public. Honest to Merlin, it hadn’t been his intention, but he definitely wasn’t going to waste the opportunity to learn more about Scorpius.

He’d been in a Quidditch shop in Diagon Alley. Ever since Scorpius’ sensual training session, Al had taken an interest in the sport, and he imagined himself mastering broom riding to impress Scorpius.

He was examining the newest brooms, their sleek shapes, glittering paint, meticulously clipped bristles. He stepped closer to the new Firebolt 5 when he spotted that familiar white-blond hair.

He wanted to hide, to crouch behind a display and just watch Scorpius being himself and not playing the role of a prostitute. But he didn’t do any of that. He walked right up to him.

“Hi,” Al said, grinning.

Scorpius turned, and Al couldn’t read his expression. His eyes were very guarded.

“Hello,” Scorpius said quietly.

Al rocked back on his heels. “I’m sorry if this in inappropriate.”

“It is.”

“Oh.” Al’s stomach dropped. “Okay. I will let you have your privacy.” He turned away.

“Hold on,” Scorpius said, and stepped closer. “It’s a free country. You don’t have to leave just because I’m here.”

Al couldn’t hide his smile. He only hoped that Scorpius didn’t think he was being condescending.

“I’m here because of you,” Al said. Scorpius frown, and he rushed on. “Your little training session made me curious about brooms. I want to give them another chance.”

“You certainly have enough Galleons to buy the best,” Scorpius said.

“I do.” Al paused. “Will you help me pick out one?”

Scorpius blinked in surprise. “Oh, I don’t know. I don’t think that would be very appropriate.”

“A friend can’t help me pick out a broom?”

Scorpius frowned again. “We’re not friends.”

“Why not? Don’t you want to be my friend?”

“It’s not about what I want. It’s about being appropriate.”

Al laughed. He couldn’t help it. Scorpius was being damn right adorable.

“My God, man! I thought you were a Slytherin, not a whinging Hufflepuff.”

“I’m not whinging!”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not!” Scorpius voice was too loud, and a few other customers looked over at them. Al looped his arm through his and guided him over to the Firebolt 5 display.

“Let me just get your opinion,” he said, not releasing Scorpius’ arm. “I’ve always been partial to Firebolts. I mean—of course I am—I’m Harry Potter’s kid, but what do you think about them?”

“I thought you hated brooms?”

“I do, but if I had to choose one, it’d be a Firebolt.”

“Hmm.” Scorpius paused for a long moment, debating something. “Honestly . . . you could do better.”

Al grinned. “How so? What do you recommend?”

“Another Timberus Loco is out. I think it’s the best broom around—no parts are imported, the wood is picked with the environment in mind, and the charms are just topnotch. In contrast, the people who make Firebolts have been cutting corners for years.”

“Would you say that most broom makers cut corners?”

Scorpius nodded. “Yeah . . . that’s why they are all just a touch cheaper than Timberus brooms. You get your money’s worth with Timberus, and the Loco is their fastest one.”

Al gulped. He didn’t know if he was looking for speed, but he wasn’t about to admit this to Scorpius.

They moved away from the display. The shop was crowded, and they were jostled by a stream of loud customers. Al put his hand on Scorpius’ shoulder and whispered in his ear: “Let’s go outside.” Scorpius nodded.

Outside the sun shined brightly again, which was a damn miracle for Britain. Al turned his face to the light, letting it warm his face. When he looked back at Scorpius, blinking against the orange spots, he found the other man staring at him.

Scorpius coughed elegantly into his hand. “You do know that I’m not working today?”

“I figured.” Al stepped forward, and his heart hammered as he said the next bit: “What if we just hang out?”

Scorpius frowned. “I’m busy.”

Al did his best not to flinch. “We don’t have to do anything special. I could just accompany you on your errands, or lounge in a chair as you get work done.”

Scorpius hesitated. He was looking at Al, but his face was an utter mask. “I don’t want to bore you.”

He moved even closer. “Please.” He was close enough that he saw Scorpius’ heartbeat thudding in his neck.

“I don’t know . . .”

“Please.” Al didn’t have a lot of experience begging, but he liked that he was doing it with Scorpius. He wanted Scorpius to know that he mattered to Al.

Scorpius inhaled noisily. He stepped back. “Okay. Fine. But don’t judge me.” He flinched and his eyes skidded away. Al didn’t know what to make of it. He wanted to say, Of course I won’t judge you, but he’d spent a lot of time judging Scorpius Malfoy.

“I promise,” Al said.

“Merlin.” Scorpius looked up at the sky, blinking against the sun. “I’m mad for doing this.”

“No, you’re not.”

Snorting, Scorpius strode down the street. Al hurried to keep up.

“Where are we going?”

“To my home.”

Al’s stomach lurched. “That’s good. Very good.” He’d been dying to see where Scorpius lived.

They weaved around a few shops and ended up in Knockturn Alley. Of course, Al thought.

“You live here?”

“Do you see any other wizarding communities letting us stay?”

Al shrugged. “No, I guess not.”

Knockturn Alley had only gotten worse in the last thirty years. Rubbish filled the gutters, the storefronts all peeling paint and cracked glass. There were a few people and creatures milling about, but they seemed to recognize Al and therefore hid their faces when he walked past.

They arrived at a grimy brick building with cloudy windows and rotting windowsills.

Scorpius took a deep breath. “Are you sure you want to come in?”

Al did have his doubts. He was afraid of what he would find. “Yes, I’m sure.”

The stairwell smelled like a dirty riverbank. The walls were sticky, the pattern falling away in strips. It was incredibly dark, but when they entered Scorpius’ flat, Al saw that his face was burning in shame.

Al forced himself to look away. He didn’t want Scorpius to be embarrassed. The lounge was small but cozy, with a threadbare sofa and a dented wireless. A mountain of newspaper covered most of the coffee table.

“Sorry—my father—” Scorpius flicked his wand and the newspaper folded up and fell into organized piles.

“You live with your father?”

Scorpius stared at his feet. “Yes.”

“Is he home?”

“No, he’s at work.” Scorpius’ voice was very quiet. “He’s usually at work.”

“I see.” Al wanted to wrap his arms around Scorpius, but he knew that would only make the situation worse. “Want to show me around?”

Scorpius flinched. “There’s not much to show.”

“Then show me your favorite place, your favorite things.”

“My favorite things?” He stared at Al, and his eyes were dark but hopeful.

“Yeah.” Al came closer, and he was desperate to kiss Scorpius.

Scorpius backed away. He crossed his arms, and the gesture made it look like he was hugging himself. “I guess my favorite place is the bookcase.”

“This one right here?” Al walked over to the small bookcase next to the wireless.

“Yeah.” Scorpius stayed where he was.

Al examined the books, and most of them were secondhand, their bindings frayed and coming apart. He ached. He wanted to buy Scorpius a whole library of books so new their covers shined. He read their titles, and realized most were about history.

“You love history.”

“Yes.”

Al’s heart thudded. He wanted to ask: Do you want a job in it? But he remembered what his father had said. He couldn’t be obvious, so instead he said: “Tell me more.”

Scorpius snorted. “There’s nothing more to tell. I once wanted to teach it . . . you know . . . be a history professor, then I realized that it was impossible. Nobody would want to be in a classroom with a Malfoy.”

“Did you try the continent?”

“Yes, but word gets around, you see.” He sighed. “Also, the field is highly competitive. You need to publish articles to even be considered for entry-level positions, and you need to have a published book if want to have a chance at something long-term.”

“Oh.” Al frowned. “So . . . do you have publications?”

“Sure! But only rubbish magazines would give my scholarship the time of day, so it’s not like those articles help me much.”

“Hmm.” Al’s mind was spinning. “Will you show me your room? If you have one, that is.”

Scorpius snorted. “Of course I have a room.” He moved to the cramped stairs. “It’s on the second level.”

They ascended the stairs, and Al did his best not to openly gape at the shabby carpet, the cracks in the walls, the floorboards that creaked so loudly that Al was sure that charms prevented them from falling straight through.

Scorpius’ room was small, but tidy. Countless books lined the walls, teetered on his bedside table; some were even stacked at the end of the bed where Scorpius’ feet would be.

“You really like to read,” Al said.

“Yes, but the books are mostly for my research.” Scorpius stood in a corner, looking very uncomfortable.

“What’s your research?”

Scorpius shook his head. “I don’t want to say.” The truth was that he was still trying to figure out a main topic to focus on.

“Why not. I promise I won’t judge you or anything.”

Again he shook his head. “No . . . not right now. Maybe some other time.”

Al pressed him to the wall. He was pretty sure they had the flat to themselves, and maybe Scorpius wouldn’t be so uneasy if they shagged. He gazed into Scorpius’ eyes, trying to read his expression, but Scorpius’s face was a mask again.

“Can I touch you?”

Scorpius nodded slightly.

Al’s hands roamed over his back, his stomach. God, he missed touching Scorpius. He sucked on his throat, loving that he made Scorpius squirm. He dropped to his knees.

Scorpius pulled him back up. “No.”

Al grinned. “Okay, then get on the bed.”

“No.”

Al was confused. Did he expect to be paid first? He reached inside his robes and threw all his Galleons on the bed. “Here. It’s all I have right now.”

Scorpius looked disgusted. “Why did you approach me in the shop? Why did you want to follow me around?”

“Because I was curious.” Al frowned. “I thought that was pretty clear.”

Scorpius’ chest was beating up and down. “You want too much! You want me to act like your boyfriend while you still treat me like a whore!”

“I don’t understand.” Al was quickly losing patience; he was doing everything in his power to help Scorpius, though he didn’t even want Al to suck his cock? “What about this situation is bad for you? I want to suck your cock and pay you for it.”

“God—you are the most selfish person I have ever met! I have no bloody idea how you are Harry Potter’s son!”

The blood drained from his face. “Pardon?”

Scorpius crossed his arms. “You heard me.”

Al’s hand twitched to his wand. “Don’t ever bring my father up again.”

Scorpius was all ice. “Don’t tell me what I can say in my own home.”

“Fine, but at least I’m not the son of a Death Eater.”

Scorpius punched him. Al stumbled back. He went for his wand but Scorpius’ was already pointed in his face.

“Get out,” Scorpius whispered.

Al rubbed at his jaw. “With pleasure.” He Disapparated.

When he arrived at home, he threw the nearest chair across the room. He charged at it, wanting to destroy it with his wand. Instead he slumped on the floor, his head in his hands, his jaw still aching.

What in the bloody fuck was wrong with Scorpius? He was ungrateful! How dare he say those things, reject him, when Al was doing so much for him? Al had given him enough galleons to buy a whole fucking library and all he’d wanted to do was pleasure Scorpius.

Oh, fuck. He shouldn’t have brought up the whole Death Eater business. He’d been hurt and lashed out, and now Scorpius would probably never even speak to him again.

Maybe he’s faking it . . . maybe he’s not attracted to me. Al shuddered. No, no. He couldn’t think that. He’d made Scorpius paint his face with come just by suggesting he’d suck his cock.

I’d also been milking his arse for a long fucking time . . . what bloke wouldn’t orgasm? Al threw his glasses aside and dug his knuckles into his eyes. Fuck, he was pathetic. He was obsessed with somebody who obviously didn’t give a shite about him.

The next couple of weeks Scorpius was in a terrible mood. He stuck to his room and said little around his father. When he was with clients he closed his eyes and thought of nothing. At night in bed he twisted his sheets in his hands, punched out his pillows, tore into his knuckles with his teeth.

He didn’t know what the hell was wrong with him. Nothing had changed. He was still Scorpius Malfoy, pathetic prostitute, amateur scholar, with no one to call a friend. Merlin, he hated everything.

One cold morning he went for coffee. He kept his head down and stayed in Muggle London. He couldn’t chance being in the magical world. He just might kill the next person to sneer at him and call him a filthy Malfoy.

He brought along a fiction book about a medieval time traveler. He had no desire to read historical scholarship at the moment. Other people’s successes taunted him.

In the shop he ordered a cappuccino and nabbed a seat by the window. He sipped his drink and watched the Muggles rush by. Sometimes he thought it’d be better if he became a Muggle. Turn his back on magic. Get a job selling . . . computers or toasters or those small talking things Muggles were always staring at. He bet he could shack up with an attractive Muggle . . . a bloke with black messy hair and bright, bright green eyes . . .

“Is there a Malfoy here?”

He blinked, not sure where the voice had come from. “Yes?”

A tiny man elbowed his way through the queue and stopped at his table. “Scorpius Malfoy?”

“Yes? What do you want?” He peered closer at the man and realized it was an elf that was disguised as a human with an atrocious beard glued to their face.

“I’ll got a letter for you, but first you need to confirm your date of birth.”

“The eleventh of November, two thousand and five.”

“Confirmed.” The elf handed him the letter, then looked around at the Muggles. “Dunno why you’re wasting your time here. Doesn’t even come close to the shop in Diagon Alley.”

“Thank you for your opinion.” Scorpius concentrated on opening the letter. The elf muttered something and left.

The letter was confusing. It was from Headmistress McGonagall and she wanted him to come to Hogwarts for a meeting. He frowned, rereading the short paragraph. She didn’t say why. He was quite suspicious.

He finished his coffee and went home, the letter nestled in his pocket. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to tell his father. He knew his father would be excited and he’d rather protect him from unnecessary disappointment.

At their flat his father was asleep on the sofa, his face lined with exhaustion. Scorpius felt guilty about avoiding him; he knew his father worked too damn much to be treated poorly. He also deserved to not be disturbed. Scorpius decided not to tell him about the letter. It was probably nothing anyway.

Instead he Summoned a blanket and gently draped it over his father. He closed the curtains and quietly left the room.

The next Monday Scorpius Apparated to Hogsmeade. It was another chilly morning, and he pulled his cloak tighter against him. He kept his head down. People here would recognize him and he didn’t want any trouble.

He understood why people hated his family. Really, he did. What he didn’t understand was their inability to keep their hatred to themselves, or their inability to accept that people changed, and who his father was at seventeen was not who he was as a forty-something.

The walk from Hogsmeade to Hogwarts was pleasant enough, but as he approached the castle gates, his heart sped up, his palms turning clammy. He hadn’t been back since his last day of seventh year, and Hogwarts held many bad memories for him. It was where he realized he had to fight the world alone.

Hagrid waited for him, enormous, grey, his hostile face puffy in the cold.

“Malfoy,” he said gruffly.

Scorpius nodded. “Professor.”

“Not a professor anymore. Retired now.” Hagrid opened the gates for him.

Scorpius followed him to the castle’s entrance. “How is retirement treating you?”

Hagrid shrugged. “It can be damn boring.”

“Yes, but you now have more time with your magical creatures.”

Hagrid brightened. “That’s true.”

They entered the castle and continued to the Headmistress’ office. Scorpius peered around, horrified that everything looked the same. He shivered. He was an entirely different person, but Hogwarts hadn’t changed at all.

They paused at the gargoyle. Scorpius considered asking Hagrid if he knew what the meeting was about, but then Hagrid whispered the password, his eyes shifty, suspicious. Scorpius sighed.

The statue jumped aside. He smiled and thanked Hagrid. He took the narrow stairs slowly, trying to ignore his nerves. It was only a conversation. She couldn’t hurt him. Unless . . . she knew about his prostitution, but why in the world would she involve herself in his personal matters?

He took a deep breath and knocked.

“Come in,” said a voice that he used to know very well. He entered and didn’t know how to take her expression. She sat at her desk with many papers spread out, and her deeply-lined face was open in surprise.

“My God,” she said. “You look exactly like your father.”

His stomach lurched. “Yes. That’s what people say.” His voice was gravelly. He coughed. “Thank you for meeting with me, Headmistress.”

“Yes, well . . .” She shook her head. “Please have a seat.”

He frowned. “What is it? Why did you pause?”

“Sit down and I will explain.”

He did as he was told.

She seemed unable to look at him. She fiddled with the papers on her desk. “It has recently come to my attention that you are a scholar of magical British history.”

He blinked. “I guess you can say that . . . I focus a lot on the continent as well.”

“And you don’t have any credentials.”

“That’s right.” He refused to think about where this conversation might go.

She sighed. “Professor Binns has been with us for a very long time.”

“Yes.” And his scholarship shows it.

“We are looking for someone to replace him.” Her expression was pained.

Don’t you fucking dare, he told himself. Not in a million years.

“That is probably a good thing,” he said carefully.

Her eyebrows rose. “You don’t like that Professor Binns is at Hogwarts?”

He thought hard about how to word it. “It’s just that the students . . . don’t like him very much.”

She snorted. “Students don’t like much of anything.”

“Yes, but it goes deeper than that. He doesn’t engage them. He doesn’t care about them.”

“You think Professor Binns doesn’t care about our students? I wasn’t aware that you knew his heart.”

Shite.

“I misspoke. I meant that he comes across as uncaring. His scholarship is also . . . outdated.”

“Outdated?” She leaned forward. “What do you mean?”

“If you look at his notes . . . all of his recent publications still only draw from secondary sources that are twenty, thirty, forty years old.”

“I see.” Again she focused on the paper on her desk. “I did notice that you take different positions than him.”

He blinked again. “Are those my school essays?”

“Some. I also have copies of the work you published overseas.”

“No one in Britain would publish me.”

“Yes, I discovered that when I went looking for your past work.” She unrolled some parchment and read it over. “Forgive me if I’m dragging this out, but I’m still quite undecided.”

“About what?” His heart hammered.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

He gulped thickly and whispered, “You want me to take over for Binns?”

“Perhaps.” She eyed him speculatively. “He still thinks he has another year or two in him, so I thought it would be best if you spent that time assisting him. Like you said, his ways are quite outdated, and he’s beginning to struggle in his lessons.”

“Bloody hell,” he muttered to himself, utterly shocked. He just couldn’t believe it. “Where did this come from? I had no idea you knew about my work.”

She smiled a little. “I remembered you from your time at Hogwarts.”

“But . . . why me? I’m sure tons of past students would want to teach history here.”

“Are you suggesting I should pick someone else?”

“No! Of course not!” He worried his lip. “It just all seems so . . . sudden.”

“Let me give you some advice, Mr Malfoy: Accept your good luck without asking too many questions.”

“Right.” He stared down at his hands, his mind whirling. “So what happens now?”

She stood. “Let’s go find Professor Binns and tell him the good news.”

He snorted but got to his feet as well. “Something tells me he won’t see it as good.”

“What do you expect? Your arrival signals his literal end.”

They left her office and trailed down the staircase. “I’m not sure I know what you mean,” he said.

“He’s disappearing,” she said over her shoulder.

He stared at her white-streaked bun, not fully understanding. “I thought ghosts choose when they want to cross over.”

“Usually but sometimes it’s a gradual process. You’ll see.”

They crossed the ground floor, weaving around bundles of students. He expected them to stare at him, but they seemed to not even recognize him. That’s promising, he thought.

The staff room was empty except for a ghostly figure reading by the fire. Binns gave the impression that he was sitting in one of the mismatched chairs, but he really just floated, a ghostly book open in his lap.

“Cuthbert,” McGonagall said.

He inclined his head. “Headmistress.” He saw Scorpius standing beside her and seemed to understand the situation right away. He glowered. “I said in a few years, Minerva. Not tomorrow.”

Except Scorpius wasn’t sure if he’d last a few years. His outline was more wispy than usual, and parts of his head had disappeared altogether.

“I know, but I thought Mr Malfoy could assist you until . . . your time.”

Binns scoffed. “He’s but a child. What could he possibly know about our great history?”

Scorpius was offended. “You’d be surprised. For example, I can’t believe you’re still quoting Marton. His work on the werewolf revolts is just plain wrong.”

“Which revolts? There have been hundreds.”

“Very good, sir.” Scorpius smiled. “Thank you for forcing me to be specific. It’s the first thing a student learns about crafting historical arguments.”

Binns squared his shoulders. “A first year knows how to make a historical argument. What a professor needs to know is . . . quite different.”

“Yes, I’m sure.” Scorpius forced himself to still smile pleasantly. He decided to be a little confident. “I look forward to working with you, sir.”

Binns looked very unhappy about this. “We shall see.”

McGonagall clapped her hands together. “Let me show you where you’ll reside.”

In the corridor Scorpius slowed his steps, still confused, still afraid to truly believe this was reality. “Have you spoken to the Governing Board about my hire?”

“Of course.” McGonagall didn’t look at him.

“And they agreed?”

“Yes,” she said stiffly. They arrived at a portrait of a fiery dragon. “Barbeque,” she said. The dragon nodded and the hidden door popped open.

She opened the dusty curtains with her wand. “I’m sorry your quarters will be on the first level. Unfortunately space is quite limited here.”

He peered around. Everything was a lot nicer than he was used to. There was a bookcase filled with ancient leather bounds. “Wow,” he said, recognizing some of the rare titles.

“Of course the books are property of Hogwarts. Please treat them with respect.” She Vanished the dust on the end tables, the fireplace mantle. “All of this will be thoroughly cleaned before you move in.”

“Thank you,” he said, still not believing. It’d be nice to live here, but surely she would find a more qualified candidate?

“Shall we go back to my office and talk salary? Are you hungry? I will have lunch sent up.”

He looked at her. “What is really going on here? I know all of this isn’t happening because of my good luck.”

She smiled vaguely. “Do you want this job? Yes? Then stop asking questions.” He opened his mouth but she shushed him. “We would like you to start in two weeks. Can you do that?”

He sighed. “Yes, I believe so.” He gulped and followed her back into the corridor, not allowing himself to glance back.

It only hit him that his new job at Hogwarts was the real thing when he stood in his new rooms with his father. They were surrounded by the few boxes and suitcases that contained his possessions. The elves had prepared for his arrival and their tea waited for them on the table in the small seating area.

“Wow,” his father said, peering around. “I thought I’d never see this place again. Now my son works here.” He beamed at Scorpius.

“Yeah . . .” Scorpius tried to hide his blush. He went to the bookcase. “This is my favorite thing in here.”

“Of course it is.” His father smiled fondly and squinted at the titles. “I vaguely recognize only a few of these.”

He laughed. “That’s because you need glasses.”

“My sight is perfect, thank you very much.” His father squared his shoulders and went to the window to peer out. “There has to be silencing charms on your rooms, or else you’ll constantly hear all the students’ chatter.”

Scorpius joined him at the window. It was true. A popular path to the greenhouses was right outside. A couple of Slytherin students approached at that moment, their green and silver hats flashing in the morning light. “We’re about to find out.”

They strolled past and it was weird seeing their mouths move but hearing no sound.

“They look like fish,” his father said.

“Like down in the Slytherin common room.” They grinned at each other.

“Do you think you’ll become Head of House?”

Scorpius grimaced. “If I do, it will be years and years from now.”

“You’d be surprised. Snape was younger than you when he became Head.”

“He also devoted his entire adult life to bringing down the Dark Lord and was ridiculously talented.”

His father blinked at him. “You’re ridiculously talented, too.”

“No, I’m not. At best I’m moderately talented.”

“I don’t think so.”

Scorpius rolled his eyes. “Of course. You’re my father.”

“McGonagall doesn’t think so. She hired you, didn’t she?”

He didn’t respond. He didn’t like thinking about why he’d been hired. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew something other than his work published in a few mediocre publications got him the job, but he was afraid to know exactly what.

His father watched his face. “What is it?”

He forced a smile. “Nothing at all. Let’s have our tea before the charms wear off.”

His father grabbed his shoulders and stared into his eyes. “Scorpius . . . I know you did some . . . difficult things to help us get by, and I just hope you understand that you are better than what you did in the past.”

Scorpius blinked. Was his father implying that he knew about his prostitution? He shouldered out of his father’s grasp.

“I know,” he said, and sat down to pour their tea. He didn’t want to discuss this with his father. He never wanted to know what his father understood about his previous line of work.

Sighing, his father joined him on the sofa. He touched Scorpius’ arm lightly.

“You are the best person I have ever met,” his father whispered.

Scorpius gulped. “Thank you. How much sugar do you want in your tea?”

He smiled. “You know me. Too much.”

It was later that night, when he was dozing in his new bed, that his eyes snapped open. McGonagall didn’t have a clue about his prostitution and if the Governing Board ever found out . . .

He jumped out of bed to pace his bedroom. Shite. In the lead up to moving here, he hadn’t allowed himself to think about his past employment interfering with his new job, but now it was impossible to ignore.

She had to know, right? He thought about who was on the Governing Board. He knew he had interacted with a few of them while working as an escort. People knew Scorpius Malfoy had become a prostitute even if no one talked about it in polite company.

But if the information ever reached the public . . . there would be an outcry for his dismissal. It’d felt great to tell Ophelia where to stick her wand, but now he knew she wouldn’t hesitate to sell information about his prostitution to the Prophet.

He dropped into a chair, cradling his head. Why would the board take that chance? Why would McGonagall take that chance? There were tons of other qualified candidates who had never been a prostitute. So then why him?

Someone must’ve pulled some strings to get him hired. That was the only possibility, wasn’t it? And the only person with that much clout was . . .

Harry Potter.

Al must have told his father about Scorpius’ predicament. He imagined the old hero furiously writing to the board, his teeth gritted in anger, and Al watching dully from a chair, twirling his wand.

“Scorpius Malfoy does not deserve to shoulder his father’s mistakes!” he’d yell.

And Al would shrug. “I suppose.”

Merlin. Scorpius laughed. It sure took Harry Potter long enough to do something about the discrimination they faced. There’d been times, when his father hadn’t made enough to pay the rent and feed them, that Scorpius had been convinced Potter would swoop down to save them . . . give his father a job . . . advocate for better anti-discriminatory laws . . . but he never did. He’d remained silent as Scorpius and his father struggled financially and emotionally, as his youngest son turned into a money-hungry bastard.

Scorpius punched the arm of the chair. Fuck Albus Potter. Fuck him, fuck him, fuck him. He hated Albus. He hated his pale face, his glittering eyes, his smirking mouth. That mouth had been wrapped around his cock. Merlin. Merlin.

He’d had so many men inside him, but somehow it was Albus who stayed with him. He knew why. He just didn’t want to think about it.

He took a deep breath. He crawled back in bed and lay with his eyes open. There was nothing he could do. He’d be a fool to warn McGonagall about the consequences of his employment now. He would just accept whatever happened.

There were no introductions. No orientation. No training. On Monday morning Scorpius just appeared in the staff room, and the other professors blinked at him.

“Scorpius Malfoy?” said old Flitwick.

He gulped down his fear, his annoyance, and smiled. “Yes. I’m Professor Binns’ new assistant.”

“Finally,” said Darworth, the potions professor.

A man with turquoise hair shook his hand. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Scorpius frowned at him. “You look familiar but I can’t place you.”

The man chuckled. “I’m Teddy Lupin. We’re related.”

“You’re Harry Potter’s godson.” Did he also get you this job?

“Yes, and I’m also the Defense against the Dark Arts professor.”

“Are you enjoying it?”

Lupin shrugged. “Most days.” He grinned. “Have you eaten? I was just headed to the Great Hall.”

Scorpius gulped again. “Lead the way.” He didn’t look around as they strolled down the corridor to the Great Hall, the roar of talking children getting louder and louder.

He didn’t get a moment to prepare himself before he was in the Great Hall, surrounded by all those students, the long faculty table waiting for him.

“Weird to be back, isn’t it?” Lupin said as they took their seats at the table.

“Yes,” he answered quietly. He peered around at the students, wondering if any of them were staring. None of them seemed to care that he was sitting there.

“The elves make the best fry up, I’m telling you,” Lupin said.

“Brilliant.” Scorpius eyed the sausage and fried tomato. He was too nervous to eat. Instead he poured himself some coffee and made sure his expression was pleasant.

“Are you married?” asked Lupin.

“No.”

“Yeah, no ring either.” Lupin held up his hand. “Though I’m working on it. I want to propose to my girlfriend this summer.”

Scorpius thought hard about it. Somehow he knew who Lupin was talking about. “You’re in a relationship with a Weasley, aren’t you?”

He grinned. “Yep. Victoire.”

“Right.” His stomach fell. “Bill Weasley’s daughter.” Her father was deformed because Scorpius’ father had led Death Eaters into Hogwarts.

Lupin watched him. “The war still hangs over us all, doesn’t it?”

Scorpius nodded. “Yes, definitely.”

“The kids now are so far removed from it. It’s a struggle to get them to understand what it was like.”

Scorpius raised his eyebrows. “And we do?”

“We might not have been personally involved, but both of our lives have been marred by the war.”

He couldn’t read Lupin’s face. “Yes, you’re right.” There was a slight pause. “It’s great then that you talk to students about it.”

“Yes, and it will be very important for you to teach the war truthfully when you take over for Binns.”

What’s the truth? Scorpius wanted to say, but he knew that was too risky to say on his first day. Instead he smiled again and said, “Yes, of course.”

When breakfast was over, Scorpius said goodbye to Lupin and made his way to the History of Magic classroom. Binns didn’t acknowledge him when he entered, so Scorpius took a seat in the back, not wanting to do anything to rock the boat. The man was disappearing, for Merlin’s sake.

He remembered hating his history lessons during school, but what transpired over the next hour was damn right frustrating. He saw how bored the students were, how un-invested they were. They wrote down notes and pretended to listen, but very few of them were actually learning anything.

Which was a travesty because Binns was discussing the secrecy debates of 1893 when the Ministry nearly voted to stop hiding magic from Muggles. This stuff was important.

He took out some parchment to take notes. He could do so much better.

After class he lingered as the students filed out, wondering if Binns would address him then. Without looking at him, Binns collected his ghostly lecture notes and exited through a wall.

Okay. So he wouldn’t be getting help from Binns any time soon. He left the classroom as well and ventured to the library.

It was a shock to be among the ancient book stacks again. He avoided the spots he favored as a student and took up a reading table that was designated for faculty. In his lecture Binns had focused solely on the conservative viewpoints concerning the secrecy debate, and Scorpius knew that his argument was faulty because of it. He grimaced. Most students didn’t understand that History lessons were nothing but argument-making and story-telling, and usually took everything the professor said as utter fact.

Prowling along the shelves, he found some books that he thought would be helpful, but he also realized how limiting Hogwarts’ collection actually was, which was another shock. As a student he’d thought no book collection could surpass the Hogwarts library. He would have to mail-order some titles that were more recent. A thrill ran through him. He could actually afford books now because he was earning a salary.

He was roaming down an aisle in the back, swiftly reading each dusty title, when he stopped. He’d forgotten this shelf had a gap perfectly at eye-level. He blinked. He’d once spied on Albus with a girl through this gap. They’d been wrestling, the girl laughing quietly, then moaning when Albus got a hand in her knickers. Scorpius had watched the whole thing. They’d been in the library so they didn’t go that far, but Scorpius remembered being breathless and intrigued. Albus had thrust a little as his fingers moved inside the girl, and it’d made Scorpius wonder.

Merlin. He’d forgotten all about that. What a thing to forget. He’d been obsessed with Albus after seeing that, unable to think about anything else in the following weeks, and then somehow the memory had just slipped away . . .

He moved away from the shelf, unable to be in that spot any longer. Being back at Hogwarts, he knew he would be bombarded by memories of Albus. He had done everything in his power to suppress it. He didn’t want to remember that he wanted Albus Potter.

Fuck. Fuck. He returned to the table and hastily spelled the books back to their shelves. He needed to be alone.

He rushed to his rooms and was relieved when he easily found them. The dragon eyed him darkly, but he whispered “Barbeque” and was admitted nevertheless. Tea waited for him on the table. Bless those elves.

He fell back on the sofa, exhaling loudly. He missed his father. There he admitted it. Scorpius worried about him. He wanted his father next to him so they could enjoy their tea together. Scorpius would never tell him what was truly bothering him, but his father would know that he was sad and would comfort him without looking for an explanation.

Ugh. It was moments like this that Scorpius thought about Obliviating himself. Albus would still be with him, but Scorpius wouldn’t remember them shagging. Maybe he could just drink a potion . . .

He went to his bed and laid down, his feet dangling off the side so his shoes didn’t dirty up the bedding. He stared without seeing. He missed his father, but he also missed Albus. Al. He didn’t know when he started calling Potter by his first name in his thoughts, but there was nothing he could do about it now.

If things were different . . . if they weren’t Scorpius Malfoy and Albus Potter . . . if he hadn’t been the prostitute who showed up at his house one night . . . Scorpius would’ve thrown himself at Albus. He would’ve done everything in his power to be with him, to make love to him, to kiss his mouth and whisper in his ear.

God. He was horny. He was overwhelmed. He just wanted to shag somebody to get his mind off things. He considered going to a Muggle club to pull, but he knew it wouldn’t be enough. He wanted to shag Albus. He wanted to choke Albus with his cock as payback for their first night together. He wanted to eat his arse out, make him squeal, make him beg to be filled. He wanted—

Sod it. Sod everything. He stuffed his hand into his pants to stroke himself. He moaned. This was what he needed. It didn’t mean anything. There were no consequences if Albus never found out.

He fucked into his fist, dragging his other hand up and down his chest, trying to remember what Albus’ body had felt like. He wished Albus was with him, tugging him, leaning over him, his beautiful eyes eating him up.

He remembered what Albus had said that first night: Scorp. Oh, Scorp.

“Yes,” Scorpius whispered, his eyes twisted closed.

You want this, don’t you?

“Yes!”

You want me, don’t you?

“Yes! For so long . . . so long . . .”

He imagined Albus kissing him softly, his breath oh so warm, and he was coming, his bollocks so very tight, his mouth falling open. Merlin, he wanted Albus. He’d always wanted him. But now everything was ruined. He only knew Scorpius as a prostitute, as somebody he could use and then discard.

If only Albus was more like his father . . . he would’ve been kind to Scorpius at school. He would have valued him. They would’ve been fast friends . . . best friends . . . and Harry Potter would’ve never had to take pity on Scorpius to get him this job.

Scorpius was crying, and he didn’t stop himself. He pressed his face into his pillow, and sobbed. He had no idea what he was doing here. He was absolutely out of his league. He was an imposter, and his mere presence was going to tarnish Hogwarts forever.

He was such a bloody fool.

A few weeks later Binns disappeared.

Scorpius was in the library, furiously copying down notes before he had to be in class, when Lupin rushed to him.

“It’s Binns . . . he’s gone,” Lupin gasped.

“What?” Scorpius blinked, not understanding.

“He’s gone! We’ve looked everywhere for him, but the other ghosts swear that he’s crossed over.”

Scorpius stood, a few books toppling to the floor. He checked the time. “Class starts in ten minutes.”

Lupin’s face split into a grin. “I guess that means you have ten minutes to prepare a lesson!”

“What—I couldn’t possibly—”

Lupin grabbed all his notes and pushed him toward the door. “You’re an intelligent bloke! You have things to teach them!”

“But I’m not prepared! If I fail McGonagall might fire me—”

“Bollocks! Stop doubting yourself!” Lupin handed him his notes in the corridor. Scorpius hesitated, not really knowing what to do. Lupin pointed beyond them. “Go.”

Scorpius rushed blindly to the classroom. A few students were already there. He paused in the doorway, panting. They looked over their shoulders at him.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, and made his way to the front. He set his notes on the table and looked up at the class. Merlin. He was already nervous, and the lesson hadn’t even started yet.

The closest student was staring at him, her eyes hard, cold, unforgiving. She probably knew he’d been a prostitute. Maybe all the students knew, and he’d just been too blind to notice . . .

He blinked. No, she didn’t know. There was no way. And her eyes weren’t cold, they were just bored. She didn’t want to be there. It had nothing to do with him.

The class slowly streamed in, the students gazing at him with interest. He searched his memory. He was pretty sure they were third years. He flipped through his notes. They were learning about the fourteenth century goblin uprisings. Right. That was with Norfolk the Nosey. He could do this.

When everyone was seated, he cleared his throat. He refused to let his voice shake.

A boy in the back raised his hand.

“Yes?”

“We’ve heard something has happened to Professor Binns.”

Scorpius smoothed out his robes. “Yes, that’s correct. I’m sad to report that Professor Binns is no longer with us. He has passed on.”

There was a brief moment of silent shock, the students gaping at him, then the boy who asked the question whooped loudly. The class erupted in cheers.

“Brilliant!”

“I can’t believe it! I’m so happy!”

“No more boring lessons!”

“No more History!”

“Everyone, settle down.” Scorpius glared a little. “Of course there will be class. I’m standing here, aren’t I?”

“Are you going to be our professor now?” asked another boy.

“Everyone will raise their hand before speaking,” Scorpius said.

The boy raised his hand, and Scorpius called on him.

“Will you be teaching us permanently, Professor?”

Scorpius straightened his back. “Yes, I will.”

There were a few mutters and giggles. Scorpius didn’t flinch.

“You’re mistaken if you think Professor Binns’ passing means you will get a holiday. Everyone take out your notes. I have a story to tell you about a goblin with a very big nose and a thirst for revenge . . .”

It took a few minutes for Scorpius to relax, and though his voice quivered a little, he didn’t think the kids noticed. The lesson was over in a flash, and he was sad to have to end it so soon. He was collecting his notes, feeling quite proud of himself, when a group of students approached him.

“That was great, Professor!”

“Yeah, really brilliant.”

“I had no idea History of Magic could be fun!”

“Was everything you said really true? I can’t believe the Ministry never caught Norfolk.”

“Keep in mind it wasn’t the Ministry back then. Britain was a lot less organized in the fourteenth century,” Scorpius said.

The students followed him from the class, which made him a bit uneasy.

“Don’t you lot have other classes right now?” he asked.

They all grinned. “Nope. We wanted you to tell us more about Norfolk.”

“Yeah . . . do you know when he died?”

Scorpius shook his head. “I’m very busy. Maybe we can talk about it next class.”

The students all groaned.

“There’s tons of literature on him in the library. You could always look him up.”

The students grimaced at each other.

“No . . . that’s all right,” said one of them.

“See you around, Prof!”

Prof? He snorted and headed for his rooms. It was childish of him, but he wanted to Floo his father and tell him all about his first lesson.

He was almost at the dragon portrait when someone yanked him into some sort of cupboard.

Scorpius gasped. Albus stood in front of him, grinning sheepishly.

“Let go of me!”

“Okay.” Albus released him.

Scorpius was shaking. This day was filled with too many fucking surprises.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you.”

“How did you know I was here?”

Albus laughed nervously. “I heard.”

Scorpius squinted. “From whom?”

“No one in particular.”

Scorpius straightened his back. “I’m sorry, but I don’t want to see you.” He thought he was telling the truth, but his stomach clenched when Albus’ face fell.

“Oh.” Albus took a deep breath. “Look . . . I wanted to apologize for what I said to you last time.”

“I barely remember what you said.” Which was true. So much had happened since then that Scorpius remembered how Albus had made him feel instead of his exact words.

Albus’ expression struggled with something. He laughed again. “Well, if you don’t remember, then I’m definitely not going to remind you. Just know that I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” Scorpius said stiffly. He went to leave, but Albus grabbed his arm.

“Wait.”

“Please let go of me.”

“I will . . . in a moment. Please. Let’s just talk.”

Scorpius gritted his teeth. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

Albus flinched. “Isn’t there? Didn’t you . . . miss me?” His voice was almost a whisper.

It was too bloody hot in here, and everything smelled like cleaning spells. Scorpius couldn’t breathe.

“I can’t think right now,” Scorpius said.

Albus inched closer, his lips almost grazing Scorpius’. “Please . . . I won’t take up too much of your time.”

Scorpius yanked away from him. He was panicking, but he didn’t really know why. He couldn’t stop thinking about Albus, but facing him now made his skin crawl and his chest tighten up.

He had to get away.

He dashed from the cupboard, the corridor’s cool air so very nice on his hot cheeks. He didn’t know where he was headed. He ran upstairs, skidded around corners, forcing himself to slow down when he approached students.

He found himself in a tower. He cast the strongest locking spell he knew on the door.

It was windy up here, but he didn’t mind. He clutched at the rampart, the stone rough against his fingers.

Merlin. He really, really hoped this wasn’t the Astronomy Tower.

For a good twenty minutes he leaned against the stony wall, letting the wind blow through his hair, his eyes closed against the calming cold.

Then he heard cursing, maybe some yelling. He opened his eyes, thinking Albus was trying to get through his locking spell, but no—

The sound was coming from below. He leaned over the edge.

Bloody hell. Albus was approaching on a broom. He was flying by himself, and as he closed in, Scorpius saw how his face was white in fear.

“Had to b-be the tower, didn’t it?” Albus said.

Scorpius couldn’t help it: He grinned. “It’s the best.” He helped Albus swing off the broom.

Albus fell into his arms, trembling. His face was sweaty, his eyes a bit crazed.

“You nutter,” Scorpius said, and straightened Albus’ glasses.

“Can I kiss you now?”

“I guess you earned it.”

“I Conjured up some flowers but they fell—”

Scorpius kissed him, and they both moaned deeply. Merlin. Albus was a damn lunatic, but oh he could snog.

Albus wrapped his arms around Scorpius, bringing their chests together. His mouth was intoxicating; his tongue swiped against Scorpius’ lips, asking for access, and Scorpius moaned again and opened his mouth.

Merlin. Merlin. Scorpius began to shake. This was what he feared. He didn’t want to lose control; he didn’t want to trust Albus. He wanted to run away and hide, and never, ever be vulnerable with another person.

Scorpius pulled away, gasping. “Did you know I was here because of your father?”

Frowning, Albus said, “What the hell are you on about?”

“Your father. Did he tell you he got me this job?”

Albus’s face was pure rage. “My father didn’t get you this job!”

“Nobody else has that kind of influence.”

“I have that kind of influence!”

Scorpius paused. “It was you?” His voice was very quiet.

Albus smacked his forehead. “Merlin’s beard. Yes, it was me.”

“But why? I never thought you’d care enough to do something like that for me.”

Albus was sputtering. “You don’t think I care about you?”

“You don’t care about anyone but yourself.”

“That’s not true! That’s not fucking true!”

“Then why did you reject me at school? I was desperate to be your friend. I wanted it so badly. You knew that!” Scorpius voice was high, his cheeks hot. He knew he was ridiculous for bringing this up, but he couldn’t help it. It still mattered to him.

“Because I was a dunderhead. Because I was scared. Because I wanted you even then. Don’t fucking look at me like that. I swear I did!”

Scorpius was trembling even more. “You wanted me? Ha! Ridiculous! I think shagging me has made you forget what it really was like at school between us.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” he said quietly.

“So you remember always walking past me without looking at me? You remember how everyone always moved seats if I sat too close in the common room? Don’t you remember Potions in sixth year? We were partners and you acted like I was fucking invisible!”

Scorpius took a deep breath and then continued: “If you don’t remember any of that, then you have to remember first year!” Albus frowned. “We were friends that first week. You actually talked to me. You actually cared about me, and then something happened and suddenly I didn’t fucking exist to you.”

Albus tried to come closer but Scorpius backed away. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I was an arse. I was a terrible person. I should’ve been by your side. I wanted to be. I think even then I loved you.”

“Don’t say that!”

“What? That I love you? I do, Scorp.”

Scorpius laughed, and it was very cruel. “Just because you like sticking your cock in my arse doesn’t mean you love me.”

“It’s more than that.”

“You are a liar!”

“I’m not. I promise I’m not.” Albus’ face was so fucking earnest.

“You can’t tell me that you were secretly doodling my name in the corners of your homework.”

“No, I wasn’t. It was only recently that I started understanding my feelings for you.”

Scorpius laughed again. “It was only recently that you found out what my arse feels like.”

“Stop trying to simplify everything!” Albus moved closer, and he didn’t stop even when Scorpius cringed away. They ended up pressed against the wall. “I know I’m utter shite at understanding my emotions. I know I can be a total prat. But I also know that I love you. The only thing that should matter is if you love me, too.”

Scorpius adverted his face. “I don’t.”

“Are you sure?”

“No!” His gaze widened. “I mean—”

Al kissed him, and Scorpius just melted.

“What do you want? Albus murmured. “Please tell me.”

“I want to fuck you,” Scorpius said, and Albus froze up. It was a strange thing to see, especially since Albus was usually filled with so much bravado.

“That—I would like that,” Albus said.

“Are you sure?”

Albus nodded. “Yes . . . it’s just been a long time.”

Scorpius frowned, not liking the idea that Albus had been fucked by some other bloke. He wanted to know who, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask.

He took Albus’ hand. “Let’s go back to my rooms.”

“Brilliant,” Albus said, grinning widely.

They made their way back to the ground level, and it was slow-going because Scorpius stopped every time he thought he heard students.

“Why does it matter if they see us?” Albus said.

Scorpius shook his head. “The students already want to follow me around. They don’t need to know everything about me.”

When they arrived at the dragon painting, Scorpius whispered the password and Albus laughed.

“Barbeque?” he said.

Scorpius shrugged, and held open the door for him. “I didn’t come up with it.”

Inside his rooms Albus hovered by the doorway awkwardly. Scorpius hung up his robes and cleaned up the remains of his breakfast.

“Where’s the bedroom?” Albus’ voice was rough.

Scorpius gulped and pointed wordlessly to the opposite door. Albus came closer to hold his hand. They hesitated, not looking at each other.

“We don’t have to do it,” Scorpius said.

Albus rolled his eyes. “I want to . . . I’m just . . . nervous, I guess.”

“Yeah.” Scorpius laughed. “It doesn’t make sense . . . we’ve already shagged loads of times.”

“But it’s different this time.”

Scorpius bit his lip. “Yes, it is.”

Albus pulled him to the bedroom. Luckily his bed was made, but underpants and balls of socks littered the floor. Scorpius blushed.

“I would’ve cleaned up if I had known . . .”

“Merlin.” Albus pushed him onto the bed and crawled into his lap. “I don’t care what your bedroom looks like.”

“You used to care.”

“It was only because I was shocked.”

Scorpius scrutinized him. “That I was so poor?”

“That you were so resilient.”

Scorpius snorted.

Albus kissed his chin, then his cheek. “I’m serious.”

“I know.” Scorpius was grinning. He held Albus’ hips and grinded into him. “Feel that?”

“Yes.” Albus threw his head back, a little breathless. “Your pretty cock.”

“Pretty?”

“Yes.” Albus helped him shoulder off his shirt and vest top. He tongued Scorpius’ nipples.

“Fuck.” Scorpius squirmed. He flipped them over so that Albus was on his back. He kissed Albus, and their tongues slid together hotly.

“Evanesco the rest of our clothes,” Albus said against his mouth. “I’m tired of waiting.”

“Hmm.” Scorpius patted around for his wand. When he found it, he Vanished only Albus’ clothes. Then his mouth was on Albus’ cock, sucking him deep into his mouth.

Albus fell back against the pillows, moaning. He tasted a bit sweaty, but Scorpius didn’t care. He loved it.

“Oh, Scorp,” Albus groaned.

Scorpius’ mind whirled. He made a noise in his throat and rolled Albus onto his stomach. He tongued and sucked his hole. He thought: I’m tasting Albus Potter’ arse.

“Fuck.” Albus dropped his head to the bed. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Shag me.”

Scorpius laughed; he loved seeing Albus like this: defenseless, desperate, begging for it. He muttered a lube spell and penetrated Albus with a finger carefully. Albus hissed.

“All right?” Scorpius said.

“Yeah . . . it’s just been a while.”

Scorpius moved his finger in and out, and Albus was so warm, so tight. Scorpius’ cock ached at the thought of being inside him. He added a second finger, and Albus panted and clutched at the bedding.

“Still all right?”

“Just—” Albus pushed back on his fingers, gasping. Sweat formed on his back. “I want your prick.”

“But you’re not ready—”

“I don’t care. I deserve the pain.”

Scorpius hesitated. He gulped. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

He pushed down his trousers and pants with trembling hands. He stroked himself a bit, and his cock was hot, so very stiff. He muttered another lube spell and slowly pushed into Albus. His breath left him. Fuck. Albus was too fucking tight.

Albus tensed up.

“Is it too much?” Scorpius panted, struggling to remain still.

“N-no.”

“God.” Scorpius rested his forehead on Albus’ shoulder. “I have to move.”

“Slow . . . fuck . . .”

“Yes.” He thrust in and out, his teeth gritted, his hips trembling. “Faster—I need—”

Albus curled his hands into the pillows. “Do it.”

Scorpius held him down and ploughed into him, slowly at first, then picking up speed. He whimpered, and he felt his heartbeat everywhere except his chest: in his ears and fingertips, and his bollocks were growing tight, so fucking tight.

“Touch yourself . . . I’m not going to—”

“Come for me,” Albus panted. “Fill my arse.”

Scorpius moaned loudly, his hips jerking. His eyes fluttered closed, everything around him dissolving. All he knew was the suction of Albus’ arse, so warm, so velvety. Merlin. He couldn’t handle it. He was inside Albus Potter, and he was going to fill him up until he couldn’t take anymore—

Scorpius was coming, desperate moans escaping him, his fingernails biting into Albus’ hips. He saw Albus’ green eyes, his smirking mouth. He saw Albus at eleven, fourteen. He saw him lounging in the Slytherin common room like royalty, then in that leather chair their first night together, his voice oh so low as he said: “Kneel.”

“Fuck, oh fuck,” Albus whimpered, and Scorpius wanted him to feel his come inside his arse.

Breathing hard, he collapsed against Albus. He thought he’d be exhausted, but he wasn’t. He carefully pulled out and eased Albus on his back again. Then his mouth was on Albus, sucking hard, wanting to make him come so quickly that he screamed.

“Scorpius!”

He massaged Albus’ bollocks, urging him to the edge, and Albus spurted in his mouth, moaning, his whole body shaking through his orgasm.

Scorpius came up, smacking his lips, hoping his smirk looked triumphant. Albus’ eyes were barely open.

“Decent?”

“Fuck,” Albus muttered sleepily. “You’re brilliant.” He tugged Scorpius into his arms, and they lay quietly, trying to catch their breath.

“I’m afraid McGonagall’s going to sack me,” Scorpius said after a few minutes.

Albus chuckled. “She would never do that.”

“Why?”

“Because I donated way too much money to the school. She’d be mad to do anything to jeopardize our deal.”

“It’s not very fair, is it? Me getting this job because you lined the school’s pockets.”

“Yeah, and it’s not very fair that nobody would employ you just because of your last name.”

Scorpius didn’t respond. Albus had a point.

Albus sighed. “I hope you know that this isn’t where I declare I was a bad man for going after Arnie Arwyn.”

Scorpius smiled grimly. “I understand that you think he had it coming.”

“Don’t you?”

“Yes, to a certain extent, but his employees still deserve to be treated properly.”

Al was quiet. “I haven’t thought that much about worker rights in the past.”

“That’s pretty obvious.”

Al ran his hand down Scorpius’ bare stomach. “Does that make you dislike me?”

Sighing, Scorpius said, “It’s not about if I dislike you. It’s about you caring about somebody other than yourself.”

His hand stilled. “I care about those people.”

Scorpius searched his face. “Then you have to prove it to me. Do something good for another person. Somebody you don’t want to shag.”

“Okay.” Albus played with his navel. “I won’t take over Arnie Arwyn’s company.”

Scorpius shrugged. “You don’t have to go that far . . . just think about his employees. Don’t fire them. Don’t lower their salary.”

“I can do that.”

“Good.” He threaded his fingers in Albus’ hair and leaned down to kiss him.

“I do love you, you know,” Albus said.

“Yes, I know.” Scorpius hesitated. “One day I will tell you the same.”

Albus smiled. “It’s a plan.”