Fic: 'Glitches and Snitches' AS/S PG13
Title: Glitches and Snitches
Author: softly_sweetly
Beta: alexis_sd
Characters/Pairing: Albus Severus/Scorpius, cameos from any and all
Length: ~2,600
Rating: PG13 for now
Disclaimer: The characters contained herein are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no money from this piece of fanfiction.
Warnings: A little swearing
Summary: Al has a glittering Quidditch career - and halfway decent grades, hopefully - heading his way. If only Scorpius would stop crossing his path...
Author Notes: Counts to prompt #72 Liquid from my 100quills Next Generation Table
Written for Week Four of the ass_carnival, using all the prompts.
One. Two. Three.
"Time, people. Get in the showers."
Al had never appreciated the final whistle more than he did right now. He'd been an idiot to think that playing Quidditch professionally would only be like playing Quidditch at Hogwarts, but all the time. He'd been in training for a week, and was shattered. Still, at least Al wasn't the only one suffering - as they descended to the pitch, he saw Scorpius gasping for breath, looking anything but the smooth, put-together man who had walked into the training room on Monday. Al knew that the shock of not being the best man on the pitch would be hitting Scorpius as hard as it was hitting him.
"Oi, Al."
Looking up, Al smiled at Mack, trying not to object to the man after he'd saved every one of Al's attempts on the goals. "Hey, Mack. Good game."
"You too, we'll make a player out of you yet. Listen, there's this little place we head to on a Friday night, work out the tensions of the week. You up for it?"
"Yeah, sure. Where?"
Mack smiled enigmatically, the expression looking out of place on his large, scarred face. "Just a little place to spend some money and relax. Meet me by the Leaky, and I'll get you there."
"Brilliant, thanks. Best hit the showers, yeah."
Mack nodded, striding off into the changing rooms. Al ached all over, but the invitation to socialise with his team mates had him feeling happy and light. But the conversation with Mack had cost him - Al was the last one back into the showers, and the only spot was next to Malfoy. Still, there was no way Al could go anywhere smelling like this, so he peeled off his uniform and grabbed his towel. Walking across the wet tiles with his soap, al turned on the nozzle and stood under the spray, letting the warm water smooth the tension out of his body.
"Did you know there was a social on Friday?"
"Mack invited me ages back." It was an outright lie, but al said it anyway, liking the look on Scorpius' face. Scorpius was such an only-child; he didn't realise that siblings were the training ground for social interaction, and Al had retorts and comebacks down to a fine art. Watching the smirk gradually work back onto Scorpius' face, Al let his head drop, intending to turn away. He definitely hadn't intended to look at Scorpius' body, but that was the natural path his eyes took as he swept them down and around to focus on washing.
"Must you ogle me in the showers?"
"Sorry, I was just trying to find it. You're sure it doesn't say Scorparina? on your birth certificate?"
Scorpius huffed and turned his shower off, managing to stomp out of the shower room without falling on his arse, which Al mourned sadly. Al was the last one left in the showers, washing himself slowly and trying not to think about Scorpius' prick. Seeing that - and dwelling on it - wouldn't do him any favours in Operation: Forget About Malfoy.
It was damn good fun, though.
~~~~~♥~~~~~
"You're probably going to Skye."
Al looked up from the potatoes he was supervising under a peeling charm, and raised a brow at his Uncle George. "Where?"
"Skye. Very exclusive casino, under the Fidelius charm. The preserve of A-listers and people with more money than sense."
"And how do you know about this place?" Ginny asked challengingly, demonstrating her unnerving ability to walk in on a conversation at the worst moment.
"I hear rumours, in my old age."
"I'm sure." Ginny didn't sound convinced, but she thankfully left the kitchen again, a load of clean washing in the basket bobbing along in front of her.
Al was grateful she'd made an exit, because it meant he could question his Uncle further. "Have you been there?"
"Once or twice. They do the best Mojito cocktail anywhere in the country. Not that you'll be drinking, of course."
"No, of course not," Al answered obediently, his mind already working a mile a minute. "So, like, you play poker and stuff?"
"Yeah, and stuff. They have some of the best looking girls you'll ever come across, paid to always be very nice to the winners."
"I'm rubbish at poker, though. I want to be able to hold them like they do in the Texas games, but everyone can see through my poker face."
George laughed. "That's because your poker face is also your constipated face. Besides, you don't have to be good. There's always some fool there, easily parted from his money with a bit of charm and wit."
"What, cheat?"
"No, strategise."
The potatoes were the last thing on his mind, and Al walked around the large kitchen table to slide onto the stool next to his Uncle. "How would I strategise, then?"
George smiled, glancing over his shoulder before he leaned closer to Al and rushed out in a whisper. "Behaviour. Get it right, and you're sorted."
"Go on," Al coaxed, half-curious as to how to run a scam, half as to how his Uncle knew this.
"You look down, they know you're lying and up, they know you don't know the truth. Don't use seven words when four will do. Don't shift your weight, look always at your mark but don't stare, be specific but not memorable, be funny but don't make him laugh. He's got to like you then forget you the moment you've left his side. And for God's sake, whatever you do, don't, under any circumstances..."
"George!"
Al could have sworn, his mother and her bloody timing.
"Gin, it's just good-natured..."
"You are teaching my son how to cheat! Al, you go to that place, you socialise with your friends, and that's it. You do not, under any circumstances, attempt to fiddle someone out of their money. In fact, I don't think you should gamble at all."
"Mum!" Al yelped, scandalised. "I have to, everyone else will be! It's my money, anyway!"
Ginny didn't address that question, instead taking Al's peeled potatoes and pouring them into a plan. "Honestly, I can't see why you have to socialise at a place like that, anyway. It encourages greed and addiction."
"Mum, you're so old sometimes. Everyone else is going, and you can't stop me."
"Oh really?"
Al knew that arched eyebrow, and quickly backpedalled. "Look, I'll only take ten galleons, okay? Then I can't lose all my money."
"Five."
"Seven."
"Done. Now get those carrots sorted."
~~~~~♥~~~~~
Uncle George had been right - Al had been invited into Skye by the owner, the current holder of the Fidelius charm, and it was definitely a place for the higher classes. Sumptuous surroundings and everyone in black tie made Al feel distinctly underdressed in his black trousers and green shirt. But no one commented, and the cocktails soon erased his worry. Uncle George was right; this was the greatest mojito ever. It was liquid happiness. Admittedly, it was the only one Al had ever had, but that was a pretty good average, one hundred percent.
Al had just about broken even on the Poker table and had cashed his winnings in, keeping one poker chip as a memento. He was turning the little disc through his fingers as he wandered the floor when he heard yells from one of the card tables. Heading in that direction, Al recognised Adrian Lewis, one of their Beaters, jumping about and cheering.
"I won! I won!"
Scorpius was stood next to him, but didn't look impressed. Al scoffed; typical bloody Malfoy, could never be happy at someone hitting the jackpot.
"No," Scorpius gestured to the deck of cards, and the cards splayed on the table. "No, look, this adds up to twenty-two. You're bust, Lewis!"
Al couldn't help but feel sorry for Adrian, his jackpot stolen away from him due to bad maths skills. Catching Scorpius' eye, Al was surprised when they shared a small smile, united in their despair at their colleague.
After that moment of camaraderie, Al didn't see Scorpius again until he was leaving, and Scorpius happened to be getting his cloak at the same time. Swinging his own cloak around his shoulders, Al commented, "So, did you win?"
"No, I lost. You?"
"Just about broke even." Al pushed open the door and stepped out into the street. The Fidelius charm made it look like they had appeared from thin air, but that didn't perturb the gaggle of photographers and journalists that were loitering outside. Al had been counselled about dealing with the press, and he ignored them. "Poor Adrian, hey."
Scorpius laughed, shaking his head softly. "I know, bless. One too many Bludgers to the head, I think. See you Monday, Potter."
Al nodded and smiled, casting a cursory glance at the gaggle of tabloid workers before he followed Scorpius' example, and Apparated home.
~~~~~♥~~~~~
"Potter, Malfoy, do you have a minute?"
Al nodded, glancing over at Scorpius and silently cursing him. Scorpius had been in the process of towel-drying his hair, and had popped his head out of the towel, looking adorably cute and mussed up. It made Al's stomach twitch. Of course, Scorpius would kill him if he found out Al had attributed the words cute, adorable or mussed to him, but Al had no plans to ever tell anyone about that thought.
"What is it, coach?"
"In here," Coach Reynolds tipped his head to the side, and Al pulled on his top, following his coach out of the changing rooms and down the corridor. He was led into the conference room, and was slightly taken-aback by the presence of their manager, Nicola Farnell, and their press relations manager, Steve Klick. The other man in the room, Al did not know.
Sitting down in the chair Coach Reynolds gestured to, Al waited the few minutes that it took Scorpius to join them in silence. Perhaps he was going to be fired, and Scorpius had asked to witness it, and gain a lifetime's supply of gloating material. Perhaps they were both going to be fired. Perhaps...
"Calm down, gentlemen, you both look like kneazles trapped in wand light." Nicola had a soft Northern accent, the edges rounded off by her time managing clubs based all around the country. He wondered if some of the edge had come back since she'd moved to manage the Bees, based as they were just outside of Sheffield.
"Is this about our probationary contracts?" Scorpius sounded eloquent and business-like, adult in juxtaposition to Al's child-like fear of being told he was failing.
"No, you're both performing brilliantly. Off the records, I can say that..."
"...Now then," Nicola cut into Coach Reynolds' speech, quirking a brow at him. He fell silent, and she continued. "This is to do with last weekend, and your visiting Skye. I don't know if either of you have seen today's paper..."
"I only had one drink! And Scorpius seemed fine too. Those journalists will charm the photos to make you do things you weren't doing..." Al trailed off. He was well aware of the tricks the paparazzi had, charms barely below an Imperious, making your photo self do all manner of things that you had never done in real life. Years back, they'd run a whole feature of photographs of his Dad and his Uncle Ron in bed together, and that had definitely never happened. Of course, that didn't stop his Uncle George teasing them at family gatherings, but that was a different matter.
"No, you both behaved impeccably, and yes, we're aware of the nasty little curses put on photographs. No, this photograph showed the two of you leaving the cub together, both smiling.
Al thought back, and remembered that the wards had washed over them as they were in conversation, and he probably had been smiling. "Okay, so...?"
"So, the editorial that goes with it is incredibly good for us. You can read it on your own time, the gist is that a Malfoy and a Potter work together and socialise together, a perfect sign of the healing that has happened since the war. And before you both start," Nicola raised her hands up, quelling Al's knee-jerk reaction before he could give it, "I know you're both sick of everything you do being tied into the war. But this is a good thing."
"And brilliant publicity for both the club, and the Ministry." He'd only said a handful of words, but already Al didn't like the greasy little man. Setting his face into a stony glare, Al waited for further explanation.
"Yes, as Nick says, it's good publicity. For everyone. Especially you two. And this game isn't just about the sport; it's about your image. And what better image than an olive branch being extended between two warring houses?"
"We're not the Montagues and Capulets," Scorpius retorted angrily, his eyes fixed on Nicola. "And you haven't pulled us in here to congratulate us on getting on."
To Al's surprise, Nicola laughed. "You're right, I haven't. You're the cutest thing I've ever seen when you're defensive, Malfoy. So relax, this won't hurt. In fact, I have a proposition for you. No one should ever turn away good publicity, and you two being friends has brought a lot of that down on everyone. I know someone who owns a gorgeous studio apartment, the entire upper-floor of a Muggle block, with enough wards to mean you two could recreate the last battle and the Muggles would be none the wiser. The club will front your bond, and subsidise your rent. And I know the two of you both still live with your parents; what better than a fully-furnished shag-pad for a bargain price?"
Al couldn't help it. "Look, Scorpius, no disrespect mate, but we aren't friends. We just work together. And I was sort of hoping my first place would be mine, and I'd be done with sharing for a while."
"I promise you, this apartment is big enough that you'll never even see each other. Two grand master bedrooms, four smaller ones, three bathrooms on top of the en suites on each bedroom. Huge open-plan lounge, with smaller lounges coming off the grand master bedrooms. All you'll have to share is the kitchen, but if you work at opposite ends of the work top, you'd have to shout to have a conversation."
Al brought his hand up to his mouth, to surreptitiously check he hadn't started drooling. There was no way he'd ever be able to afford somewhere like that.
"How much would we pay in rent?"
"50 Galleons each per month. We'd cover the rest. And this isn't permanent, boys. This just has to last six months, a year. Until one of you falls in love, and moves in with a partner. And just think of all the benefits. No siblings, no mothers, no worries." Nicola was a hard sell, and Al had become hers at '50 Galleons a month'.
Checking himself for a moment, Al ran through his emotions. He was doing this because the apartment sounded impossible, and was cheap. He was not doing this to get closer to Scorpius. At all. Looking up at Scorpius, Al saw the same dilemma in his eyes. "Well, it couldn't hurt to have a look, could it?"
"No, it couldn't. Let's see this apartment, then, see if it's worth selling our souls to the Devil for."
"Who's the Devil, me or the Ministry?" Nicola asked good-naturedly as she stood on and slipped on her jacket.
Scorpius laughed, an easy smile sliding onto his face. "That, I don't know yet."
Chapter Five
Author: softly_sweetly
Beta: alexis_sd
Characters/Pairing: Albus Severus/Scorpius, cameos from any and all
Length: ~2,600
Rating: PG13 for now
Disclaimer: The characters contained herein are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no money from this piece of fanfiction.
Warnings: A little swearing
Summary: Al has a glittering Quidditch career - and halfway decent grades, hopefully - heading his way. If only Scorpius would stop crossing his path...
Author Notes: Counts to prompt #72 Liquid from my 100quills Next Generation Table
Written for Week Four of the ass_carnival, using all the prompts.
One. Two. Three.
"Time, people. Get in the showers."
Al had never appreciated the final whistle more than he did right now. He'd been an idiot to think that playing Quidditch professionally would only be like playing Quidditch at Hogwarts, but all the time. He'd been in training for a week, and was shattered. Still, at least Al wasn't the only one suffering - as they descended to the pitch, he saw Scorpius gasping for breath, looking anything but the smooth, put-together man who had walked into the training room on Monday. Al knew that the shock of not being the best man on the pitch would be hitting Scorpius as hard as it was hitting him.
"Oi, Al."
Looking up, Al smiled at Mack, trying not to object to the man after he'd saved every one of Al's attempts on the goals. "Hey, Mack. Good game."
"You too, we'll make a player out of you yet. Listen, there's this little place we head to on a Friday night, work out the tensions of the week. You up for it?"
"Yeah, sure. Where?"
Mack smiled enigmatically, the expression looking out of place on his large, scarred face. "Just a little place to spend some money and relax. Meet me by the Leaky, and I'll get you there."
"Brilliant, thanks. Best hit the showers, yeah."
Mack nodded, striding off into the changing rooms. Al ached all over, but the invitation to socialise with his team mates had him feeling happy and light. But the conversation with Mack had cost him - Al was the last one back into the showers, and the only spot was next to Malfoy. Still, there was no way Al could go anywhere smelling like this, so he peeled off his uniform and grabbed his towel. Walking across the wet tiles with his soap, al turned on the nozzle and stood under the spray, letting the warm water smooth the tension out of his body.
"Did you know there was a social on Friday?"
"Mack invited me ages back." It was an outright lie, but al said it anyway, liking the look on Scorpius' face. Scorpius was such an only-child; he didn't realise that siblings were the training ground for social interaction, and Al had retorts and comebacks down to a fine art. Watching the smirk gradually work back onto Scorpius' face, Al let his head drop, intending to turn away. He definitely hadn't intended to look at Scorpius' body, but that was the natural path his eyes took as he swept them down and around to focus on washing.
"Must you ogle me in the showers?"
"Sorry, I was just trying to find it. You're sure it doesn't say Scorparina? on your birth certificate?"
Scorpius huffed and turned his shower off, managing to stomp out of the shower room without falling on his arse, which Al mourned sadly. Al was the last one left in the showers, washing himself slowly and trying not to think about Scorpius' prick. Seeing that - and dwelling on it - wouldn't do him any favours in Operation: Forget About Malfoy.
It was damn good fun, though.
~~~~~♥~~~~~
"You're probably going to Skye."
Al looked up from the potatoes he was supervising under a peeling charm, and raised a brow at his Uncle George. "Where?"
"Skye. Very exclusive casino, under the Fidelius charm. The preserve of A-listers and people with more money than sense."
"And how do you know about this place?" Ginny asked challengingly, demonstrating her unnerving ability to walk in on a conversation at the worst moment.
"I hear rumours, in my old age."
"I'm sure." Ginny didn't sound convinced, but she thankfully left the kitchen again, a load of clean washing in the basket bobbing along in front of her.
Al was grateful she'd made an exit, because it meant he could question his Uncle further. "Have you been there?"
"Once or twice. They do the best Mojito cocktail anywhere in the country. Not that you'll be drinking, of course."
"No, of course not," Al answered obediently, his mind already working a mile a minute. "So, like, you play poker and stuff?"
"Yeah, and stuff. They have some of the best looking girls you'll ever come across, paid to always be very nice to the winners."
"I'm rubbish at poker, though. I want to be able to hold them like they do in the Texas games, but everyone can see through my poker face."
George laughed. "That's because your poker face is also your constipated face. Besides, you don't have to be good. There's always some fool there, easily parted from his money with a bit of charm and wit."
"What, cheat?"
"No, strategise."
The potatoes were the last thing on his mind, and Al walked around the large kitchen table to slide onto the stool next to his Uncle. "How would I strategise, then?"
George smiled, glancing over his shoulder before he leaned closer to Al and rushed out in a whisper. "Behaviour. Get it right, and you're sorted."
"Go on," Al coaxed, half-curious as to how to run a scam, half as to how his Uncle knew this.
"You look down, they know you're lying and up, they know you don't know the truth. Don't use seven words when four will do. Don't shift your weight, look always at your mark but don't stare, be specific but not memorable, be funny but don't make him laugh. He's got to like you then forget you the moment you've left his side. And for God's sake, whatever you do, don't, under any circumstances..."
"George!"
Al could have sworn, his mother and her bloody timing.
"Gin, it's just good-natured..."
"You are teaching my son how to cheat! Al, you go to that place, you socialise with your friends, and that's it. You do not, under any circumstances, attempt to fiddle someone out of their money. In fact, I don't think you should gamble at all."
"Mum!" Al yelped, scandalised. "I have to, everyone else will be! It's my money, anyway!"
Ginny didn't address that question, instead taking Al's peeled potatoes and pouring them into a plan. "Honestly, I can't see why you have to socialise at a place like that, anyway. It encourages greed and addiction."
"Mum, you're so old sometimes. Everyone else is going, and you can't stop me."
"Oh really?"
Al knew that arched eyebrow, and quickly backpedalled. "Look, I'll only take ten galleons, okay? Then I can't lose all my money."
"Five."
"Seven."
"Done. Now get those carrots sorted."
~~~~~♥~~~~~
Uncle George had been right - Al had been invited into Skye by the owner, the current holder of the Fidelius charm, and it was definitely a place for the higher classes. Sumptuous surroundings and everyone in black tie made Al feel distinctly underdressed in his black trousers and green shirt. But no one commented, and the cocktails soon erased his worry. Uncle George was right; this was the greatest mojito ever. It was liquid happiness. Admittedly, it was the only one Al had ever had, but that was a pretty good average, one hundred percent.
Al had just about broken even on the Poker table and had cashed his winnings in, keeping one poker chip as a memento. He was turning the little disc through his fingers as he wandered the floor when he heard yells from one of the card tables. Heading in that direction, Al recognised Adrian Lewis, one of their Beaters, jumping about and cheering.
"I won! I won!"
Scorpius was stood next to him, but didn't look impressed. Al scoffed; typical bloody Malfoy, could never be happy at someone hitting the jackpot.
"No," Scorpius gestured to the deck of cards, and the cards splayed on the table. "No, look, this adds up to twenty-two. You're bust, Lewis!"
Al couldn't help but feel sorry for Adrian, his jackpot stolen away from him due to bad maths skills. Catching Scorpius' eye, Al was surprised when they shared a small smile, united in their despair at their colleague.
After that moment of camaraderie, Al didn't see Scorpius again until he was leaving, and Scorpius happened to be getting his cloak at the same time. Swinging his own cloak around his shoulders, Al commented, "So, did you win?"
"No, I lost. You?"
"Just about broke even." Al pushed open the door and stepped out into the street. The Fidelius charm made it look like they had appeared from thin air, but that didn't perturb the gaggle of photographers and journalists that were loitering outside. Al had been counselled about dealing with the press, and he ignored them. "Poor Adrian, hey."
Scorpius laughed, shaking his head softly. "I know, bless. One too many Bludgers to the head, I think. See you Monday, Potter."
Al nodded and smiled, casting a cursory glance at the gaggle of tabloid workers before he followed Scorpius' example, and Apparated home.
~~~~~♥~~~~~
"Potter, Malfoy, do you have a minute?"
Al nodded, glancing over at Scorpius and silently cursing him. Scorpius had been in the process of towel-drying his hair, and had popped his head out of the towel, looking adorably cute and mussed up. It made Al's stomach twitch. Of course, Scorpius would kill him if he found out Al had attributed the words cute, adorable or mussed to him, but Al had no plans to ever tell anyone about that thought.
"What is it, coach?"
"In here," Coach Reynolds tipped his head to the side, and Al pulled on his top, following his coach out of the changing rooms and down the corridor. He was led into the conference room, and was slightly taken-aback by the presence of their manager, Nicola Farnell, and their press relations manager, Steve Klick. The other man in the room, Al did not know.
Sitting down in the chair Coach Reynolds gestured to, Al waited the few minutes that it took Scorpius to join them in silence. Perhaps he was going to be fired, and Scorpius had asked to witness it, and gain a lifetime's supply of gloating material. Perhaps they were both going to be fired. Perhaps...
"Calm down, gentlemen, you both look like kneazles trapped in wand light." Nicola had a soft Northern accent, the edges rounded off by her time managing clubs based all around the country. He wondered if some of the edge had come back since she'd moved to manage the Bees, based as they were just outside of Sheffield.
"Is this about our probationary contracts?" Scorpius sounded eloquent and business-like, adult in juxtaposition to Al's child-like fear of being told he was failing.
"No, you're both performing brilliantly. Off the records, I can say that..."
"...Now then," Nicola cut into Coach Reynolds' speech, quirking a brow at him. He fell silent, and she continued. "This is to do with last weekend, and your visiting Skye. I don't know if either of you have seen today's paper..."
"I only had one drink! And Scorpius seemed fine too. Those journalists will charm the photos to make you do things you weren't doing..." Al trailed off. He was well aware of the tricks the paparazzi had, charms barely below an Imperious, making your photo self do all manner of things that you had never done in real life. Years back, they'd run a whole feature of photographs of his Dad and his Uncle Ron in bed together, and that had definitely never happened. Of course, that didn't stop his Uncle George teasing them at family gatherings, but that was a different matter.
"No, you both behaved impeccably, and yes, we're aware of the nasty little curses put on photographs. No, this photograph showed the two of you leaving the cub together, both smiling.
Al thought back, and remembered that the wards had washed over them as they were in conversation, and he probably had been smiling. "Okay, so...?"
"So, the editorial that goes with it is incredibly good for us. You can read it on your own time, the gist is that a Malfoy and a Potter work together and socialise together, a perfect sign of the healing that has happened since the war. And before you both start," Nicola raised her hands up, quelling Al's knee-jerk reaction before he could give it, "I know you're both sick of everything you do being tied into the war. But this is a good thing."
"And brilliant publicity for both the club, and the Ministry." He'd only said a handful of words, but already Al didn't like the greasy little man. Setting his face into a stony glare, Al waited for further explanation.
"Yes, as Nick says, it's good publicity. For everyone. Especially you two. And this game isn't just about the sport; it's about your image. And what better image than an olive branch being extended between two warring houses?"
"We're not the Montagues and Capulets," Scorpius retorted angrily, his eyes fixed on Nicola. "And you haven't pulled us in here to congratulate us on getting on."
To Al's surprise, Nicola laughed. "You're right, I haven't. You're the cutest thing I've ever seen when you're defensive, Malfoy. So relax, this won't hurt. In fact, I have a proposition for you. No one should ever turn away good publicity, and you two being friends has brought a lot of that down on everyone. I know someone who owns a gorgeous studio apartment, the entire upper-floor of a Muggle block, with enough wards to mean you two could recreate the last battle and the Muggles would be none the wiser. The club will front your bond, and subsidise your rent. And I know the two of you both still live with your parents; what better than a fully-furnished shag-pad for a bargain price?"
Al couldn't help it. "Look, Scorpius, no disrespect mate, but we aren't friends. We just work together. And I was sort of hoping my first place would be mine, and I'd be done with sharing for a while."
"I promise you, this apartment is big enough that you'll never even see each other. Two grand master bedrooms, four smaller ones, three bathrooms on top of the en suites on each bedroom. Huge open-plan lounge, with smaller lounges coming off the grand master bedrooms. All you'll have to share is the kitchen, but if you work at opposite ends of the work top, you'd have to shout to have a conversation."
Al brought his hand up to his mouth, to surreptitiously check he hadn't started drooling. There was no way he'd ever be able to afford somewhere like that.
"How much would we pay in rent?"
"50 Galleons each per month. We'd cover the rest. And this isn't permanent, boys. This just has to last six months, a year. Until one of you falls in love, and moves in with a partner. And just think of all the benefits. No siblings, no mothers, no worries." Nicola was a hard sell, and Al had become hers at '50 Galleons a month'.
Checking himself for a moment, Al ran through his emotions. He was doing this because the apartment sounded impossible, and was cheap. He was not doing this to get closer to Scorpius. At all. Looking up at Scorpius, Al saw the same dilemma in his eyes. "Well, it couldn't hurt to have a look, could it?"
"No, it couldn't. Let's see this apartment, then, see if it's worth selling our souls to the Devil for."
"Who's the Devil, me or the Ministry?" Nicola asked good-naturedly as she stood on and slipped on her jacket.
Scorpius laughed, an easy smile sliding onto his face. "That, I don't know yet."
Chapter Five