To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

Chapter One

The man scooping their ice cream is trying to flirt with his dad right in front of him. Scorpius wants to shrivel up and blow away on the light breeze that followed them into the shop when they walked in.

He glances over at his dad, who is being as studiously polite as he is with everyone, and wonders if he is even aware of the blatant flirtation. Thankfully, he's not openly flirting back. Scorpius would probably have to flee the country if forced to witness that.

He takes his sundae and storms away while his dad pays, slumping into a seat at a table as far from the counter as possible with his back to them.

Scorpius isn't stupid. He knows his dad is attractive. He's noticed the way people's eyes linger on him when they go out.

When they first moved back to London, when he was six years old, his dad told him people stared at him because he and his family were on the wrong side of the war. He said it was okay—they were allowed to hate him because he had done terrible things, even though he was trying to make amends and do better.

But, after a few years, Scorpius was old enough to discern that not all the stares were hostile. Now that his dad has launched his successful potions business, literally saving—or at least improving—lives every time he creates something new or improves on an old formula, very few of them are.

When his dad slides into the seat opposite him, he looks perfectly at ease as he digs his spoon into his lemon sorbet. There's an extra scoop of ice cream in his cup, and Scorpius might vomit.

"He was flirting with you, you know," he snaps, shovelling an enormous spoonful of vanilla ice cream and chocolate syrup into his mouth. The sweetness on his tongue does nothing to improve his mood.

His dad's eyes flit over to the counter, then back to Scorpius, as he seems to be carefully weighing his response.

"I know," he finally says, his tone even.

"Why didn't you flirt back?" Scorpius pushes, angry even though he knows, logically, none of this is his dad's fault.

His dad's eyebrows shoot up, and he eats another spoonful of ice cream before asking, "Did you want me to?"

"Did you want to?" Scorpius throws back, scowling over at the counter. The young man smiles as he reaches over to hand a cone topped with two scoops of pink ice cream to a little girl. "He's not bad looking."

"No," his dad shrugs, turning his gaze back to his ice cream. He's infuriatingly calm.

"No, he's not bad looking, or no, you didn't want to?" His voice goes embarrassingly high-pitched in his outrage.

"Merlin, Scorpius." His dad, honest to Salazar, rolls his eyes. Rolls his eyes! Like Scorpius is the one being unreasonable. "No, I didn't want to. Why are we talking about this?"

Scorpius has no idea, except—well, the thing is. The thing is. There's a small, unselfish part of Scorpius that wonders about his dad being lonely, especially in the years since he started attending Hogwarts. He spends most of his time alone, brewing experimental concoctions in his dark, sterile potions lab.

His dad's whole countenance seems to change when Scorpius comes home for the summer—brightening as he cooks cinnamon pancakes in their little kitchen and takes him flying and pretty much whatever else Scorpius wants to do—well, that worries him. So, while the thought of his dad dating is ultimately repulsive, he also wishes that he would. Somehow.

But not the guy serving their ice cream at Fortescue's who only looks a few years older than himself. He shudders at the thought, and his dad gives him another searching look.