The way that Scorpius steps back and sinks into a chair has James's stomach dropping out, too, but not in the same warm way. Had he said too much? He always said too much - he had a big goddamn mouth, and never knew when to shut up.

He puts the butterbeer down and heads to the freezer, hands shaking a little with the adrenaline that had just been dumped into his bloodstream. Why had he had to say anything? Why couldn't he have kept things the way they were? Tugging it open, he digs past the ice cream and seems to be hunting down the liquor he keeps in the back. Not the healthiest thing to do, but certainly the easiest.

"You're going to get in trouble if they find out you're sneaking off the grounds," he says, voice unsteady.