Shamelessly and without any apparent hesitation, he pulls the nightgown over his head and throws it into the wardrobe. Though his beauty, of which he is still unaware, hits Scorpius again, parching his throat, he can see it now: Tiny, shimmering runes on his shoulder blades, one in the small indentation above his butt crease and also in between; as Albus leans forward slightly to fish something from the bottom of the cupboard, he sees the purple glow between his buttocks.