It was an unseasonably warm day in April, during the Easter holidays of their fifth year. Albus, who had always hated the heat, had generally preferred to lounge around in the cellar until evening came and he could venture outside without sweating to death. (Being the dutiful boy that Scorpius was, he had given more than one lecture on how it would help to swap the black clothes for something more summery, and just as persistently, Albus had always ignored that advice).