SCORPIUS: Albus! Oh hello, Rose, what do you smell of? ROSE: What do I smell of? SCORPIUS: No, I meant it as a nice thing, you smell like a mixture of fresh flowers and fresh — bread. ROSE: Albus, I’m here, okay? If you need me. SCORPIUS (digging desperately): I mean, nice bread, good bread, bread . . . what’s wrong with bread? ROSE walks away, shaking her head. ROSE: What’s wrong with bread! ALBUS: I’ve been looking for you everywhere . . . SCORPIUS: And now you’ve found me. Ta-da! I was hardly hiding. You know how I like to — get on early. Stops people staring. Shouting. Writing “son of
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