Hugo was cleaning. A sure sign of depression if there ever was one for the Weasley. Normally he was content living with old clothes dropped on the floor and books laying out all over the room. But when he was depressed? Hugo cleaned. He scrubbed counters and washed clothes and did dishes. It was therapeutic. And it kept his mind off of whatever was bothering him.
Hearing a knock on the door, Hugo walked over to answer it. The last person he expected to see was Scorpius. Hugo's face echoed his surprise as his eyes widened. It was too soon. He couldn't be here yet. "Uh, uh.. what?"