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seethingheathenTitle: Not - Part Three.
Author: Sonja.
Pairing: Albus Severus/Scorpius, Albus Severus/OFC
Rating: NC-17 for later chapters. This part is PG-13 for language and one little boykiss.
Disclaimer: Messrs Potter and Malfoy belong to JK Rowling. I’m just borrowing them for a bit. I don’t even pretend to have permission to abuse them so.
Summary: Believing something doesn't make it true.
Author’s Note: I'm shooting for angsty humour here, but I'm much better at reading it than writing it.
The previous two parts are here.
Chapter Four
Albus walked quickly down the hall, looking back every few steps to be sure that no one was following him. He was humiliated beyond belief, and as much as he wanted blame James, he knew it mostly his own fault. James was only taking the piss, as usual, but this time Albus let it get to him. He let the tiny seeds of doubt planted by James and their parents take root in his mind, and it was driving him round the bend. For the past two days, he found himself analysing and over-analysing every male interaction he had, wondering if maybe he'd missed something about himself that only others could see. And hadn't James even said that he could see the way Albus was around his mates?
Instead of going back to the common room, where he could be easily cornered by nosey, gossipy housemates, Albus just wandered the halls until his legs ached and twinged. He had no idea where he'd even ended up, other than far away from the scene he'd caused in the Great Hall, and he really didn't much care. He just needed time to himself to think about the situation his temper had gotten him into.
Albus sat in a dusty alcove and pulled his knees up to his chest. He took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. “Okay,” he said aloud. “Think like a poof.
“There's Miles, who's good-looking, I suppose, but sort of plain. Girls seem to like him well enough, but I don't think he's any better or worse looking than any of the other boys.” Albus leant forward and poked his head out of the alcove. It wouldn't do to have anyone wandering by hear him talking to himself, especially about boys. But there was no one there, so Albus continued his one-sided conversation. “And then there's Preston, who does have nice eyes. They're sort of hazely, except when he's dressed for Quidditch. Then the gold bits in his uniform sort of-” Albus smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand. “I'm going to kill James,” he told the swirling dust. “And then I'm going to drown myself in the lake.”
--
James, like many others at breakfast, had no idea how to react. Some people were unsuccessfully stifling giggles, others were chatting amongst their friends, and everyone else who had borne witness to the strange outburst were eyeing Gryffindor intently, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop. Only when the delivery owls swooped in did everything go back to normal. James took advantage of the excitement and made his exit.
Thinking Albus would have run back to the relative safety of his dorm, James headed off in that direction himself. He would find Albus, beg for his forgiveness, and hopefully everything else would work itself out. And, James decided as he climbed through the portrait hole, any points that had been deducted for Albus' outburst, James would take the blame for, since it had been he who had provoked Albus into it with his good-natured teasing that wasn't so good-natured after all.
He walked up the stairs to the sixth year boys' dorm, and knocked at the door. When there was no answer, he knocked louder. “Fine,” he called through the door. “I was trying to be polite about it, but if you're going to be a prat and ignore me, I'll just come right in.” James tried the knob, and found it was unlocked. “I hope you're decent.” He pushed the door open, expecting to see Albus glowering at him from his bed, but there was no one in the room. “Bugger,” he said, and pulled the door closed, wishing he had his father's map.
--
Albus was doing his best to stay hidden, scrunched up against the wall of his little alcove and drawing circles in the dust at his side. His face was streaked grey and black from wiping away unwanted tears with his dirty hands. The more Albus had cried, the angrier he'd gotten with himself for crying, so he'd cried even more out of that anger. At least he'd been spared the indignity of having anyone witness it. How embarrassing that would have been.
“Preston Kirby has nice eyes,” he said in a hushed voice. “And they look sort of goldish when he's wearing his Quidditch robes. Michael Ramsay looks nice when he wears that green jumper his gran sent him last Christmas. But I think Georgina Rhodes is beautiful, and I wish she would have kissed me in Hogsmeade that one time when she looked like she wanted to. And Mimsy Pickett is a girl, and I fucked her. So there.” Albus brushed the dust from his hand onto his jeans and crossed his arms over his knees. “So there, James.” He sat staring into the empty corridor for another twenty minutes before dusting himself off and starting back for Gryffindor Tower. The only stop he made along the way was at the boys' toilets to wash the dirt from his hands and face.
Chapter Five
In the Slytherin common room, Scorpius and Brendan found themselves surrounded by no fewer than a dozen of their housemates, who were firing questions at them left, right, and centre. Word had quickly spread that perhaps the pair had known a little something about the events that had lead up to Albus' dramatic exit from the Great Hall. Scorpius chose to ignore the intrusion into his personal space, but Brendan climbed up onto the coffee table as if he were giving a press conference.
“All I know,” Brendan said, holding up his hand, “is that there are certain people who believe Albus Potter fancies boys.” He looked down at Scorpius as though waiting for him to confirm the story. When the confirmation didn't come, Brendan carried on anyway. “So Albus, wanting to prove to those certain people that he doesn't go that way, slept with none other than the Queen of Tarts herself, Miss Mimsy Pickett, as you all no doubt heard, since she felt it was her duty to announce to the entire school that,” he took a deep breath, “he has freckles on his dick.”
“Are you quite finished,” Scorpius drawled lazily as he inspected his fingernails, “or would you care to state more of the obvious? Perhaps next you'll tell us that the sky is blue and that you can do magic when you wave a little stick about.” The other Slytherins laughed as Brendan, deflated, jumped down from the table and flopped onto the couch.
“They wanted to know,” he said.
“We wanted to know something besides what we already knew,” shot back Herbert Spencer, the seventh year who had spoken to Scorpius at breakfast. “So Malfoy was right, you really don't know anything.”
“We would have, if someone hadn't gotten a case of the giggles.” Scorpius jerked his head toward the couch where Brendan was sitting. “But as it stands, no. We know absolutely nothing about anything involving anyone called Potter. Or Pickett. So, if you'll all excuse me, I've correspondence to see to.”
--
Once in the quiet of his dorm, Scorpius reached into his school bag and dug out a roll of parchment, a quill, and a bottle of his favourite green ink. He grabbed his copy of Advanced Potion Making for a hard backing, and propped himself against his headboard to write. He didn't know what he wanted to say, exactly, or even if Albus would read the letter, but he felt he had to say something. Scorpius himself had only come to the startling realisation that he fancied boys toward the beginning of the summer, and whilst he wasn't an expert in the subject, he felt he could at least lend a little support.
Come to think of it, he didn't even really know if Albus liked boys. And he really didn't know Albus that well, in any respect. Their interactions to this point had been limited to the occasional partnership in class and passing greetings in the halls. He wouldn't say Albus was his friend, but he wouldn't say he wasn't, either. Scorpius paused, quill in hand, to think about how he would feel if someone he barely knew had the audacity to interfere where he most decidedly didn't belong.
As he watched a droplet of ink fall onto the parchment, Scorpius considered his own emotional turmoil. He needed someone to confide in, so even if Albus refused to accept Scorpius' help, the very act of having written the letter would be somewhat cathartic. He pulled his wand from the pocket of his robe, erased the ink spot, and started writing whatever thoughts came into his head. Only when he realised he'd filled the entire length of the parchment did he stop. He didn't bother re-reading it before folding and sealing it, certain that if he did, he would change his mind about the whole thing.
--
When Albus stepped through the portrait hole and into the common room, the voices he'd heard from the narrow passageway went silent. “Oh, don't stop talking about me now that I'm here,” he grumbled. “I'd hate to ruin your fun.”
“We weren't-” Mimsy started, but was cut off by James.
“Where have you been? I've been asking around, but no one has seen you all morning.”
“You're seeing me now, aren't you?” The anger and shame from earlier had started to bubble up again, and Albus was afraid he would start crying in front of the people who'd gathered. “And I'm sure the lot of you are just dying to know what I've been up to. Maybe I was snogging some poor bloke in a broom cupboard.”
“Were you?” Preston asked, eyes wide. Albus looked away, not wanting to think about those hazel eyes any more than he already had.
“Of course I wasn't, you twat. But you'd have no problems believing me if I said I had been.”
“Nonsense,” Mimsy cut in. “I can personally vouch for your heterosexuality, and everyone here knows that. So just forget about whatever happened this morning and we'll do the same.” Albus looked about the room and saw that everyone was nodding their heads in agreement. “You see?”
“Thanks, Mims,” Albus mumbled and ran a hand though his hair. “I'd appreciate that.”
“That's all well and good,” said James, rising from his chair. “But you and I need to have a bit of a chat. Now.”
Albus sighed, but he knew James too well to even try to get out of it. “Yeah, sure. Let's just get it over with now so I can go be a miserable git in peace.”
--
Albus played with the tassels on James' bed curtain whilst James cast locking and silencing charms on the dormitory door. Part of him wanted to punch James for making him think about his friends in ways he never would have consciously considered before, but the other part of him wanted to apologise for being such a crybaby.
“Gryffindor lost fifty points this morning,” James said, and leant against the frame of the bed next to his own. “But that's not what I wanted to say. I wanted to apologise for taking the piss out of you at breakfast.”
“Apology accepted.”
“Now, are you going to tell me where you were, so I don't think you were in some broom cupboard, snogging the hours away?”
“I was thinking. About stuff.”
“And?”
“And that's all I'm saying about that.” Albus shifted under his brother's gaze and continued fiddling with the tassel. “So are we done?”
“Yeah, we're done. But if you ever want to talk about it, I'm here.” James waved his wand at the door to release the spells. “And cheesy brother crap aside, I really am sorry.”
“I know,” Albus said, stuffing his hands into his pockets and walking toward the door. “Just let's not mention it again.”
Chapter Six
Albus wasn't expecting to receive any post only two days into the school year, so when Scorpius' letter dropped next to his plate, he jumped. The only writing on the envelope was his name, and he didn't recognise the handwriting. The seal on the back was a green wax 'M', which he definitely didn't recognise.
“What's that?” Preston leant over the table to have a look at the envelope, but Albus tucked it into his pocket. “Oh, come on, Al. Open it! It's probably a love letter from some-”
“Some what?” Albus narrowed his eyes. So much for forgetting that yesterday had ever happened.
“Some girl, eager to help you with the problem you don't have?”
“Nice save,” Albus muttered, pulling the letter back out and sliding his finger under the flap to break the seal. The 'M' could stand for 'Mimsy', but it was unlikely, as she wasn't the sort to send love letters to boys she'd already slept with. And the writing didn't look particularly girly, either. “Albus,” Albus read aloud. “I know it isn't my place to say anything about the recent incidents involving your-”
“Well?”
“Never mind,” Albus said, refolding the parchment and jamming it once again into his pocket. “It's nothing.”
Across the room, Scorpius blanched. He hadn't anticipated Albus reading aloud, but judging by the way his brow was furrowing and his lips were moving, that's exactly what he was doing. But just as Scorpius was plotting his escape, he saw Albus pocket the letter and breathed an audible sigh of relief. Brendan quirked an eyebrow at him, but didn't say anything.
--
Scorpius was sitting by the lake polishing his broom handle, when he caught sight of Albus walking across the grass. “How did you know I was out here?” he asked when Albus was standing in front of him.
“I asked around,” Albus answered casually. “Can I sit?”
“I would assume so, considering you've got a backside and hip joints.”
“Cute, Malfoy. But leave my backside out of it.”
“You may sit,” Scorpius said, looking up and shielding his eyes from the sun. “But don't flatter yourself. Your backside is none of my concern.”
“That's sort of what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Your bum?” Scorpius set his broom to the side, and neatly folded the the waxing cloth before carefully putting it back into its pouch. “I haven't given it a thought.”
“No, no. I meant things that aren't your concern.” Albus pulled a few blades of grass and rolled them between his fingers. “Wait, that's not how I meant to say that. I just meant that I appreciate your offer, but there really isn't anything to talk about.”
“My father caught me kissing Xavier Zabini,” said Scorpius, fiddling with the hem of his robe. “And I thought the world was going to end. But it didn't. And as far as I know, he never even told my mum. I just wanted you to know that liking boys isn't going to bring about Armageddon.”
Albus thought for a moment. “Well, from a purely aesthetic point of view, I have to congratulate you on your taste.”
“Even the straightest straight thing that ever walked a straight line can see the beauty there. But tell me Potter, is there anyone else you admire, purely aesthetically?”
“Whatever I tell you stays between us, right?”
“You have my word.” Scorpius held up his hand as though taking an oath.
“Do you know Preston Kirby?”
“Would this be the same Preston Kirby who nearly killed me with a Quaffle during the finals last year? How he thought he could score a goal from halfway down the pitch is beyond me.”
Albus chuckled, remembering the incident. “Yeah, that's him. He plays football during summer holidays. You'd think after playing Quidditch for four years, he'd know that footy doesn't even compare.”
“I'd ask you what you were talking about, but that would give you even more of an excuse to avoid my question.” Scorpius pulled his knees up to his chest. “And that's what you're doing, isn't it?”
“I honestly hadn't thought about it before, but after I left breakfast yesterday-”
“You didn't leave. You fled.”
“Fine. After I fled from breakfast yesterday, I had a bit of a think about what James had said on the train. And I realised that Preston has the most gorgeous eyes I have ever seen.”
“I haven't seen them closely myself,” Scorpius said, shrugging. “But if the rest of him is anything to go by, I'll have to agree with you.”
“Anyway,” Albus continued, “I cried about it for an hour, and then I was fine.”
“So that's it?”
“What do you mean, that's it? It was a very traumatic hour.”
“No, I mean a boy as fit as Kirby, and all you're upset about is that you think his eyes are pretty?”
“Well,” Albus said as he pulled more grass. “No. It's that I think the gold bits in his Quidditch robes bring out the gold bits in his eyes. There, I said it. I think Preston looks nice in his Quidditch robes.”
“Purely aesthetically, of course.”
“That's the thing. I don't know that it is. And to be quite honest, that scares me shitless.”
“Hrm.” The corners of Scorpius' mouth quirked as he tried to hold back his laughter at the mental image of Albus being terrified by a boy on a broom. “Would you kiss him if he wanted you to?”
Albus shrugged. “I don't know, maybe. Just to put this thing to rest once and for all.”
“I thought that's what your romp in the sack the other night was for. Or did that not live up to your expectations?”
“No, it was fine. It's just not knowing if I'm attracted to boys as well. I never gave it a second thought before, but thanks to my idiot brother, I can't stop thinking about it. I know I'm not, but what if I am?”
“That makes absolutely no sense whatsoever, but somehow I understand what you're trying to say. If I were to ask you to kiss me right now, what would you do?” Albus' eyes went wide, and this time Scorpius couldn't hold back the bark of laughter that escaped. “Calm down, Potter. I'm not going to molest you. It was a hypothetical question.”
“Oh. In that case, I mean since it's purely hypothetical, I would consider maybe-”
“Close your eyes.”
“What?”
“Your eyes,” Scorpius repeated. “Close them.” Albus swallowed nervously, but closed his eyes. He dug his fingertips into the the grass and tried to keep his heart from hammering through his chest. If he let Scorpius kiss him, and he enjoyed it, then everything he thought he knew about himself would come into question. But if he didn't let Scorpius kiss him, then he'd never know, and he'd be miserable with doubt. And hadn't Scorpius promised that he'd keep everything just between them?
“Ready?” Scorpius asked, rolling forward so he was on his knees. Albus nodded, eyes still clamped shut, so Scorpius leant in and pressed his lips to Albus', gently parting them with the tip of his tongue. At first, Albus kissed back, pressing forward a bit but letting Scorpius lead. It wasn't until Scorpius took Albus' lower lip gently between his teeth that the realisation of what was actually happening sank in, and he pushed Scorpius away, harder than he'd meant to.
“I can't,” he said, jumping up and brushing the grass from his jeans. “I just- I can't. I'm sorry.”
Scorpius, seemingly unbothered by being flattened, propped himself up on his elbows. “Have you gotten your answer, at least?” When Albus looked away, Scorpius smiled slightly. “I'll take that as a yes.”
“Please don't write me any more letters,” Albus said before walking away.
“Right,” said Scorpius to the now empty space in front of him. “Because there isn't anything to talk about, is there?”
[To be continued.]
Author: Sonja.
Pairing: Albus Severus/Scorpius, Albus Severus/OFC
Rating: NC-17 for later chapters. This part is PG-13 for language and one little boykiss.
Disclaimer: Messrs Potter and Malfoy belong to JK Rowling. I’m just borrowing them for a bit. I don’t even pretend to have permission to abuse them so.
Summary: Believing something doesn't make it true.
Author’s Note: I'm shooting for angsty humour here, but I'm much better at reading it than writing it.
The previous two parts are here.
Chapter Four
Albus walked quickly down the hall, looking back every few steps to be sure that no one was following him. He was humiliated beyond belief, and as much as he wanted blame James, he knew it mostly his own fault. James was only taking the piss, as usual, but this time Albus let it get to him. He let the tiny seeds of doubt planted by James and their parents take root in his mind, and it was driving him round the bend. For the past two days, he found himself analysing and over-analysing every male interaction he had, wondering if maybe he'd missed something about himself that only others could see. And hadn't James even said that he could see the way Albus was around his mates?
Instead of going back to the common room, where he could be easily cornered by nosey, gossipy housemates, Albus just wandered the halls until his legs ached and twinged. He had no idea where he'd even ended up, other than far away from the scene he'd caused in the Great Hall, and he really didn't much care. He just needed time to himself to think about the situation his temper had gotten him into.
Albus sat in a dusty alcove and pulled his knees up to his chest. He took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. “Okay,” he said aloud. “Think like a poof.
“There's Miles, who's good-looking, I suppose, but sort of plain. Girls seem to like him well enough, but I don't think he's any better or worse looking than any of the other boys.” Albus leant forward and poked his head out of the alcove. It wouldn't do to have anyone wandering by hear him talking to himself, especially about boys. But there was no one there, so Albus continued his one-sided conversation. “And then there's Preston, who does have nice eyes. They're sort of hazely, except when he's dressed for Quidditch. Then the gold bits in his uniform sort of-” Albus smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand. “I'm going to kill James,” he told the swirling dust. “And then I'm going to drown myself in the lake.”
--
James, like many others at breakfast, had no idea how to react. Some people were unsuccessfully stifling giggles, others were chatting amongst their friends, and everyone else who had borne witness to the strange outburst were eyeing Gryffindor intently, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop. Only when the delivery owls swooped in did everything go back to normal. James took advantage of the excitement and made his exit.
Thinking Albus would have run back to the relative safety of his dorm, James headed off in that direction himself. He would find Albus, beg for his forgiveness, and hopefully everything else would work itself out. And, James decided as he climbed through the portrait hole, any points that had been deducted for Albus' outburst, James would take the blame for, since it had been he who had provoked Albus into it with his good-natured teasing that wasn't so good-natured after all.
He walked up the stairs to the sixth year boys' dorm, and knocked at the door. When there was no answer, he knocked louder. “Fine,” he called through the door. “I was trying to be polite about it, but if you're going to be a prat and ignore me, I'll just come right in.” James tried the knob, and found it was unlocked. “I hope you're decent.” He pushed the door open, expecting to see Albus glowering at him from his bed, but there was no one in the room. “Bugger,” he said, and pulled the door closed, wishing he had his father's map.
--
Albus was doing his best to stay hidden, scrunched up against the wall of his little alcove and drawing circles in the dust at his side. His face was streaked grey and black from wiping away unwanted tears with his dirty hands. The more Albus had cried, the angrier he'd gotten with himself for crying, so he'd cried even more out of that anger. At least he'd been spared the indignity of having anyone witness it. How embarrassing that would have been.
“Preston Kirby has nice eyes,” he said in a hushed voice. “And they look sort of goldish when he's wearing his Quidditch robes. Michael Ramsay looks nice when he wears that green jumper his gran sent him last Christmas. But I think Georgina Rhodes is beautiful, and I wish she would have kissed me in Hogsmeade that one time when she looked like she wanted to. And Mimsy Pickett is a girl, and I fucked her. So there.” Albus brushed the dust from his hand onto his jeans and crossed his arms over his knees. “So there, James.” He sat staring into the empty corridor for another twenty minutes before dusting himself off and starting back for Gryffindor Tower. The only stop he made along the way was at the boys' toilets to wash the dirt from his hands and face.
Chapter Five
In the Slytherin common room, Scorpius and Brendan found themselves surrounded by no fewer than a dozen of their housemates, who were firing questions at them left, right, and centre. Word had quickly spread that perhaps the pair had known a little something about the events that had lead up to Albus' dramatic exit from the Great Hall. Scorpius chose to ignore the intrusion into his personal space, but Brendan climbed up onto the coffee table as if he were giving a press conference.
“All I know,” Brendan said, holding up his hand, “is that there are certain people who believe Albus Potter fancies boys.” He looked down at Scorpius as though waiting for him to confirm the story. When the confirmation didn't come, Brendan carried on anyway. “So Albus, wanting to prove to those certain people that he doesn't go that way, slept with none other than the Queen of Tarts herself, Miss Mimsy Pickett, as you all no doubt heard, since she felt it was her duty to announce to the entire school that,” he took a deep breath, “he has freckles on his dick.”
“Are you quite finished,” Scorpius drawled lazily as he inspected his fingernails, “or would you care to state more of the obvious? Perhaps next you'll tell us that the sky is blue and that you can do magic when you wave a little stick about.” The other Slytherins laughed as Brendan, deflated, jumped down from the table and flopped onto the couch.
“They wanted to know,” he said.
“We wanted to know something besides what we already knew,” shot back Herbert Spencer, the seventh year who had spoken to Scorpius at breakfast. “So Malfoy was right, you really don't know anything.”
“We would have, if someone hadn't gotten a case of the giggles.” Scorpius jerked his head toward the couch where Brendan was sitting. “But as it stands, no. We know absolutely nothing about anything involving anyone called Potter. Or Pickett. So, if you'll all excuse me, I've correspondence to see to.”
--
Once in the quiet of his dorm, Scorpius reached into his school bag and dug out a roll of parchment, a quill, and a bottle of his favourite green ink. He grabbed his copy of Advanced Potion Making for a hard backing, and propped himself against his headboard to write. He didn't know what he wanted to say, exactly, or even if Albus would read the letter, but he felt he had to say something. Scorpius himself had only come to the startling realisation that he fancied boys toward the beginning of the summer, and whilst he wasn't an expert in the subject, he felt he could at least lend a little support.
Come to think of it, he didn't even really know if Albus liked boys. And he really didn't know Albus that well, in any respect. Their interactions to this point had been limited to the occasional partnership in class and passing greetings in the halls. He wouldn't say Albus was his friend, but he wouldn't say he wasn't, either. Scorpius paused, quill in hand, to think about how he would feel if someone he barely knew had the audacity to interfere where he most decidedly didn't belong.
As he watched a droplet of ink fall onto the parchment, Scorpius considered his own emotional turmoil. He needed someone to confide in, so even if Albus refused to accept Scorpius' help, the very act of having written the letter would be somewhat cathartic. He pulled his wand from the pocket of his robe, erased the ink spot, and started writing whatever thoughts came into his head. Only when he realised he'd filled the entire length of the parchment did he stop. He didn't bother re-reading it before folding and sealing it, certain that if he did, he would change his mind about the whole thing.
--
When Albus stepped through the portrait hole and into the common room, the voices he'd heard from the narrow passageway went silent. “Oh, don't stop talking about me now that I'm here,” he grumbled. “I'd hate to ruin your fun.”
“We weren't-” Mimsy started, but was cut off by James.
“Where have you been? I've been asking around, but no one has seen you all morning.”
“You're seeing me now, aren't you?” The anger and shame from earlier had started to bubble up again, and Albus was afraid he would start crying in front of the people who'd gathered. “And I'm sure the lot of you are just dying to know what I've been up to. Maybe I was snogging some poor bloke in a broom cupboard.”
“Were you?” Preston asked, eyes wide. Albus looked away, not wanting to think about those hazel eyes any more than he already had.
“Of course I wasn't, you twat. But you'd have no problems believing me if I said I had been.”
“Nonsense,” Mimsy cut in. “I can personally vouch for your heterosexuality, and everyone here knows that. So just forget about whatever happened this morning and we'll do the same.” Albus looked about the room and saw that everyone was nodding their heads in agreement. “You see?”
“Thanks, Mims,” Albus mumbled and ran a hand though his hair. “I'd appreciate that.”
“That's all well and good,” said James, rising from his chair. “But you and I need to have a bit of a chat. Now.”
Albus sighed, but he knew James too well to even try to get out of it. “Yeah, sure. Let's just get it over with now so I can go be a miserable git in peace.”
--
Albus played with the tassels on James' bed curtain whilst James cast locking and silencing charms on the dormitory door. Part of him wanted to punch James for making him think about his friends in ways he never would have consciously considered before, but the other part of him wanted to apologise for being such a crybaby.
“Gryffindor lost fifty points this morning,” James said, and leant against the frame of the bed next to his own. “But that's not what I wanted to say. I wanted to apologise for taking the piss out of you at breakfast.”
“Apology accepted.”
“Now, are you going to tell me where you were, so I don't think you were in some broom cupboard, snogging the hours away?”
“I was thinking. About stuff.”
“And?”
“And that's all I'm saying about that.” Albus shifted under his brother's gaze and continued fiddling with the tassel. “So are we done?”
“Yeah, we're done. But if you ever want to talk about it, I'm here.” James waved his wand at the door to release the spells. “And cheesy brother crap aside, I really am sorry.”
“I know,” Albus said, stuffing his hands into his pockets and walking toward the door. “Just let's not mention it again.”
Chapter Six
Albus wasn't expecting to receive any post only two days into the school year, so when Scorpius' letter dropped next to his plate, he jumped. The only writing on the envelope was his name, and he didn't recognise the handwriting. The seal on the back was a green wax 'M', which he definitely didn't recognise.
“What's that?” Preston leant over the table to have a look at the envelope, but Albus tucked it into his pocket. “Oh, come on, Al. Open it! It's probably a love letter from some-”
“Some what?” Albus narrowed his eyes. So much for forgetting that yesterday had ever happened.
“Some girl, eager to help you with the problem you don't have?”
“Nice save,” Albus muttered, pulling the letter back out and sliding his finger under the flap to break the seal. The 'M' could stand for 'Mimsy', but it was unlikely, as she wasn't the sort to send love letters to boys she'd already slept with. And the writing didn't look particularly girly, either. “Albus,” Albus read aloud. “I know it isn't my place to say anything about the recent incidents involving your-”
“Well?”
“Never mind,” Albus said, refolding the parchment and jamming it once again into his pocket. “It's nothing.”
Across the room, Scorpius blanched. He hadn't anticipated Albus reading aloud, but judging by the way his brow was furrowing and his lips were moving, that's exactly what he was doing. But just as Scorpius was plotting his escape, he saw Albus pocket the letter and breathed an audible sigh of relief. Brendan quirked an eyebrow at him, but didn't say anything.
--
Scorpius was sitting by the lake polishing his broom handle, when he caught sight of Albus walking across the grass. “How did you know I was out here?” he asked when Albus was standing in front of him.
“I asked around,” Albus answered casually. “Can I sit?”
“I would assume so, considering you've got a backside and hip joints.”
“Cute, Malfoy. But leave my backside out of it.”
“You may sit,” Scorpius said, looking up and shielding his eyes from the sun. “But don't flatter yourself. Your backside is none of my concern.”
“That's sort of what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Your bum?” Scorpius set his broom to the side, and neatly folded the the waxing cloth before carefully putting it back into its pouch. “I haven't given it a thought.”
“No, no. I meant things that aren't your concern.” Albus pulled a few blades of grass and rolled them between his fingers. “Wait, that's not how I meant to say that. I just meant that I appreciate your offer, but there really isn't anything to talk about.”
“My father caught me kissing Xavier Zabini,” said Scorpius, fiddling with the hem of his robe. “And I thought the world was going to end. But it didn't. And as far as I know, he never even told my mum. I just wanted you to know that liking boys isn't going to bring about Armageddon.”
Albus thought for a moment. “Well, from a purely aesthetic point of view, I have to congratulate you on your taste.”
“Even the straightest straight thing that ever walked a straight line can see the beauty there. But tell me Potter, is there anyone else you admire, purely aesthetically?”
“Whatever I tell you stays between us, right?”
“You have my word.” Scorpius held up his hand as though taking an oath.
“Do you know Preston Kirby?”
“Would this be the same Preston Kirby who nearly killed me with a Quaffle during the finals last year? How he thought he could score a goal from halfway down the pitch is beyond me.”
Albus chuckled, remembering the incident. “Yeah, that's him. He plays football during summer holidays. You'd think after playing Quidditch for four years, he'd know that footy doesn't even compare.”
“I'd ask you what you were talking about, but that would give you even more of an excuse to avoid my question.” Scorpius pulled his knees up to his chest. “And that's what you're doing, isn't it?”
“I honestly hadn't thought about it before, but after I left breakfast yesterday-”
“You didn't leave. You fled.”
“Fine. After I fled from breakfast yesterday, I had a bit of a think about what James had said on the train. And I realised that Preston has the most gorgeous eyes I have ever seen.”
“I haven't seen them closely myself,” Scorpius said, shrugging. “But if the rest of him is anything to go by, I'll have to agree with you.”
“Anyway,” Albus continued, “I cried about it for an hour, and then I was fine.”
“So that's it?”
“What do you mean, that's it? It was a very traumatic hour.”
“No, I mean a boy as fit as Kirby, and all you're upset about is that you think his eyes are pretty?”
“Well,” Albus said as he pulled more grass. “No. It's that I think the gold bits in his Quidditch robes bring out the gold bits in his eyes. There, I said it. I think Preston looks nice in his Quidditch robes.”
“Purely aesthetically, of course.”
“That's the thing. I don't know that it is. And to be quite honest, that scares me shitless.”
“Hrm.” The corners of Scorpius' mouth quirked as he tried to hold back his laughter at the mental image of Albus being terrified by a boy on a broom. “Would you kiss him if he wanted you to?”
Albus shrugged. “I don't know, maybe. Just to put this thing to rest once and for all.”
“I thought that's what your romp in the sack the other night was for. Or did that not live up to your expectations?”
“No, it was fine. It's just not knowing if I'm attracted to boys as well. I never gave it a second thought before, but thanks to my idiot brother, I can't stop thinking about it. I know I'm not, but what if I am?”
“That makes absolutely no sense whatsoever, but somehow I understand what you're trying to say. If I were to ask you to kiss me right now, what would you do?” Albus' eyes went wide, and this time Scorpius couldn't hold back the bark of laughter that escaped. “Calm down, Potter. I'm not going to molest you. It was a hypothetical question.”
“Oh. In that case, I mean since it's purely hypothetical, I would consider maybe-”
“Close your eyes.”
“What?”
“Your eyes,” Scorpius repeated. “Close them.” Albus swallowed nervously, but closed his eyes. He dug his fingertips into the the grass and tried to keep his heart from hammering through his chest. If he let Scorpius kiss him, and he enjoyed it, then everything he thought he knew about himself would come into question. But if he didn't let Scorpius kiss him, then he'd never know, and he'd be miserable with doubt. And hadn't Scorpius promised that he'd keep everything just between them?
“Ready?” Scorpius asked, rolling forward so he was on his knees. Albus nodded, eyes still clamped shut, so Scorpius leant in and pressed his lips to Albus', gently parting them with the tip of his tongue. At first, Albus kissed back, pressing forward a bit but letting Scorpius lead. It wasn't until Scorpius took Albus' lower lip gently between his teeth that the realisation of what was actually happening sank in, and he pushed Scorpius away, harder than he'd meant to.
“I can't,” he said, jumping up and brushing the grass from his jeans. “I just- I can't. I'm sorry.”
Scorpius, seemingly unbothered by being flattened, propped himself up on his elbows. “Have you gotten your answer, at least?” When Albus looked away, Scorpius smiled slightly. “I'll take that as a yes.”
“Please don't write me any more letters,” Albus said before walking away.
“Right,” said Scorpius to the now empty space in front of him. “Because there isn't anything to talk about, is there?”
[To be continued.]
