It was a well-established fact that Slytherin threw the best parties. Its location beneath the Black Lake ensured that most of the music and shouting was muffled by several feet of water and stone. (And it certainly didn’t hurt that most of Hogwarts’ wealthiest students were Slytherins, meaning top-shelf firewhiskey and kegs of butterbeer were always in abundance.) After an intense quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin ended in a landslide victory for the latter team, word quickly spread of the celebration to be held in the common room.
Scorpius could think of several things he’d rather be doing than spending the night surrounded by his raucous, intoxicated classmates, but Albus would be there, which meant Scorpius’ absence was out of the question. He set his battered copy of A History Of Magic on the closest side table and scanned the room for the hundredth time. Most of the other students present were still setting up for the party. A couple of seventh-years were levitating green and silver streamers to hang from the vaulted ceilings, while the rest conjured tables for the awaiting treats and liquor. Still no sign of his best friend. Perhaps he was still changing out of his uniform? Albus was always the last to leave the dormitory in the morning, but even he couldn’t need an entire hour to change out of his quidditch uniform. Not even one as spectacularly form-fitting as his had grown to be since the start of term.
Scorpius’ gaze had been locked on Albus’ breathtaking form for the entire match. He played flawlessly. Every dive was calculated, each quaffle pass deliberate and ruthless. Halfway through the game Scorpius realized with a jolt how closely his playing style mirrored his personality. He was ever-vigilant, adapting quickly to the Gryffindors’ offensives. Brutally efficient and viciously agile, he was an unstoppable force once the quaffle was in his hands and his eyes locked onto the goal posts. Albus had pushed his goggles into his unruly curls to keep them from flying into his eyes while he rolled and dove. It had taken his breath away and, not for the first time, he was reminded of how utterly in love he was with his best friend.
It was a secret Scorpius planned to take to his grave. There was no way that Albus - kind, perfect, beautiful Albus - returned his feelings. He and Albus shared everything; nothing remained hidden for long between the two of them. But all the love he felt for Al, every moment that had Scorpius blushing like mad and imagining a future together, those moments he poured into his diary. And so he waited for Albus to return from the pitch. He filled page after page with vivid descriptions of Albus’ flushed cheeks, wind-whipped hair, and the way he searched for Scorpius in the crowd after every goal he scored. He allowed his heart to bleed onto the pages, permitted his mind to wander into a timeline where he could hold Albus’ hand and murmur every word on his tucked-away pages.
Scorpius didn’t realize the party had begun around him until a Gryffindor student, clearly drunk, stumbled into the back of the couch and broke his concentration. He set down his journal and took in the scene around him. Now that he was paying attention, he noticed the ceiling had gone dark. The lack of rippling light streaming through the Black Lake told him he had been writing for nearly an hour. The once-barren tables were now overflowing with sweets pilfered from the kitchens. Upon a table placed at the center of the common room, a small fountain bubbled with firewhiskey. Surrounding it were kegs of butterbeer and several red plastic cups that he’d only ever seen the muggles use in films Albus had shown him over the summer.
A commotion near the common room entrance snared his attention and Scorpius turned to see Albus picking his way down the marble steps. Students from every house were sitting on nearly every available inch of the stairs, but when they realized the Potter brothers had arrived, they parted like a curtain. Scorpius stood, allowed his journal to fall from his lap, and stared. Anyone who didn’t know the Potters would never guess that James and Albus were related. James, with his broad shoulders and fiery red hair, and Al, with his lithe frame and raven locks - slightly curled from the shower he undoubtedly took after the match. Albus detested having all eyes on him, but James gladly soaked up the attention focussed entirely on the pair as they wove their way through the common room. From the corner of his eye Scorpius heard the rustling of parchment, and then -
“Biggest rager of the year and you’re still doing homework?” Scorpius sucked in a ragged breath and spun to face the voice’s owner. Eliot Green, Gryffindor Beater, was holding his journal. Years of torment at the end of Eliot’s wand automatically sent his pulse jackrabbiting into his throat. He stood, petrified, trying to decide whether to take a safe step back or rush forward to grab the journal out of his hands. Eliot sneered at his hesitance and held the journal tight to his chest.
“ You really are an enormous geek, you know ,” he mocked in a sing-song tone. Scorpius clenched his fists, obscured by his long cloak sleeves, but he didn’t dare move. Eliot must’ve overheard him and Al talking in the common room last night.
-
Albus had been fraught at the prospect of letting down the team at the upcoming match. Scorpius begun rattling off every Chaser strategy he’d memorized from the book on Albus’ bedside table in an effort to calm his nerves. Al had mastered nearly every one, and Scorpius was just getting around to assuring him he could’ve possibly fail when he found himself swept into a hug. The shock had worn off after a few seconds, but Scorpius registered that they were still holding each other.
“That’s the third time you’ve done that,” he’d squeaked. But Al only held him tighter and murmured, “You really are an enormous geek, you know?” Even with his face nestled into Al’s shoulder, he could hear the soft smile in his voice.
“I’m so glad to have a friend like you,” were the words that pulled him back to reality. The cold reminder that Albus saw him as a friend - and nothing more.
-
Scorpius’ eyes burned, unshed tears stinging at such a vulnerable moment being thrown back in his face by Eliot of all people.
“I would’ve thought Voldemort’s son would be eager to celebrate such a phenomenal win for his own house. Daddy would be so disappointed. Now, let’s see what we have here-” he wrenched the journal open, hard enough that Scorpius heard the spine crack, and opened to the most recent page.
Scorpius forgot how to breathe as his eyes scanned the page, a cruel grin slicing across his face as he realized exactly what he was reading.
He stepped up onto the nearest table and grinned. “I think this is something everyone would enjoy hearing, don’t you?”
Rational thought abandoned Scorpius. A primal fear possessed him and he rushed forward and made a grab for the journal. Eliot anticipated his move and sent a half-hearted stinging hex his way. It sliced across his cheek, and Scorpius cried out in pain. The common room went deadly silent in seconds as people noticed the commotion. Scorpius had tripped over a table leg and fallen onto the unforgiving marble floor. He held his cheek with one hand, and the cut stung as salty tears ran across the wound. All eyes were on Eliot as he held the journal above his head and crowed:
“Before we all get too drunk to remember anything, Scorpius Malfoy has something he’d like to say. He’s too much of a coward to say it, so I’ve graciously volunteered to be his voice.”
It was a nightmare. The scene before him blurred from tears, silence except for Eliot’s grating voice scraping his heart raw to everyone in the room, and Albus - oh god. Albus was here. He’s going to hear everything. They’ll never be able to come back from this -
And then Scorpius’ own words were echoing throughout the vaulted ceilings and into the ears of everyone in the common room:
“I know that loving someone and being in love with someone are two entirely different things, but with him I feel both. I love him. I’ve always loved him as a friend, but for a while now it’s felt different. I reread my previous entries, and now I know why they sounded so familiar. They sound like the stories dad tells me about mum. I love how beautiful he looks as he’s falling asleep in our dorm, and how he’s always grumpy at breakfast. I love how passionate he is about the causes he believes in, and how fiercely he cares for his family (even if he tries to hide it). I love that I can feel the sun inside my chest when he’s close, but I can’t bear to be apart from him. But most of all, I love him. I’m in love with Albus. And it feels like this is the type of love one only reads about in fairytales. It’s a love some people spend their whole lives searching for, and sometimes never even find. I think it’s a love worth fighting for. And when I was in the alternate timeline- What the hell? Malfoy, enlighten us on what you meant by that last part! ”
Scorpius couldn’t breathe. There were a few snorted laughs scattered across the crowd, but mostly it was silent. His hands were trembling. If he weren’t already on the floor, he would’ve fallen over. He used the table to pull himself up, intent on running somewhere, anywhere but here, when his gaze snagged on Albus and James. Albus, whose eyes were filled with pity. And James, eyes blazing with anger and face flushing so red it nearly matched his hair. His eyes were locked on Scorpius, chest heaving and fists clenched. He stalked forward, the crowd parting to let him pass. Scorpius took an instinctive step back. James was going to hit him. He knew Scorpius had feelings for his little brother. James swung his fist back - Scorpius flinched away - and a crack cleaved the silence as Eliot cried out and fell flat on his back.
Scorpius opened his eyes just enough to see that James and Eliot were wrestling on the ground before he pulled himself together and ran.
He shoved against bodies, babbled apologies, and ran. Up the winding staircase, past the common room doors, and down the corridors. Left turn, right turn, up stairs, through the courtyard. He ran and ran until his lungs burned and his legs felt like jelly. He collapsed into a heap, pain registering dully as his knees hit the boathouse floor. He felt the full reality of what transpired hit him all at once, and he broke. This was vivisection. His heart felt scrubbed raw for all the world to see. And the worst of it - Albus’ pitying gaze. A single look that told him everything he needed to know. Albus would find a way to let him down gently, but Scorpius doubted they’d ever really come back from this. Nothing would be the same. He shuffled back against a column and pulled his knees up to his chest. Every sob felt drawn from his well of sorrow, something that had remained untouched since his mum’s funeral.
“Scorpius?” Albus’ tentative voice halted his sobs momentarily. He didn’t dare look up. As soon as he did, it would be the beginning of the end. As long as he kept his eyes shut, he could hang onto whatever hope he had that things wouldn’t change. Shuffling, and then a hand beneath his chin, gently guiding his head up. The smell of firewood and fresh linen, Albus , and then - “Could you open your eyes for me?” He obeyed. Albus could ask him for anything, and Scorpius would comply, knowing it was already his.
“There you are,” he smiled softly. Scorpius slowly took in his surroundings and let his gaze linger on Albus’ face. His cheeks were flushed, his hair was messier than usual, like he’d been raking his hand through the curls, and his eyes were so impossibly green Scorpius could drown in them. A weight was placed next to him.
“I believe this belongs to you,” he murmured tentatively. Scorpius knew without looking that it was his journal. He couldn’t bear the sight of it.
“I thought James was going to hit me,” he blurted. Albus reared back as though he’d been slapped. “He would never! James loves you. Everyone loves you…,” he trailed off.
Scorpius felt a sudden surge of bravery push a single word from his chest: “Everyone?” Everything felt suspended in the air. It was the feeling of missing a step on a darkened staircase, the stretched-out moment when you couldn’t tell if your feet would meet the next step or you’d end up sprawled at the bottom. Albus seemed to cast about for something, and when he found it, he set his shoulders and met Scorpius’ gaze head-on.
“Everyone,” he assured. Scorpius felt confusion and hope in equal measures. “Those things I wrote about you - ”
“I’m glad you did,” Al cut in. Scorpius gaped, but he continued. “I feel awful for listening, but I’m so glad you did. Before it got to the part with my name, the only thing I could think of was how badly I wanted those thoughts to be about me.” He shuffled closer, knees brushing against Scorpius’.
“I wanted that because - Because I know that loving someone and being in love with someone are different, but I feel both of those things. For you. And only you. I have for a while now, but I didn’t understand it until tonight.”
Scorpius sniffled as tears traced down his cheeks for an entirely different reason. A breathy laugh escaped him, high and a bit hysterical. “You can’t remember your class schedule, but you memorized that in one go?”
Al’s face softened into a relieved grin. He seemed to fold in on himself with relief as he bunched up his cloak sleeve and gently wiped the tears from his cheeks. The fabric grazed the cut on his cheek and Scorpius hissed. Albus stilled completely, eyes blazing just as James’ had been minutes ago.
“Did he do this to you?” His fist shook with rage as he touched the tip of his wand to Scorpius’ cheek, but the healing magic that flowed from him was gentle, the kiss of a breeze. Albus ran his thumb along the newly-healed cut, and Scorpius leaned into his touch, greedy for more. The warmth disappeared as Albus stood. “He’s dead.”
Scorpius hand shot out, catching Albus’ hand at the last second. “Please don’t,” he begged. “Just stay here with me?” Albus scowled up at the castle, but dropped to his knees next to Scorpius.
“I’d rather be where you are, anyway,” he breathed. He looked at Scorpius for a moment before pulling him into a hug. Scorpius laughed, holding Al to his chest and allowing himself great lungfuls of air, taking in his best friend’s familiar scent. Scorpius voice was slightly muffled where his face pressed against Albus’ chest as he asked, “Is this a thing we do now?”
Albus pulled away and gently cupped his face, his touch gentle, heavenly. “I want it to be,” he replied, with more resolve than Scorpius had ever heard from him.
He bit his lip nervously and Scorpius eyes followed the motion, shamelessly staring. Albus’ thumb drifted up to gently rest against his bottom lip. “May I?” he begged.
Scorpius replied by gripping his cloak with both hands and kissing him with the desperation of a drowning man. Albus’ lips were warm, supple, his kiss impossibly gentle and maddeningly hungry all at once. It could’ve been forever or a moment when they finally pulled away, breathless and smiling like lovesick fools. Albus opened his arms in invitation and Scorpius tucked himself against his chest. They sat in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the feel of being so close. It was Scorpius who broke the silence first.
“Nothing will ever be the same, will it?” he murmured. Albus gazed down at him. He brushed a stray lock from his forehead and placed a gentle kiss in its stead.
“No. It’ll be better.”