Chapter 1
Albus had known that Scorpius spoke French, but abstractly, as a concept. The same way he knew Scorpius had begged for a pet when he was five despite being allergic. The same way he knew he’d learned to ride by six because his father had never been able to say no to him for more than a couple days at best. They were small details he knew but that never affected his life, other than making Scorpius who he was - but being at the annual Greengrass Spring Ball meant that this information was suddenly highly relevant and even more maddening.
Couldn’t they have chosen a different country than France to escape the war to? Germany maybe? Although… well, hearing Scorpius speak German might not have been better, considering how distracted Albus tended to get when the other sounded angry. Just a different kind of torture then. Still, at this very moment the way speaking French meant Scorpius’ lips were almost perpetually puckered and ready to be kissed was something Albus could do without. He could have these thoughts in private, not here.
For now, he was unfortunately trapped at a ball whose attention oscillated between being on him (for obvious reasons, being a Potter did pull its weight) and being on Scorpius (who had not shown up for one of these things ever since his mother had died). And since they were usually right next to each other, the attention was permanently on them. Back home, people may have gotten used to their friendship, but French Wizarding High Society had seemingly not gotten that message. Albus would have cursed coming here without the small, thankful smiles Scorpius had given him all evening.
After everything they’d been through, he had confessed to Albus that he felt more than a bit silly avoiding his maternal family as thoroughly as he had been doing. They had grieved, same as him, but shutting them out completely had never been Scorpius’ intention. They’d just brought back so many memories, he had said, and then he’d gotten so busy with school and life and next thing he knew, it’d been a year since he’d even sent a letter, more since he’d last visited, and the years just kept coming. So, being a good friend, Albus had encouraged him to re-establish contact, he had proofread letter upon letter that Scorpius ultimately decided wasn’t good enough to send, he’d held his hand as he sent off the owl with the final draft. He’d held him, curled up tight, when the answer came and read it out when Scorpius had been too nervous to open it himself. They’d been glad he’d written, just as he had kept telling the other, and were overjoyed to hear from him.
Scorpius had insisted on only bringing his father for the first visit, but Albus had come along to wave goodbye at the portkey anyway. He was a good best friend, after all, if nothing else. And then Scorpius had come back with the invitation for this wretched ball, his mother’s favourite, her personal highlight of each season (which was apparently a fancy way to refer to a years’ worth of events, or something like that). Scorpius being Scorpius, he’d obviously been torn between not wanting to let his family down by not appearing, especially so soon after having them back in his life, and the waves of grief even he couldn’t deny would keep coming at the event. So, he’d asked Albus to come along, as moral support. His father may have shared his grief, but it had always been Albus who Scorpius had come to with his own. He was so stupid about not wanting to burden his family with it, even now.
Albus knew him too well to miss the subtle changes in his face when something was just a bit too close for comfort. People kept bringing up Astoria – he didn’t need to know French to understand that – and had he not known how badly drawing attention to Scorpius’ emotions tended to go, he’d have hexed them for the lack of empathy. How could they not see the way his eyes glinted just a little too much as he faked a laugh? How could they miss the way his grin was always just a little too wide? Or the way he kept adjusting his robes? At least some of them were his family, shouldn’t they know him better than this? He’d done all of this just the same at eleven, how could they forget that when Albus could not?
More than angry at any outsider, however, Albus was angry with himself. He knew how upset his friend was, he knew how hard all this was for him, he was literally confronted with it right this second. And yet, he couldn’t help but notice how good he looked in these robes and how surprisingly, genuinely, insanely hot it was to hear Scorpius’ swap pleasantries with stuck-up strangers in French. He had it so bad for him; it probably would drive him insane one of these days. One day soon, if small-talk he hovered at the edge of did it for him now.
He angled for another glass of champagne in the hopes it’d drown these thoughts out. It made them louder, because obviously that was just his luck tonight. The music picked up and Scorpius used it as an excuse to wind them both out of the conversation.
“Dance with me? Please, I need a break.” He sounded pleading and fuck, no matter how much he teased Scorpius for being spoiled, how could anyone ever say no to him? He’d spoil him worse than Draco if he were ever given the chance.
“Of course. Let me just…” The glass was quickly emptied, Scorpius’ annoyed look disregarded. Albus was aware that the other was at least three glasses ahead of him, so he was definitely not in a position to judge. It’d have been a lie to say he hadn’t meant to count, worried as he was.
Albus let himself be dragged onto the dancefloor just as the current song seemed to come to an end. Were they called dancefloors at parties like this? His usual scene was more dark club than mansion by candlelight, especially since he’d finally gotten his dad to stop insisting he come along to official functions. Maybe he shouldn’t have, maybe then he wouldn’t have felt this lost here. Maybe, Scorpius would have seen him differently if he fit into his life more completely and could keep up with him even here.
Letting himself go from being dragged to being lead was easy. Scorpius was taller and the better dancer, it only made sense to have him lead. Not that any part of him currently had the capacity for logical thought, beyond knowing that his dancing talents were not what was required of him right now. Once his stupid body got over the fact they were touching and his stupid heart got over the fact they were dancing (in front of everyone! In front of Scorpius’ family! In front of the stupid girls that had kept eying Scorpius all night long!), he’d be able to perform his actual best friend duties.
“So, how are you holding up?”, he murmured as he was pulled particularly close. For now, he wouldn’t voice his worries about the other’s mental state. Or the alcohol. Better to give him a chance to talk about it first.
“I’m fine.” Okay, looked like the idiot didn’t want that chance.
“Right, and that’s why you’re willing to dance with me despite my – and I’m quoting you – abysmal dance skills.” He’d only been intending it as a light-hearted joke, but that he’d been too harsh was evident in the way he felt Scorpius’ body go rigid.
“You don’t have to dance with me.” The ice that had enveloped Scorpius so wholly after his mother’s death had crept back into his voice - Albus thought he’d melted it years ago. Coming here had not been a good idea, fuck him for thinking he could keep Scorpius safe among all the memories. He was an idiot, too.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. We can keep dancing as long as you want.”
They had, in fact, kept dancing for quite a while. Certainly longer than socially acceptable for friends of the same gender if Albus interpreted the pointed stares correctly. Stuck-up and homophobic, then. Not that there was anything actually between them, he was certainly too much of a coward to confess his feelings now. The hat had been so very right not to put him into Gryffindor, no matter his protests back then. In any case, stares had become the least of his worries when he’d noticed the silent tears running over Scorpius’ face.
His pocket square (Scorpius had insisted on it, otherwise Albus wouldn’t even have known what it was) was wet and his legs tired when they finally left the dancefloor. Dance space? Some fancy French word he didn’t know? Didn’t matter, not really, especially not as he snatched another glass of champagne out of Scorpius’ hand.
“Maybe slow down?” He’d angled for the softest tone he could produce without having to fear being drowned out by the music, the most sympathetic smile. It was not returned.
“You’re not my fucking mother, Albus Severus. Give me my glass or I’ll get a new one.”
It was shaking up to be one of those nights. Grief and insults and Scorpius, pretending not to have feelings and being snippier because of it. Albus knew him well enough to know he’d break down later and apologize for being an asshole between sobs. It was hard to keep the sadness out of his eyes as he handed the glass back over. Was he enabling him? Or was he making sure he could stay by his side to prevent worse things from happening later? He’d always been good at making his behaviour seem justified, no matter what he did, and it left him unsure now.
Another hour of French conversation followed. Or at least it felt like an hour, these posh bastards apparently couldn’t afford having a clock in this damn room, despite all its gold. By now, hovering at the edge of every group, clinging onto Scorpius, who only sometimes had the presence of mind to translate, was grating. Albus was sure everyone here spoke perfectly alright English; he was so sure they were being rude on purpose with plausible deniability if called out. He could have made a scene, that probably was the intent, but he didn’t have it in him to care that much. After all, he was here for Scorpius, not to hold small-talk with strangers he didn’t give a shit about. If he was feeling gracious, he might have admitted they were doing him a favour by not making him pretend to be interested in them and instead letting him focus all his attention on Scorpius.
“I can’t fucking take this anymore. Let’s leave?” Classical music couldn’t come close to how sweetly these words sounded in his ears. Despite the fact that hearing Scorpius curse in polite society, the second time this evening, was alarming.
They left the ball with an almost-full bottle of champagne Scorpius had taken from one of the server’s trays without asking after saying his goodbyes. Even in this state he couldn’t help but want to be what his family expected of him, all sweet smiles and cheek kisses, despite his words. While Albus had always admired his tenacity, he could have kicked his ass for it this time. Just a little less people pleasing and a little more taking care of himself, please? Maybe next time, he would turn down any ball invites for both their sanities sake.
The two of them had managed to get lost almost immediately. With Scorpius’ shit sense of direction and the fact he hadn’t been here in years, he barely knew the way better than Albus did, who hadn’t set foot on the estate before tonight. He vaguely recalled he’d had to take a lot of right turns on his way from his assigned, white and gold, fully over the top room to the ballroom, but this house had too many floors for him to navigate drunk. Well. Tipsy. He’d have snatched the bottle Scorpius was still holding like it was a lifeline if he hadn’t been so sure that’d get them both drinking again.
At some point, they gave up on trying to find their rooms and settled for literally any room with a bed in it instead. Apparently, they’d ended up in one of the guest wings, at least that was what Scorpius had said after seeing the theme of the room. It was pink roses, because of course it was. Why not a romantic setting for their sad little party. Why not make Albus even more aware how hopelessly in love he was with someone who didn’t seem to have noticed in the literal years that’d been going on. It was fine. He’d gotten through worse.
Scorpius dramatically let himself fall onto the bed, almost covering himself in alcohol. This time, Albus did actually take the bottle from him, without much protest even. He set it down on the fully unnecessary, giant work desk. Then, he took off his shoes and let himself fall onto the bed as well.
It didn’t take long for Scorpius to be curled up in his arms, breathing irregular, body even more rigid than earlier. And here they went, it was time for the inevitable breakdown. As much as he knew Scorpius had wanted more of his family back, he’d certainly try to talk him out of coming back here for a party anytime soon. Who invited their grandson to a ball his dead mother had loved and fed him to the wolves without checking in on his feelings even once? Were all wannabe-elite pureblood families this cold and cruel or did Scorpius just get unlucky? By now, Albus usually got along with Draco just fine, but he certainly didn’t appreciate his role in tonight’s disaster either. He’d fled the whole affair in a similar manner to Scorpius, only much earlier and with something stronger. And he was supposed to be a fucking adult. Thanks for nothing.
“You wanna talk about it, Scorp?”, he whispered into the other’s hair after the sobs had quieted down. They’d assumed their usual positions once Scorpius had started crying, with his face on Albus’ chest, Albus’ face in his hair, peppering it with kisses when the sobs got especially intense, one arm on Scorpius’ back and one in his hair, stroking gently. It wasn’t the only time they got physically close, but the times of casual touch had become much rarer as they had grown up, and cuddling was definitely reserved for late nights and high emotions now. Everything about this had been typical so far – the breakdown, the reassurances, the apologies, the forgiveness, the self-hatred he felt because his heart still beat faster with Scorpius so close to him, despite the circumstances. He shouldn’t look forward to these moments that meant his friend was having a hard time; he just couldn’t help himself. Fuck, he was so pathetic.
“Absolutely not. Distract me, please?” This was typical, too. Getting Scorpius to open up had become easier with time, but his mother had always remained a sore subject. Maybe they’d talk about this evening in a couple of weeks, when things had quieted down somewhat. For now, Albus knew exactly what Scorpius was asking for, and he knew all the reasons this was a terrible idea as well. They’d said they wouldn’t do this again, last time. They’d agreed it was a terrible idea and it couldn’t keep happening and they needed to get their shit together. They’d agreed they didn’t want to risk their friendship for something that could – and probably would, stubborn as they both were – go spectacularly wrong. Well, mostly Scorpius had talked and Albus had seen no other option but to agree. No reason to confess your feelings when you’re so sure you’ll be turned down, is there?
“Scorp, you’re drunk… we shouldn’t… we said we wouldn’t…” He really, really hoped Scorpius wouldn’t push. Or did he? In any case, saying no once was hard enough, he wasn’t sure whether he had the strength to do it a second time.
“You’re drunk, too. Neither of us would be to blame. I wouldn’t blame you. Please?” The way he said please had always made Albus weak. Had Scorpius asked for anything else, he would have already said yes. But he couldn’t keep putting his heart on the line, could he? One day, it would actually break, and he couldn’t have it be right now, with Scorpius falling apart in this house.
“I didn’t have as much as you, I’d feel responsible-” The bottle had been Accio’d over to them before he’d had the opportunity to finish his sentence. Scorpius was drinking some champagne, in this weird way of his he’d found to make the bubbles not be too much to handle, leaving a little gap at the top for air to come in so he’d not have to put it down. And Albus wasn’t focusing on the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, wasn’t paying attention to how graceful he looked, half-sitting in bed with a bottle to his lips, wasn’t staring at his tongue when it darted out to lick the last bit of champagne off of them after. He wasn’t, really! But he also wasn’t blind, and Scorpius fucking knew it, Slytherin as he was.
Albus took the bottle when it was held out to him, and he knew what he agreed to when he took gulps. He didn’t have Scorpius’ technique because he did not make a habit of getting drunk off of things you needed technique to drink, so he kept having to put the bottle down to suck some air into his lungs. He saw Scorpius watching, eyes clearly on his lips. He’d never been good at saying no to him.
This would be okay, wouldn’t it? What was one more mistake? Making out with someone he couldn’t have and harboured secret feelings for, that was, not making out with Scorpius. He would never be able to call that a mistake, no matter how awkward it made things on occasion. Maybe one of them would have the grace to pretend they didn’t remember what happened again.
Not that Albus could ever seriously forget. Sometimes, it felt like he lived for this – drunk, stolen kisses from someone he wanted to give his whole life to. He would have, had Scorpius not insisted it was a terrible idea. The words had been on his lips before Scorpius had made sure he knew he didn’t want them to be anything but friends. He wouldn’t ever let them slip if it’d let him keep this, and so far, it had. No matter what they said in the mornings.
Now, both his hands were in Scorpius’ hair, much less gentle than they’d been before. It was fucking embarrassing how tightly he was holding him, but the fear that every kiss might be their last did not make Albus inclined to let any of them go easily. On top of that, the alcohol made him stupid and reckless and he let his tongue slip into his best friend’s mouth like that was not a step too far. This didn’t usually happen.
But Scorpius let him, even scooted closer to him on the bed. Okay, this was easily the best, most pathetic moment of Albus entire life. And he had a lot of moments to choose from. Scorpius hand was on his chest and he’d probably have been embarrassed for how fast his heart was beating, but it had been doing that earlier, too, and Scorpius hadn’t commented when he’d have to have heard it. That meant it had to be fine, right? This heart wouldn’t ruin this for him? No matter that it felt like it’d burst any moment and Albus wasn’t sure from what emotion exactly.
He thought Scorpius had started to cry again when he tasted salt. It was only when he felt the other’s thumb glide over his cheek that he realised it was him. A new low, then. Probably meant it was his turn to pretend none of this had happened and he should drink more for plausible deniability.
It was a wonder he’d managed to pick the bottle back up without spilling anything after he had so haphazardly set it down on the mattress to make even more bad decisions. Especially because he did not let go of Scorpius and opted instead to mostly blindly fumble for it.
Letting Scorpius go was always the worst part of this, regardless of the fact Albus could see the promise of more in the other’s eyes. The bottle was half-empty by now and he intended to dwindle it down some more. He told himself it was so Scorpius wouldn’t have the opportunity to get even drunker, but truly, he was drinking to drown his emotions just the same as he was. What a great couple of friends they were.
“You wanna talk about it, Alby?”, were his earlier words repeated back at him. He shook his head, bottle still to his lips. It wasn’t like Scorpius would want him to talk about it if he knew what Albus was thinking about. That he hated himself for always doing this, hated himself for not having the guts to tell Scorpius how he was feeling, hated himself for not standing up for himself and saying ‘either you kiss me in the daylight or we stop’. Because fuck, he couldn’t seriously stop, could he? Not with the way all this felt. Not with the fuzzy feeling everywhere in his body he wasn’t sure was alcohol or Scorpius or a mix of the two. Not when his best friend pulled him closer and kissed him like this the second he released the bottle from his lips. Albus could almost delude himself into thinking Scorpius was as starved and desperate for this as he was. It’d probably have gotten a bitter laugh out of him if his lips weren’t in much better use right now.
It was both a good and a terrible night for his ego. First, he’d utterly failed at emotionally supporting, then he’d utterly failed at keeping their pact although he’d been relatively sober, but now at least his kisses seemed good enough to keep Scorpius coming back after each short stop to breathe or drink. This was probably the longest the two of them had kept this up. The bottle was long empty by the time their kisses became more subdued, almost sweet. It didn’t take much pretending to create a fantasy world in which he’d confessed his feelings and they were dating when everything seemed so loving. He was so, so utterly fucked.
In part because he was so horribly turned on and, with the way they were laying, he had no idea if Scorpius was as well. This was most certainly too far, too much for their friendship to take, right? You could kiss someone and pretend it changed nothing, but he didn’t think you could do the same if you went… further. Which they wouldn’t, right? Drunk or not, Scorpius had to share his concerns?
Concerns that were much harder to remember with Scorpius’ lips on his neck instead of his lips. What spilled from his mouth were not pleas to stop, nor anything but indication to keep going. He wanted Scorpius to keep going so bad it hurt. Also, his neck seemed to actually hurt.
“Fuck, did you bite me?” He wouldn’t, right? Regardless of the rush it sent through Albus’ whole body, biting and marking were not on the table for the two of them. He wasn’t Scorpius’, they weren’t each other’s, no matter what secret hopes he may have been harbouring, and having to wear his mark and pretend it meant nothing was just a bit too far for him to take. Or worse, having to heal it. Having Scorpius heal it. Having all trace of it erased.
“Sorry, wasn’t thinking, won’t happen again.” Was that one of their usual promises or was that an actual one? The breath that was hitting his already sensitive neck when Scorpius murmured against it made it really hard to tell.
It seemed the interruption had made Scorpius insecure and Albus truly wasn’t sure how he should feel about it. Relieved? Disappointed? Despairing? It was probably better if they stopped… whatever that had been. Back to more familiar grounds – he grabbed the softest hair he’d ever touched and pulled his best friend up to kiss him again. He needed to remember the best friend part now more than ever.
Things had started feeling awkward, the alcohol was empty, and Albus could have sworn he heard steps outside. It was normal to break apart under these circumstances, right? The embarrassed way in which Scorpius was rubbing his neck made him ache, and not in the fun way. Making out with Albus seemed to always be an act of desperate need for distraction that was embarrassing after the fact for him. It was fine, Albus told himself, it didn’t taint any of the nice things he’d felt earlier. Only of course it did, and this time he could feel the tears coming. He looked away to make sure Scorpius wouldn’t have to notice them.
“Do you want me to bring you to your room? I think I know the way from here… maybe.” Scorpius Hyperion fucking Malfoy. He said that now?
“Yeah, I think that would be good.”
The way to his room was quiet, which meant that the morning after awkwardness had already started settling in. At least that took care of any and all issues he had had regarding erections.
It took a few tries and a few hastily chosen hiding spots (neither of them wanted to run into other partygoers and have the rumours start again) but they did finally end up in Albus’ room for the night. The darkness helped the gold feel less overwhelming and gaudy. Did he get an especially extravagant room or were they all like this? Was this another thing he could thank his dad for?
“Do you want to sleep here or do you think you’ll find your way back?” Usually, he’d have made sure Scorpius arrived safely, but he needed the time and space for a breakdown of his very own. And Scorpius wasn’t his best friend for no reason, so he turned around with a goodnight wish and left.
Albus didn’t bother fully undressing, but his shoes managed to go again, and his jacket did as well. He even undid his belt, as if that meant he had his life together. Then, he curled around a pillow, because of course he needed to recreate holding onto Scorpius. Most comforting place on earth when it wasn’t currently causing his anguish. Or apparently even then.
He hadn’t managed to sleep much when the sun awoke him. Great, he took his belt off but didn’t think to close the blinds. Pathetic and stupid.
His head felt bad, his mouth tasted worse, and despite these early signs of a hangover the images of last night where crystal clear in his mind. They were almost clearer than they’d been yesterday, the image of Scorpius illuminated by moonlight, clearly staring at his lips with longing and surrounded by roses would probably not leave him easily. Whatever. He couldn’t possibly fall more in love with him, so it didn’t make anything worse at least.
Convincing himself to get up wasn’t easy, but the thought of grabbing breakfast before Scorpius, who notoriously slept in, managed to get up did make it easier. It was probably a good idea if they both had some more space before running into each other again. Plus, hangovers always made him so insatiably hungry.
Obviously, it wouldn’t be too long until they’d see each other again. Albus wouldn’t disappear without a word because he wasn’t an asshole. And because Draco had their portkey back home. But mostly because he wasn’t an asshole and Scorpius still needed him to deal with the emotional disaster of yesterday. Hopefully, facing him with a full stomach and a head full of lies about what he could and couldn’t remember would make it easier to play his role.
The sooner he got up, the greater the chances of a breakfast alone. Time to get going.