pre-Scorbus
Their fathers were coolly courteous on the platform. They had mimicked the attitude. Their fathers were icons of the war. They had a duty to continue the legacy.
They had been sorted into the same House. That’s when it started. Scorpius found it hilarious, and Albus was so ashamed, no matter his father’s words on the platform, so it was an easy nerve to hit.
Albus tried to live by Gryffindor’s values, even as he was surrounded by the cunning snakes of his House. He didn’t fit in either. Gryffindors didn’t trust him; Slytherins shunned him. He was lonely, and Scorpius didn’t miss an opportunity to remind him.
Until Albus realised that Scorpius took so many opportunities to remind him that he actually was the one spending the most time with him.
“Is this a war?” He asked finally one day in the library as they both pored over their potions essays. “Are we meant to be fighting like our dads did?”
Scorpius sighed. “I was trying to,” he admitted. “But the war is over, isn’t it? Voldy is dead and gone. And - well, I actually quite like you. Annoyingly.” Shyly, he put out a hand and rested it over Albus’s. “A lot.”
After that, Albus embraced his Slytherin side.