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Hogwarts Library - Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff Free Study Period
"Stop being such a homo."
Albus hated that word—homo—especially when it came out of Tim McAlister's mouth, even if just in jest. Still, Albus kept his expression neutral, letting his indifference serve as response enough to Tim's taunt. Hardly a comeback, he knew, but he didn't care enough to be bothered, truthfully. Instead, he maintained his vigil from his hunched position over the library desk, watching what had to be one of the most disturbing sights he'd ever witnessed: Scorpius and Geoff Creevey, in each other's laps, with Scorpius batting his eyelashes at Geoff.
Okay, so maybe Scorpius wasn't really "batting his eyelashes" at Geoff.
And maybe they weren't quite "in each other's lap".
But that was hardly any consolation.
They were still sitting way too close to one another. Way too close.
Geoff had started tutoring Scorpius in Charms two days ago. Since then, they've been spending way too much time together, and spending it way to close to one another.
Tim sighed. "Man, you've been nothing but a big wuss these days. Harden the fuck up and go kick Geoff's ass."
Still no movement from Albus.
Once Tim had realised the ineptitude of his taunts, he aimed for a different approach. "If it bothers you so much, go tell him."
Albus pouted. "Tell him what, exactly?"
"That he's yours."
"I can't do that," Albus said solemnly, sitting up in his seat and flipping to another page in his Charms For Dummies, Seventy-Fifth Edition. "It's not like..."
Tim shook his head as he continued copying notes from one parchment pad to another. "Not like what? Man, I tell ya'... I'll never understand you Brits. And if you ask me—"
"Funny that I don't recall asking you, innit?" Albus sighed, giving another look towards Scorpius.
Scorpius was in full Hogwarts attire—robes pressed, Oxford shirt crisp, Ravenclaw tie fastened with mathematical precision. He sat at a perfectly respectable distance from Geoff, nothing that would raise even Professor McGonagall's eyebrows. So why did Albus feel like he'd just swallowed a particularly angry Flobberworm?
Two words: Geoff (bloody) Creevey—son of Professor Creevey, sixth-year Hufflepuff Prefect, and walking testament to the unfairness of genetic lottery. The Prince of Prats himself.
Though if Albus were being honest (which he absolutely refused to be at the moment), he'd have to remember how Geoff had hexed Tommy Nott for picking on him during his first year. Or how James considered him one of his closest mates. Or how Lily still blushed and dropped things whenever Geoff smiled in her general direction—though to be fair, half the students who fancied blokes had experienced that particular symptom at least once.
But honesty was clearly overrated when the object of your affections was sitting across from Hogwarts's most eligible bachelor, discussing the finer points of whatever that massive tome between them contained.
Tim nudged Albus's shoulder with his own. "I thought you said you two hashed things out last week?"
"We did... sort of." Albus grimaced. "It's complicated."
'Complicated' wasn't quite the right word for what had happened to his and Scorpius's friendship over the past few days. As friends, you wouldn't necessarily call Albus and Scorpius inseparable—that title would be reserved for Albus and Tim. But you wouldn't find one without the other nearby. Lately, however, Albus only caught glimpses of Scorpius during lessons and meals, or during those awkward moments when they passed each other in the corridors, both pretending to be fascinated by the nearest portrait or suit of armor.
Dragon's balls! They hadn't even had their first kiss, yet there sat Scorpius, practically sharing breathing space (in Albus's admittedly biased opinion) with the most eligible, shaggable bachelor Hogwarts had seen since the legendary Cedric Diggory himself.
And while Scorpius looked like he'd ironed his uniform with a Pressing Charm, Geoff had mastered that intentionally disheveled look that only the insufferably attractive could pull off. His shirt—wrinkled in that precise way that suggested hours of careful work to look carelessly rumpled—was unbuttoned halfway down his chest. Albus was certain that from Scorpius's angle, he could probably trace the trail of soft sandy-blonde hair down to Geoff's navel—which was probably just as unfairly perfect as the rest of him.
The git's happy trail was probably sorted into Slytherin, Albus thought bitterly.
Geoff moved closer to Scorpius, undoubtedly under the pretence of examining his notes. Albus watched, grip tightening on his quill, as Geoff pulled the ole yawn-and-stretch manoeuvre. Mid-yawn, Geoff's arm settled around the back of Scorpius's chair like a casual claim of territory. Albus nearly snapped his quill in half.
But it was when Geoff leaned in to whisper something in Scorpius's ear, and Scorpius threw his head back in that full-body laugh—the one that made his eyes crinkle at the corners and his nose scrunch up in that adorable way that used to be reserved for Albus's jokes—that something inside him finally cracked.
That was it. He'd had enough.
Slamming his book shut, Albus stood and delivered a final glare towards his newly-christened enemy. "I'm off, then," he said to Tim.
"You're done already?"
"I guess I am."
Without another word, Albus stomped out of the library, refusing to give Scorpius even the quickest of glances.
Breakfast the next morning was a tedious affair. Some dastardly machinations from the night before left the kitchens in such a disarray that the House Elves could barely keep in tow with the students' hungry demands. (Odds were Knut-to-a-Galleon that the Weasley Triplets were responsible.) So slow was the service that many of the students opted not to eat breakfast at all; Scorpius appeared to be one of them, and Albus was more than put out about it.
His head propped up on one elbow, Albus speared his Toad in the Hole and attacked his Scotch egg. He hadn't looked up from his plate or uttered a word to anyone all morning, and his fellow house mates knew from his demeanour not to pester him. Of course, the one person who wouldn't know to stand clear of Albus while he was in this mood — and probably wouldn't care even if he did know — had walked up from behind and stood over Albus, casting a shadow over him.
A voice boomed. "One side, Owlies."
"Owlies" was an ‘endearing' term sixth and seventh-years used to tease the fifth-years. It was a far-from-mild form of torture, especially after having already told the hapless younger students just how difficult the O.W.L. exams truly were.
Albus didn't need to look up to know who was responsible for the sudden kafuffle. That smooth baritone voice gave it away immediately — Creevey. A clavus seemed to strike Albus almost immediately.
As if they were dominos, the students to the left of Albus (including Tim) slid further down the table to make room. Geoff set a fancy, leather-bound book down next to Albus, who instantly recognised it as the Magique Libri — a blank spell book charmed to help decipher copied magical texts — that he had given Scorpius for Christmas last. He stared at the book's gilded lettering as Geoff sat next to him, facing the opposite direction, his feet in the aisle, and leaning back on both elbows.
"How can you eat that rubbish, mate?" Geoff asked after a beat.
Albus straightened and took an extra large, extra slow, extra sloppy bite of his food — a defiant answer to the question.
Geoff was unfazed. "Your brother eats far better than you, yet his skin... Well, he could take some tips from you, that's for sure. I mean, yours is so... smooth."
Albus froze, finding it difficult to swallow. "I... took a bath."
Stupid, stupid, Potter! To be fair—as if there was anything fair about Geoffry bloody Creevey! — very few people would ever compare James to Albus; undoubtedly, it would be considered rude. On the rare occasions they did, it was scarcely ever in Albus's favour. He and James may be brothers, but they were hardly on the same street.
"And... James doesn't?"
When Albus did finally manage to swallow, he was quite certain the entire school could hear it. Or at the very least, the entire Ravenclaw table.
"Where is Scorpius, by the bye?"
And just like that, Albus was snapped out of a trance, as though doused by a tidal wave of icy water. Albus's visage returned its previous lour. "Dunno, do I?"
"Well, he skipped off last night—" he nodded at the Libri, "—and forgot his book." Geoff paused as if expecting a thank you. "I thought he'd be here, with you." Another pause; another expectation. "Well, anyway, could you make sure he gets it, then?"
Albus stole another bite of his breakfast, making every effort to speak with his mouth full. "Sure"— and bits of food flew out of his mouth, almost landing on Geoff (who remained unmoving and unmoved)— "I'll get right on that."
If Geoff tasted the sarcasm in those words, dripping like so much crème from a freshly-baked éclair, he showed no indication. He merely nodded, gave Albus another once-over, and then, with a smile (damn that smile!), pushed away from the table and walked out of the Great Hall.
Immediately, Tim slid back beside Albus. "Dude, what the fuck?"
"I know, right," Albus said, mouth still full of eschewed food. "The nerve of him—"
"No, I meant you."
Albus's attention snapped to Tim. "What?"
"You were beyond rude, man."
Tim, of all people, should have understood. Geoff was a problem, an obstacle that had to be dealt with as quickly and efficiently as possible. Albus would be damned if he let that no-good, hack-kneed, poofy-haired, tan-skinned, smooth-faced, always-well-dressed, gorgeous-eyed, lush-arsed—ENOUGH!
Albus shook those thoughts out of his head.
"I'm telling you," Tim continued, "if Malfoy hears you were lippy with Geoff, there'll be hell to pay. And you know Malfoy'll collect... in spades."
Tim certainly understood Scorpius, maybe more than Albus did. But it was easy for Tim to say these things, considering his heart wasn't the one in danger of breaking. Albus slumped over his food again, spearing various bits and pieces before finally pushing the plate away, wiping his mouth, and standing up.
"I should probably go find Scorpius," Albus said. "Give him his spell book back."
"Man, just talk to him!" Tim called out as Albus walked out of the Great Hall towards the Ravenclaw Tower.
§
"You still want to shag my father, then?"
"Nah... I suspect I'm rather fond of his son, actually."
Those words — that moment — had been carved onto the rock and stone of Albus's memories as one of his most glorious moments. Ever. He had wanted to kiss Scorpius then and there, but opted not to. Scorpius had barely admitted to being gay, at any rate, and pushing him into a kiss seemed, to Albus, to be too much, too soon. Still, he wished he had, because it looked as though he would never get to kiss Scorpius, that Geoff would beat him to it (if he hadn't already), and that Albus himself was destined to remain a virgin for the rest of his days.
He walked down the corridor towards the stairwell that would lead him to the Aviary — as many of the older Ravenclaws had come to lovingly called their tower — with his arms hanging limp and heavy, pulling down his already horrible posture. That was the other thing. Geoff was perfect, or as good as; Albus was not. Well... he had good skin, apparently, according to Geoff... as if Albus wanted compliments from Geoff. He was probably being patronising anyway, the git. In fact, how dare he think that Albus even needed compliments!
Anger welled up inside him, and Albus thought the anger was perfect! It would be much easier to hate Geoff if he, well, hatedGeoff. He could start by no longer referring to the prat as ‘Geoff'. Stick to last names. They're impersonal, cold. Refer to the boyfriend-thief strictly as ‘Creevey' — what kind of name was ‘Creevey' anyway? A stupid name, that was what.
"Bloody ruddy stinking putrid..."
The familiar voice dragged Albus into the here-and-now. He perked up and found a scowling Scorpius clomping towards him, hands balled in fists, jaw clenched, and eyes narrowed into sharp slits. He looked very much like a snake ready to attack.
"How bloody dare he..."
Uh-oh. Albus swallowed hard, not quite sure what to expect. Scorpius looked quite shirty... at him.
Scorpius stepped up to Albus. His breaths were quick and shallow. "Hey, we need to talk."
Bugger. "Erm... you left this with Geoff."
Albus held out the Magique Libri, watching as Scorpius's features softened for just a moment when he looked down at the book. "Oh. Yeah. Ta." But the warmth vanished as quickly as it had appeared, Scorpius's expression clouded over again as he took the book from Albus and stuffed it roughly into his rucksack.
Without another word, Scorpius turned on his heel and stalked away, his footsteps echoing off the stone walls of the corridor with a finality that made Albus's chest ache.
Albus stood there long after Scorpius had disappeared from view, long after the sound of angry footsteps had faded into silence. His mind was oddly empty, refusing to think, to analyze, to fret—because he knew the moment he started down that path, he'd have to face the truth that was staring him in the face:
He'd already lost Scorpius.
And they hadn't even had their first kiss.