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Scorpius should’ve known that if he hung around in the library for too long, he would stumble into Rose Granger Weasley. At the same time, the library had become his safe space and his refuge. It was where he’d go when he needed answers or just place to think and process. He’d spent ages sitting here after his mother had passed away, not for the reading material, but for the silence and calmness.
It was also where he figured things out. It was sitting curled up in a corner here with a few Muggle magazines that he’d finally figured out what his attraction to boys meant and what it could be called. It was here that he’d found the manuals, the psychology textbooks in Muggle Studies shelves that told you how depression worked and how to support your loved ones if they had it.
Scorpius couldn’t help wishing that the syllabus at Hogwarts was more inclusive of subjects like that – like psychology, sociology, political science. Maybe they were non-magic subjects, but wasn’t it the responsibility of every individual in a society to have some basic understanding of the society they lived in?
He remembered nights spent with his father at the manor, reading newspapers together and discussing politics, and he thought of Al and his aversion to politics, how he’d once pleaded that Scorpius “stop talking about who’s going to win this election please I’m too sober for this.”
Right now, he was going through magazines on pet care and advice on what sorts of pets would be easier to handle by someone having a pet for the first time. His main focus was guinea pigs, of course. He figured that it would be easier to convince Al’s parents if he had facts.
He thought of how Al had looked, with the guinea pig in his hands. He’d looked really happy then, properly happy. Most of his smiles these days didn’t reach his eyes, and when he told Scorpius he was fine, he wasn’t convincing in the slightest. Albus had looked practically radiant, holding the guinea pigs and letting himself feel alright for once.
Scorpius got out a piece of parchment and began to take notes, writing down everything to do with owning a guinea pig, from the cost and arrangements to more important things like how to guarantee their health and comfort. He bit his bottom lip thoughtfully while he wrote, trying not to be distracted by thoughts of Albus, Albus, Albus.
Albus, who’d sat next to him on the train and never left his side since. Albus, who smiled at you like he had a secret you were in on. Albus, who laughed at Scorpius’s saccharine addiction but never turned down any sweets all the same. Albus, who went on long and angry rants about everything bothering him until he was worn out. Albus, who put all his effort into portions, who had given up bothering to fix his hair (“Thanks, Dad”), who only began reading his library books one day before the due date. Albus who crawled into Scorpius’s bed and demanded to be held, because it made him feel safer. His wonderful, patient, kind best friend who was going through so much.
Albus deserved happiness, and seeing him deprived of it made Scorpius sadder than he could explain, as well as worried.
It was with that undercurrent of anxiety that Scorpius took notes, more frantically than he ever had for any examination. Albus had no reason to be getting worse; his family was supportive and he was on medication, he was seeing a therapist, everything was going to be okay. Yet Albus’s eyes hadn’t lost their glassy look, and he sometimes seemed to be worlds away from Scorpius. It made him concerned, but it also made him scared.
He noticed someone in his peripheral vision but didn’t register it, not until he clearly heard Rose say, “Hi Scorp, may I sit here?” while deliberately pulling a chair out.
“Sure,” he said, not looking up.
“That’s for Albus, isn’t it?” Rose asked. Scorpius nodded, still not looking up. To the best of his knowledge, the entirety of Al’s family didn’t know about his mental health, which made sense since they were a big family, and Albus wasn’t the most open when it came to things like this. Scorpius knew that the only people who knew other than him were Teddy and Al’s nuclear family.
“When are you going to tell him you like him?” Rose asked. “Is this your plan to woo him or something?”
Scorpius’s quill snapped. “What?” He looked up, aware that he was blushing a little. “I’m not trying to woo him!”
“But you do fancy him, don’t you,” Rose said. She didn’t seem to be intending any harm by this, if anything Scorpius thought that she must’ve considered herself helpful.
“Yes, but it’s not a good idea,” he said eventually. He wasn’t sure what else to say.
“Why not? I’m pretty sure he has a crush on you too,” she said softly. He could tell she was trying to be gentle.
No, because Al doesn’t need a boyfriend right now. He needs a friend who he can depend on, he needs to find a way out of whatever mental issues he’s dealing with, he needs someone reliable who’ll be there with him every step of the way, looking out for him. He doesn’t need a boyfriend and it’s almost predatory of me to force myself on him now, now when he’s so unprepared for this, when he’s suffering so much. I could never do that to him.
But he couldn’t say any of that to Rose, so he just shook his head. “It’s complicated, Rose,” he said. “I appreciate you telling me this, but I don’t think there’s anything I can do for now.”
Rose looked at him for a minute, thinking. Then she nodded and got up.
“I’m always here if you want to talk,” she said. “And so are James and Lily. Does your father know?”
Scorpius shrugged. “He knows I’m gay, but that’s all.”
“If it’s too personal for you to talk to me, just... reach out to someone who can help, okay?” she asked, and it sounded much kinder than anything she’d ever said to him.
He nodded, and managed a half-hearted smile. “Thank you,” he said.
She patted his shoulder as she got up, probably on the lookout for a new textbook to absorb. “You just seemed so lost lately,” she said softly, and Scorpius wasn’t sure if she’d meant for him to hear that.
He looked down at his research, and thought of the anxious, concerned feeling that never quite left him alone. Rose was right; he did need to talk to someone about it.
He put his notes away, and began to write a letter to his father, thinking of all the conversations about war trauma. He was certain that if anyone knew the answer to how to love someone who had severe depression, it would be his dad. It was only once he was done writing the letter, and sending it off using the owlery that something occurred to him.
He needed someone else to understand the worry, how scared he was for Albus, someone ready to listen and empathise and offer good advice, someone that he knew already aware of the situation.
It seemed so simple. Rose had been so insightful.
He needed to talk to Lily Luna Potter.