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“Albus, I said wake up!”
Albus groans, burrowing further beneath his duvet, focusing all of his sleep-addled effort on ignoring the unwelcome voice of his older brother.
“Come on,” James complains again, seizing Albus’s shoulder and shaking forcefully. “Mum will have your head if you make us miss the portkey again this year.”
A frustrated growl slips through Albus’s lips as he sits up abruptly, tossing his blankets to the side and dislodging James’s hand in the process. “What time is it,” he croaks, roughly scrubbing his hands down his face.
“Seven,” James answers, curtly, like he’s ready for the fight.
Albus flashes him an incredulous look. “What the fuck, James? We don’t even leave for an hour!”
“Right,” James says, entirely unaffected, “and you’re not packed yet. Mum put me in charge of getting your arse ready in time.”
Albus stands, harshly grabbing his hoodie off the back of his desk chair as if it has personally offended him, before stomping towards the door.
“Where are you going?”
“Well, I need coffee if I’m going to pack at seven o’clock in the bloody morning , don’t I?” he says grumpily, turning to leave.
“No trousers?” James asks after him, with a smile in his voice that Albus pointedly chooses to ignore. He’s not conscious enough for James’s shit right now.
He pulls on his hoodie as he stumbles his way into the kitchen, silently lamenting for what he’s sure is the thousandth time that the universe gave him siblings. A sigh of relief escapes his lips when he spots the familiar green coffee jar perched on the worktop — even the stupid smiling daisies that adorn the front are a welcome sight right now. He fumbles the lid free and groans audibly when he finds it empty.
“I actually — “ an unfamiliar voice starts, causing an undignified yelp to escape Albus’s lips as his arms extend violently, dropping the coffee container while somehow knocking various other items from the counter.
“I’m sorry!” Scorpius — and of course it’s Scorpius — yells, looking horrified as he scurries to Albus’s side to help with the cleanup. “I’m so sorry!”
Albus places his hand on his own chest attempting to calm his breathing and clue his body in with the knowledge that the voice did not, in fact, belong to a murderer, but one of James’s mates from Hogwarts — Scorpius Malfoy.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Scorpius continues from his spot crouched at Albus’s feet, collecting the scattered serving spoons and whisks. “I was just trying to tell you that I made a pot of coffee already if you want some?”
“Oh,” Albus says stupidly, “thanks. It’s fine, I just wasn’t expecting you.”
“Clearly.” Scorpius chuckles, not unkindly, before meeting Albus’s eyes. “Hi Albus,” he says with a smile that makes Albus’s pulse quicken. He hates that some Quidditch players are so damn, pretty.
The perfect smile might be what has his heart racing at first, but when Scorpius stands and his eyes drop down Albus’s body in amusement, it’s pure humiliation that has him flushing all over. He’s suddenly very aware of his state of undress, pulling at his hoodie and willing some uncharacteristic burst of underage magic to make it longer.
“Sorry,” he says, averting his eyes. “I thought it was just my family here.”
“Oh no! Don’t worry about it,” Scorpius says, his hands waving awkwardly in front of him. “I know it’s been a while since you lived in a dorm. Trust me, I see worse every day.”
Albus only nods, biting his lip in an attempt to distract himself from the mortification with physical pain.
“No!” Scorpius squeaks, as if he’s just realised what he’s said. “That came out wrong. I wasn’t saying that you’re bad. This is good!” He says, motioning up and down Albus’s body and Albus wishes the ground would swallow him up.
His saviour comes from an unexpected place as James’s cackle erupts from the kitchen table. “Oh man,” he sighs, swiping at his eyes, “honestly, that was even better than I expected.”
Albus sends a glare James’s way before crossing his arms over his chest. “What’s he even doing here?” he asks, his question directed to James.
“Don’t be a prick, Albus,” James admonishes.
“Language, James,” his dad says tiredly, coming through the door and making a beeline for the coffee pot. He tops off his cup before continuing, “And Hermione said that she rented the larger beach house so all the kids could bring a friend if they wanted.”
“I still say that she’s just trying to get on her kids’ good side since she’s been working so much,” his mom laughs, following closely on his dad’s heals. She’s clearly fresh off a run, one of those disgustingly athletic people who wake up early to exercise... on purpose . “Albus!” she announces happily, “I’m so proud that you’re awake. Are you all packed?”
Albus ignores the question. “No one told me that friends were invited,” he grumbles.
“That’s because homeschool kids have no friends,” James says, popping a piece of bacon in his mouth with a smirk.
“Fuck off.”
“Language!” his dad shouts, and then to their mother, “It’s like they don’t even care that I’m right here.”
“I know dear, it’s all very awful,” she says with a condescending laugh before turning to Albus. “Albus, now please stop grumbling and go bring your bag down. And for God’s sake, put on some trousers. We have company.”
“Mum,” he says, softening his tone. His pulse is quickening and his palms are starting to sweat, both sure signs that his anxiety is flaring. He knows he’ll need her on his side. “I really don’t want to go now.”
His dad lets out a tired sigh from the sink but Albus ignores him, stepping closer to his mum. “I just didn’t know there were going to be so many people,” he reasons.
“Hogwarts has a lot of people,” James interjects, pointedly not minding his own business. Albus scowls in his direction, but catches Scorpius staring instead. Albus’s cheeks bloom pink; the humiliation caused by someone outside of the family knowing just how difficult it is for him to be a functional person — it's nearly unbearable.
“Seriously, though!” James continues, completely oblivious to Albus's internal dilemma. “How do you expect to finally go back this year if you can’t even handle ten people on holiday?”
“I —”
“Your brother is right,” his mum interrupts. “It’s almost seventh year, Albus. Consider this as us pushing you out of the nest.”
“Time to fly, son!” his dad adds unhelpfully, and Albus wants to throw up.
“Oh,” his mum says, “and time to get your bag and trousers. Where the hell is Lily? Lily!” she shouts.
Realising that he’s lost, Albus makes a disgusted sound in his throat, before trudging up the steps. He shuts his door a bit more loudly than intended and then drops onto his bed defeatedly, blinking back the traitorous tears that are pooling in the corners of his eyes. Deep down, he knows James is right, that he’ll never be able to handle — well, anything — if he’s not willing take the first step. And if he’s being honest with himself, it’s less the idea of the number of people, and more that no one will want to spend time with him if they all have their friends there. Just the thought of it makes his chest ache with loneliness.
“No,” he says aloud, standing up and shaking his arms out as he recites the ingredients for the Draught of Peace potion. It’s a grounding technique that his old mind healer taught him years ago, and it still gets the job done on the rare occasion that he needs it. He lets out a sigh before pulling a dusty book bag out from under his bed and hastily throwing balled up clothes into it.
He’s going to go on this holiday and he’s not going to let the presence of a dozen extra people ruin the experience for him. He’s going to get better at this and then finally start back to Hogwarts in the Autumn. He’s healthy now.
Who knows? Maybe he’ll even have fun.
Much to Albus’s relief, they arrive two hours before any Weasleys. He wants to be annoyed at the unnecessarily lost minutes of sleep, but to be honest, he’s happy to have the opportunity to get settled before the chaos begins.
His dad gives them their room assignments — James, Scorpius, and Albus will be rooming with Hugo and Freddie, and their unnamed guests, he assumes — in the room full of bunk beds. He tries to swallow down the apprehension at being the 7th wheel of the roommates, instead rolling his eyes as Scorpius and James break into an impromptu race to claim their beds.
He leisurely follows, delighting in the room’s isolated location. Even if the boys are too rowdy for him to sleep at night, it’ll serve as a quiet retreat for a nap through the day. He chooses the bottom bunk closest to the window, throwing his book bag at the foot of his bed, the complete extent of any “unpacking” he plans to do. He’ll never understand people who meticulously fold and put away their clothes on holiday, only to have to repack them again after a short week. It’s such a waste of time. Instead, he shakes out the stale sheet from the bed and hangs it as a makeshift privacy curtain, nodding to himself at a job well done.
Most of his morning is spent happily declining invitations, sketching, and listening as various members of his extended family pop into existence with extras in tow. It’s late afternoon, and he’s sitting at the breakfast bar when the Granger-Weasleys finally arrive.
“And where have you been?” his dad says, with playful accusation.
“Three times, Harry,” Ron spits, looking less than thrilled. “We had to reschedule the portkey three times.”
“I know!” Hermione says, coming in behind him, with Rose and her best mate, Marigold, at her side. “I fully acknowledge that I am the worst. It really couldn’t be helped this time. But ,” she says, rubbing her husband’s neck affectionately, “I promise I’m in holiday mode now.”
Ron looks less than convinced but he says nothing.
“Albus!” Hugo shouts, running to meet him smiling ear to ear.
Albus looks to all sides of him, expecting to see another teen, but there’s no one. “You didn’t bring a friend?” he asks, trying and failing to mask the excitement in his voice.
“Why would I need to bring someone else when I knew you’d be here?” Hugo says with an easy shrug, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Anyway,” he continues as if Albus is supposed to be unaffected by his kind words. “I brought my new chess set, if you want to break it in?”
Albus smiles with a breathless laugh. “You know I do!”
It’s less than an hour before they find themselves on the second floor balcony, hunched over the board, the sounds of various teenagers splashing in the pool drifting up from below.
“That pool looks amazing,” Hugo says, craning his neck to see through the slats in the railing. “It’s so bloody hot, I’m jumping in as soon as we’re done here.”
Albus shrugs, focusing on the board in an attempt to ignore the beads of sweat running down the back of his neck and dipping beneath his hoodie. He really wishes it were a bit cooler than 30 degrees, but he’s fairly used to dressing in more clothes than the weather warrants.
Hugo, ever the observant one, doesn’t miss a trick. “You going to leave the hoodie on for the whole holiday?” he laughs, reaching and pulling one of the strings to tighten the hood.
Albus shoots him a glare as he readjusts it back into shape. “It’s only the first day,” he huffs.
“Well, suit yourself,” Hugo says, eyeing the chess board with a smile that tells Albus he’s taken his well-laid bait. “It’s 30 degrees and I think the heat is breaking your concentration.” He takes Albus’s rook, sitting back with a self-satisfied smirk.
Albus only grins.
“What?” Hugo shouts in alarm, sitting up abruptly and frantically reexamining the board.
Albus relishes in the moment when he sees it. ”Oh, fuck.” Hugo sighs, defeatedly, dropping his head onto his closed fist, looking like a petulant toddler.
“Queen to C8,” Albus orders, with a bit too much exuberance. He leans back onto his hands before smiling at his cousin. “Check.”
Hugo sighs dramatically and topples his king.
“So what was it you were saying about the heat breaking my concentration?” Albus asks, feigning ignorance.
“Ha ha ha,” Hugo deadpans.
“Because I’d say your meddling breaks your concentration.”
Hugo opens his mouth to respond when a commotion distracts them both. Roxy, her boyfriend Marcus, James, and Scorpius are walking up the steps, laughing, and pushing each other playfully. It’s clear they’ve just come from the beach, both from the little clothing they’re wearing and the way a layer of sand coats their bodies like a second skin. Albus’s eyes flicker to Scorpius of their own accord — his hair has a slight curl from the salt and his sun kissed cheeks look like they’ll sting later.
When Scorpius catches sight of him, his face lights up. “Hi Albus!” He waves, and to Albus’s horror he breaks from the rest of the group to come to his side. “Oh, chess!” he says excitedly. “I didn’t know you played. Are you any good?”
Albus lifts a shoulder in a lopsided shrug.
“Pfft,” Hugo scoffs, narrowing his eyes. “False modesty isn’t cute, Albus.” He turns to Scorpius. “He’s brilliant. It’s annoying.”
Scorpius smiles almost proudly and Albus forgets how to breathe for a second. He looks down, only for his eyes to catch on the way the sand sticks to Scorpius’s bare chest. He hates this. The last thing he needs is to be flustered around one of James’s obnoxious Quidditch friends — their reputations for a revolving door of sexual partners almost as well known as their prowess on the Quidditch pitch.
“I’m pretty good too,” Scorpius admits, seemingly oblivious to both Albus’s ogling and internal lecture. “Maybe we can play sometime?”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“Maybe?” Scorpius laughs, crossing his arms over his chest. His very sculpted chest. “What? You worried that I’ll beat you?”
Albus knows he’s being goaded but he also knows that there aren’t many people who can beat him — especially not a Quidditch player. “I’ll play you sometime,” he agrees, “if you want to put some money on it?”
“Sounds great,” Scorpius says, with a disarming smile. “Come find me when you’re ready. I’ll see you two later, then.” He jogs to the group huddled around the hose, each taking their turn to wash the sand from their bodies.
Scorpius grabs it from James, pointing it to his chest, the water cascading in waves down the front of him. Albus sucks in a breath, looking pointedly away and finds himself staring directly into his cousin’s smirking face.
“Fuck off, Hugo.”
Hugo lets out a snort of laughter, that turns hysterical when Albus sends a glare in his direction. He falls to his side, taking gasping breaths, and Albus smiles in spite of himself.
“You’re as bad as Gran Weasley, you know?” Albus laughs, chucking a bishop at his head. “You need to mind your bloody business!”
Albus can’t sleep. This isn’t a new problem, his brain always seems to struggle with turning itself off, but it’s definitely exacerbated by the unfamiliar sleeping location — and Hugo’s snoring isn’t helping matters either. He slides out of bed and pads down the hall to the kitchen, hoping that Hermione has stocked the cupboards with enough ingredients that he could attempt those Japanese souffle pancakes that he’s been meaning to make. Cooking is a coping technique that developed in his first weeks home from Hogwarts, when his pain and embarrassment still raged a constant battle in his head. Nights like tonight were a lot more frequent then, and he can’t help smiling to himself at how far he’s come since that first time.
He had given up trying to sleep for the night, resigning himself to a few mindless hours in front of the Muggle telly, when a soft humming had drifted in from the kitchen pulling his attention. He had tiptoed in to find his dad hunched over a mixing bowl, whisking furiously.
“What are you doing?” he’d asked.
“Oh, Albus,” his dad had said, clearly startled but he hid it well. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah, I just can’t sleep,” he’d said with a shrug. “What about you?”
“Oh, I can never sleep.” His dad had laughed. “When do you think I find time to make all those biscuits?”
To be honest, Albus had never thought about it. Fresh biscuits were a given in the Potter house, the same way that an empty laundry basket, and high volume level were. He’d never considered that his father might be making them during bouts of insomnia. Later, he’d remember this moment as when he’d started to view his dad as human but at the time he’d just been grateful for some company.
“Baking calms my mind when the anxiety gets too bad,” his dad had admitted and Albus had tried not to allow the surprise to show on his face. “Do you want to help me?”
A nod and that’d been it — a new tradition, a new skill, a new start to his and his father’s relationship.
He’s lost in thought and well into the whipping stage when Scorpius arrives. “Psst,” he whispers even though Albus has already seen him.
“Hey,” Albus stutters, suddenly not sure what to do with his hands.
“I just didn’t want to scare you,” Scorpius says with a lopsided smile, “now that I know how violent things can get when you’re frightened.”
Albus chuckles awkwardly. “Couldn’t sleep?” he asks, doing his best to fight against his gut instinct to panic about the way his voice cracked on the last syllable. Scorpius doesn’t seem to have noticed anyway.
“No,” Scorpius says, hoisting himself up onto the counter, right next to where Albus stands, like they’re old friends. “You either?”
“I don’t like sleeping in new places,” he admits, although he’s not entirely sure why. There’s a nagging part of Albus, that voice in the back of his head that he tries to ignore, that tells him he’s in dangerous territory — but with Scorpius there, looking soft and sleep-rumpled, Albus forgets why he’s supposed to have his guard up.
Scorpius nods. “Are you worried about starting back to Hogwarts then?”
Albus’s mouth drops open in surprise, this being the last ‘casual conversation starter’ that he’d expected Scorpius would lead with. He looks away and closes his mouth, not quite sure how to proceed.
“Sorry,” Scorpius groans abruptly, slapping a hand to his forehead, “that was a little much, right? I’m sorry. I’m just really bad at casual friendships.”
His discomfort disarms Albus and he finds he’s smiling in spite of himself. “Do you want some pancakes?” he offers, motioning to the bowl.
Scorpius drops his hand with a huff of laughter, flashing Albus a full, toothy smile. “Only if you let me help,“ he says, sliding from the counter. “I have to pull my weight, you know?”
It turns out that Scorpius can’t pull his weight at all. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise Albus to find out that Scorpius has never even turned on a stove before today — his ineptitude causing at least three, too-loud fits of laughter before the pancakes are even cooked.
Once everything is finished, Albus plates the souffle pancakes, handing Scorpius a dish before grabbing his own. “I want to eat outside —” he starts, unsure of the protocol. Does he invite Scorpius to join? Or do they go their separate ways and eat alone now?
Scorpius saves Albus from his internal crisis. “Lead the way,” he whispers.
They exit onto the deck, sliding the door shut carefully behind them — although Albus isn’t sure that it matters considering their earlier volume level. They make their way to the small table at the far side of the deck, sitting opposite each other, as if eating together at 2 o’clock in the morning is a completely normal occurrence.
Scorpius wastes no time taking a bite, and letting out a moan that might plague Albus for the rest of his life. “Oh my God, Albus,” he groans. “This is amazing. It’s so fluffy.”
Albus swallows hard, silently willing himself to forget the sound of his name being groaned in Scorpius’s voice. “Yeah, they are good,” he agrees, bending to give his food his full attention.
They eat in comfortable silence — well, as comfortable as Albus can be with someone he doesn’t know well.
“The pool looks amazing!’ Scorpius says. “If you didn’t hate to swim, I’d say we should go in.”
“Who said I hate to swim?”
“Oh,” Scorpius says, tilting his head to the side like a puppy, “honestly I must have just assumed. I mean, you didn’t go in once all day.”
“Yeah, because there were 14 screaming humans in it.” Albus laughs. “ That’s the part I hate, I actually like to swim.”
Scorpius screws his lips to the side, looking down at the pool. When he looks back, a smile breaks across his face, and Albus knows he’s in trouble. “I don’t see anyone now.”
“Oh,” Albus starts, swallowing hard. His hands are starting to sweat and he rubs them on his joggers before reaching up to play with his hoodie strings. If he’s being honest with himself, a late night swim with Scorpius sounds brilliant, but thinking about taking his shirt off has him in a bit of a panic.
Some of his emotion must show on his face because Scorpius is looking at him with something akin to concern. “What is it?” he asks.
“Nothing,” Albus lies, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s just —” he takes a deep breath, and then settles for honesty. “I have some scars. People stare sometimes.”
“Oh,” Scorpius shrugs. “I won’t,” he says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world.
For some reason, Albus believes him. He smirks and then bites his lip, looking away. “Okay,” he agrees quietly.
It’s less than ten minutes before they’re changed and Scorpius is cannonballing into the pool. Albus takes the steps like a normal person, allowing his body to acclimate to the chilly temperature. Scorpius swims over to him in perfect form, breaking through the water only a foot away.
He sighs. “This was such a good idea. Whoever thought of this is truly brilliant.”
Albus smiles and rolls his eyes. “Truly,” he says sarcastically.
Scorpius smirks at him before leaning into a back float. “Your scars are barely noticeable, by the way,” he whispers.
Albus huffs indignantly crossing his arms over his chest. “You said you wouldn’t look!”
“I said I wouldn’t stare ,” he says, standing and wagging a finger, “of course I’m going to look at you, Albus.”
Albus feels a blush spread down his neck. He clears his throat and looks away. “Anyway,” he says, “I think it’s more that I know people will look for the scars. Does that make sense? It’s sort of all I’m known for — the Potter who went crazy and had to leave school. I just don’t want them to have more reason to remember that, you know?”
“Oh, I get it,” Scorpius chuckles. “You forget that I was the kid with the Death Eater dad for my first few years. Then as soon as they got over that, my mum went and died. So now I’m the kid with the dead mum.”
Albus has never thought that their situations could be similar in any way. Now though, he can imagine how people must walk on eggshells, editing their language around Scorpius in the same way they do for him. “Well, if it’s any consolation,” he says, “I’ve always just thought of you as one of the many brainless, Quidditch lads who James brings around.”
Scorpius grasps his chest as if wounded. “That absolutely does not make me feel any better.”
Albus huffs a laugh. “Oh please, don’t act as though you haven’t always thought of me as James’s weird, antisocial, little brother.”
“Not exactly,” Scorpius says with a shrug.
A silence falls over them that isn’t uncomfortable exactly, but it does feel charged in a strange way. Albus desperately grasps for something to say — some conversation starter that will break the strange spell that has fallen over them. Scorpius saves him the trouble.
“Can you do any tricks in the pool?” he asks with a smile.
“Tricks?”
“Yeah, like handstands and flips?” he says, spinning his hands in the air as if to demonstrate.
“Why would I want to do that?” Albus asks, sure that his face is showing his disgust.
Scorpius smiles brightly. “You said you like to swim!”
“Tricks aren’t swimming!” Albus reasons.
“And what you’re doing is?” he asks, motioning to Albus.
“Yes!”
“No,” Scorpius argues, shaking his head violently, “you’re standing in water!”
Albus laughs. “Okay,” he concedes, “fair. So I guess from now on I’ll say that I like standing in water.”
Scorpius nods, looking out over the water before turning back to Albus. “I’m going to teach you a trick,” he announces excitedly. “Here, watch this!”
On the last syllable he dives below the water, spinning his hands like propellers to flip his legs over his head in a tumble. He surfaces, coughing and sputtering dramatically and Albus acts on instinct, reaching over to pat his back.
“I’m fine,” he croaks, “I just swallowed some water. Now you try!”
A cackle escapes Albus’s lips. “No way! Scor, you literally almost drowned.” Albus doubles over, clutching his stomach at the absurdity of it. When he rights himself, Scorpius is looking at him strangely.
“Scor?” Scorpius says with a full, toothy smile.
Albus can hear his pulse in his ears. “Oh. Sorry, that just slipped out.”
“No,” Scorpius rushes to placate. “I like it! It’s just that most people call me Scorp.”
Albus screws up his face in distaste. “Yeah, that just doesn’t feel right to me. It has to be Scorpius or Scor from me.”
“I like Scor,” Scorpius says softly. “I feel like I need to give you a nickname now.” He taps a finger to his lips, clearly deep in thought. “How about Alby?”
“No way!” Albus shouts, flailing his hands as if warding off evil. “That’s what James used to call me when we were little.”
“Okay. Severus?”
Albus makes an involuntary retching sound in the back of his throat.
Scorpius chuckles. “Point taken, A Pots? Albatros?”
Albus lets out a bark of laughter, that he covers too late. “They just keep getting worse!” he shouts in between bouts of laughter.
“Hey,” Scorpius scolds, splashing water in his direction, “it’s not as if I have a lot to go on! Albus is a very short name!”
Albus splashes him back and before he knows it they’re chasing each other around the pool screeching.
“JAMES!” A shout comes from up on the deck. “It is 3:30 in the morning!” his mother bellows, peering over the railing, a look of pure annoyance plastered across her face that quickly melts into something else when her eyes land on Albus. “Oh!” she says, her voice almost sweet. “Albus! I thought you were James.”
“Sorry, Mrs. Potter,” Scorpius says, pushing his wet hair off of his forehead.
“Yeah,” Albus says with a sheepish smile, “sorry, Mum.”
“No,” she says, flashing him a loving smile. “You boys have fun, just try to be a bit quieter.” She turns to leave, glancing over her shoulder once more before disappearing into the house.
Scorpius is looking at him in confusion, his eyebrows almost touching his hairline.
“Benefits of being crazy,” Albus explains with a wave of his hand.
Most people would wear one of two looks at Albus’s words — either pity or intense discomfort. Scorpius does neither, letting out a bark of laughter and shoving Albus in the shoulder.
“We probably should get to bed though,” Scorpius concedes, “I didn’t realise how late it was.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Albus agrees, getting out of the pool first and looking away as Scorpius does the same.
They towel off in silence, padding their way to the back bedroom. Right outside the door, Scorpius grabs his arm, stopping him in his tracks. “I’m really happy you’ll be coming back to school,” he whispers. “I hope we can be friends...Aly Cat.”
Albus snorts, slapping both hands over his mouth to stifle the laughter. He lets out a gust of air in an attempt to compose himself. “You need to stop.”
“Never Al-Boss!” Scorpius says as he disappears through the door.
Albus stays rooted to the spot for a moment, feeling as though a cosmic shift has just taken place. He shakes his head, trying to shed his discomfort — burying memories of a different beginning, of stolen kisses, and a broken spirit.
Albus rolls out of bed the next morning after a fitful night’s sleep. To be fair, ‘morning’ may be a bit of an exaggeration considering it’s nearly noon before he makes his way to the kitchen. He shuffles to the counter, grabbing a cinnamon roll, pointedly ignoring the passive aggressive comments from the gathered adults, and goes to sit on the deck.
He’s just taken a large bite of the sinfully good pastry, when Scorpius appears.
“There you are!” he exclaims in a cheery voice.
Albus does his best to chew quickly but when it becomes apparent that it’s taking him an unnatural length of time to answer, he settles for covering his mouth with his hand. “Morning,” he mumbles awkwardly.
Scorpius smiles that bright smile of his and, to Albus’s surprise, takes the seat opposite him.
“You can really sleep,” he laughs, not unkindly. “I’ve been waiting for you to get up for hours.”
“ Hours ?” Albus asks. “How long have you been up?"
Scorpius lifts one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. "Since seven."
"How are you not tired?”
“Dunno,” he admits. “My mum used to joke that I existed at a higher frequency than everyone else. I never stopped talking or moving, so she said that everything must have been sped up, including my sleeping habits.”
There’s a pang of empathy that Albus feels in his chest for his loss but, remembering their conversation last night, he focuses his attention on keeping his voice light. “I think I’d have to agree with your mum. She sounds really smart.”
“She was."
There’s a beat of silence and Albus resists the urges to fill it or to flee. It’s easier with Scorpius than with anyone else; the way he looks so pleased to be in Albus’s company calming any nerves he’s having. That idea alone scares the hell out of Albus.
“So why were you waiting for me?” he asks, as a means of distracting himself.
“Oh right!” Scorpius says, bouncing his leg excitedly. “Chess! You promised me a game, remember?”
Albus smirks. “You sure you’re in the mood to lose money today?”
“So cocky,” Scorpius says, but he doesn’t look displeased. “Just go get the board, Al—fredo.”
Three hours — that’s how long they’ve been playing. Albus’s arse hurts and the pinking of Scorpius’s cheeks tell him that they both should’ve applied a sun protection charm hours ago. Still, every time that he thinks he has Scorpius trapped, that they can finally end this marathon-lengthed match, Scorpius catches on and evades beautifully. It’s infuriating.
“You’re still playing?” his dad asks around dinner time. “How many games does this make?”
“One,” Albus grumbles.
“One?” His dad laughs. “Albus, have you finally met someone who can beat you?”
Scorpius is looking at him, his head resting on his folded hands, a grin on his face that would make Albus murderous if anyone else wore it, but on Scorpius it’s just a bit cute.
“He’s competition,” Albus concedes, moving his rook away from Scorpius’s threatening bishop.
His dad lets out a long, low whistle. “That’s high praise from Albus, Scorpius,” he says, with a slap to his back. “Why don’t you two pause your game and get something to eat? We’re heading to the caves in an hour."
“The caves?” Scorpius inquires.
“Yeah,” Albus answers, “there’s a magical cave system a few miles down the beach. There’s a lot of really cool carvings and even one ancient ward still in place. They think it was used as a school at one point to avoid the Muggles. I have a book about it if you’d like to borrow it?”
Scorpius opens his mouth to respond but before he has the chance, a quaffle crashes into the table, upsetting the board and all of the tiresomely placed pieces.
“JAMES!” his dad yells.
“I’m so sorry!” James rushes to apologise, from his broom, as his dad rushes to scold him appropriately, but Albus has tuned them out.
His mouth has dropped open, staring at the scattered pieces of their three hour chess match, never to be finished. He looks up to see Scorpius frozen in a similar state. When their eyes meet, Scorpius lets out a small squeak and Albus can’t help himself — he falls into hysterics and Scorpius follows quickly after.
“Well,” Scorpius says, roughly exhaling and scrubbing his hands down his face. “That sucked but I think you had me anyway.”
“Bullshit!” Albus says, stooping to pick up a few pieces.
“No, really,” Scorpius insists, bending to help. “I think I saw what you were planning with your queen a move too late. I don’t think I could’ve gotten out of it.”
Albus shrugs. “We’ll just have to have a rematch another time."
“I’d love that,” he says sincerely.
Dinner turns out to be take-away from a Muggle Indian restaurant, on the other side of town. Feeding time is always chaos on holiday and today is no exception. There's nowhere to sit and it's too loud to hear himself think, but there's a lightness to his chest that he can't quite explain.
He manages to find a spot to stand behind the couch and tries not to think too hard about why it’s not even bothering him that James ate the last of the naan.
Once they’ve finished clearing up — forty five minutes after they’d planned — they don their boots and apparate to the mouth of the cave system.
"Everyone needs to be with a partner or group, to be able to enter the cave,” Hermione announces to the gathered teenagers, “and you can't separate once we're in the caves."
"So choose wisely," his dad says dramatically, earning several eye-rolls, including one from his wife.
"Scorpius!" James calls, motioning for Scorpius to join his group with Fred and Marcus.
“I was actually hoping to pair up with Albus," he responds, much too loudly, causing every eye to find Albus in the crowd. "He was telling me all about this book that he read. I think he’ll be a better tour guide.”
James smirks knowingly and Albus hates him for it. “Suit yourself if you want to be in the boring group!”
Hugo walks up to Albus and whispers in his ear. “Do you want privacy or—”
“No!" he hisses. "Please stay!”
Hugo snorts. “Gryffindor you are not, Albus Potter.”
“Fuck off, Hugo!” he rushes to respond, as Scorpius is jogging up to meet them.
“I just realised I didn’t check with you,” Scorpius says, shyly. “Is that okay?"
"Of course," Albus says in an octave at least one above his usual register, "but I can’t promise I'll be of any use."
Scorpius smiles warmly with a shrug. "Either way, we'll still have fun."
After three more lectures about staying together and a quick tutorial on performing safety spells, in case of an emergency, they’re free to go.
The cave branches off into more secondary and tertiary tunnels than they’ve ever been able to count, so the experience is different every year. They decide on the same route as James’s group, but since they’re stopping to access various markings and the other boys are just hoping to find a bat, they’re quickly left behind.
Scorpius is an eager student — that fact, on top of his skills with chess, making Albus question everything he’s ever known about James’s friends.
“What’s this?” Scorpius asks, lifting his wand to illuminate a sinister, demonic-looking carving on the wall, next to a steep drop off.
Albus pretends to take a moment to think it over, but really he’s lost his train of thought, due to how beautiful Scorpius looks in the wand light.
Hugo rolls his eyes in his peripheral. “Isn’t that one of the warnings?“ he asks, a bored air to his voice.
Albus swallows his embarrassment. “You’re right. They used to place these in various tunnels to keep the Muggles out. In case someone managed to slip the wards, they wanted them to get properly freaked out and run away.”
“Well, it’s freaking me out!” Scorpius admits with a chuckle.
Albus smiles stupidly and turns on his heel but misjudges and stumbles forward. Someone shouts his name but all he can register is fear as the ground crumbles beneath his foot. He flails his arms, scrambling to gain purchase on anything, instinctively curling his fingers in the fabric of Scorpius’s shirt, as his feet leave the ledge.
They’re falling.
The ground comes sooner than expected, the two of them landing in a heap with a loud “oomph.” Albus groans, pinned under the weight of Scorpius’s body, but still relieved that the drop-off wasn’t as steep as he feared.
"Are you okay?" Scorpius asks, pushing himself off of Albus.
"Yeah, you?"
Scorpius lets out a relieved sigh. "We're both good, Hugo," he shouts.
"Bloody fuck, you gave me a fucking heart attack!" he yells back. "Do you have your wands? If you can send up the distress spell, I’ll run ahead and get James and Fred.”
“You aren’t supposed to go alone,” Scorpius says.
“Thanks, Dad!’ Hugo laughs. “They’re not too far ahead of us. If I come to any intersections, I’ll turn back. Just send up the signal.”
Albus pats the ground to his side, his hands landing on rough wood. Without thinking, he lifts the wand and says the incantation.
"Be careful, Hugo!" he shouts, his voice sounding rough to his own ears.
“That’s my wand,” Scorpius says quietly, a smile in his voice. “James is going to be so pissed. It’ll never work for him.”
“Oh, sorry,” Albus says, dazedly, silently wondering why the wand feels so familiar in his hand.
“It’s fine.” Scorpius reaches out and grasps his forearm, curling his other hand around Albus’s back to pull him into a reclining position. “There, that’s better,” Scorpius says more to himself than to Albus.
“Sorry I pulled you off a cliff," Albus croaks.
Scorpius huffs a laugh, “I mean, to be fair, it was more like a ledge.”
Albus laughs, the motion causing pain to shoot through the back of his skull. He grimaces and cups the back of his head.
“Shit,” Scorpius says, obviously frightened. “Did you hit your head?”
“I’m fine,” Albus lies, “and anyway, worry about yourself.” He ghosts a finger over the bright red gash across Scorpius’s left cheek, then, as if he’s powerless to stop it, the tips of his fingers trace down Scorpius’s perfect jawline.
Scorpius sucks in a harsh breath which should bring Albus to his senses, but his mind is muddled and his breathing is coming in pants because of the adrenaline coursing through his veins. Maybe he really does have a serious head injury.
He watches the bob of Scorpius's Adam's apple, hears his soft exhale of breath, sees the moment he makes the decision — his eyes dropping to Albus's lips.
Then he’s leaning forward and Albus is going to let him, powerless to resist when he’s smiling that shy smile, illuminated only by the light of his wand.
“Albus!” his dad shouts, breaking the moment, and startling them both. “Scorpius! Are you both okay?”
“Oh,” Scorpius breathes, “um.”
“We’re good, Dad!” Albus shouts. He does his best to calm his breathing but he can feel the panic building — what the hell was he thinking?
He watches as Scorpius stands, shaking his head before speaking. “Albus hit his head, Mr. Potter.”
“How far down is it, Scorpius?” he asks.
Scorpius takes his wand and holds the lighted tip in the air. “About four meters, maybe?”
“Okay, keep your wand lit,” he says, “I’m casting a cushioning charm and then coming down.”
Knowing that his dad is near, Albus allows the stress of the last twenty minutes to fully sink in — he lays back against the hard rocks and squeezes his eyes shut. He feel stupid, immensely stupid, and weak too. He’s going to get hurt again and he’s not sure he’s any stronger than he was the last time.
Albus doesn’t realise that he’s started crying until his dad’s hands are on him, swiping the tears from his cheeks.
“Shhh,” he coos, rubbing Albus’s arms as he releases a shuddering breath. “It’s alright, son. I’ve got you.”
More family arrives on the scene, speaking in hurried whispers. Albus allows himself to be manhandled, keeping his eyes shut tight. He doesn’t want to see any of them — to see their concern and love directed his way, he doesn’t deserve it.
They make quick time back to the house, his Aunt Hermione taking charge of his care. After being poked and prodded for what feels like ages, she finally settles on the diagnosis of a mild concussion and orders him to his room for the rest of the night.
Sleep finds him easily.
It’s early afternoon before he finally wakes, sitting up and stretching without the slightest flicker of pain — Hermione does know her magic.
“Hey,” Scorpius says, folding himself in half to crawl to the foot of Albus’s bunk bed. “How are you feeling?”
Albus lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “I’m fine. Aunt Hermione knows what she’s doing.”
“That’s good,” Scorpius nods, pulling at a loose thread in the duvet. He’s clearly nervous and Albus prays that he’ll lose his nerve and leave. “So, Albus. I was wondering if we could talk about what happened yesterday?”
Albus swallows hard. “What do you mean?”
“Just —” he gestures vaguely in the direction of the cave, “yesterday.”
Albus does his best to look put out, as if he has better things to do. "Yesterday?”
Scorpius opens his mouth, presumably to clarify further but then shuts it again. “Oh,” he says, deflating in front of Albus’s eyes.
“I just don’t want —”
“Right,” Scorpius interrupts, “okay. I’m sorry. I must have got the wrong impression.” He stands abruptly, nearly knocking his head on the bed frame and letting out a little squeak that Albus feels in his chest. “Stupid of me, really. I’ll see you later, Albus,” he mumbles, practically fleeing from the room, the door slamming shut behind him.
Albus growls, slapping a hand over his face, and falling back against the pillows. He blinks back tears and silently wishes he wasn’t quite so broken.
He hasn’t left his bed in almost 27 hours, citing a headache, but the looks on his parents’ faces tell him that they’re not buying it. Truthfully, he’s counting down the minutes until the end of this blasted holiday. He knows he’s being surly and quick to temper but he can’t seem to help himself, too lost in a vicious cycle of self-loathing.
Hugo tries to call him out on it, earning himself a nasty tongue-lashing from the shittier side of Albus’s personality. The guilt from that exchange is the only reason he’s able to drag Albus out of his room and into an awkward game of ‘Never have I Ever.’
“There’s the man of the hour!” Freddie announces when Albus finds a seat in the circle of teenagers, already well into the game — and their drinks.
“How’s your brain?” Rosie asks with a ruffle of his hair.
Albus only nods in response.
He hates playing this game with his cousins. With most of the statements revolving around Hogwarts and its many rules and secret passages, he can’t help but feel left out. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending how you look at it, with the alcohol and fresh blood, the game turns scandalous quite quickly.
“Never have I ever had sex,” Marigold announces proudly from her spot on the love seat.
Albus watches as fingers go down and drinks come up, some proudly and some sheepishly. He takes a quick sip of his drink and drops a finger, hoping no one will notice.
“Oh bullshit!” Fred yells in his direction, causing Albus to flinch.
“What?” James asks with a startled laugh.
Fred motions to Albus with his drink in hand. “He put a finger down,” he spits and everyone looks his way. Albus is fuming — can’t they tell that he was already looking for a fight?
“Yeah, now mind your fucking business and play the game,” he shouts back.
Fred chuckles. “Oh, I will when you tell me who you had sex with?” he asks, all accusation.
Albus narrows his eyes. “That’s not the game.”
“It is when you’re clearly lying,” Fred says, leaning forward.
“I am not!”
“Albus,” James tries, his tone soft, “you don’t even have any — I mean, you don’t have much opportunity to meet people.”
Albus’s jaw twitches, his heart hammering in his chest. “My turn,” he growls, his eyes never leaving Fred’s. “Never have I ever had sex in the last two years.”
Fred scoffs. “Oh so at Hogwarts?”
“Yes.”
“When you were 14?” James asks, his skepticism clear.
“Yes.”
James rolls his eyes and Albus clenches his fists against the urge to smack his brother.
“Why would I lie to lose the game?” he tries.
“Because you don’t want to play it,” Fred says, as if the answer is simple, “just like you don’t want to hang out with us — ever!”
“Guys, stop!” Hugo tries from Albus’s right but no one pays him any mind.
“Who?” James asks.
Albus’s breathing is coming out in pants, he’s sure everyone has noticed. “I’m not going to tell you who.”
Fred jumps to his feet and addresses the group as if performing on a stage. “Because it didn’t happen,” he says, with a flourish of his hand and a bow.
And Albus breaks.
“He was older than me, okay?” he screams, the words tumbling out of his mouth with the force of a boulder rolling down hill.
“I wasn’t sure I wanted to but he was cute and popular and he acted like he liked me — even if it did have to be a secret — I was okay with it. Because I thought he liked me.”
"Albus —" someone tries, Rose maybe, but Albus ignores them. “And then after ," he says, his voice smaller now. "He ignored me for a full week.”
No one is speaking, no one is moving, it’s as if no one is even breathing — a moment frozen in time. Like these terrible memories, forever carved into Albus’s heart. Albus can hear the tears in his own voice but he can’t seem to stop, the truth feeling like freedom on his tongue.
“And I finally saw him walking with all of his friends,” he says his voice breaking, “and I just wanted to see if he’d acknowledge me. So I walked up to James and I made up something stupid to ask.”
“Did I know if Lily finished her charms essay?” James says, his voice thick. "That was the last thing you said to me before —"
The thought goes unfinished because they all know before what . Before Albus tried to do the thing that they never talk about.
"Yeah," Albus breathes, "I just...he wouldn’t even look at me. I just felt so lonely and fucking naive. It wasn't because of him — things had been bad for a long while — but it was the final straw. I just didn’t feel like I could do it anymore."
There's silence for a beat before Albus finds his voice again. "So you can call me a lot of things," he says, looking at Fred. "I’m stupid. Fucked up in the head. Surly. Dramatic. But I am not a fucking liar."
Albus stands and leaves, leaving a dozen shocked teens in his wake.
It's James who comes to find him first, opening Albus's curtains and falling directly on top of him.
"Ugh, you're heavy," Albus complains. He tries and fails to roll him off, but when James sniffs and buries his face in Albus's curls, he freezes.
"I'm so sorry, Alby."
"Jamie —"
"No. I don't know how you managed, but I know you've forgiven me. Even though I've never said it properly. And I should have, Albus." He crawls off of Albus, allowing space for them both to sit side by side.
"I was a shit brother for a lot of years. I knew people were cruel to you and I didn't step in like I should have."
Albus opens his mouth to contest but James lifts a hand to silence him. "And then when you came up to me that day, that fucking day, I could tell something was wrong. I — I should've followed you. Why didn't I follow you?" He swipes at his eyes, looking down and Albus sees him plainly for the first time — the boy who almost lost his brother, the man who feels responsible for it.
James looks him dead in the eyes and Albus resists the urge to look away. "I would've died if I'd lost you, Alby. And now, I mean, I’m pretty sure I know who it was — the guy, I mean — and I want you to know that he hasn’t been my mate for a long time. I figured out what sort he was a long time ago. I’m sorry it wasn’t soon enough — I feel sick over it." James lets out a rough exhale. “But that’s my own shit to deal with.” He reaches over and ruffles Albus’s hair before bringing their heads together.
“I love you, you know?" James asks, smiling and nudging Albus with his shoulder. "Like properly love you, Albus. And I'm so happy you're my brother. I'm sorry I'm shit a lot of the time."
Albus swallows against the lump in his throat. "You're not, James,” he says fiercely, pulling back to look him in the eye. "You were a kid! There is nothing to forgive. And I’m okay now. This is something I’m always going to have to deal with but I know how to do that. And I’m okay.”
“I know,” James says, “but if you're ever not...I know I'm not going to be at Hogwarts anymore but I'm always an owl or a floo call away if things get bad again, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Albus smiles, “and it's not like I'll be alone, I'll have Hugo there.”
“And Scorp,” James says with a knowing smile.
“Don't,” Albus warns.
“Don't what?” James laughs. “Albus, you guys clearly have some chemistry. And he’s out, do you know that? At Hogwarts and to his dad.”
Albus didn’t know that, but he does his best to hide his surprise.
“And,” James continues, “there’s also the fact that he’s had a massive crush on you since he came over for dinner last year and you spilled soup in your lap.”
“What?” Albus says, his head whipping around to look at his brother so quickly, he’s sure he’ll have whiplash.
“Oh yeah!” James laughs. “Like a big, embarrassing crush that he hasn’t stopped going on about! It’s pretty disgusting.”
Albus lets out a breath of laughter, not quite believing what he’s hearing.
“So,” James says, his tone suddenly serious, “I get not being ready or just not wanting a boyfriend, but if it’s just because he’s a friend of mine or plays Quidditch. I promise that’s where the similarities end. Okay?”
“It's just,” Albus sighs, rubbing the back of his neck, “I think I could love him.”
James’s smile widens. “That’s a good thing, Albus”
“But,” he starts, “what if —”
“It hurts for all of us, Alby.” James states, matter-of-factly, “Whether your mind is healthy or not, the end is always rough. But the fall,” he shakes his head, a wistful smile on his face, “it’s worth it all, Albus. That’s the best part of life. Don’t hide from the good to avoid the pain, yeah?”
“Yeah, okay,” Albus says with a smile.
James exhales, standing up and cracking his back. "Well I'm gonna head back out. Oh, and the cousins all decided that Fred was a dick and deserves a free hit to the balls. Do you want it?"
“Nah,” Albus says, waving him off with a chuckle. “I’ll leave that to you.”
“Yes! Best brother ever!” James exclaims, skipping to the door.
“Oh and Jamie,” Albus shouts, stopping him in his tracks.
“Hmm?”
"I love you, too," he says, "like properly."
James smiles a big, doofy smile and Albus thinks that maybe having siblings isn’t the worst thing in the world.
Albus shuts the bedroom door and tiptoes down the hallway, expecting to find the kitchen in a state of stillness that only comes in the middle of the night. Instead, what he stumbles across is Scorpius, bent over the oven, smoke billowing out from the open door, pans and ingredients littering the counters.
“Merlin’s tits, that’s hot!” Scorpius shouts, standing and dropping a pan onto the stove with a clatter.
“What are you doing?” Albus laughs.
“Oh!” Scorpius says with an embarrassed smile, “Hi, Albus! I figured you'd be coming out tonight since you slept all evening. I wanted to have some muffins made to repay you for the other night.” He motions to something that looks remarkably like a piece of shit. “But it appears that I don't know what I'm doing.”
Albus lets out a delighted laugh before taking two, large steps, grabbing Scorpius’s face and kissing him squarely on the mouth. Scorpius lets out a small, surprised squeak before returning the kiss just as enthusiastically. Much too soon, in Albus's opinion, Scorpius pulls away with a contented sigh, resting his forehead against Albus's own.
“So I take it you like the muffins?” Scorpius asks.
“Oh God, no,” Albus chuckles, “those are entirely inedible. But I do like you. A lot.”
Scorpius’s smile looks like it could light up the entire cave system. “I like you too,” he whispers, "I have for a while."
“Listen Scor, I’m sorry about —”
“Don't,” he says, brushing the hair from Albus’s forehead, the small touch causing butterflies to ignite in Albus’s stomach. “I get it, okay? Really. You don't have anything to be sorry for.”
Albus bites his lip and looks away, doing his best to contain his embarrassing smile. Emboldened by James’s confession, he grabs Scorpius’s hand and entwines their fingers. “Do you think—” he starts, and then takes a deep breath. “Do you think you’d want to go to Hogsmead or something when we get back to school?”
“Like a date?” Scorpius asks with a grin, swinging their joined hands.
Albus shrugs. “I mean, isn’t that what Hogwarts kids do? So, If you’d want to?”
Scorpius smiles warmly and leans forward, placing a chaste kiss on Albus’s lips.
“I’d love that — baby?”
Albus sucks in a breath as his heart flips over itself. Then just like that, they're kissing again and Albus is sure he's never been happier.
Albus knows that a lot of things don’t come easily to him. He stammers over his words, he’s quick to temper, and he’s pants at magic, to name a few, but he also knows now that sometimes people can surprise you.
An emotionally distant father can teach you how to handle your anxiety, an obnoxious brother can say exactly what you need to hear, and a Quidditch lad can turn out to be sweet and smart — and with the softest lips known to man.
And maybe, if he's willing to let his guard down, maybe one day Albus can even surprise himself.