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Scorpius Malfoy did not like to be touched.
It was something that Albus had come to accept as fact early on in their friendship. The sky was blue, the Harpies were the best team in Quidditch, and Scorpius had a thing about touching.
If he and Albus brushed fingers while reaching for the same sugar quill, Scorpius would pull back as if burned. If Albus put a hand on his arm to steer him away from a retreating staircase or get his attention while his nose was lost in a book, Scorpius would shrug off the touch with a pinched little frown. Once, after a particularly nasty hex was thrown Scorpius’ way in the corridors before Transfiguration, he’d seemed more uncomfortable with the way Albus reached for his face than with how much his nose was bleeding.
At first, it had hurt.
First year had started roughly enough, and the fact that the only friend he’d managed to make couldn’t even stand to be touched by him had added an extra kick to his already crumbling ego. However, the hurt feelings hadn’t stuck around long once he’d realized that his new friend’s reactions weren’t personal.
Scorpius didn’t like to be touched by anyone .
Obviously, the cruel shoves of bullies near Gryffindor Tower would make Scorpius flinch, but over the first three years of school, Albus also watched Scorpius cringe as random shoulders brushed his in the Great Hall, or grimace as though in pain when Professor Longbottom gave him a good-natured pat on the back after correctly identifying some kind of venomous plant.
For Albus, touch was to be expected from friends, family, and, oftentimes, when they were feeling particularly entitled to attention from The-Boy-Who-Lived, even strangers.
Nothing says Granger-Weasley-Potter gathering like being swept up into a dozen hugs before you’ve even stepped through the doorway of The Burrow. Grandma Molly especially liked to greet him with a bone-crushing hug, a ruffle of his hair, and a kiss on both cheeks, with Aunt Fleur prone to similar face-kissing. And while he’d always been surrounded by more family than friends, he grew up watching the easy way that his dad would reach out to Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione - a gentle squeeze of their arms or dozing off on each other’s shoulders after one too many drinks. His family was tactile. Hugging, kissing, and in James’ case, wrestling.
The only person that Albus had ever seen Scorpius accepting affection from was his mum, and that had been limited to a single hug that he’d witnessed on the platform before Christmas of their first year. Most surprising of all was that Scorpius had initiated the touch, had actually been the first to reach out.
Unlike his own dad, who gave out hugs even when Albus didn’t want them, Draco Malfoy had always seemed to be like Scorpius - uncomfortable with physical affection, especially in public. He and Scorpius did not hug or touch. Even at Astoria’s funeral, the two hadn’t embraced, had only shared in silent, detached grief side-by-side. And even then, wiping his nose on the sleeve of stiff dress robes, Scorpius hadn’t wanted to be touched, preferring to wrap his arms around himself than to have Albus hold onto him as they lowered his mother into the ground.
In short, Albus avoided touching Scorpius when he could. There was no reason to make his best friend uncomfortable if he could help it.
And so it came as quite a surprise when, upon returning from time and finally reacclimating to life as it was before “The Incident,” Scorpius began to touch him .
At first, Albus was sure it was unintentional.
“Albus, can I borrow that Herbology textbook?” Scorpius’ arm reaching across him, brushing his chest.
“I wonder if a Patronus is on the curriculum for next year.” Scorpius’ shoulder nudging his own at their shared DADA table.
But then, it became harder to brush off.
“Do you think we should stick with Care of Magical Creatures or take up Ancient Runes?” Scorpius’ chin hooked over his shoulder, way too close on the common room couch.
“Really, Albus? Is that treacle tart? You’re ridiculous.” Scorpius’ fingers in his hair, brushing out crumbs.
Knocking feet under a library table, picking an eyelash off of his cheek by the lake, adjusting his tie in their dorm, that ridiculous hug on the stairs that seems to have solidified Scorpius on his quest to make Albus lose his mind.
It shouldn’t be a problem. It wouldn’t be a problem. But Albus had brilliantly gone and mucked up the only real friendship he’s ever had by developing disgusting mushy gushy romantic feelings , and while they’d been mostly under control up until this point, he wasn’t sure he was doing a very good job of that anymore. Rose in particular was starting to give him knowing looks every time Scorpius scooted closer at breakfast.
It didn’t help that Scorpius often had nightmares so brutal that they necessitated silencing charms around his bed hangings. Albus ignored the touches of those nights - of course a Scorpius who was half-asleep and still trembling would ask for comfort. Of course he’d accept a hug the following morning. The whole mess was Albus’ idea in the first place.
For the first few months, Albus refused to overthink it, refused to go looking for things that weren’t actually there. So what if Scorpius enjoyed touch now? Maybe getting a hug from his dad was what he needed to loosen up. Maybe facing down Voldemort’s child and the Cruciatus curse made physical touch drop down a few pegs on Scorpius’ list of fears.
But during a spring Quidditch match, stuffed in the middle of the Slytherin stands, Albus watches Scorpius stiffen as his arm is grabbed by a second year girl sitting to his right. She lets go immediately, distracted and simply swept up in the excitement of a Slytherin score, but the uncomfortable frown lingers. Albus holds his breath, keeps his eyes firmly locked on James and Rose as they approach the Slytherin Keeper, and grabs onto Scorpius’ other arm, preparing for a similar reaction.
Instead of going rigid, Scorpius relaxes into the touch, leaning into it, and when Albus chances a look in Scorpius’ direction, he’s smiling to himself, his cheeks dusted pink.
Slytherin loses quite spectacularly to Gryffindor in the end, and although Albus and Scorpius are explicitly invited to the party that James is hosting on the other side of the castle, Albus decides to take advantage of the empty Slytherin common room to think, as most of the house is likely drowning their sorrows in Firewhiskey up in Gryffindor Tower.
Unfortunately for him, Scorpius isn’t exactly a party animal, and when faced with the options of entering a loud Gryffindor party on his own or relaxing in his own common room with Albus, it should’ve been obvious which direction he’d choose.
“You know, if our Beaters paid more attention to Rose and less attention to James, we would’ve actually had a shot,” Scorpius remarks, unwinding his scarf from his neck and making himself comfortable on the couch in front of the fireplace.
“James is just extra good at being obnoxious and keeping everyone’s attention,” Albus grins, joining his best friend on the couch, keeping a good amount of space between them. It’s big enough for them to keep their distance. He absentmindedly chews on his fingernails.
“I bet that’s part of their strategy, though. Keep the focus on James’ antics so that the smaller Chasers have an open route. Our Keeping isn’t strong enough for a solid two-on-one defense.”
“Since when do you analyze Quidditch strategy?”
“Am I not allowed hobbies outside of reading books and keeping us out of trouble?”
Albus laughs and kicks off his shoes, and when he turns to meet Scorpius’ eyes again, he’s much closer than he was before. His cheeks are pink again (probably from the fireplace) and he’s smiling brightly (probably at his own joke). Albus coughs, wringing his own hands together nervously.
“So,” Albus starts, mentally hexing himself for being so awkward. “Last Hogsmeade weekend tomorrow.”
Scorpius groans. “Do you think we’ll be able to convince McGonagall to let us go next year? If I have to survive O.W.L. revision without sweets, I’m going to be very unpleasant. I don’t want to go another year without Honeydukes.”
Albus considers this for about a second and a half before Scorpius banishes every rational thought from his brain by dropping his head onto Albus’ shoulder and nuzzling into his neck.
It shouldn’t be a big deal. Lily naps on his shoulder all the time on car rides home from King’s Cross. Aunt Angelina will often rest her head on Uncle Ron’s shoulder while they help his dad in the kitchen on Boxing Day.
Except this isn’t his family. This feels different. Because this is Scorpius . And Scorpius wasn’t comfortable even giving him a friendly punch on the shoulder one year ago.
“I - uh, yeah I hope so,” Albus finally chokes out, probably too late. Scorpius doesn’t reply, just stays exactly where he is, and so Albus summons every bit of Gryffindor courage in his genes and wraps an arm around Scorpius’ middle, resting his head on top of Scorpius’.
Scorpius goes tense for a fraction of a second, during which Albus decides to change his name, dye his hair blue, and move to another country, but then relaxes again, sighing softly. Albus’ stomach makes a home in his throat and he tries desperately to keep his cool.
Scorpius, on the other hand, continues chattering away with a smile on his face.
“Well, if she doesn’t trust me to behave in Hogsmeade, she needs to have a think. During my last detention with her, she started making comments about making me a Prefect. A Prefect , Albus. Me. After I almost destroyed the world three times .”
Albus frowns. “Twice. That last time doesn’t count. Wasn’t technically our fault.”
“Semantics,” Scorpius waves his hand dismissively.
“Absolutely not semantics. We almost destroyed the world twice. ”
“What’s important to this conversation is that if I can be trusted with eleven-year-olds, I can be trusted at The Three Broomsticks,” Scorpius rolls his eyes, taking Albus’ hand and examining his fingers.
Albus tries very hard to remember Scorpius’ last sentence. “Well, yeah,” he mumbles, focusing intently on a few strands of Scorpius’ hair that are directly in his eyeline. He’s pretty sure Scorpius can feel his blush at this point.
“Do I have ink on my hand or something?” Albus laughs, voice tight. He sounds nervous. Why is he nervous?
Scorpius looks up from his shoulder and interlocks their fingers awkwardly. Not for the first time, Albus quietly thanks his namesake for his complexion, as Scorpius’ face is a blotchy red that stands out against his skin. Maybe he’s not the only one that’s nervous.
“No! They’re perfect!” Scorpius says cheerily, then cringes. “Ink-free, I mean! Just… you bit your nails down. So I - I was just looking.”
Despite the “just looking” thing, their fingers are still intertwined.
“Do we, uh, hold hands now?” Albus says, trying for a joke. He squeezes Scorpius’ hand, not wanting him to pull away if he doesn’t catch the levity. Scorpius’ fingers had been cold when he’d first reached out, but now his palm is a bit sweaty. It’s weirdly reassuring.
“We can,” Scorpius squeaks. “If you want to. And well - we are. Right now. Which is nice.”
Albus chews on his lip and doesn’t let Scorpius hide in his shoulder, even though meeting his eyes feels awkward.
“You’re usually… you don’t really like being touched. By most people,” he offers.
“You’re not most people,” Scorpius says easily, but he’s still blushing.
“I was ‘most people’ until a few months ago. What’s changed?”
Scorpius closes his eyes and sighs, and for a second, Albus is afraid he’s upset him. But when he opens them again, he’s just smiling a bit ruefully, and he manages to drop his head back onto Albus’ shoulder.
“It's hard to explain,” he says softly. “I’ve only ever been comfortable with touch from my family. It’s not like I really had friends. And even when we did become friends - best friends - I still wasn’t really comfortable. But then… I don’t know.”
“But you don’t mind when I touch you?”
“No! Wait - yes!” Scorpius says, sitting up again. “I don’t mind! I like it.”
“Okay,” Albus smiles, giving Scorpius’ hand a squeeze again.
“My mum - she was the same,” Scorpius murmurs, and instead of looking crestfallen, he blushes deeper. “She was only comfortable with affection from her sister… and, well, my dad. With, uh, romantic partners.”
Albus can’t hear anything besides his pulse pounding in his ears, but he must make some kind of noise because Scorpius stiffens again.
“Not that we’re romantic partners!” he corrects, voice gone all high-pitched again. It makes Albus laugh in relief. It’s a comforting sound. “Just - you know. That might be why. Could be - why. For me. But… yes.”
Albus’ cheeks hurt from smiling. And maybe he’s gone slightly mad. But he leans in and presses his lips to Scorpius’ cheek without preamble, and when he pulls away, Scorpius is just kind of staring at him with wide eyes and pink cheeks.
“That was nice,” he finally squeaks after what feels like ten minutes of just staring at each other, and Albus laughs again.
Scorpius seems to take his laughter as some sort of challenge, because his eyes focus in the way they do before he solves a particularly tricky problem and he kisses Albus’ forehead gently. Albus feels his mouth make a quip about it being “nice,” but his brain is running on a frankly embarrassing loop about how soft Scorpius’ lips are and how nice his hair looks.
He takes advantage of how close their faces are, brushing his fingers through white-blonde strands, Scorpius leaning into the touch like an owl. He’s both petrified and thrilled when Scorpius seems to steel himself again, simply meeting Albus’ eyes and nodding to himself as he connects their lips, hands still awkwardly interlocked between them.
The kiss is uncoordinated and Albus can feel that they’re both smiling too much to do anything but blindly press their lips together, but it’s perfect in its own right. The most perfect part is that when Scorpius finally pulls away, pecking his bottom lip once more, Albus feels himself tackled into a hug against the soft arm of the Slytherin common room couch.
Because Scorpius Malfoy, generally, did not like to be touched. But Albus Potter is a notable exception.