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Scorpius grew up speaking and signing. When his mother’s blood curse reared its ugly face, her very first symptom was losing her hearing when she was nineteen. His mum always told him that the moment she knew that she loved his father was when he came to see her at her flat for the first time after they became friends and had started learning conversational British Sign Language. He signed very slowly, but told her that she looked beautiful and he would very much like to go on a date with her. And the rest is history, she’d sign, and then smile at Scorpius each time she told him the story. Her smile was magic.
It turned out that Scorpius’ knowledge of sign language came in handy when his parents took him out to restaurants or any loud event, because when he got overwhelmed, when he couldn’t speak because he would break down if he tried, he could communicate that with his hands. He could ask for a fidget without putting himself in pain.
Albus Potter learned sign language for him. In their first year. It reminded him of what his dad had done for his mum, even though their love had been romantic. He couldn’t love Albus Potter like that, because they were best friends.
When they were thirteen, after Scorpius’ mum passed away, the two of them almost exclusively signed for the fall term. Every time he opened his mouth to speak, his throat seemed to close, and tears seemed to well up. Albus translated if Scorpius needed to speak to someone other than him or Draco, and it seemed like Albus Potter was his soulmate.
When he was fourteen, he realized he did love Albus Potter like that. The realization hit him like a truck, as he stood in the forbidden forest, Severus Snape by his side, asking who he was fighting for. And the only person he could think of was Albus. In November of that year, Albus kissed him on the cheek and invited him on a date. And the rest…
“What?” Scorpius called back, far too loud, when Albus had asked a question from across the room in their two bedroom flat. They were twenty-one and had two cats. Scorpius was working at Mungo’s and Albus at a muggle tattoo parlor. Life had balanced finally; after three years as working adults, they were finally feeling grounded.
“What do you want for dinner?” Albus repeated, articulating more this time and turning around.
I literally cannot hear you, speak up, Scorpius signed, annoyed.
“I just yelled,” Albus said, starting to SimCom.
No, he signed. “What did you say?”
“Now you’re yelling,” Albus said.
“I’m not? Not yelling.”
“What do you want for dinner?” He asked again. He watched as Scorpius stared at him from across the room, focusing intently.
“Thai,” he yelled. Not in an aggressive way, but how you yell when your headphones are up too loud.
“You need to get your hearing checked,” Albus said.
Why?
You’re having hearing problems. I’ve noticed it for a few weeks.
“Not true,” said Scorpius, shaking his head and dropping his hands. “That’s not true. I’m hearing just fine.”
Albus inhaled deeply and crossed over to Scorpius. He sat next to him on the couch. “Your mum went deaf around your age-”
Stop. I’m not sick.
What?
I’m not sick.
I never said you were sick.
“You mentioned my mum!” He SimCommed. I can’t.
Can’t what?
Talk.
“That’s fine,” Albus said gently. “May I put my arm around you?”
Scorpius nodded. Yes.
He whispered, “Wouldn’t it make you feel better to know you’re not sick? What if your hearing is unrelated, love?”
Scorpius’ head dropped on Albus’ shoulder. He signed close to his stomach, arms feeling weak. Sorry, I overreacted. I’ll go to a healer, but I’m scared.
“I know,” Albus said, then kissed the top of Scorpius’ head. “You’re going to be okay, you know that?”
Yes.
But he was not going to be okay. Because he knew deep down what it meant. He had the same fate as his mother, the same fate that had destroyed his father’s heart and would one day destroy Albus’ too. His mother had lived eighteen years after losing her hearing. But she had really been gone five years before that. When she was paler than his father, when she needed four blankets at all times but was also impossibly hot with a fever, when she vomited up anything she was given on a bad day, when she could no longer leave bed for more than a few hours at a time. Thirteen years. He had thirteen years. Give or take.
“We’ll make it last,” Albus said, though Scorpius could no longer hear him, and for the first time in his life, he had to rely on Albus’ SimComming. His hearing had gone quickly after the initial loss, and by the time his blood results got back, showing that he had in fact inherited his mother’s curse, he could no longer hear anything. Albus kissed his forehead as he cried after the doctor had told him the prognosis. He’d known. But to have someone confirm it was so different. “We’ll make a list. And we’ll do everything on that list. We have so much time, Scorpius, you don’t even know. Okay?”
Okay, Scorpius signed, still crying. You still love me?
“Scorpius,” Albus said, eyes crinkling and hands shaking as he did Scorpius’ name sign, (which was ‘S lovely,’ all Astoria’s doing). “I’ll love you for the rest of my life.”
I won’t be there. He didn’t know if he was speaking or not.
“No, you won’t. But I’ll still love you. And we have a bucket list to start.”
Scorpius squeezed his eyes shut to get the last bit of tears out, then leaned forward and kissed Albus. “I love you.” He hoped the words had come out.
“I love you too,” Albus said, too close to Scorpius’ face for Scorpius to tell if he was signing. But those words upon Albus’ lips were too familiar for Scorpius not to recognize.
Thirteen more years of this.
It would never be enough, but they had to make do with what they had.