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Albus expects the summer after fourth year to be, despite everything, much the same as the previous summers: long days exploring the dark halls of Grimmauld Place, adamantly not creeping down to the family tree to trace over Scorpius’s name on the tapestry, being dragged into 3-on-2 Quidditch whenever the Granger-Weasleys visit, and slogging through endless hours and rolls of parchment to complete the summer homework assigned by his Hogwarts professors while dreaming of the start of term.
It’s not that Albus has ever enjoyed Hogwarts—quite the opposite, actually, and even though fourth year had been marginally better it had also been the most troubling, with Albus and Scorpius struggling to make up for the particularly dramatic start of the year. But going back to Hogwarts means seeing Scorpius, and anywhere that Scorpius is is where Albus wants to be.
He’s getting along with Rose again, and Hugo is finally old enough to be fun, but no friend will ever understand him like Scorpius does. Especially after fourth year. There are certain things that you can’t go through without being each other’s people for life—traveling through time, resurrecting the Dark Lord, a few Cruciatus Curses, and watching the murder of your grandparents together are just a few of them.
Writing letters is a thing they do now, though, with renewed frequency and vigor now that their fathers no longer scowl whenever they recognize the other’s family owl dropping off mail with breakfast. Scorpius is as enthusiastic and long-winded as he is in person. Each letter is enormously bulky and contains about a dozen follow-up questions regarding everything Albus writes about. Albus rereads each letter until the edges of the parchment fray and stows them away at the bottom of his school trunk so that James—or, worse, his dad—doesn’t tease him.
This is why it comes as a surprise when the Malfoys’ owl crashes through the window carrying two letters—the shorter of which going to Albus, and the longer to Harry.
James snickers as Harry looks over his glasses at Albus, earning a glare from their father. Albus gives a minute shrug and tucks his letter into his pocket for later, when he will open it in the privacy of his bedroom. If it were something urgent or disastrous Draco would have shown up at their front door or, a terrifying thought, taken the Floo.
It’s not surprising that Harry looks to Albus for understanding of things relating to the Malfoys, but for once Albus is none the wiser. Harry opens his letter at the table, angling it away from his children’s prying eyes, and Albus retreats to his room as quickly as possible, unraveling his letter as he climbs the stairs. He recognizes Scorpius’s neat handwriting immediately.
Albus,
Dad’s written to your dad. He’s going to ask if you can stay at the Manor this summer! I reckon he’ll ask you both to dinner first, since your dad wasn’t keen on you visiting in the past. But I had to tell you as soon as possible, so I stopped Aries before he left to attach this note. If your dad says yes, it’s on. See you soon!
Yours,
SHM
Albus clutches the letter to his chest. He hadn’t even dreamed of seeing Scorpius this summer, even though Harry had alluded to working with Draco recently, consulting him on his knowledge of alchemy for a recent case and even helping him secure artifacts for the infamous Malfoy collections, which he’d been honor-bound to ensure was entirely legal after the Time Turner incident. No matter how united they had been in the face of catastrophe, Harry and Draco’s relationship is still frosty.
Whenever it comes up, Albus likes to tease Harry for his inability to let go of their schoolyard spat, which always makes Harry defensive. He says that Albus doesn’t know how dark things had been, but then he softens and says that they had all been very young and did their best with the cards they had been dealt. It usually turns into a teachable moment in which Harry then says that being a child does not entirely absolve one of responsibility.
Besides, Albus hadn’t expected to do much of anything this summer. After his parents had made sure that he was okay, they showed no mercy regarding the punishments they deemed acceptable to hold him accountable for his actions in fourth year. They couldn’t keep him from Scorpius, sure, but they could do just about everything else.
Albus finds it all a bit harsh. If he hadn’t learned his lesson from time itself, he surely would have learned it from the stern talking-to that Draco had given him when they returned to the present. Scorpius insists that his father has a soft side; Albus has yet to see it.
Albus startles at the sound of a knock at his door. Harry pokes his head around the corner a moment later. “Mind if I come in?” he says, already halfway through the door, glancing down at the letter in Albus’s hands. There would have been no point in pretending that he hadn’t been reading it, poring over Scorpius’s every word like always.
“Draco has graciously offered to host you for a week at the end of the summer,” Harry says, a bit stiffly, as though in intense concentration. The more emotional the conversation, or any conversation involving Draco Malfoy, the more tongue-tied Harry gets. “And he’s invited all of us to dinner next week.”
“All of us?” Albus says, and Harry nods. “James and Lily? Mum?”
“Yes. I imagine it takes quite a few people to make Malfoy Manor feel less empty. Or lonely.”
There’s a beat of silence. Harry sits next to Albus on his bed and Albus discreetly folds Scorpius’s letter.
Ever since Albus had befriended Scorpius, Harry has made several attempts to explain the bad blood between him and Draco. It isn’t that Albus can’t understand—he and Scorpius have faced more than their fair share of bullies—but the part that always confuses him is how much pity Harry seems to have for Draco Malfoy despite it all.
“Are we going to go, then?” Albus asks, trying not to sound too hopeful. He would be more surprised if Harry said yes than no, but it can’t hurt to dream, especially with how enthusiastic Scorpius was in his letter, truly believing that the plan will work out. Albus would hate to disappoint him.
Harry looks at him, his green eyes piercing.
“I believe that the past belongs in the past,” he says. “And I know that you have wanted very badly to make up for it. You and Scorpius both.”
Albus holds his breath, as though taking up any space at all will make his father change his mind.
“We should be moving forward, not back,” Harry says. “Let’s see how dinner goes.”
Albus tries to keep his expression neutral, but he knows from Harry’s smile that he cracks immediately. He throws his arms around him in a hug, feeling Harry’s laugh against his own chest. “Thank you, Dad, “ he breathes. “I won’t let you down.”
“I know,” Harry says, amused.
When he leaves, Albus scribbles a hasty reply to Scorpius’s letter, sending Aries back to the Manor after a rest and a few owl treats. He’s going to see Scorpius—not on September 1st, on the Hogwarts express, but next week.
When the day comes, it’s only Harry and Albus who end up Apparating to Wiltshire. Ginny is traveling for a work trip and James is so skeptical of the invitation that Harry gives up and permits him and Lily to stay behind. It’s better this way, Albus thinks, though he doesn’t think he would have noticed his siblings much anyway had they come. He’s practically vibrating out of his own skin by the time they arrive at the menacing gates shielding the Manor from the world; he jumps when the gates demand them to state their purpose, and Harry clearly and confidently lists the precise wording of Draco’s invitation, unfazed.
Scorpius has told Albus all about Malfoy Manor, in letters and late-night chats in the Slytherin common room: how Draco had spent years restoring it after the war, bringing it back to its former glory, complete with dozens of ornately-decorated rooms filled with precious books and ancient artifacts and pieces of art, and the grounds that stretch on for miles, the lake that Scorpius swims in each summer and the grassy field that Draco had taught him to play Quidditch on. And, of course, the peacocks and magical creatures that roam the property freely.
Grimmauld Place, too, is an old wizarding home housing decades of suffering and triumph, but Albus knows that it in no way compares to the luxury and brilliance of Malfoy Manor, the overt display of wealth that serves as the boast reserving the Malfoys’ place in high society.
Albus has never thought of Scorpius as any different from him, unable to fathom the sort of generational wealth that he comes from, but now, standing in front of the Manor, Albus’s mouth goes dry.
Harry’s hand lands on his shoulder. “I know,” he says, almost grimly, as if heading into battle. “But they’re the same people that they’ve always been.”
He leads their way up the long path to the Manor’s front doors, and Albus swallows down his nerves that haven’t quite left him even with his dad’s attempt to nip his reproach in the bud, thinking of Scorpius just beyond instead. Scorpius!
Albus casts a glance at his father. “You look nervous, Dad.” Now that he knows that even the great Harry Potter has fears, Albus sees them frequently.
Harry purses his lips. “This place holds memories for me. But they’re just that—memories.”
Some things about the war, Harry has never told his children. Albus has learned not to ask, although he wonders what Draco has told Scorpius—if he holds things back the way Harry does, shielding Scorpius from the history of his own home, or if he presents Scorpius with the truth and lets him make up his own mind.
Albus feels very small, and uncharacteristically anxious, as he climbs the Manor’s front steps. But he only feels this way for a few seconds, because then the doors swing open, and Scorpius is beaming at him. “Albus!” he exclaims, rushing forward to embrace him. Albus’s cheeks warm—the shape of Scorpius’s body is growing more and more familiar to him, and he finds that whenever Scorpius hugs him he never wants to let go—but then Scorpius releases him, the tips of his ears red as he greets Harry. “Hello, Harry—Mr. Potter—sir.”
“Hullo, Scorpius,” Harry says warmly. “Is your dad around? I have something to give him.”
“Oh, yes,” Scorpius says. “He’s just behind me.”
There’s a touch of amusement in Draco’s eyes as he steps out of the shadow of the doorway. “Were you ever going to invite them in, Scorpius?” he says, and Scorpius moves so that Albus and Harry can enter the Manor. Even the entrance hall is dauntingly exquisite, with high ceilings and a massive chandelier overhead. Harry doesn’t even spare them a glance. “Was your journey here pleasant?”
“We can skip the small talk if you’d like,” Harry says. If Albus didn’t know better, he would have thought he sounds fond.
“Please,” Draco says. He turns to Scorpius. “We’ll be in the drawing room. Remember—”
“Seven o’clock, I know,” Scorpius says impatiently. He latches on to Albus’s arm and drags him away before either of their dads can get in another word.
Albus barely has any time to process his surroundings before Scorpius is leading him up a long spiral staircase and down a long hall, stopping in front of a room that is, unmistakably, his bedroom. It’s much bigger than Albus’s own, decked out in shades of emerald green and silver, the walls lined with tall bookcases and his full-sized four-poster bed shrouded in a shimmery canopy. His desk is just as messy as his desk at Hogwarts, a treacherous stack of books next to a row of ink pots and his beloved phoenix feather quill. Albus’s feet sink into a plush rug as Scorpius shuts the door behind them.
“I’d give you the full tour, but we wouldn’t have time before dinner,” he says breathlessly. “Thought I’d save that for next time.”
“Sounds good to me,” Albus says.
“So. Hi,” Scorpius says shyly, looking down at Albus through long eyelashes, watching as he looks around his bedroom.
His blush has spread from his ears to his cheeks. Albus tears his eyes away from his room and stares at Scorpius instead.
“Hi,” he says, breathlessly, and his heart hammers inside his chest. It’s been a whole month since he’d seen Scorpius last—not much time at all, but it feels like it after they’d spent nearly every waking moment together for the past year, attached to the hip even more than usual. They’d kept each other well up to date on their lives through their letters, but it’s different to see each other like this now, having shared all of themselves with each other with a sort of vulnerability that they’d always shied away from in person.
Scorpius’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “I can’t believe you’re really here. I thought for sure that Harry wouldn’t let you come.”
“He’s full of surprises,” Albus says. Neither one of them has broken eye contact yet. It’s a shame that their hug was so short. Albus wants to hug him again but doesn’t know if it would be weird, though he thinks that Scorpius would let him if he did, because he’s usually the one to initiate their hugs, after Albus started the whole thing in the first place.
“Well, then,” Scorpius says, and clears his throat. “Let me show you around.”
It’s strange—and wonderful—to spend time with Scorpius outside of Hogwarts without any sort of peril looming over them. They don’t have much time to kill after all, but they spend it relaxing in Scorpius’s room, Scorpius recounting the tale of how he had gotten Draco to agree to have Albus stay over. “It wasn’t difficult at all, really,” he says, pleased. “It’s just him and I around here, and he’s always in his study doing his research. I don’t get along much with the kids of his pureblood friends, so all I had to do was say I’ve been a bit lonely recently.”
There are layers there that Albus doesn’t feel nearly as uncomfortable thinking about as he once did. They talk more about his mum now, whenever Scorpius wants to, rather than avoiding his grief. It feels like a very mature thing to do for two very young people. And Harry has all sorts of advice about dealing with grief, which he says he wishes he’d had when he was Albus’s age.
They meet their fathers in the dining room just before seven, as promised. Neither Draco nor Harry sit at the head of the table, and instead uncomfortably take spots across from each other, next to their sons. Scorpius fills the silence, chattering on about the upcoming Quidditch World Cup—a conversation that both Draco and Harry engage in, thrilled that at least one of them has finally taken an interest in Quidditch—his foot knocking against Albus’s under the table as if to say I’m here! You’re here! the shock of it never quite wearing off. Albus quietly takes in his surroundings: the dining room, much too large for only four people and draped in an elegant tablecloth, another chandelier overhead, and warm light cast by floating candles just like those at Hogwarts, if even more hauntingly beautiful. He would have thought that such a large room would be drafty, but the fireplace burns brightly, and the sound of Scorpius’s laughter warms his chest just like the steaming mugs of butterbeer he and Scorpius sip.
It’s nothing like what Albus had imagined, although everything that had come to mind when he’d pictured his dad attempting to make small talk over a meal with Draco Malfoy was quite catastrophic, and nothing is quite so black and white in real life. In reality, it’s relatively peaceful, and even after exchanging a few wry comments about each other’s tastes in Quidditch teams, Draco very pleasantly asks if Harry has secured tickets for his family to the World Cup yet and if they would like to join the Malfoys’ box. On the other side of the table, Scorpius tries and fails to stifle his grin in his mashed potatoes, and Albus thinks that he would go anywhere in the world if Scorpius asked.
After, they return to the drawing room together. Draco asks Harry polite, pointed questions about his work that Harry answers with an unfamiliar air of haughtiness, an awkward, back-and-forth game of posturing until the conversation turns genuine again, Draco’s curiosity meeting Harry’s enthusiasm, their harsh edges softened after a few drinks. Sprawled out on the floor together, Albus and Scorpius play a few rounds of Exploding Snap, lazily swapping taunts and insults between yawns as the night grows older.
By the time Harry coaxes Albus up off the floor, reminding him of their journey home, he’s already dozed off with his head pillowed on Scorpius’s thigh. Everything feels muted and fuzzy, far away as if in a dream. Scorpius raises his head and his eyes are clear and intent as his hand brushes Albus’s shoulder, his fingers twisting, briefly, in the hair at the nape of his neck.
“I’ll send you an owl,” Harry tells Draco, Albus tucked into his side and stifling another yawn. Albus’s eyelids are heavy as he peers up at Scorpius, who gazes back at him surely and serenely.
“Yes, yes, of course,” Draco says, his pale eyes glinting in the darkness, never as severe as they are in Albus’s mind, and the great doors of the Manor swing closed.
It takes one long, agonizing week before Harry broaches the subject again, the end of summer within sight and with it Albus becoming sick with his anxious desire to see Scorpius.
Albus is curled up on the bench in the garden with a sandwich and a tall glass of water when Harry finds him. He and Lily had just finished a particularly rigorous de-gnoming session, the summer sun beating down on them mercilessly. Sweat beads on his forehead; his skin is damp with perspiration and humidity. The heat makes him lazy, and he barely musters the motivation to lift his head and crack his eyes open when Harry sits next to him.
“You’re going to burn if you don’t use sunscreen,” Harry says, waving his wand to cast protection charms instead. Albus has two more years before he’s allowed to use magic outside of Hogwarts, and they can’t pass fast enough. “Your mum will have my head for it if you don’t.”
Albus lets out a groan, the cool air from Harry’s wand reviving him. “The Trace isn’t that effective in wizarding areas, dad. Scorpius and I discovered that last year.”
“I wouldn’t risk it,” Harry says, and laughs. “I went in front of the Wizengamot before my fifth year for violating the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery. It was terrible. Wouldn’t recommend it.”
“The whole Wizengamot for underage use of magic?” Albus says.
Harry nods gravely. “Though I suppose you could get away with all the magic you want at Malfoy Manor. Draco always came to school having practiced most of the preliminary spells for our year. Most pureblood kids did.”
Albus eyes him suspiciously. Harry holds his gaze for a moment and then smiles. “Would you still like to go?”
“Dad—you—” Albus snaps his mouth shut, embarrassed by his own eager stuttering. “You mean it? I thought you wouldn’t let me.”
“You forget that I know what it’s like to be young,” Harry says, laughing. “Do you really think of me as so severe? Draco and I have been working together, you know. He can be quite convincing when he’s determined to get what he wants.”
“I thought…”
Albus had thought many things, one being that his mother is more severe than Harry, and not so quick to forgive him, not to mention Harry’s general discomfort with Draco and the Manor, though any lingering discomfort relating to Scorpius had been forgotten after his parentage had been confirmed. Scorpius, with youthful innocence, puppylike extroversion, and ironic idolization of the great Harry Potter, had forgiven him in turn even before Albus had, reminding Albus that he doesn’t need his best friend to fight his battles for him with the sort of resignation that came with the fact that, until recently, Albus wasthe only person to ever see him for who he is at first glance.
Harry regards him warmly. “We’re moving forward. I know you’ll be safe there, and I’ve heard that Scorpius is eager for me to accept. You’ve done well, Al—it’s time you’ve had a bit of adventure.”
Albus can’t imagine his dad from a year ago saying the same thing to him. Maybe they are moving forward.
“Adventure, you say?” Albus says.
“Safe adventure,” Harry corrects, bristling slightly. “The Manor is under dozens of protective spells and wards. If anything were to happen, Draco would be alerted immediately, and—”
“Dad!” Albus exclaims. “I’m not a Gryffindor. No plans of repeating anything from fourth year here.”
The suspicion in Harry’s expression wavers. He knows that Albus isn’t him, or even like James—and that he doesn’t have any reason or motivation to rebel.
“We just want you to be safe,” Harry says. “Draco and I. That’s something we can agree on.”
“Is there something I should be worried about?” Albus says, genuinely curious. It isn’t like his dad to be so hung up on such concerns; not only is he always ready for an adventure, but he generally trusts his kids to do the right thing. “Something dangerous?”
“No, nothing like that,” Harry says quickly. “It’s just—you’re getting to a certain age.”
Albus frowns. “I’m not following.”
Harry grimaces, his expression twisting with an unfamiliar sort of discomfort and uncertainty. “An age when you’re sure to be having certain—urges.”
This gets Albus’s attention. He sits up straight, his heart beating rapidly. Merlin. He hadn’t expected to have this conversation with his dad today, and he’s hoping that it’s just a poor choice of words. “Huh?” he squeaks.
Harry looks askance, just as uncomfortable having this conversation as Albus is. “I haven’t forgotten what you told me at the end of term. It’s just fine, you know—you and him. If he’s your most important person and you want to—explore that.”
The realization hits Albus like a Stunning Spell. Harry thinks that Albus and Scorpius are—dating? Boyfriends? Sleeping together?
“I’m not—we’re not—!” Albus protests. “It’s not like that.”
A traitorous blush spreads across his cheeks. It’s as though Harry has tapped directly into Albus’s subconscious—the part of himself that he doesn’t think much about, that he actively avoids thinking about. The part of himself that had told his father so confidently that he believes that Scorpius will always be the most important person in his life, his person, the part that feels with absolute certainty that the place he’s meant to be is always with Scorpius and craves to be there whenever he isn’t. The part that, Merlin, longs to touch him more, to let their hugs linger and memorize the feeling of Scorpius in his arms, under his hands.
It isn’t like that. Scorpius is his best mate, nothing more or anything else, no matter what Albus thinks about when he’s alone. And—there are few things that he does think about. He has certain urges, yes—but it’s as though they’ve crept up on him and aren’t entirely his yet. Thinking about Scorpius like that—he couldn’t—
“It would be okay if you were,” Harry insists, apparently gaining confidence. “It’s natural. Draco and I just want you to be safe—if you were—”
“Dad, please.”
“If you’re going to—to—you should have a safe place to go, and—do you know the charms?” Harry says, brow furrowing. “Hogwarts curriculum was a bit lacking back in my day, but times have changed, of course.”
“No, no, it’s fine,” Albus says, flushed and hot all over, wishing Harry would cast another one of his cooling charms. “I know them.”
“Are you sure? Do you need to practice? I can help you if you aren’t sure if they’re working right.”
Albus collapses on to the bench, cradling his head in his hands. His dad, teaching him sex spells. The lecture they’d gotten in Charms class in third year was bad enough. “Is this what you were talking about at the Manor when Scorpius and I were away?” he demands.
Harry’s silence speaks for itself. Albus might die right here, right now, out of sheer mortification. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to face Draco again; eye contact is simply a lost cause. He glares at his father. “It’s not like that.”
Harry holds up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, I believe you. But if it were—or for anyone else—I would want you to know. Okay?”
Albus lets out a breath, shivery and anxious. Harry’s acceptance is easy and unencumbered. One day he’ll be grateful that his parents’ evaluation of his love life doesn’t hinder him.
“Okay,” Albus says, and Harry claps his hands together and stands up.
“We’ll have to send you with your Hogwarts things, then,” he says. “And I’ll expect you to have all of your summer assignments completed before you leave.”
“They’re already done.”
“Really?” Harry says, looking surprised.
“It’s not like I’ve been hanging out with anyone else this summer,” Albus says pointedly.
Satisfied with his response, Harry ambles away. Albus sinks back against the bench and takes a sip of his water. Merlin.
Ginny and Harry both accompany Albus to the Manor on the swelteringly hot Sunday morning that marks the beginning of Hogwarts students’ last week of freedom. Albus’s trunk hits every stair as he lugs it up the great front steps leading up to the Manor until Harry eventually takes pity on him and levitates it. Ginny looks around the exterior with a wry smile. “A bit excessive, isn’t it?” she says.
“Wait ‘til you see inside,” Harry says.
Albus scowls. “I think it’s brilliant.” Though not as homey as Grimmauld Place, which has too many rooms even for the Potter family and their frequent guests. He supposes that Scorpius might think differently—which he doubts, given how reluctant Scorpius had seemed to return home each holiday despite everything. Especially this spring.
Harry ruffles his hair affectionately, making Albus’s scowl deepen. It melts away as soon as Scorpius flings the front door open, smiling at him with the full strength of the sun, Ginny’s laughter ringing in his ears.
Harry and Ginny and Draco have another talk as Scorpius leads Albus up to one of the Manor’s guest rooms to set up his things. Scorpius chatters until he loses breath, wringing his hands anxiously, and Albus swings around to hug him from behind, trapping his arms against his sides. “Oh,” Scorpius says, and relaxes into it after a beat. “Thank you,” he adds, nonsensically.
“Mm,” Albus says, and lets go. “What d’you expect they’re talking about?”
Scorpius goes beet red in an instant, confirming Albus’s suspicions. He doubts that they’re talking about that again, but at least Albus hadn’t been alone in suffering through an awkward conversation with his father. “Should we go down and say goodbye?” Albus says, not waiting for a response, and Scorpius nods emphatically, still flushed.
He looks handsome like that. Warm. He’d been pale, pallid, almost sickly in third year, and most of fourth. There were moments, though, in the sunshine, when his white blonde hair had turned golden, his skin pinkish and freckly, his eyes azure instead of icy. Albus had loved him most in those moments. He wants to make him look like that all the time.
Harry’s hand is firm on Albus’s shoulder as Ginny kisses his forehead and reminds him about a dozen things not to forget before school. “We’re only a Floo away if you need us,” she tells him, almost severely. “Don’t hesitate.”
“I’ll take care of him,” Draco says gruffly, locking eyes with Harry. He wilts under Ginny’s stern gaze; something fierce bubbles up in Albus’s chest.
“We know,” Harry says. Then he begins the usual adult pleasantries. “Thank you for having Al. Ginny and I—”
Albus makes eye contact with Scorpius, tucked under his father’s arm, and he makes a face back.
When Albus’s parents leave, Scorpius finally gives Albus the tour he had promised him last time, beginning with the halls of the Manor itself. Draco watches with amusement as Scorpius rattles off facts about the Manor, a good-natured quip here and there aimed at the portraits, who survey Albus with a range of emotion from curiosity to annoyance. They eat lunch in the conservatory, which is breathtakingly beautiful, the glass ceiling reaching up for the sky and the plant life arranged in an astonishing rainbow of color, far more impressive than the Hogwarts greenhouses. They sit by a bubbling fountain that comes to life with a wave of Scorpius’s wand and chat until the sun swoops low on the horizon.
“Oh, but I have so much left to show you,” Scorpius says, and he summons two brooms for them to fly on. Albus mounts his clumsily, but his anxiety is quickly forgotten as Scorpius leads him around the grounds: over the gardens and the barns, to the lake and the Quidditch pitch. They swoop low over the grass and high over the trees, and collapse into a winded, giggling pile on the front lawn.
“Incredible,” Albus says, exhilarated. “You live here. I can’t believe you live here.”
Scorpius waves his hand dismissively, the tips of his ears red. “Means nothing if I can’t share it with anyone.”
Albus turns his head to look at Scorpius and finds that he’s already looking at him, his pale eyes reflecting the vibrant green of the grass they lie on. His fingers twist in the blades under his palms. “Does it ever get lonely?” Albus asks, finding that the words come to him more easily than he thought they would. It isn’t difficult to ask Scorpius personal questions.
“Sometimes,” Scorpius says. “It was the worst after mum died—of course. But it was before that, too. Just the three of us here.”
“Is the property still rented out for galas? For the charities?”
Scorpius nods, eyes going glassy. “It’s fascinating to see from the other side of the thing. But there’s rarely anyone my age, obviously. No friends that stick.” He smiles. “Just you, and you’re the best, so I’m happy with what I’ve got.”
Albus closes his eyes and turns his face up to the sun, its rays soaking into his skin. “Me, too. I hope you aren’t as lonely anymore.”
“Not like I used to be.”
“And—if you’ll have me again, after this—”
“Of course,” Scorpius says, and Albus opens his eyes to see Scorpius beaming at him. “I wish it hadn’t taken so long. There’ll be a next time.”
“You sure you won’t get sick of me?”
“Never,” Scorpius says solemnly. “Wouldn’t I already have after sharing a dorm?”
Albus laughs. Scorpius is an easy roommate compared to the rest of the Slytherins in their year, meticulously tidy and with a liking for quiet time. “Your dad might, though,” Albus says.
Scorpius shrugs. “I don’t care. But he wouldn’t, anyway. He likes when I’m happy and he likes when it isn’t just us, too. And he likes you. He’s told me so.”
Albus looks away, hoping Scorpius doesn’t track the emotions on his face. He hadn’t known how much it would mean for him to hear until Scorpius said it. He changes the topic instead, not as comfortable feeling his own emotions as Scorpius is. “You’ve always seemed closer to him than I am with my dad. Or—you did before.”
“You think so?”
Albus nods. “I guess—we both had the same problem, with whom our dads are following us everywhere. But you confided in yours and I…” He swallows hard at the sudden wave of guilt that crashes over him. “I pushed mine away.”
Scorpius looks back up at the sky, at the clouds peacefully floating by. “We all cope in different ways. It was—an understandable thing to do. And it’s not like that anymore.”
“No, not at all,” Albus says. “No, you’re right.”
Satisfied, Scorpius settles back into his grassy patch, shredding the thick blades between his slim fingertips. His eyes catch Albus’s. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says.
Albus’s heart skips a beat. The depth of Scorpius’s sincerity is startling, and Albus has never quite grown accustomed to it. It’s as though he doesn’t know how to live any other way.
“Me, too,” Albus says, and Scorpius’s cheeks turn rosy.
They join Draco for dinner, though he eats quickly and departs before Albus and Scorpius are finished, having a late engagement at the Ministry to attend to, leaving them alone to the Manor. His strict reminder to behave (and Floo call in case of an emergency) rings in the silence of his absence.
Scorpius grins at Albus. “Shall we take this party upstairs?”
Scorpius’s idea of rebellion is stealing a record player from the Manor’s ballroom and bribing the house elves to bring dessert to his bedroom instead of the dining room. The Manor has dozens of rooms, but Albus already thinks that Scorpius’s must be the coziest. And it’s large, with a private bathroom attached, so there would be no reason to ever leave if not for the magnificence of the rest of it.
Very rebellious indeed, they lie on Scorpius’s bed with their spread of sweets and Scorpius rambles about all of the things he wants to show Albus, the things he’s been dreaming of doing with him since they met in first year.
“What about those?” Albus asks, pointing up at the mural of constellations painted across Scorpius’s ceiling. “What’s the story there?”
“Oh, those,” Scorpius says, fluffing up one of his pillows and lying down with it. He licks a spot of whipped cream off his lips. “I like to look at them when I can’t fall asleep.”
Albus rests his head on Scorpius’s stomach without thinking much of it. It’s even more intimate than their position last time, which had been the extent of the casual physical touch they’d integrated into their friendship. Before they’d started hugging, Albus had never longed for it. Now he feels each one of Scorpius’s touches through his whole body, hot and anxious for it.
Scorpius lets out a shivering breath and tangles his fingers in Albus’s hair. With his other hand, his points at the constellations. “All of the Black family constellations are there,” he says, pointing to each as he names them. “Cygnus, Sirius, Cassiopeia, Andromeda, Regulus, Orion. Draco. And me.”
“I like it,” Albus says sleepily, letting his eyes fall shut. “Yours, I mean.”
“Do you,” Scorpius says. He sounds funny, like something is caught in his throat.
“’Course.”
Albus dozes off while enshrouded in Scorpius’s warmth, the exhaustion from good things covering him like a blanket. Nothing can touch them here.
Monday morning is spent on the Quidditch pitch, much to Albus’s chagrin. He finds that he enjoys his time on the broom he borrows from Scorpius much more than he ever has in the past, endeared by Scorpius’s obsessive practice and eagerness to show Albus what he’d learned. He’d spent the summer practicing with Draco to try out for the Slytherin team, and the difference from their first year flying lessons is obvious. They chase a Snitch around the pitch and Scorpius catches it first every time. Albus doesn’t think that he’s a very good metric against which for Scorpius to test his skill, but even as Albus grudgingly recalls the Seeker strategies Harry had attempted to teach him as a child, Scorpius outwits him every time.
In the afternoon, they visit the Malfoy menagerie, bonding with the hippogriff Galewing, whom Draco had rescued shortly after the war, while he was renovating Malfoy Manor. The only hippogriff Albus has ever seen up close is Buckbeak, and Galewing is just as impressive, large and intimidating with shiny jet black feathers. Scorpius tells Albus that he’s been great friends with the aging hippogriff ever since he was a toddler.
On Tuesday, they make a trip to the small wizarding village located just a few miles down the road from the Manor, allotted a small allowance by Draco. They peruse a colorful farmer’s market and a quirky souvenir shop, stopping at a charming diner for lunch and a round of butterbeers. Albus drags Scorpius away from his favorite bookstore—after purchasing a few new novels—and they spend the rest of their money at a homemade sweet shop that Scorpius swears is better than Honeydukes.
That night they make use of the ballroom, and Scorpius shows Albus the dances that his mother had taught him, including an elaborate walz that leads Albus to trod on Scorpius’s feet about a dozen times. But Scorpius is endlessly patient, talking Albus through each of the steps, generous with praise that makes longing tingle up Albus’s spine. His hand rests at the small of Albus’s back, steadying him, and Albus feels like he’s dying, like he could die, right here in Scorpius’s arms, under the ministration of his gentle touches, as Scorpius hums softly.
Held in Scorpius’s other hand, Albus’s hand is damp with sweat. He apologizes for this and Scorpius just laughs, moving so closely to him that their fronts are nearly pressed together. Albus tilts his head to the side so that they aren’t too close.
Wednesday is one of the hottest days all summer, and they spend it in an exceptionally lazy way, sleeping in so late that Draco comes to check on Scorpius and then Scorpius wakes Albus up by jumping on him in bed. After the first night, Albus had reluctantly gone to sleep in the guest bedroom that had been prepared for him, feeling weird about wishing that it weren’t the case. Waking up next to Scorpius had been the most strangely thrilling, and satisfying, part of his visit to the Manor, and he realized that he wishes that he could every day—not just in the same dorm, like at Hogwarts, but in the same bed, sharing Scorpius’s pillows that smell like him and like home.
They explore the Manor and get lost in the maze that is the library. Seeing the famous Malfoy archives for the first time, Albus sees Scorpius’s geek tendencies in a whole new light: he thinks that he, too, would choose to lose himself in books if he had grown up with such a collection of rare books and ancient tomes at his disposal. They compare their answers on their summer assignments, Scorpius doing most of the work, and Albus watches, aching with yearning, as Scorpius caresses the spine of a well-worn book of fairy tales, which he offers for Albus to borrow.
“Historically accurate versions of the ones your dad probably read to you growing up,” he says. “And darker.”
“Ooooh.” Just Albus’s style, unlike the Gryffindorish tales Harry had preferred.
By Thursday, Albus is sick with overindulgence and with the severity of his longing. He spends every day at school with Scorpius but it’s not like this, sharing his home with him, Scorpius showing Albus all of the vulnerable parts of him. Albus wants more of it, he wants all of it, he wants to take Scorpius back to Grimmauld Place and get him in his bed. He wants to show him his name on the family tree, wants to offer it to him and tell him he could have it one day, too, that he could have it together with Albus.
It’s such an intense, overwhelming way of thinking that Albus feels like he’s going crazy whenever Scorpius smiles, whenever he says something so silly and light that Albus feels wrong for thinking of him so severely, whenever he loses himself in Scorpius’s eyes and Scorpius laughs and asks if there’s something wrong with his face. It’s instead that Scorpius is so perfect, so lovely, that Albus wants and wants and Scorpius keeps letting him take and take. It’s a dangerous game. Albus might never be able to stop and Scorpius doesn’t even seem to know that they’re playing.
There are moments when he seems to prove him wrong, though. Like when they were in the village and Scorpius held Albus’s hand as he let him around the shops, squeezing his fingers here and there as though to remind him I’m here, I’m happy you’re here. Like when they had danced together, and Scorpius said “It feels like we’re a real couple,” and then giggled and turned red when Albus hid his face in his shoulder, dizzyingly aware of their height difference. Like each night at dinner, when he and Scorpius and Draco reunite at the end of the day and recap the day, and Scorpius openly gushes about Albus to Draco, the person who had made Albus nervous about visiting the Manor but who treats Albus with as much kindness as his son does. Like how casually intimacy has become just that—casual, even though Albus feels like he might blow up every time Scorpius touches him.
And, on Thursday, at the lake.
Thursday is almost as hot as Wednesday, but after a day trapped inside, they’re somehow and inexplicably, despite the sheer size of the Manor, bored. Scorpius is, anyway, and Albus says that he’d like to save some of the Manor’s secrets for next time, eager to feel the sun on his face again without the sticky hot air of the conservatory.
“I haven’t even discovered them all yet,” Scorpius says dreamily. “How about we go to the lake?”
“Bad things happened last time we were in a lake,” Albus says, only half serious. They had, but he isn’t fearful of anything like that happening again. Nothing bad could happen this week.
“Nothing bad has ever happened in our lake,” Scorpius informs him. “Unlike the rest of the house.”
“Very comforting,” Albus says dryly, but twenty minutes later they’ve flown to the shore of the lake and are dipping their toes in, shivering until Scorpius casts a warming charm on both of them. Just like Harry said, it’s easy to get away with underage magic on magical properties after all.
Albus can’t remember the last time he’d gone swimming, aside from that day in the Great Lake in fourth year, which hadn’t been for pleasure anyway. It’s one of many activities that he’s deemed as dangerous, but that James adores, and thus isn’t very appealing to him. But everything is appealing with Scorpius at the end of it, so Albus leaps off the end of the dock and submerges himself in the cool lake water, Scorpius letting out a shout of joy as he jumps in beside him. The water prickles with magical energy, surrounding Albus like a familiar embrace.
Scorpius’s hair is dark blonde when he emerges from the water, freckles dotting his cheeks after days in the sun, his lips distractingly pink. “It’s perfect,” he says gleefully, and Albus agrees, even though he doesn’t know what exactly Scorpius is talking about.
The water offers the perfect reprieve from the heat that has begun to drive both of them mad. They talk in nonsensical circles, delirious with joy, as they chase each other in laps around the lake. The moment is blissfully unburdened, free of the things that had followed them all the way through fourth year and that Albus had feared they would never be able to shake.
They float together in the shallows for a while, and Albus can hear his father’s voice in his head reminding him to put on sunscreen. He’d been too wrapped up in his happiness, in Scorpius’s happiness, to remember. His teeth are chattering with adrenaline for no reason at all when he and Scorpius climb back to shore, prompted by Scorpius’s rumbling stomach, and lay out their blanket and picnic basket for a snack. Scorpius lies on his back and his eyes slide shut, peaceful and beautiful in the sun, and Albus wants him. He sprawls out next to him and props his head up on Scorpius’s shoulder and Scorpius doesn’t even blink. He’s used to such affection now.
“Scorpius,” Albus says, just to be annoying, and his eyes blink open. He’s wearing a lazy, heart throbbing smile.
“Yeah?” he says. “Better than last time?”
“The best ever,” Albus says, heart thumping away, giddy just because he’s with Scorpius. He lifts himself above him, propping himself up on his elbows, positioned on either side of Scorpius’s face, their chests pressed together.
He means it to be casual, teasing, but Scorpius’s eyes go wide and Albus realizes what the position they’re in looks like.
He doesn’t want to move.
Scorpius doesn’t make him.
“Albus,” he says, throat bobbing as he swallows. His voice is all pitchy and nervous, but he still doesn’t push Albus away. Albus can’t seem to look away from a bead of water that drips down Scorpius’s cheek and across his lips. “You mean it?”
Albus wets his lips. Scorpius’s gaze darts down and watches the movement of his tongue. “I always do,” he says.
Scorpius doesn’t look away from his lips. His chest is rising and falling rapidly, Albus can feel it. So he kisses him.
Scorpius’s lips are warm from the sun and slick with water from the lake. A tiny, surprised gasp slips past them as Albus fits their mouths together. He’s never done this before, never wanted to do this with anyone else, and it shows. Their teeth click and Albus almost retreats but then Scorpius’s hand finds his shoulder, pulling him closer, I’m glad you’re here. Albus melts into Scorpius’s hands, his lips, and all at once it makes sense.
Eventually, reluctantly, he begins to pull away, but Scorpius follows him, lifting his head, and Albus gulps a deep breath and kisses him again, little addictive kisses pressed to Scorpius’s trembling lips. It feels like Albus’s breath has been stolen directly from his chest.
“That—that was—” he stutters. “It felt—”
“Good,” Scorpius fills in. His eyelashes flutter; his eyes search Albus’s. “Like what people write about.”
So good. Albus didn’t know that kissing could feel like this, a little awkward and tentative but with such promise for more, like everything he feels about Scorpius could be contained in such a simple press of lips. Scorpius leans in again, his nose slotting neatly against Albus’s, and Albus can’t breathe, his breath catching in his throat and heat pooling in his belly. He can feel Scorpius’s hand at his back, like when they’d danced together, his other sliding up Albus’s neck and dragging through his wet hair almost reverently.
He’s so close that Albus can almost taste him, can just barely feel Scorpius’s lips graze against his when he speaks. “Do you—do you want—”
“Yes,” Albus says quickly, choosing not to be embarrassed about it. Now that Scorpius has proposed the idea of doing it he can’t pretend that he doesn’t want it, that every molecule in his body isn’t aching for it. He closes his eyes.
Scorpius’s lips are on his in a heartbeat. Any awkwardness that might have persisted is drowned out by how good it feels. Albus has given up on holding himself up; he collapses on Scorpius’s chest and Scorpius’s arms wind around him, tracing each dip of his body. Albus cups his face, his jaw, and trembles.
“You’re shaking,” Scorpius says when he pulls away. Albus nods, tight-lipped, unable to speak. Scorpius holds up one of his hands. “Me, too.”
Albus laces their fingers together, fascinated.
“I’ve wanted to do that since I got here,” he admits.
“I’ve wanted to since third year,” Scorpius says.
“Really?” Albus says. “You never mentioned it.”
“Well it doesn’t matter now, does it? If we both want to do it again,” Scorpius says. There’s barely any space between them, but he still manages not to look directly into Albus’s eyes. “If—if you want to.”
“I want to,” Albus says, and Scorpius gazes at him in wonder, his lips parted.
Slowly, with great hesitation, they untangle. Albus keeps holding Scorpius’s hand, and Scorpius looks vaguely pleased.
“I’ve wanted to for longer than this week,” Albus tells him. He doesn’t have to say it, but he wants to. He wants Scorpius to know that he’s serious, that it means just as much to him as it does to Scorpius.
Scorpius closes his eyes. “I think I’m dreaming. Pinch me.”
Albus laughs and kisses him instead. He tastes like sunshine and bright things and Albus wants all of it.