Work Text:
Not for the first time in their friendship, Albus truly does not understand this habit of Scorpius’. It starts, like so many things do nowadays, at the little cottage that the Malfoys moved into after Albus and Scorpius’ fourth year.
He’s visiting over the summer for a couple of days, and he’s lounging in the sitting room reading some Muggle novel Scorpius recommended, when Scorpius emerges from wherever he’d run off to.
“Albus.” He says, entirely serious.
Albus looks up from his book. Scorpius is in one of his dad’s old sweaters and green linen shorts. He’s got those stupid Muggle clogs that he loves so much on his feet and a towel tossed over his shoulder and another in his hand.
“Come with me.” He tosses Albus the spare towel.
Scorpius starts off, and, of course, Albus follows without question. He leads Albus through the sunroom and out to the back garden, tossing a look over his shoulder and nodding when he sees the book in Albus’ hand. Albus latches the garden gate carefully behind them, aware that they are now outside the protection of the wards that Mr. Malfoy put up when they first moved in, and follows Scorpius down a winding path through the forest that backs up to the property. If anyone else attempted to make Albus spend time in nature and/or hike, he’d laugh them out of the room before they could finish their proposal.
Scorpius, as Albus has come to realize, is not anyone, though. He’s special to Albus in a way that Albus doesn’t want to examine.
They pass through the small clearing that they’ve picnicked in. The wildflowers are in full bloom, and the wisteria petals rustle in the mid-summer breeze, floating down like giant purple snowflakes. For the first time since Scorpius beckoned him nearly twenty minutes ago, Albus wonders where they’re going.
“I’ve found something wonderful,” is what Scorpius tells him when he asks. “You’re going to like it, I think.”
The sun is shining and the air is warm, so Albus takes the cryptic comment at face value and trusts that he will like the wonderful something. Scorpius does not falter in his steps, uncharacteristically and entirely aware of every rock and root on the small path through the forest. Occasionally, he’ll turn his head just enough so Albus can hear him and identify a tree or bush. Albus will ask how he knows, and Scorpius will talk about the bark or leaf or branching pattern of whatever flora he’s identified, and that’s how they pass the time.
It’s a long walk, nearly forty minutes, and Albus wishes he had better shoes than his Converse. On Scorpius’ part, the wonderful something is truly wonderful. The trees open up to a lake with a pebbled shore and clear water. The sound is different in the open and near water, and the almost silent-quiet of the forest has a different resonance here. Albus gasps a little.
He turns to Scorpius, who is grinning that crooked little grin of his, all sweet and earnest and perfect.
“How’d you even find this?” He asks.
Scorpius shrugs with a twinkle in his eye. Albus grins, a little astonished. Scorpius has a knack for finding wonderful things; ever since their first year, Albus has been dragged on a million miniature adventures like this: an ancient portrait in the farthest and most secluded hallway in Hogwarts, a nestful of baby owls high in the rafters of the owlery, a beautiful clearing about twenty minutes into the forest behind the cottage. Privately, Albus thinks that wonderful things attract other wonderful things, and that’s how Scorpius stumbles into beauty so often.
“There’s a place for you to sit and read,” Scorpius says, gesturing to a log resting on the pebbles. “If you don’t want to swim.”
“I haven’t got bathers on,” Albus says.
“You didn’t pack any bathers,” Scorpius says. “You can swim in those. It’s fresh water.”
Albus hums. He looks at the water and considers it. Scorpius shucks his stolen dad-sweater off, and Albus very studiously does not ogle his friend (who is very tall and beautiful in a distinctly new way – it’s something Albus has been grappling with all summer). Albus sets his book down and unties his laces while Scorpius folds his shirt, laying it with the newly folded towels on the fallen log.
Albus doesn’t remove his own shirt; he has a sneaking suspicion that the water is going to be really cold, and someone will need to warm Scorpius up when he gets out of the lake. Really, when you think about it, Albus is being truly selfless.
They wade into the water together, bare feet on smooth, cold stones, and Albus shakes his head immediately.
“Shite!” He hisses. “Merlin’s beard, that’s cold!”
Scorpius laughs at him, this full, loud, melodic laughter that Albus only hears approximately every six months.
“I knew it was gonna be freezing!” He says, laughing too, despite himself. “How’d you stand it?”
Scorpius shrugs. “I like it. It only works if you go all the way in, though.”
Albus pauses.
“What?”
“You know,” Scorpius says, wading in deeper. “Water. Healing properties. Whatever.”
“Are you sick?”
Scorpius shakes his head. He’s up to his ribs now.
“Like, mind healing properties,” He runs his hands through the water. “Like, in the lake, nothing but the lake matters.”
“Sure,” Albus says. He’s kind of losing the plot, and his feet are freezing.
“There aren’t family names or houses in the lake, you know.” He sinks down until his chin touches the water. “Like, I don’t know sorrow.”
Scorpius pauses and closes his eyes. Albus nods. He’s not sure if he’s nodding because he agrees and understands, or if he’s nodding because it’s Scorpius, whose eccentricities are delightful and strange. The water’s too cold for his taste. And he doesn’t like being outside nearly as much as Scorpius does. But if Scorpius says that the lake washes away his sorrow, or whatever, then Albus will sit on a fallen tree and read until Scorpius feels ready to leave.
“I am deeply and divinely okay,” Scorpius says. “If only for the thirty or so minutes I’ll be in here.”
And, hey, that’s good enough for Albus.
“Sure, babe,” he says, heading back to the shore. “It’s too cold for me, so I’m gonna read.”
Scorpius doesn’t say anything, just nods and turns. He submerges himself and pops back up a little farther away from the shore. Albus settles on the pebbles and leans back against the tree, bracing his book against his thighs and picking up where he left off. The only sounds he hears are the gentle rustle of the leaves in the summer breeze, and the soft sound of the surface of the lake rippling out from Scorpius to the shore. It’s almost laughably relaxing, and he nearly wishes he could stand the cold to see if he could feel what Scorpius feels – if maybe it’s comprehensible to him.
He can’t, though, and he’s not gonna try that hard, so he watches. It starts with a glance up, then another, then a longer look, and then he hasn’t looked at his page in nearly ten minutes, too busy watching the sky and the trees and the lake and Scorpius. The sun isn’t too terribly hot, and the clouds passing overhead give him temporary shade every now and then. Despite himself, Albus smiles.
He’s finding shapes in the clouds (he’s just found a Hungarian Horntail; truly impressive work, if he says so himself) when Scorpius hauls himself out of the lake, shaking his (increasingly long and beautiful) hair out and cradling what looks like a bunch of debris in his arms. Albus lays out a towel for him and holds the corners of the other, ready to wrap him up. He sits down, legs crossed, and dumps his findings onto the towel in front of him.
Albus tosses the other towel around his shoulders, and the smile he gives in response makes Albus’ breath catch in his chest.
“What’d you find, then?” Albus asks once he’s caught his breath.
Scorpius, pink from the cold and a little breathless and shivery, runs his fingers across the pebbles and rocks and goodies he fished up from the lake.
“Lots of treasures,” he says, and selects a stone. “I think this one matches your eyes.”
Albus freezes – totally chokes, it’s honestly a little humiliating, and Albus is deeply glad that it’s only the two of them out here – but Scorpius doesn’t seem to notice as he holds it up to Albus’ face and crows in delight.
“I was right!” He holds the stone in the palm of his hand and gazes down at it adoringly.
It’s crazy, insane, mad, even, because in that moment, Albus is jealous of a rock.
“I’m gonna keep this one,” Scorpius says. “Maybe I’ll make it a necklace.”
Albus feels like his face is going to melt off his skull because –
“Wh - what? Why?”
Scorpius looks back up at him (Albus’ stupid brain cheers at this) and shrugs with a grin.
“Why wouldn’t I? It’s certainly the prettiest of the bunch.”
He laughs incredulously. Then, affectionately, because he can’t help it, “Weirdo.”
Scorpius’ smile turns a little prideful, and he shows Albus the rest of his spoils, and the moment’s over. Kind of. The stone that allegedly matches the color of Albus’ eyes is definitely not the prettiest of the bunch, but Albus isn’t going to call Scorpius on that because that would mean confronting the very confusing feeling that Albus has been feeling for a couple months now, and he really doesn’t want to do that.
Instead, he accepts the stones pressed into his palms that Scorpius insists are gifts, and he tells Scorpius about his book while Scorpius dries off in the sun, and he warms Scorpius’ hands in his own (and lets Scorpius wear his socks because he’s Albus’ best friend, and his feet are cold), and when Scorpius is ready to go, Albus keeps holding his hand along the small path through the woods.
They stop at the field to pick wildflowers, and Albus tucks one behind Scorpius’ ear before he can stop himself, and he dutifully holds a bouquet for Mr. Malfoy while Scorpius adjusts it. His bare feet feel weird in his Converse, and it’s kind of gross, if he’s being honest, but he can’t bring himself to be all that bothered, not when he sees his socks kicked into Scorpius’ stupid (cute and endlessly endearing) little clogs.
Mr. Malfoy’s got the kettle on and muffins in the oven when they get back, and he ruffles Albus’ hair and cups Scorpius’ cheek as he thanks them for the bouquet. They have afternoon tea and freshly-baked muffins around the small kitchen table with the bouquet as a centerpiece. Later, after they’ve both showered and gotten clean clothes on, Scorpius curls up next to him and reads him the first chapter of some book he’s been meaning to read, and the words sound like heaven in his ears.
For the first time in a while, Albus feels truly relaxed. Deeply and divinely okay.