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The glow-in-the-dark stars that Scorpius had pasted to his ceiling years ago had never seemed quite so depressing before.
Because sure, on his ceiling the separate constellations were a few meters apart at most; even his grand bedroom, no matter how large and swallowing it could feel, was no match for the sky. The encompassing mass of the entire universe.
Maybe Scorpius was reading far too much into it. But he could only imagine how lonely it would feel - isolated. Alone, for all eternity. Completely destroying anything that came near, burning up everything in your path.
He imagined it would be quite similar to how he felt now.
Albus lives three hours away by train, give or take. From Wiltshire to London. Certainly not a full universe worth of distance, but it felt like it. If Scorpius were to say anything of it, they felt worlds apart. Not being near the boy - sharing a dormitory or a common room, without the better part of their classes together - wasn’t right. It just felt off.
Logically, he knew that he would see Albus again in just over a week. That was, like, a normal amount of time to spend apart from your friends. It was Winter holidays, for Merlin’s sake! Scorpius should be out rolling up snowmen or sitting in the television room, bundled up with a mug of hot chocolate. Maybe alone, maybe with his father - it didn’t matter.
Scorpius shouldn’t be sitting here thinking of Albus. He just… shouldn’t. It wasn’t right. He knew that. This wasn’t how he should feel.
But knowing it didn’t keep him from staring teary-eyed up at the entire universe plaited out for him on his bedroom ceiling.
The boy had always known that his friendship with Albus may not have been exactly considered normal - and that fact went far beyond their parentage. Other kids their age weren’t so attached to their schoolmates, but he and Albus were never separated. They were always together; Albus and Scorpius. Scorpius and Albus.
Best friends.
And yet, that was the issue.
Scorpius had never considered them to be anything other than friends. Really, really good friends - but nothing more. Until recently. Some fourth year had made a one-off comment asking why his “boyfriend” was late to class again.
The boyfriend being Albus, of course.
And, well…
Oh.
It was mean as a teasing remark. A joke.
So why wasn’t he so strongly averted to it?
Why did it seem almost… nice?
They were already so close. Their friendship was already so unique, so special; a label like “boyfriends” probably wouldn’t change much.
So why did the thought send shivers down his spine in the best way possible?
Is this what he had wanted? Yes, his mind hollered, and Scorpius knew.
—
Draco had realized some time ago that there was nothing he could do about his son’s friendship with the Potter boy. No matter how awful, no matter how annoying it was to see Harry every day at the ministry and know their sons were off, having a jolly good time in the school that had torn him to pieces and put him back together in the seven years he lived trapped their as a child.
He’d learn to ignore it for the sake of Scorpius.
To live and let live, he supposed.
Except, well.
Draco had clearly underestimated exactly how close Potter Jr and Scorpius had grown over the past terms. Because his son was sitting alone in his room, refusing to leave outside of mealtime. Which would have been fine, and not even so out of the ordinary - yet the man had a sneaking suspicion that this had something to do with the less-than-approved friendship.
He’d never been amazing that those fatherly discussions; it was a task that had been more often than not assigned to Astoria. She would work through it with Scorpius, gently coaxing him to a conclusion.
Which left him on his on, now. And…
Draco may be a lot of things, but comforting was not necessarily one of them. He detested the word; parenting. Because how could all of those struggles be bundled up into some nine-letter word that made the entire impossible feat seem so easy?
It began with a gentle knock on Scorpius’s door. Not loud, not aggressive. Welcoming? Perhaps.
“Scorpius?” he questioned. Gentle again. “May I enter?”
There was a loud, pseudo-dramatic sigh from inside the boy’s bedroom, which Draco took as permission as he silently entered and sat at the foot of his son’s bed.
“Scorpius,” he greeted.
“Dad.”
An awkward silence.
“Um. Well, could I ask- what’s wrong?”
Draco really was awful at this, wasn’t he?
Scorpius looked up, contemplating. Draco figured what was coming next, but he’d let his son answer anyways. Let the boy come to him. Would he answer truthfully? Draco had done little to disguise his contempt for the entire Potter bloodline. But did Scorpius care, really?
“I miss Albus.”
Ah. There it was.
Honesty.
“I know, son.”
But Scorpius kept going.
“I miss him more than I should thought, I think.”
And this confused Draco. “Son- It’s normal to miss your friends. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to see them. When I was in school-”
But Scorpius cut him off. “No! Dad, you don’t get it. You just- you don’t get it!” His voice was quiet. Shaky. If Scorpius wasn’t crying already, then he sure was close to it.
“Then explain it to me.”
And, well, where else was there to go from here?
“A kid at school made some joke about me and Al dating.” He said nothing more than that; it was plain and simple.
“Listen, Scorpius. Kids will make jokes. They’ll start rumors. Surely, you’re used to it by now - not that it’s okay, of course, but sometimes children are… Children can be jerks. Don’t listen to them, son,” Draco told him. Because it was true.
The room was silent for some time, nothing to be heard other than the evening wind brushing against the window.
“I… I want to, though. I think I do, at least.” He said it timidly; no louder than a whisper.
“You want to- what?”
“I want to date him. I think.”
Oh. This was so not Draco’s venue.
Another silence fell, one that Draco miserably failed at not making awkward.
“You want to date Albus.”
Scorpius buried his face farther in his pillow than Draco thought was humanly possible.
“No! No, it’s alright- listen to me Scorpius!” he exclaimed, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. The boy remained unmoving.
“Scorpius. I love you.” He said it forcefully, but perhaps that’s why it worked. “You’re my son, and nothing could ever- and I mean, ever , change that. Do you understand?”
Only then did the boy sit up, blanket still half draped over his face, shrouding the father’s view of his son. Better than nothing.
“You sure?” Scorpius asked. Because he had to. “I didn’t know how you would feel. It’s Albus, yeah, but he’s a Potter, and I know that-”
“Listen to me Scorpius. You’re my son. You’re all I have. And you will be my son, even if you do decide to entangle yourself with that whole Potter-Weasley-Granger mix… You’ll always be my son, Scorpius. I love you.”
And maybe Draco could do this whole parenting thing. No matter how daunting the task.