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SCORPIUS
“One teenager,” Dad said, slightly accusatory, when Scorpius found him in his office. “That was what I signed up for. One teenager in my house, where I live.”
“I think you actually signed up for four,” Scorpius said. “Technically.”
“Lily’s not thirteen yet,” Dad said. “And there is a significant difference between making a conscious, considered decision to date a man with children and receiving a letter from one’s son reading — what was it — Dad, I’m bringing some friends home for the summer and they’re all Muggleborns so you can’t say no or you’ll look prejudiced. Wouldn’t you think?”
“The Muggles have locked everything down, Dad,” Scorpius protested. “They’re not allowed out anywhere, Ollie said Easter was horrendous and Imogen’s not even allowed to see her mum because she works for the NHS and has to sleep in a separate part of the house.”
“So you’ve told me,” Dad said. “As has Emma. I’m not disputing the need for your friends to find respite. What I am disputing is the way you went about it.”
“Jamie said it’s better to ask forgiveness than permission.”
Dad rolled his eyes. “Well, if Jamie said it, you’d best do exactly as he says, hadn’t you?”
“We have the biggest house,” Scorpius added, ignoring this. “We talked about it, me and Al and Rose, and then we checked with Cassie and Lou and Damien and Bronte and none of them have more than one spare room either, and their houses don’t make them. And we have the grounds and the garden and the woodland and the pool — ”
“I didn’t consent to the pool,” Dad said.
“It’s hot,” Scorpius said.
“It is eighteen degrees.”
“It’s been hot. It’ll be hot again. That’s not the point.” The conversation was getting away from him, and he decided to play his trump card. “And they all think the museum is really cool.”
Dad sat up a bit at that, but still looked suspicious. “Do they now?”
“Most of them are Ravenclaws so they’re nerds. They want to do a sleepover in there,” Scorpius continued. “There’s this movie called Night at the Museum, and it’s about this museum that comes to life — ”
“I think I can work out the rest,” Dad interrupted. “They came on your second year excursion?”
“Yeah. They also think you’re really cool.”
“Laying it on a bit thick,” Dad said, but there was a pleased smile on his face and Scorpius knew he’d won this round. “Tell them not to call me Scorpius’s dad, please, at least to my face — I do have an identity outside you.”
“Sure you do, Draco.”
"You’re not in a strong position to be giving me cheek right now,” Dad said, the look back on his face that told Scorpius he would be in some amount of trouble for probably the entire summer. “There are conditions.”
“Like what?” he asked, resigned.
“I need all their parents’ mobile numbers.”
“Okay,” Scorpius said, and waited for the inevitable follow-up.
“I need you to put them in my phone.”
“God, it’s not hard, you’re such a boomer —”
“I think you’ll find you’re the boomer amongst us, Scorpius, since your generation comes from a post-war baby boom and there was no equivalent in the wizarding world in the mid-twentieth century — ”
Scorpius rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “It’s not literal.”
“If you’re going to insult someone, do it properly. You’re not to leave your friends,” Dad continued. “I’m awkward, your mother’s awkward, it’s cruel to all involved to not have you around as a buffer.”
“Wasn’t going to.”
“Really?” Dad asked. “That means no sleepovers at the Potters’, no visits to Yiayia — you can write her a grovelling letter this evening, please, I don’t fancy a Howler —”
“The Potters can still come stay, right?”
“Merlin. Yes. I’m not breaking up with Harry just because you’ve decided to turn our house into a youth hostel.”
“And Rose,” Scorpius added. “Or she’ll feel left out.”
“Salazar give me strength,” Dad muttered. “Okay. Fine. Whatever. We’re following the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry.”
“What, no, come on Dad — ”
“I’m liable for every piece of magic that happens under my roof,” Dad said, “and I’m not dealing with the errant spellwork of half a dozen fourteen-year-olds. I’m going to take your wands and lock them in a drawer like the government says I should.”
“We’ll be careful,” Scorpius protested.
“You’re developmentally incapable.”
“That’s — discrimination.”
“Yes,” Dad said. “Why don’t you take it up with the Minister?”
“That hasn’t been funny for at least five years,” Scorpius said, scowling. “Plus I already told everyone they can use magic this summer since it’s a wizarding house.”
“Well, you’ll just have to un-tell them,” Dad said, unsympathetic. “And learn a lesson or two about respect while you’re at it. Tell your mum I need to talk to her before she goes back to hers.”
“Fine,” Scorpius said, turning to go.
“Fine,” Dad echoed.
He hesitated in the doorway. “You’re not…actually mad at me?”
Dad sighed. “I don’t think that’s something I’m capable of being.”
“Right,” Scorpius said. “Cool. Sorry I didn’t ask and stuff.”
“Thank you for the apology,” Dad said. “And stuff. Go back to your friends.”
It hadn’t been entirely Scorpius’s fault. Like most things in his life had been since he was seven years old, it was at least sixty percent Albus Potter’s fault and up to twenty-five Rose Weasley’s fault, leaving Scorpius with a mere fifteen percent culpability. It was Albus who had been partnered up with Imogen Pocock in Potions because old Blackmore decided he was too disruptive with his friends and imposed an alphabetical seating order on the class. Scorpius had attempted to subvert this by insisting, solemnly, at the start of the year that his dad and Harry had actually gotten married over the summer and Scorpius was a Potter now too, so he had to sit with Albus under the new seating plan, and both Albus and Rose backed him up with what they all thought was a thoroughly convincing level of detail — Jamie had been Harry’s best man, which Albus was still mad about, and Luna Lovegood had officiated, and it hadn’t been in the papers because Scorpius’s dad had threatened everyone at the Prophet with legal action — until Blackmore had said well, that’s easily verified and gone down the hall to first-year Charms and asked Lily if her dad had married Draco Malfoy over the summer, and she’d screwed up her face in confusion and said no, they don’t want to get married, why and the jig was up. Albus was paired up with Imogen, and Scorpius with Bronte Lewis, and the next morning over breakfast Scorpius received an owl from Dad which read, simply, I’m afraid if you want to take the name Potter you’ll have to marry one yourself, and which he was infinitely glad he hadn’t opened at the table.
Anyway, because of Potions Albus and Imogen became friends, and Imogen told Albus about the messages she’d started getting from her mum soon after the Christmas holidays, and then the apocalyptic world she’d walked into off the Hogwarts Express going home for Easter, and a few days into last term Albus had said, conspiratorially, we’re not in lockdown, what if we could just keep the Muggleborns in the wizarding world over summer, and Scorpius had said, surely they’d be allowed to stay at school, it’s Unprecedented Times, and Albus had looked at Scorpius and said slowly, your house is enormous, and Rose had piped in to say yes, and isn’t it enchanted to expand according to the needs of the occupants? And Scorpius said hang on, how many Muggleborns are there, I’m not inviting them all to my house, I don’t even know them, and Albus said no, just our ones, like, Slytherins and Ravenclaws in our year. And when he’d put it like that it felt like it was their sworn duty to Save the Muggleborns From Lockdown. Slytherins looked after their own, after all, and Albus leaned over his shoulder while he wrote his letter to Dad and said I don’t reckon you even bother asking, Draco’s chill, and Scorpius had said what are you on, he’s not chill, what’s the opposite of chill? And Rose, who spent more time in their common room than her own because she wasn’t good at riddles and kept getting locked out, said global warming? And Scorpius had nodded and said yeah, he’s global warming and Albus rolled his eyes and said Jamie says it’s better to ask forgiveness than permission.
In hindsight, it was actually about ninety percent Albus’s fault, but he couldn’t explain that to Dad because he would either earn himself a lecture on personal responsibility in which the word agency would be used at least five times or, worse, Dad would ask him why he always did what Albus said and Scorpius didn’t have a good reason beyond cos it’s Albus.
The wind was pleasantly cool as he crunched up the gravel path between the museum and Malfoy Manor. Mum had met them off the Hogwarts Express that afternoon; everyone had had to use Portkeys straight from the platform home to not draw attention at King’s Cross. She’d hugged him tight, complained that he’d gotten taller — you weren’t taller than me last time I saw you in Hogsmeade, I would have remembered — and then introduced herself to his friends while Scorpius loitered awkwardly.
He’d never really told them anything about his parents, was the problem, apart from the common knowledge in their year that his dad was dating Albus’s dad and his mum was the Minister of Magic’s daughter. One or two of them had asked what they were like, and Rose had cut in with a they’re really nice, don’t worry, which didn’t really mean much in itself, and so when they got onto the platform Ollie had tripped over a nice to meet you Ms — um, Mrs, um — while throwing Scorpius a panicked look, and Mum had said Mrs Malfoy if you must, but I prefer Astoria, while giving Scorpius a faintly bemused look. When they’d landed in the entryway she’d told him she was going to show everyone to their rooms, and could Scorpius please go and speak to his father.
The house had made them a sort of common room on the third floor, which had been unused since Grandmama moved to France, and he found his classmates there, sprawled on furniture.
“Your mum’s so cool,” Izzy said, hanging upside-down off an armchair, hair brushing the carpet. “Why didn’t you say your mum was cool?”
“Cos she isn’t,” Scorpius said, contemplating his options. There was a bit of space between Ollie and Imogen on the sofa but he didn’t know them that well, and Jack was on the only beanbag. He flopped onto the floor beside Izzy. “Nobody’s ever called my parents cool except you lot.”
“Aren’t they like, divorced,” Ollie said, “or have you and Albus been doing a bit this whole time?”
“What? No,” Scorpius said, sitting up. “They’re both gay, they only got married to have me, but like. I’m still here.” He gestured to himself. “So they’re still married, they just have their own partners.”
“So if you died they’d get divorced?” Izzy asked.
“Jesus, dark much?” Jack said.
“Nah,” Scorpius said. “Well, I don’t know. It’s not something you ask, is it?”
“Did they have sex to have you though?”
“Oh my God, Izzy, you can’t just ask that — ”
“Ew,” Scorpius said. “No. It was like, similar to IVF.”
“Magic IVF?”
“Yeah,” Scorpius said. “Stop talking about it, it’s gross.”
“Knowing your parents had sex is way grosser,” Imogen said. “I walked in on mine once — ”
“Eww — ” they chorused.
“Right, thank you! It scarred me, I’m scarred for life.”
“My dad was in a Zoom meeting at the start of lockdown and one lady’s boyfriend forgot she was in a meeting and walked past the camera like, completely naked,” Jack contributed. “Could you imagine, I would die.”
“I reckon there should be exceptions in the Statute of Secrecy for that kind of thing,” Ollie said thoughtfully. “Like, if you show your cock and balls to your girlfriend’s boss on Zoom, they should send out Obliviators.”
“Humanitarian intervention,” Jack said, nodding, and they were laughing uproariously when Dad came in.
“Oh,” Scorpius said. “Dad, this is Izzy, and Ollie and Imogen, and Jack. Guys, this is my dad, you can call him Draco.”
“Draco is such a wizard name,” Jack said.
“Thank you,” Dad said after a moment. “My ancestors would be pleased to know their attempts to associate classical culture with the wizarding world had been so effective.”
“Don’t be weird, Dad,” Scorpius pleaded.
“I’ll be as weird as I please in my own home, Scorpius,” Dad said, and Scorpius was dismayed to realise his friends seemed to find this funny and not embarrassing. “Welcome to Malfoy Manor, I hope you’re able to find some peace here. There’s a spot behind the museum with non-interference charms if you’d like to contact your families — Scorpius will show you where it is — but it has been deliberately under-furnished at my colleague Emma’s request, to discourage — what did she call it — doomscrolling.”
“Ohh,” Jack said. “We met Emma on our excursion, she was wicked.”
“Yes,” Dad said. “You would have. I defer to her greater expertise on the matter. Scorpius, have you explained about the wands?”
“Not yet,” Scorpius said, apprehensive.
“Scorpius, like most magical-born children, is accustomed to being able to use magic at home,” Dad said, and Scorpius swallowed the urge to interrupt with I’m not a child. “But I don’t have the right or ability to supervise anyone else’s underage magic. Wands to me, please, you can have them back before term starts.”
“We’ll go get them,” Izzy said, rolling off the chair, and the others followed her. Dad came over and sat on the floor beside him.
“Thanks,” Scorpius said after a pause. “For not throwing me under the bus or whatever.”
“I’m not going to make this harder for you than it already is,” Dad said. “You’re not close with them, are you?”
“Not really,” Scorpius said. “Izzy’s in Slytherin so I know her better. But it’s really fucked out there, Dad.”
“I’ve heard,” Dad said quietly, and then everyone came bounding back into the room, wands in hand.
The Potters never stayed the first night of the holidays. Usually that was fine, because Scorpius liked having dinner with just his parents — liked having them to himself, without Penny or Harry or anyone else, at least sometimes — but Mum had gone back to her cottage and instead of cooking Dad had ordered pizza from the village and delivered a stack of boxes into their makeshift common room, and Scorpius suddenly couldn’t wait for tomorrow when everyone would be around.
He drifted in and out of the conversation, content to mostly just let it flow around him, until Izzy kicked him with her foot. “Scorp.”
“What?”
“We’re talking about who’s fit in our year,” she said impatiently. “You’re up.”
“What — who I think — ?”
“Yeah. Who do you like?”
“Um,” he said, panicking slightly.
“If it’s someone in this room you can just say pass,” Imogen said.
“It’s not,” Scorpius said quickly. “I mean. I don’t like anyone.”
“Yeah you do,” Izzy said, as Ollie asked, “is it Bronte?”
“What? No — ”
“I thought you asked her to Hogsmeade,” Ollie said. “She said you asked her but then you had to cancel because you were meeting your mum instead.”
“No,” Scorpius said. “She asked me, and I said I was meeting my mum — she’s been saying I asked her out?”
“Yeah,” Imogen said. “She was really annoying about it, actually, kept going on about being asked out by the hottest boy in school — no offence, but I think maybe there’s something wrong with her eyesight because that’s clearly Louis Weasley — ”
“He’s not even the hottest in the year,” Izzy said, socked foot poking him in the shoulder.
“Do you have to have this conversation in front of me?” Scorpius asked eventually. “It’s weird. It’s — objectifying.”
“I just said I’m not objectifying you,” Izzy countered. “I don’t think you’re that cute, Bronte’s insane. You don’t like her then?”
“No,” Scorpius said.
“Guys,” Jack said. “He could be gay.”
“I’m not gay.” He was definitely gay. Now was not the time to announce it.
“I bet it’s Rose,” Imogen said.
“Hmm,” Scorpius said noncommittally, sensing his options narrowing.
“It is, I knew it!”
Scorpius draped an arm over his eyes and said nothing.
“I need to talk to you,” Scorpius said as soon as Rose emerged from the Floo at ten o’clock on the dot the following morning.
“Okay?” she said, confused, and Scorpius towed her into the kitchen.
“They think I like you,” he said without preamble.
“What? Who?”
“Them.” He nodded upstairs. “The Lockdown Lot. They were all talking about who they like, and they asked me, and I didn’t want to say cos it’s none of their business — ”
Rose nodded sagely. “Because it’s Albus.”
“What.”
“Keep going,” she prompted, as Scorpius tried like hell to remember what he’d been saying.
“And they just kind of assumed it was you and I didn’t correct them, and now I think they’re all going to be weird about it,” he said in a rush. “What’d you mean, about Albus?”
Rose rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Scorpius.”
“Do you know if — does Albus like anyone, do you know?”
There was a flash of pity in her big brown eyes, and Scorpius suddenly felt like he was going to be sick. “No,” he decided, “no, don’t tell me, actually, it’s Imogen isn’t it, he likes Imogen.”
“Well,” Rose said uncomfortably, “he’s never said.”
“Oh my God,” Scorpius said faintly.
“Cheer up,” Rose said. “My parents dated other people before each other, and they were like, destined or whatever. So what if he goes out with Imogen, he could still end up with you.”
“That’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Didn’t your dad fall in love with Harry when they were fourteen?” Rose asked.
Scorpius dropped his head onto the counter with a resigned thud. “Oh no. That’s worse. That’s so much worse. Dad waited for him for twenty years. How the fuck is that happy — that’s tragic.”
“They’re happy now, though,” Rose said, like it mattered.
“I know,” Scorpius said. “It’s disgusting, and depressing, and they’re forty, can you even imagine being forty — ”
“I think you’re being a bit dramatic,” Rose said, and Scorpius looked up.
“Oh God, it’s the Floo — ”
“Fuck,” Rose said, neatly, succinctly, all the force of a train crash, one hand on his shoulder. “You’re a mess. If your dad sees you like this he’ll do his nut, come with me.”
Scorpius trailed after her as she wove expertly through his house into the apothecary. “Accio Calming Draught,” she said, because she still had her wand, and handed the vial to Scorpius. “Just a bit. The tiniest bit. God, you’re insane, have I mentioned?”
“Once or twice. Should we pretend to date?”
She pursed her lips. “I don’t know. I don’t want people thinking — not that there’s anyone — that they couldn’t ask me out. If they wanted.”
“Does people have a name?” Scorpius asked, momentarily distracted.
“They do,” Rose said, “and I’m not telling, because then that makes it real, and — ”
“It’s a girl,” Scorpius guessed. “Isn’t it?”
“I’m not telling,” Rose repeated stubbornly. “Anyway it’s all right for you, isn’t it, nobody expects you to be straight.”
“Ron and Hermione won’t give a shit.”
“No, I know,” Rose said. “Well, I don’t. You’re probably right. But I don’t know, do I, unless I tell them, and it’s a moot point anyway because she probably doesn’t like girls and if she does she certainly wouldn’t like me. We should get back upstairs, they’ll be wondering where we are.”
“It’s not Imogen, is it?”
“No,” Rose said, rolling her eyes. “It’s not Imogen, honestly. Not a word or I’ll murder you.”
“I’ll haunt you.”
“I’ll exorcise you.”
“I’ll come back.”
“It’s almost a shame, isn’t it,” Rose said as they trailed up the stairs. “We’d have made a great couple if either of us were even remotely interested in the opposite sex.”
The pool had been a mistake.
It was a warm day, wearing into hot, and they’d spent most of it in and around the water, which meant Scorpius was trying not to notice whether Albus was looking at Imogen in her bikini and failing miserably. He and Rose were on the proverbial sidelines, sharing a large sun umbrella, which Rose had charmed to stay in place because she still had her wand. She was wrapped tightly in her towel and pretending it was because she was cold.
“We’re sad,” Scorpius said.
“Yes,” Rose agreed, teeth chattering unconvincingly.
“Is she here?” Scorpius asked. “Is that why you’re hiding all your flesh?”
“I’ll make it look like an accident,” Rose hissed. “When I kill you.”
“It’s Izzy — ”
Rose’s hand clamped around his forearm lightning-fast. “Mutually assured destruction, Malfoy. You tell her, I tell Albus.”
Her nails had left indents in his skin. He rubbed them, frowning. “As if I would.”
“What, you could, you’re friends with her, aren’t you?”
“Not like, close.” He caught Albus’s eye accidentally. Albus was in the middle of the pool, sweeping his hair out of his face, when he cocked his head at Scorpius, mouthed why aren’t you swimming and beckoned him over.
“He has a point,” Rose said in a low voice. “You share a dorm. You share a locker room after Quidditch. Surely this — ” she waved a hand at his torso — “is nothing he hasn’t seen before.”
“Feels different,” Scorpius said, but couldn’t think of a reason why. He got up and dived in, the shock of the cold briefly driving all other thoughts from his brain before he surfaced beside Albus, close enough to touch.
“Why isn’t Rosie swimming?” Albus asked quietly, glancing over. He’d floated even closer to Scorpius, practically whispering in his ear. Scorpius felt breathless.
“Um,” he said, treading water. “She’s self-conscious.”
“She shouldn’t be,” Albus said. “Who’s here to look at her, anyway?”
“I don’t think it works like that.”
“Girls,” Albus said, shaking his head, and looked over at Imogen.
“Ha,” Scorpius said weakly. “Yeah. I’m going to — ” he gestured vaguely towards the house. “Go find Dad, and — ”
“Don’t,” Albus said quickly, grabbing him by the shoulder. “They’re definitely having sex.”
“Oh,” Scorpius said. “Gross.”
Albus’s hand dropped back into the water, then swept forward to splash him in the face.
“Oh, fuck off — ” Scorpius threw himself at him, dunking him underwater, and for a bit he forgot about everything else.
Scorpius still shared a room with Albus when the Potters came to stay. Lily had her own room in the Manor, and Jamie had for a while as well before he was old enough to be left alone at Grimmauld Place or decide to stay the night at his mum’s instead, but Scorpius had just…never bothered to ask the house for anything different. They still slept in the same bunk beds they’d had since they were eight, though Dad had recently introduced a rule that Scorpius had to leave the door ajar if he was in his room with one other person.
“Dad gave me the sex talk last night,” Albus said into the darkness, just as Scorpius was drifting off to sleep.
“Yeah?” he asked, wide awake again.
“Not like, the what it is talk,” Albus continued. “But the one they give you when they think you want to, like. Do it.”
Albus must’ve told Harry about Imogen. “You want to do it?” Scorpius asked, trying to keep his voice even.
The bunk creaked above him as Albus rolled over. “Nah,” he said, after a while. “Not for a while. Reckon it’d be too weird to actually do any of it, you know?”
“Why’d Harry think you want to?”
“Beats me,” Albus said. Then, “I reckon Jamie must be. I reckon that’s why.”
“Ew,” Scorpius said automatically. Then curiosity got the better of him: “Who?”
“Dunno,” Albus said, sounding bitter. “He doesn’t tell me shit. I don’t even know if he’s into girls or guys or both.”
“I’m gay,” Scorpius said.
The bunk had stopped creaking; Albus was lying very still. “You are?”
“Haven’t told anyone.” Scorpius kicked the bunk above him. “’Cept you, now.”
“Not even Draco?”
“Ugh,” Scorpius said. “Don’t want to, he’d make it a whole thing.”
“I thought you liked Bronte.”
“You know I didn’t ask her to fucking Hogsmeade.”
“Nah,” Albus said. “But you were that upset over turning her down, I thought — ”
“I just didn’t like hurting her feelings.”
“You weren’t going to meet Astoria, were you? That was an excuse.”
“Yeah,” Scorpius said. “But I owled her straight after, so it wasn’t really a lie.”
“You should tell her, she’d get a real kick out of it.”
“What, that I used her as an excuse to bail on a date?”
“Yeah.” Albus was laughing now. “You’d make her fucking day.”
Scorpius couldn’t argue with that. “Maybe I’ll meet up with her every Hogsmeade weekend, and everyone will think it’s because I’m a good son and not because I can’t get a date.”
“Come on,” Albus said. “You could get any date you wanted.”
“You have to say that,” Scorpius said dismissively, ignoring the way his heart had sped up. “You’re my best friend.”
“Yeah.” Albus’s head appeared over the edge of the bunk. “Come up here a sec?”
Albus had shuffled over to give Scorpius room when he climbed over, but there still wasn’t enough space to sit facing each other without their knees touching. His head was nearly hitting the ceiling. “What do you want?”
“I think — ” Albus looked nervous, twitchy. He reached up suddenly, brushed a bit of Scorpius’s fringe off his face, dropped his hand onto Scorpius’s knee, then snatched it back. “Fuck, sorry, I — this worked better in my head, I’m — ”
“What’s happening,” Scorpius said.
“Fuck,” Albus repeated, dragging his hands down his face. “Sorry, forget I — fuck.”
This was impossible — impossible — but it was instinct rather than thought that made him lean forward, pry Albus’s hands from his face and then keep leaning, heart thundering, time slowing down, he saw it, Albus’s eyes drop to Scorpius’s mouth just before their lips met. Half a second, maybe, frozen, and maybe it was him, maybe it was Albus, he didn’t know how but their lips were moving, together, they were kissing, and when Scorpius pulled away to catch his breath Albus was staring at him, eyes shining in the low light, cheeks pink.
“Oh my God,” Albus said. “Do that again.”
“Oh my God,” Scorpius echoed, giddy. “Did we actually just — ”
“Shut up,” Albus said quickly. “Kiss me again.”
Scorpius did, more sure this time, one hand cupping Albus’s cheek, feeling Albus’s mouth on his, soft and warm. His limbs unfolded, pressing his body closer to Albus’s, finding the angle that felt best, until he couldn’t ignore the crick in his neck and the way his lungs were burning and reluctantly sat back.
“Shit,” Albus said softly, and reached out to take Scorpius’s hand.
“I thought,” Scorpius said slowly, “that you liked Imogen.”
“Imogen?” Albus repeated. “Where’d you get that from?”
“Not sure,” Scorpius admitted, because he wasn’t now he was thinking about it. “Vibes, I dunno. You kept looking at her, this afternoon.”
“She’s my friend, weirdo,” Albus said. “She barely left the non-interference tower all last term, glued to her phone, it was just nice seeing her have fun.”
“Oh.”
“I like you, you knob.”
“Sort of got that now, yeah,” Scorpius said. “From the kissing.”
“Shut up,” Albus said. “You like me, then?”
“Well,” Scorpius said, gesturing vaguely, “clearly.”
“Shit,” Albus said, and then he was giggling. “The dads, Scorp, the dads are going to be the worst.”
“We cannot tell them,” Scorpius said urgently. “Under any circumstances. Albus. Listen. We must not tell the dads.”
“But if we tell the mums,” Albus said, “I actually think it’d be worse. They’d just Floo each other and laugh.”
“Wouldn’t even say anything,” Scorpius said glumly, picturing the scene. “Mine would like, pass out from the laughing, probably. She’d have to go to Mungo’s.”
“And we go in to visit her and she just — dies.”
“Yeah,” Scorpius said. “I don’t want to kill my mum.”
“Yeah,” Albus echoed. He was giggling again, and there were tears in his eyes. “Can’t tell anyone, then. I bet we can be better at keeping it secret than our dads were.”
“You laugh about that,” Scorpius said darkly, “you weren’t the one who saw them all — ” he gestured — “smushed together.”
"We have to tell Rose, though,” Albus said, serious now — or as serious as he could be with a smile still tugging at the corners of his lips. Scorpius knew logically that he was the reason, but couldn’t quite believe it. “She’d never forgive us if we don’t.”
“What are we telling her?” It was a cop out, but Albus was the more decisive of the two of them and Scorpius had had nearly seven years of practice already in outsourcing all his major life choices. We’ll both pick Slytherin, Albus had said on the Hogwarts Express. Because I won’t get into Ravenclaw and you won’t get into Gryffindor but we won’t not get into Slytherin if we ask. It hadn’t really mattered in the end; the Hat had called Slytherin when it was barely on his head, and Scorpius had thought wait, aren’t you supposed to look into my heart or soul or something and the Hat had echoed in his ears, you? No. You’re a Malfoy.
Anyway. Precedents had been set, was the point, and Albus remained true to form. “That we’re going out?”
“Yeah,” Scorpius said, “cool. Can I kiss you again?”
DRACO
It was still Draco’s favourite time of year, even with everything thrown off-kilter: recently forty (forty) with the requisite existential crisis; the borders closed so there would be no Languedoc trip this year; six-point-nine teenagers under his roof, approximately — depending on how one counted twelve-year-old Lily — and two others who came and went seemingly at random. Still, it was warm, and Harry took two weeks of leave at the start of the holidays, and none of the six-point-nine teenagers got up before ten o’clock, which meant he and Harry had the mornings to themselves and it was somehow better this way than when all the kids were away at school.
It was definitely better when a morning brought with it the kind of salacious gossip this one had brought.
“Darling,” he said as Harry wandered into the kitchen, passing him a mug of coffee and drawing him close, “something has come to my attention.”
Harry’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You’re way too happy about it, whatever it is.”
“Possibly,” Draco conceded. “Possibly. Our sons, you see. Our boys. Lights of our lives, et cetera — ”
“I’ve met them, yeah,” Harry said.
“You are no fun,” Draco complained. “I’m trying to build intrigue.”
“Fine,” Harry said. “You’ve built it. I’m intrigued. You’re so intriguing, Draco — ”
“Stop taking the piss,” Draco said, but let Harry kiss him anyway. “So I checked on the boys this morning — and Lily, she’s alive, by the way, you’re welcome — ”
“She usually is,” Harry interrupted, and Draco rolled his eyes.
“And you’ll never guess what I found.”
“They’re Animagi,” Harry guessed.
“What? No, they’re fourteen.”
“They’ve run away.”
“Yes,” Draco said. “They’ve run away, and I’m standing here calmly telling you instead of looking for them, honestly — ”
Harry was kissing him again. “I love winding you up.”
“I know you do,” Draco said, “but when you inevitably get carried away and not let me get to the point, I want you to remember this. Why didn’t you tell me earlier, Draco, you’ll say, and I’ll pull out this memory and show you.”
“You’ve built this up too much.”
“They were in the same bed, Harry.”
“Oh,” Harry said, slowly.
“Spooning.”
“Seriously?”
Draco laid a hand on his chest. “On my honour.”
Harry frowned. “Who was little spoon?”
“Scorpius.”
“The problem is,” Harry said, apparently now assured of the veracity of the claim, “it’s the first day of holidays. We don’t know how long this has been going on.”
“You think they were spooning at school?”
“I think we can’t discount the possibility they were spooning at school,” Harry said. “Although.”
“Although?” Draco prompted.
“If they were, they’d have to wake up before everyone else. It’d be entrenched habit, by now. Circadian rhythms. It’s well after seven already. They weren’t spooning at school.”
“I love it when you talk Auror to me,” Draco murmured, briefly distracted.
“I’m glad all the time I’ve spent on that deductive reasoning module has been worth it.”
“Yes,” Draco agreed. “Your sole purpose in life is to turn me on in novel and exciting ways; the career is for show.”
“I dunno,” Harry said. “Does it count as a purpose if I don’t even have to try?”
Draco didn’t bother breaking the kiss for several minutes, and when he did Harry was a little breathless. “I think you’re getting too comfortable,” he told him. “Having me whenever you like for more than six years. I should play hard to get.”
“Sure, if you want,” Harry said, unperturbed, which just reinforced Draco’s point. “If you can.”
“Not now,” he conceded, taking Harry by the hand and leading him back to their bedroom. “We’re under time pressure. But I’d like you to seduce me this evening, if you please. Put some effort in.”
They hadn’t really been under time pressure; there was no sign of movement from any of the kids upstairs even as they lay in bed afterwards, sweat not quite cooling in the gathering warmth of the morning. “Remember doing this with Lily right outside our door?” Draco asked reminiscently.
“Sometimes I think I miss them being young,” Harry said. “Thanks for the reminder of why I don’t.”
“Speaking of,” Draco began, “what should we do about the boys?”
“Oh,” Harry said. “Yeah. That.” He rolled out of bed, rummaging for clothes. “I can’t have this conversation naked.”
“No,” Draco agreed, following suit, and then they were just…standing there, looking at each other, at an impasse. “Right,” he said decisively. “Let’s go for a fly.”
“Yeah,” Harry said, and they were in the air, hovering high above the grounds, before he spoke again. “It’s not…weird, right, that they’re — ”
“It’s a bit weird,” Draco admitted. “But they’ve always been close, haven’t they, long before we got together.”
“Yeah,” Harry said, sounding more certain. “Yeah, it was instant, wasn’t it? Maybe we should’ve seen this coming.”
“I bet Astoria did,” Draco said. “Or she’ll claim she did, anyway, irregardless of truth.”
“Do we tell them? Do we talk to the boys first? Do we talk to them at all? Jesus.”
“I don’t think we talk to the boys,” Draco said. “We should give them a chance to…figure out what they’re doing, I suppose. It could be platonic spooning.”
“Platonic spooning,” Harry repeated, dubious.
“Look, yes,” Draco said. “But they’re fourteen. Fourteen-year-olds are quite stupid.”
“So we say nothing to them?”
“I think that’s best,” Draco said. “You know, we need to give them space…let them make their own mistakes…come to us in their own time. Not to mention,” he added, “I think it’ll be desperately funny to watch them try and sneak around.”
Harry grinned. “Yeah, that I can get behind.”
“Maybe we have a little bet going,” Draco continued. “Get Ginny and Astoria in on it, of course.”
“Of who fesses up first?” Harry asked. “Or how long it takes?”
“Both. My Galleons are on Scorpius, to Astoria, before the start of term.”
“I think he’ll tell you, after school goes back but before Christmas.”
“Neither of us are entertaining the prospect it might be Albus, I see.”
“He’d take it to his grave,” Harry said matter-of-factly. “But he’d get exponentially worse at hiding it. We’ll be playing chicken with him for the rest of our natural lives.”
“Fuck,” Draco said suddenly. “One of them’s going to get hurt.”
“What happened to letting them make their own mistakes?”
“I find that’s rapidly losing its appeal.”
Harry was a good dad. He had raised nearly two well-adjusted young wizards to adulthood — the countdown was on to Jamie’s seventeenth in November — and Draco had one fourteen-year-old and a whole host of what could charitably be called daddy issues himself. Harry had better instincts than Draco. He should probably listen to him.
“Draco,” Harry said, softer now. “If Scorpius ends up breaking Al’s heart I promise I won’t love him any less.”
“You can’t know that,” Draco managed, disarmed as always by how Harry seemed to read his mind.
“I can,” Harry said firmly. “I do. Same as I know nothing would make you love Albus any less.”
“This is a terrible idea,” Draco sighed, conceding the point and sidestepping neatly to the next crisis. “They’re going to crash and burn. They’re wholly codependent, they’re fourteen, they don’t know what they’re doing, they’re fourteen — Merlin’s piss, what if they have sex — ”
“They’re fourteen,” Harry said.
“Exactly,” Draco said. “That’s far too young, do they know? I can’t talk, I was — precocious, to put it politely, but — ”
“You were sixteen, that’s fine.”
“Hmm,” Draco said. “Long sixteen.”
“What?”
“You know the long nineteenth century,” Draco began.
“The what?”
“Ugh, it’s a historiographical construction — the idea that the things that characterised the nineteenth century — more in the Muggle world, less in ours — actually began at the end of the eighteenth and lasted into the early twentieth. Anyway, memory’s a bit odd, I sort of — lumped everything related to the slow tortured death of my innocence together as stuff that happened when I was sixteen, and then seventeen was the Horrors. Long sixteen. You see where I’m going.”
“So you were fifteen,” Harry concluded.
“It’s a bit unsettling, isn’t it,” Draco said. “The extent to which you can just rewrite your own history. I really thought I’d been sixteen, but we weren’t sixteen during fifth year, were we?”
“You do have weapons-grade PTSD,” Harry said reasonably. “Anyway, I don’t think the boys are having sex anytime soon. I had a chat with Albus the other day and I think he’s still quite freaked out by it all.”
“Well, long may that continue,” Draco said. “We should get back, I suppose. The teenagers will be stirring soon.”
In the end nobody won the bet; Astoria had called it for herself and Scorpius, first Hogsmeade weekend of fourth year, while Ginny had opted for a wild card of Albus and Harry via Teddy over the Christmas holidays.
What actually happened was this: Albus sidling into Draco’s office at the museum shortly after closing in early August, staring resolutely at the carpet, and opening with “don’t Pensieve this.”
Draco raised an eyebrow. “I make no promises.”
“Well,” Albus said. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t.”
“What can I do for you, Albus?”
“I, um. Wanted to take Scorpius out.”
“On a date?” Draco asked.
“Kinda, yeah.”
“Kinda?” Draco repeated.
“Definitely,” Albus amended. “Definitely a date.”
“Are you asking my permission?”
“He said you’d be more likely to approve, if I did it all properly.”
Draco laughed. “I’ve known you since you were seven, Albus, you don’t need to formally apply to date my son.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought, but he wanted to make sure.”
“Where are you going to take him?”
“Well, that’s the other thing,” Albus said. “I don’t know. I was sort of hoping you could give me ideas, because I told him I was going to take him somewhere special and I don’t know where’s special, but you always take Dad on fancy dates so I figured you’d know.”
“You wouldn’t be able to get into most of those places, you’re underage,” Draco said thoughtfully. “Usually there would be some Muggle options, but obviously everything’s closed. There’s a chocolate cafe off Diagon though, about five minutes from the Floo. He’d love that.”
Albus’s eyes lit up. “Ooh, yeah, thanks!”
“Look after him, Albus.”
“Always have,” Albus said, with startling sincerity. “Always will.”
Draco felt like he ought to respond with something similarly profound, something that reflected the magnitude of the realisation that this was Scorpius’s first boyfriend standing in front of him — long suspected, now confirmed — but he settled on, “Albus?”
“Yeah?”
“Between you and me — I’m really glad it’s you.”
“Yeah?” Albus’s face split into a grin. “Me too. Thanks, Draco.”