Work Text:
Dear Albus,
As you may know, my mother has recently passed away, and
No, that didn't work. He crumpled the parchment up and threw it off to the side.
Albus,
My mother died last night, and I was going to ask if
Three parchments later, it had been almost an hour now, and his attempts were still all horrible.
Albus,
Can you come to my mom's funeral
Another piece of parchment fell around his bed. Why was this so hard?
Al, please. I really need you to be there
He was crying now.
Scorpius set his quill on the nightstand next to his ink, and pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes. He was so pathetic—he couldn't even ask his best friend (were they really just friends at this point? It already felt like so much more) to his mother's funeral without screwing up.
He had no idea what the right thing to say was. Sure, he'd see Albus in a few days when they went back to Hogwarts but, even then, what would be the right thing to say?
He just knows he'll need Albus at his side then. He knows he'll need Al's hand to grab when the ceremony starts. He knows he'll need Al's arm around his shoulders when his father delivers her eulogy. He knows he'll need Al's shoulder to cry on when they close the lid and lower his mother into her grave.
Across the room, his owl cooed softly at him. Scorpius sniffed and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. He would hold his head up and bear through it, like he always dI'd, because that's what Malfoys do.
Scorpius was sitting on his trunk on the platform, his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands. His father was off taking condolences from the other parents. Not that Scorpius minded, he would sit there and wait. Every other moment, he'd look up from where he'd been studying the pavement to scan the crowd for the familiar mop of black hair. For the past ten minutes, he hadn't been successful; Scorpius put his head in his hands again.
"Scorpius!" Albus called excitedly from the other end of the platform. He was running over, but then he slowed to a nervous walk and his voice fell, "Scorpius?"
Scorpius's heart was speeding up in his chest. What if Albus said no when he asked him to the funeral? That would be ironic: the one person he wanted the most to be there wasn't. He was almost ashamed of how much he had been relying on Albus being there. The knot in his throat was back now, and his breathing was less and less even.
"Are you okay?" When the other boy didn't answer, Albus knelt on the ground in front of his face, "Your mum? It's got worse?"
Scorpius's voice was barely much more than a whisper, and it cracked when he spoke, "it's gotten the worst it can possibly get."
There was a weight on the trunk next to him. Albus put a hand on Scorpius's knee; at first, it was meant to be a generic, It'll-Be-Okay pat, but once his skin had hit the fabric of the other boy's robes, Albus found it almost impossible to remove his hand. Without thinking, Scorpius leaned against Albus, and rested his head on Albus's shoulder.
There was a short silence between them, but after a while, Albus leaned his head on Scorpius's, "I though you'd send an owl."
Scorpius shakes his head and exhales into the soft fabric of Albus's hoodie, "I couldn't work out what to say."
"And now I don't know what to say," the brunette said and gave a dry laugh through his nose.
"Say nothing."
"Is there anything...?"
Scorpius doesn't hesitate. He looks up at Albus, and his grey eyes were rimmed with a thin line of tears, "come to the funeral."
"Of course," Albus says almost immediately.
Astoria's funeral is held in the Malfoy family plot on a centuries-old Pureblood cemetery. It's quiet, reserved for only family and a few close friends, even the Daily Prophet's notorious paparazzi were nowhere in sight. Harry dropped Albus off at the gates, told him that he'd be back in a couple hours, and drove off without even so much as a "give them my sympathies".
It took him a few minutes to find Scorpius. He was standing at Draco's side, the both of them in the middle of a small cloud of black robes and bowed heads, shaking hands and accepting condolences. Scorpius's eyes were red and puffy, and he nodded rather than speak, his hands nervously wringing the life out of a handkerchief.
Scorpius saw Albus out of the corner of his eye, and gave him a trying smile. It was most likely the most sincere gesture he'd made all morning. He needed a familiar face right then—one that isn't his father or one of his cousins he only sees on holidays.
"I'm glad you were able to make it. Thanks for coming," he told Albus when he finally walked over to them.
"Of course," Albus turned to Draco and bowed his head respectfully, "Mr. Malfoy, I'm very sorry for your loss."
For a moment Draco looked almost surprised. However, after a beat or two, he thanked Albus and patted Scorpius on the shoulder before going off to talk with—presumably—Astoria's family. The moment he had his back to his son, Scorpius threw his arms around Albus.
"I was scared you wouldn't come," he mumbled into Albus's shoulder.
He was right; he did need Albus. The service hadn't even started and he was already a wreck.
Albus rested his hands on the small of the blonde's back, "you asked me to be here. I would've stolen Mom's broom to come. But, considering how great my dad is at being on time, that might have gotten me here earlier."
Scorpius let out a small laugh and pressed his face into the other boy's neck. Albus was wearing cologne—it was light and vaguely musky, and probably somewhat expensive. That, and the black dress robes he was wearing...Albus had even cared enough to dress formally.
Scorpius unhooked himself from around Albus and gave him another small smile.
The group around them began to thin away into the chairs that had suddenly transfigured into neat rows on the grass. Scorpius nodded solemnly at Albus, and the two walked silently up to the pair of empty chairs at Draco's side. A podium manifested onto the grass, next to it was a beautifully painted portrait of Astoria with a small wreath of white roses hanging from the bottom of the frame.
Albus looked past the podium to the raised bed of white marble that stood out brightly against the manicured grass. Although it blended in with all the other gravestones, statues, and mausoleums of the cemetery, it still drew focus.
Astoria lay pristinely upon the smooth stone, in an elegant dress of black lace and silver rhinestones. Her hair draped around the small pillow in soft curls, pinned away from her face with an ornate, silver brooch. Astoria's hands were placed delicately across her stomach, her wand lay perfectly beneath her hands. Even in death, she looked beautiful.
An elderly wizard in heavy, black robes approached the podium and began the service, thanking the family and friends for attending. Scorpius had been right: he slid his hand into Albus's lap and grabbed his hand. Albus squeezed back, his thumb brushed over Scorpius's knuckles as a second reminder.
After a brief courtesy speech, the wizard on the podium said, "and now, Astoria's beloved husband, Draco Malfoy, would like to say a few words," and stepped off to the side as Draco walked up to the front.
"Astoria was...she was a truly wonderful person," he began after taking his place at the front. The shaking of his voice was small, but still there, "she was always very loving, and extended her kindheartedness to everybody she met..."
Albus was splitting his focus between looking attentive and watching Scorpius out of the corner of his eye (although the latter was steadily winning more and more of Albus's concentration). Scorpius's hand had been squeezing Albus's like an overly tightened vice since they'd first sat down; Albus let him, and stroked the blonde's knuckles with fingers he could only half feel, because Scorpius needed him.
Draco's voice cracked a little as he said a piece about how much of a devoted mother Astoria had been. Scorpius pressed a hand over his mouth when he'd started crying again, trying to keep his sobs as muffled as possible.
Albus put his arm around Scorpius's shoulders and rubbed his arm comfortingly. Scorpius had begun wiping at his eyes with his handkerchief, periodically wringing it in his hand. By now, Albus had stopped paying attention to everything else entirely, his sole focus now being comforting Scorpius.
After a few more minutes, Draco finally stepped down from the podium and took his seat. There wasn't even so much as a silent applause. The older wizard in the heavy, black robes walked up to the head of Astoria's marble bed and raised his wand; when he did, everyone else rose from their seats.
Albus had to switch which hand Scorpius was holding so he wouldn't have to reach across himself. He took his arm from around the blonde's shoulders and traded off hands (and tried to work the blood back into his other hand behind his back). Draco laid a hand on Scorpius's shoulder now, and gave the fabric of his son's robes a reassuring squeeze.
The wizard gave a small, silent wave of his wand and a crystal dome rose up over Astoria's body. The crystal looked like liquid glass as it pulled itself up from the edge of the marble, climbing up and leaving behind ornate patterns in itself as it went, until it all joined together in a fleur-de-lis at the top. The ground beneath the marble slid apart quietly and the whole bed slid down into the earth.
Albus snuck another glance over at the Malfoys. Tears were streaming down Scorpius's cheeks, but he was biting on his lip to keep himself quiet. He kept his eyes firmly focused on his mothers body as it slipped down and away from him, and at one point, he had pressed his hand over his mouth again. Even Draco, who had remained stoic up to this point, was now dabbing his own handkerchief under his eyes. Albus gave Scorpius's knuckles another gentle stroke and went back to watching the burial.
Another wave of his wand, and the grass knitted itself back together until it looked as if it had never opened in the first place. A large piece of stone rose up from the ground over where the grave had just closed. The stone was relatively shapeless, until the elderly wizard gave a third flick with his wand, and the stone began carving itself.
When it was finished, it had taken the shape of a woman. She was wearing a long cloak that draped around her bare feet and the stone on which she stood, the hood of the cloak hung down around her face. She was looking down at the ground, and her arms were held out to her sides, holding open what looked like a large book. The clasp of her cloak at her neck had a small Malfoy family crest carved into it.
The open pages of the book the woman was holding open had written on them:
In Loving Memory of
Astoria Greengrass Malfoy
1982-2019
Beloved Sister, Mother, and Wife
Nothing loved is ever lost, And I have loved so much.
The small crowd stood there for a long moment, in a silence interspersed with quiet sobbing and the occasional comforting word. However, eventually everyone dispersed and they returned to talking and mingling as they all had been before. Draco went off to go speak with the family again, leaving Scorpius and Albus still standing in their places.
Albus turned to the other boy, their hands still firmly squeezed together, "Scorpius? You okay?" He asked, realizing a second too late that that was possibly the stupidest thing you could ask someone after their mother was just buried.
Scorpius turned to face Albus, "no," he said—voice heavy.
Albus tugged on the blonde's hand, and Scorpius went towards Albus like a comet being pulled into the atmosphere. He buried his face in the brunette's neck again, wrapped his arms tightly around Albus's waist, and held on like he was an anchor in a storm.
"It's gonna be alright, Scor," Albus said softly when Scorpius had begun crying into his shoulder. Although, he found the words somewhat empty when he said them, because he had no way of knowing just how alright Scorpius would be, "just get it out."
They must have stood there for at least another ten minutes, both of them casting any thought to public perception aside. Scorpius cried in waves—he'd sob heavy, wracking sobs into Albus's shoulder for a few minutes, then he'd quiet down and breathe deep and slow for another couple minutes, and then it was back to those same heavy, wracking sobs again.
Finally, Scorpius pulled his head up and took a deep breath. Albus pulled his own handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to the blonde with a tiny smile, nudging his shoulder with it. Scorpius accepted it with a mumbled "thanks" and wiped at his eyes. He sniffed one last time and looked down at the white handkerchief, one eyebrow raising at the embroidered "ASP" in one corner.
A little blush rose up in Albus's cheeks, and he chuckled down at the ground, shrugging, "mom was into stitching last Christmas."
The two of them stood there on the grass, blushing on the grass for another couple moments before a car honk utterly ruined the moment. Albus looked over Scorpius's shoulder and down the small path that led out of the cemetery. They settled on the car parked just to the side of the cemetery's ancient wrought iron gates.
Albus swallowed, "my dad's here," he said a bit more bitter than he expected.
"I'll walk you to the gates, then."
Scorpius reached down and grabbed Albus's hand without even thinking about it. They wove through the small group until they reached the stone path that led to the gates. It was a bit of a walk from the plot to the gates, but the narrow, tiled path made it somewhat pleasant.
The first half they walked in a silence only broken by the rhythmic click of heels on stone and the gentle brush of fabric as their hands swung together at their sides.
Every few steps, Albus would turn and look at Scorpius, he felt like if he didn't the blonde might suddenly vanish. But it was also to study him—his eyes were still red and puffy, and his voice was tight in the way that suggested he still had a knot in his throat and he might cry again (not that he could be blamed, it was his mother's funeral). He had been so direct about walking Albus out that he was beginning to suspect it was the perfect excuse he needed to get away from it all.
Perfect excuse or not, it was entirely too short. The clicking of heels quieted and slowed, until they stopped altogether in front of the very large, very old iron gates. They both spent another second looking at the ground, observing the thin line of where the lawn met the walkway.
Finally, however, they turned to each other, grey eyes finding comfort in green ones and vice versa.
"Thank you for coming, Albus," Scorpius's voice was small when he spoke, but it was still sweet all the same, "I'm really glad you were here. I don't think I could have gotten through it without you."
Albus's hand tightened slightly around Scorpius's in a silent answer. He found they were inching closer to one another. Their shoulders were close to bumping, and their faces were already gravitating together.
Scorpius's lips were soft, Albus realized after a moment. They were soft and warm, and still wet from the last time he had cried, the muted taste of old tears was hardly noticeable. And Albus's lips were half-chapped, tasting of vanilla chapstick and the breeze that had rolled through the cemetery.
It was everything—every soft smile across the room, every laugh, every time their knuckles brushed when they walked, every glance they snuck each other across the table at dinner. It was all the times they'd been in love and not realized it, and it was all the—
As abruptly as it began, it ended.
Scorpius was refolding and smoothing out the handkerchief Albus had lent him, paying perhaps too much attention to getting the corner creases just right. Meanwhile, Albus had taken up a very concentrated interest in a lone roly-poly that was trekking its way through the the grout between the stones.
The car honked again.
"Thanks for letting me use this."
"You can keep the hanky."
They both spoke at the same time, and both ended up tripping over their next sentence for a moment, trying to decide what to say. What do you say after kissing your best friend at his mother's funeral (again—are they still just friends at this point?). But it'd felt so right when it happened...
"I mean it. I have five more," Albus eventually blurted out, "the handkerchief, that is. You can keep it."
Scorpius ran his thumb over the green lettering—the stitches were a little askew in some places, and the letters weren't perfectly embroidered, but it was still easy to see that a considerable amount of effort went into it. He felt the back of his eyes sting again.
"Thank you," he said, leaning forward to give Albus one more hug, "and thank you again for coming to the funeral."
"Scorpius, really, I was glad I could be here for you."
The two stepped back from each other, a faint blush still lingering in both of their cheeks.
"I should really go now," Albus said, shoving his hands in his pockets and giving Scorpius a small smile, "I'll see you back at school."
"Yeah, I'll see you."
Albus turned, walking out of the cemetery and down the remainder of the path. He bowed his chin down into his collar as he came up to the car. He flopped down into the front passenger seat next to Harry, adjusting his robes so he didn't close them in the door. His father turned to him—he was still wearing the same clothes he had been wearing this morning when he came in from mowing the lawn before they left.
"How was the service?"
Albus turned around in his seat to reach the seatbelt. He looked out the window, watching Scorpius turn from where he'd been standing between the gates and walk back up the stone path until he was out of sight.
"It was fine."