Chapter Text
It was a warm summer night, and the Magical London Museum was everything Scorpius usually found exhausting. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and the low, constant hum of well-dressed people talking over one another without ever really saying anything.
Visually, Scorpius Malfoy was flawless. He moved through the crowd with effortless, sharp elegance, his high-end, tailored suit hugging his frame with the kind of immaculate precision that made people stop talking when he entered a room. He looked perfectly composed, like an aristocratic prince in his natural habitat. But underneath the expensive tailoring and lethal bone structure, a familiar anxiety sat heavy against his ribs. He was just putting on a massive show, trapped behind a performance he’d spent a lifetime perfecting.
He tried to distract himself by focusing on a painting in front of him, watching the colors shift with a mind of their own. There was something real there, something worth understanding. He would have given anything to have one honest conversation about the brushstrokes instead of the mindless chatter around him.
“...the truffles were gathered using magic in the south of France...”
“...and the caviar was sourced from Mediterranean mermaids...”
Scorpius kept nodding, keeping his practiced smile firmly in place while his attention slipped completely out of the conversation. He let the empty words pass over him like white noise, wondering how much longer he could keep up the act.
Until a hand rested firmly at the small of his back.
The shift was immediate, quiet, but undeniable. It didn't change the noise of the room, but the sudden, grounding heat of that palm loosened the tight knot in Scorpius's chest just enough for him to finally take a fuller breath.
“I just threw out that disgusting truffle caviar,” Albus murmured near his ear, his voice a low, familiar rasp.
Scorpius let out a soft breath that almost turned into a laugh—a real smile, unpracticed and easy. He let the relief settle, that small shift he hadn't realized he’d been missing until Albus was right there.
“And by the way,” Albus added, just as quietly, “that painting? Same feeling.”
Scorpius huffed out the faintest breath at that, something between agreement and disbelief. It was just like Albus—two careless comments, thrown in like they were nothing, to cut through the suffocating performance and remind Scorpius exactly why Albus didn’t belong in places like this.
Not that Albus had ever made much of an effort to fit in anyway. He had walked away from it all years ago—expectations, legacy, the suffocating weight of the Potter name—as if none of it had ever been worth the trouble.
And yet, tonight, here he was, wearing a suit that made his eyes look way greener than strictly necessary, just to stand by his side.
Scorpius felt a familiar, fond irritation bubbling up in his chest. He fought the very Malfoy-unfriendly urge to roll his eyes right there.
The only reason Albus was there was because of a Sunday lunch at the Manor a week ago. Albus had come across something he found "deeply unfair," and in true Potter fashion, had decided to make it everyone’s problem. He had turned Scorpius’s inheritance into a personal challenge.
And Albus Potter never walked away from a challenge, especially one that involved ruining his grandmother’s afternoon.
“What the fuck? That sounds a lot like a convenience marriage.”
Albus dropped the words into the middle of the table as if he weren’t sitting directly across from Narcissa Malfoy. He spoke like it was any other Sunday, any other conversation he had every right to interrupt.
Scorpius closed his eyes for a brief second, already bracing for the impact.
“That is exactly what it is,” Narcissa replied, her voice smooth and sharp. She didn’t blink as her gaze moved over Albus with open, measured disapproval. “Draco, what exactly is the Potter son doing here?”
Draco didn’t look up from his glass.
“After ten years, Mother, I’ve stopped asking myself that.” He let out a quiet sigh before continuing, his tone dry. “As for the inheritance—Scorpius will not be part of it if it requires a pureblood contract. He’s twenty-six. Let the boy breathe.”
“Nonsense,” Narcissa dismissed, her attention snapping back to Scorpius with unnerving precision. “He is the only one who truly understands the family business. This Friday, you will attend the gala. She will be there.”
“Grandmother—”
“It is not negotiable,” she cut in, calm and absolute. “You will attend if you care even a little about this family.”
Scorpius wasn’t confrontational. Never had been.
He understood the rules too well to fight them directly. These dinners, these arrangements, these carefully planned introductions—they weren’t new.
He knew how to play his part. This wouldn’t be the first blind date. It wouldn’t be the last.
And yet, this one felt different.
He could hear it in the way Narcissa spoke—in the lack of flexibility, in the certainty beneath every word.
Purebloods married before thirty.
And his grandmother was running out of patience.
“I’ll be there either way,” Scorpius said finally, his tone steady, controlled. “But I’ve already told you—dating a pureblood witch is not something I’m interested in.”
“Your preferences are yours to manage,” Narcissa replied coolly, “so long as you actually manage them. Since that has not been the case, you will accept what has been arranged.”
“Mother—stop pressing.”
And then—
“Scorpius is already taken.”
The words landed cleanly, cutting through the room.
Narcissa turned her head, slow and deliberate. “I beg your pardon?”
“He’s dating me,” Albus said, leaning forward like this was the most reasonable explanation in the world. “So you can drop the blind dates.”
Scorpius turned to him, eyes narrowing in a silent what the hell are you doing?, but Albus didn’t look back. He was already fully committed.
Across the table, Narcissa studied him for a long, quiet moment—her expression cool, precise, entirely unimpressed.
“You think I was born yesterday, Potter?” she said at last, her voice calm and measured. “I am well aware of your reputation.”
Her gaze lingered on him for a fraction longer—cold, precise—before she dismissed him entirely, as if he had already served whatever minimal purpose he might have had in the conversation.
“Stay away from my grandson.”
Narcissa’s attention returned to Scorpius as if nothing had happened, settling over him with the same quiet authority that always left no room for interpretation.
“Scorpius,” she continued, “I trust you will make time to be properly introduced.”
She stood then, and the room seemed to shift around her. She didn’t look back as she walked out.
Only once she was gone did the silence at the table settle fully into place. Draco let out a long, quiet breath before standing as well, his gaze moving between them, unreadable.
“I’m not going to pretend to understand what you two are doing,” he said softly. “But please… don’t break each other’s hearts just to spite my mother.”
He leaned down and pressed a brief kiss to the top of Scorpius’s head—a rare, fleeting gesture—and then he was gone, disappearing into the deeper corridors of the Manor.
Scorpius didn’t move right away. He stayed where he was, staring at Albus, trying to decide whether he was annoyed, impressed, or deeply concerned for everyone involved.
It was probably all three.
“You’re unbelievable,” Scorpius muttered at last, pushing himself to his feet and pulling on his jacket with sharper movements than necessary.
Albus glanced up, completely at ease, a small, unbothered smile playing on his lips. “So I’ve been told.”
Scorpius rolled his eyes as he adjusted his sleeves, but the edge of his frustration was already fading into something more familiar. This was nothing new. Albus had been complicating his life in increasingly creative ways since they were children. The only difference now was that the consequences involved ancient inheritances and the rapidly thinning patience of a Malfoy matriarch.
“Please don’t make this worse,” Scorpius said, already turning toward the door.
Albus was on his feet immediately, falling into step beside him like it had always been the plan.
“Do you actually want to go on that date?”
Scorpius didn’t slow down. “No.”
“Great,” Albus said simply. “Then you’re not going.”
Scorpius stopped.
He turned to look at him properly, one eyebrow lifting in quiet disbelief.
“You say that like you have any control over this.”
“I do,” Albus replied, meeting his gaze without hesitation.
Scorpius searched his face for the joke, the punchline that usually followed. There wasn’t one.
“That’s not how this works, Albus,” he said, his voice sharpening slightly, grounding itself in logic because someone had to.
Albus shrugged as he reached for his jacket.
“Sure it is.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Scorpius,” Albus said, turning to him with that infuriating calm certainty he only used when he had already decided something, “your grandmother wants you to marry someone for money you don’t even need.”
“Yes,” Scorpius let out a dry laugh, dragging a hand down his face. “And that still doesn’t make it your problem.”
“Of course it’s my problem,” Albus said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m not even on her list of acceptable options. And I’m more pureblood than half the people she’s setting you up with, so yeah—my ego’s a little offended.”
Scorpius let out a quiet breath, already shaking his head. “Your ego is too much for this world.”
A beat.
“This is a terrible idea.”
“Oh, I know.” Albus didn’t even try to hide the smile.
Scorpius felt it before he could stop it—that quick, sharp pull in his chest he had learned to ignore years ago. It was safer that way. He could already see how this would go, how easily it could spin out of control and leave them both dealing with massive consequences.And yet, he didn’t stop it. Because the idea of Albus going head-to-head with Narcissa Malfoy—both of them too stubborn to ever lose—was honestly kind of thrilling. His grandmother would probably prefer him dating a muggle over a Potter. It was a terrible, disastrous idea, but it was going to be incredibly entertaining.
“I’m not saving you when she inevitably destroys you,” Scorpius said, his voice lighter.
Albus’s grin only widened. “Please. I’d like to see her try.”
Scorpius let out a quiet laugh. He already knew how this was going to end: badly, obviously. So he told himself, like he always did, that Albus would get bored. That in a few days he’d lose interest, move on, and forget the whole thing.
He knew Albus better than that, but choosing to ignore it was the only way to keep his sanity.
Albus, of course, hadn’t forgotten a single detail.
He had materialized at Scorpius’s door at eight sharp, looking far too comfortable. There was a specific tilt to his smile that made it clear he’d been treating this entire week as a countdown to a personal playground, and Scorpius felt that familiar, nagging tug in his chest—the one that was equal parts genuine fondness and the urge to commit a crime. Because, yes, Scorpius appreciated the rescue, but he also knew exactly how much Albus was reveling in the chaos. For Albus, this wasn't a chore; it was an invitation to be his most disruptive self.
They had been at the gala for nearly an hour, and somehow, against all known laws of the universe, Albus was being flawless. He moved through the crowd with an ease that should have been impossible for a guy who had spent his adult life dodging these exact circles. He was charm personified—just enough to disarm the skeptics, and just enough restraint to avoid getting them escorted out by security.
And, annoyingly—it was working. He was very, very good at it.
Albus kept things subtle, selling the narrative with the precision of a master. A hand resting briefly at the small of his back, a look held just a heartbeat longer than polite society allowed—small, deliberate anchors that didn’t scream for attention but made sure the whole room bought the lie.
Eventually, Scorpius slipped away toward the bathroom, driven less by necessity and more by the desperate need to just breathe without an audience.
The silence inside was a massive relief. No lingering eyes, no unspoken family rules suffocating him. He stepped up to the sink, resting both hands against the porcelain as he studied his reflection.
Objectively, he looked incredible. There was no point in pretending otherwise. He had that sharp, effortless beauty that made people shut up when he entered a room. But past that, there was something else in his gaze tonight.
A spark.
He was actually having fun.
The realization was quiet and deeply irritating. This whole plan—Albus’s reckless, impulsive solution—had been entirely too easy. The rhythm of it felt natural. With Albus around, the air didn't feel like lead; everything felt lighter, like he’d dropped his guard without even giving himself permission to do so.
For a split second, he wondered what it would be like if this wasn't a performance. If things could just happen naturally, without being negotiated in the shadows of family duty.
The thought was warm and incredibly dangerous. He crushed it instantly. That wasn’t how his world worked.
Exhaling softly, he let the cold water run over his hands, splashing a bit onto his face until the chill cut through the heat building behind his ears. He forced the pieces of himself back into their proper, rigid slots.
By the time he stepped back into the hallway, the mask was perfect again. Sleeves adjusted, shoulders set, expression cooled into that effortless distance the room demanded of him.
He expected Albus to be waiting right outside.
Naturally, he wasn't.
Instead, Scorpius found him a few steps down the corridor, leaning casually against the wall as if the entire museum were his own living room. He was mid-conversation with a girl Scorpius didn’t recognize—pretty, effortless, and exactly the kind of shiny distraction Albus always gravitated toward right before the inevitable boredom set in.
Scorpius didn’t need to hear a single word to know exactly what was happening.
Albus looked entirely too comfortable. Relaxed, smiling in that easy, careless way of his, like none of this actually mattered. And for reasons Scorpius absolutely refused to name, it pissed him off. Before he could overthink it, he moved.
There was no hesitation. He walked straight toward them, slipping into their space like it had always been his. Hands loosely in his pockets, posture flawless.
He didn’t look at Albus. Not yet.
Instead, his attention settled on the girl, polite and distant, his expression just cool enough to make it clear that he wasn’t there by chance.
For a brief second, she held his gaze—confused, assessing—like she was trying to place him, to understand the shift in the air that had arrived with him.
Scorpius didn’t rush it. He simply stood there, letting the silence stretch just enough to make the point land before he spoke.
“You might want to aim elsewhere,” he said smoothly, his voice calm, almost courteous. “He’s taken.”
The girl blinked, caught off guard, her eyes flicking between them as she tried to catch up to whatever she had just stepped into.
Albus pushed himself off the wall, the corner of his mouth lifting in that cocky, self-satisfied way of his, and stepped in closer—close enough that his shoulder brushed Scorpius’s as he settled at his side.
The girl’s expression changed almost instantly—confusion giving way to understanding, then something tighter, more restrained.
“Oh,” she said, a little too quickly now. “Right. I didn’t realize.”
Albus’s mouth curved, easy, unapologetic. “Easy mistake.”
That was enough.
She excused herself with a polite nod, already stepping back, her heels echoing a little too sharply against the marble as she disappeared into the crowd.
Neither of them moved.
For a moment, the space she left behind felt… charged.
Then Albus’s hand came up, almost absentmindedly, brushing a stray drop of water from Scorpius’s cheek. His fingers lingered for half a second longer than necessary before falling away again, like it hadn’t meant anything at all.
When Scorpius finally looked at him, Albus was already watching. There was something openly amused in his expression now—something sharper, brighter. He was enjoying this. Entirely too much.
“We’ve been ‘dating’ for, what, an hour?” Albus murmured, his voice low, meant only for him, a grin already threatening at the corner of his mouth. “And you’re already marking territory?”
Scorpius held his gaze.
He didn’t step back. Didn’t break the distance between them.
If anything, he let it stay exactly as it was.
“I told you” he replied just as quietly, his tone smooth, but with something warmer threading underneath, “I know how to play this game too.”
For a second, Albus didn’t say anything.
He just watched him.
Then he let out a quiet breath, almost amused, like Scorpius had just handed him something unexpectedly interesting.
“Where’s this side of you been all my life?”
Scorpius huffed, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Not wasted on you, obviously.”
“Too late,” Albus said, pushing off the last bit of distance between them with an ease that felt entirely too natural. “I’m claiming it.”
His gaze dipped then—slow, deliberate—tracing the line of Scorpius’s frame like he had all the time in the world before lifting back up to meet his eyes.
“I didn’t realize how hot you get when you’re jealous."
"You should see me when I’m naked," Scorpius countered.
Albus actually blinked. For a split second, his confidence cracked, his breath catching in surprise. Then he let out a low, rough laugh.
"Merlin. What the hell has gotten into you?"
"I'm just doing my part in this shitshow," Scorpius said, forcing his tone back to something controlled. "You were about to ruin it in five seconds with that girl.”
Albus didn’t answer immediately.
The moment stretched, quiet but charged, before Albus finally reached back without breaking eye contact, grabbing a glass of champagne from a passing tray and handing it to him without asking.
“I was doing fine"
“You were flirting.”
“I always flirt.”
“Exactly my point.”
Scorpius rolled his eyes, taking a long sip of his champagne to wash down the sudden, annoying dryness in his throat.
A brief silence settled over them. It wasn’t uncomfortable—it was just the familiar, easy rhythm they always fell into. That is, until Scorpius felt Albus lightly bump his shoulder against his.
“I’m having fun, you know,” Albus said, his voice dropping its teasing edge for something surprisingly honest.
Scorpius huffed a quiet breath, staring down at his glass before letting out a reluctant truth. “Yeah,” he admitted. “Me too. More than I have in a while.”
The moment was getting entirely too sincere for Scorpius’s liking. He turned toward the heavy glass doors leading to the garden, desperate for an escape route and some actual oxygen.
“Come on,” he added, already moving. “Let’s get outside before my grandmother finds us.”
Scorpius didn’t even have to look back to know Albus was following. He could feel that familiar, chaotic presence right at his side, falling into step without a single second of hesitation.
The noise of the gala softened as they stepped into the garden. The suffocating heat of the ballroom vanished, replaced by the sharp, cool night air. Lanterns cast a warm glow over a cluster of strange, abstract sculptures scattered across the lawn.
They both reached for a new glass of champagne from a passing tray at the exact same time. It was a fluid, perfectly synchronized movement that Scorpius pointedly ignored as they walked toward the quieter edges of the grounds.
They didn’t get far before the peace was ruined.
“Malfoy?”
Scorpius turned. It was a group of old Hogwarts acquaintances—Quidditch guys, mostly. People he knew well enough to politely acknowledge, but not enough to actually like. Scorpius slipped his pureblood mask back on instantly, offering the polite, distant version of himself that gave just enough to be courteous without inviting a real conversation.
Albus, predictably, didn't even try to pretend.
He hovered at the edge of the circle, looking like a man desperately calculating the fastest route to the exit, until one of the guys dropped a joke that was probably way too inappropriate for a museum event.
And Albus just—lost it.
It was a real, loud, unfiltered laugh. Scorpius watched Albus's head tip back, his shoulders finally dropping their defensive posture. And there it was: the genuine smile, the dimples, the sheer, magnetic chaos of him.
Scorpius couldn't look away, and he knew instantly it was a massive mistake. Something tight in his chest shifted—a quick, sharp pull that he absolutely refused to categorize. Before his brain could catch up with his hands, Scorpius reached out, grabbing the front of Albus’s shirt and physically dragging him out of the conversation mid-sentence.
“Excuse us,” Scorpius said smoothly, already pulling him away.
Albus didn’t argue. If anything, he let himself be led entirely too easily, a quieter echo of that stupidly attractive laugh still lingering as he fell back into step beside him.
“Rude,” Albus murmured, though his voice was thick with amusement. “I was just starting to be charming.”
“You’re always charming,” Scorpius said, purposefully not looking at him. “Come on. I want to show you something before you accidentally make a friend.”
They kept walking until the voices of the gala dissolved into a dull hum. The sculptures in this section were different—less polished, weirder, and clearly not meant to be understood by the snobs inside.
Albus scanned the area with a skeptical tilt of his head. “I still can’t believe you actually get paid to attend these things.”
Scorpius glanced at him over the rim of his glass, wearing an expression of elegant boredom. “Perks of being the apprentice to one of the most significant artists of the century.”
Albus snorted. “If this counts as a perk, I stand by my original assessment. It's boring as hell.”
“Right,” Scorpius said dryly. “Because spending your life staring at lines of code for video games is the height of adrenaline.”
“Hey—” Albus stopped suddenly, pointing at something off to the side. “Look at that. You’re seriously telling me that shitty rock is art? It looks like it fell off a truck.”
Scorpius didn’t even slow his pace. “That’s because it isn't art,” he said calmly. “That’s literally just a rock, you smartass.”
“…oh.”
Scorpius smirked into his glass, deeply enjoying the brief, glorious beat of silence as the realization hit Albus.
“Still,” Albus added, quickly regaining his footing. “It looks like something you’d slap a title on and sell.”
Scorpius let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “Keep talking shit about my job and I’m making you cook breakfast for the next year.”
Albus huffed a quiet laugh, stepping closer until Scorpius felt the familiar, warm weight of their shoulders brushing again.
“Alright, alright,” Albus surrendered, his tone dripping with fake depth. “That rock was very moving. Deeply misunderstood. Just like me.”
Scorpius rolled his eyes, though he couldn't stop the corner of his mouth from twitching. “You’re impossible.”
Then, Albus stopped walking.
Scorpius slowed his pace, glancing back. Albus stood completely still, his focus narrowing in that specific, intense way of his. Scorpius knew that look perfectly. When something actually caught Albus Potter’s interest, it wasn't subtle; it was a total, silent surrender. And seeing that look aimed at anything in this garden made Scorpius's chest tighten.
Scorpius followed his gaze.
The sculpture was a fragmented human figure, caught in a slight, off-balance tilt. One side was smooth, almost fluid in its grace; the other was breaking apart into sharper, jagged, unresolved lines.
“I actually really like this one,” Albus said, his voice dropping noticeably. He shifted his position, searching for the way the moonlight caught the fractures in the stone.
Scorpius didn't look at the sculpture. He just watched Albus. “That one?”
“Yeah.” Albus didn’t look away. “It feels unfinished. Like it’s still figuring itself out. One side knows exactly what it’s doing, and the other is just… making it up as it goes.” He paused, then added with a devastating lack of filter, “It kind of reminds me of you.”
Scorpius took a slow, deliberate sip of his champagne, desperately trying to steady the sudden, frantic hum in his veins. “Of course it does.”
Albus finally glanced back at him, a faint frown pulling at his brow as he caught Scorpius's tone. “…wait.”
A heavy beat passed between them.
Scorpius held his gaze, lifting a single eyebrow in a quiet challenge. He felt entirely too exposed right now, but he refused to show it. “I made it.”
Albus blinked, his eyes darting from the sculpture to Scorpius and back again. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not.”
“You actually made this?”
Scorpius gave a small, forced shrug, trying to play it off as nothing. “What exactly did you think I was doing during all those locked-door hours in my studio?”
Albus didn’t answer immediately. Scorpius watched him step closer to the stone, his gaze tracing the jagged lines again. Slower this time. More careful. It made Scorpius feel incredibly exposed, as if Albus were reading a secret he had never meant to say out loud.
"You never let me in,” Albus said after a moment, his voice dropping low. “I’ve never actually seen anything finished.”
“I figured you wouldn’t be interested,” Scorpius said. He kept his tone light, almost clinical, safely retreating behind his pureblood armor. “You usually find things like this pretentious.”
Albus let out a quiet breath. Scorpius watched his hand come up to rub the back of his neck—a nervous, automatic gesture that Scorpius knew by heart. Albus only ever did that when he felt completely out of his depth.
“I mean…” Albus started, his voice trailing off like he was piecing the thought together in real-time. He looked back at him. “Everything you do is interesting to me, Scor.”
A heavy, suffocating silence dropped between them.
“I just never wanted to push you to invite me to your exhibitions,” Albus finished.
Scorpius stared at him. He held Albus's gaze for a second longer than what was safe. Panic flared in his chest. He absolutely could not let himself process what that meant.
So, he ruthlessly killed the moment before it could turn into something real.
“Do you want to see the rest?” Scorpius asked, already turning his body toward the building, cutting through the tension with practiced precision. “I’ve got some paintings inside. Part of a project for a gallery in Amsterdam.”
Scorpius didn't exhale until he saw the heavy sincerity vanish from Albus's face, replaced instantly by that easy, arrogant grin.
“Obviously,” Albus said, falling back into step right beside him. “Lead the way, baby.”
That pulled a genuine, quiet laugh out of Scorpius. “Keep that up and I’m leaving you here with the mermaid caviar enthusiasts,” he warned, already leading the way back into the warmth of the gallery.
They made their way back inside, slipping easily back into the familiar flow of the gallery. Scorpius walked a little ahead, his pace deliberate, slowing down only to point out the few pieces he actually respected. Albus trailed right behind him with his usual relaxed lounge, offering a non-stop stream of commentary that fluctuated between surprisingly sharp and entirely useless.
“This one looks like something James would make while completely wasted,” Albus muttered, eyeing a particularly hideous abstract canvas.
“That one sold for ten thousand galleons,” Scorpius countered dryly.
“What the fuck,” Albus snorted under his breath.
A waiter passed by with a tray. Scorpius reached out, grabbed two glasses of gin, and handed one over to Albus without a word. Albus took it with a grateful nod. They’d both had more than enough to drink by now, but neither seemed interested in sobriety just yet. The gin went down smooth, a familiar warmth that settled easily into the night as they drifted deeper into the crowd.
The space grew busier ahead. A small crowd had gathered around a specific section where almost every piece was already marked with a gold Sold tag. Scorpius stopped. Albus, who was walking right at his shoulder as usual, almost crashed into his back before catching himself and settling closely at his side.
“What—” Albus started, then followed Scorpius’s line of sight.
Two paintings hung side by side, both bearing the same gold tag. Scorpius watched Albus step closer to the canvases, his usual restlessness dropping away instantly, replaced by that quiet, piercing focus Scorpius knew by heart.
“Wait,” Albus said, his voice dropping low. “These are yours too.”
It wasn’t a question. Scorpius glanced at him, a single eyebrow lifting with practiced nonchalance. “That obvious?”
Albus let out a short, breathy laugh of genuine disbelief, his eyes flicking back to the canvases. “All your art is so… It’s just—very you, Scor.”
The comment hit Scorpius with a direct wave of warmth. Not nervousness, but a steady, genuine pride that only Albus knew how to evoke. When Albus looked back at him, the quiet focus vanished, replaced by a sudden, brilliant grin.
“Holy shit,” Albus said, his voice bright with unapologetic pride. “My boyfriend is so fucking talented.”
Scorpius snorted, though he couldn't stop a genuine smile from tugging at his mouth. “You are enjoying this way too much.”
“I am,” Albus said immediately, devoid of both hesitation and shame. “Being your fake boyfriend? Honestly, it’s the best thing that’s happened to me all week.”
“That says more about your week than it does about me,” Scorpius replied, though his voice lacked any real bite.
Albus just smiled, not even pretending to argue.
Scorpius looked back at his own paintings, simply enjoying the moment. The real problem was how effortless it all felt. The banter, the shared looks, the casual closeness—it required absolutely no acting at all, and that keep feeling a little too dangerous.
“You’re an idiot,” Scorpius added, the words more out of habit than a need to create distance.
“I think this is my first date in a very long time,” Albus said, almost like the thought had just occurred to him.
Scorpius took another sip of his gin, keeping his tone perfectly light. “A fake one.”
“Still,” Albus murmured, closing the remaining distance between them with that blind confidence he always carried around him. He stepped in so close that Scorpius could feel the steady warmth of his shoulder. “Best date I’ve had in years.”
He leaned in a fraction closer, his voice dropping to a register that Scorpius felt straight in his bones. “Does this remind you of being sixteen? Because it’s hitting me like a Bludger.”
Scorpius didn’t need to ask what he meant. He felt the memory surface before he could even stop it—quick, sharp, and entirely without permission. The stupid kiss. Too much alcohol. Too little thinking. The way they had both laughed it off the next morning like it hadn’t mattered at all.
“How could I forget?” Scorpius said, his voice a dry whisper. "That was easily the worst kiss I’ve ever had in my life.”
Albus let out a low, rough laugh. His hand slid up, fingers tracing the line of Scorpius’s jaw, his thumb lingering against his lower lip with just enough pressure to be a deliberate provocation. “I was a beginner. And for the record, you weren't exactly a pro either.”
“At least I didn't bite you,” Scorpius countered smoothly, his tone perfectly steady despite the heavy warmth of Albus's hand.
“A minor detail,” Albus whispered, his gaze dropping to Scorpius’s mouth. He didn't pull away. If anything, he drifted closer, until Scorpius could catch the sharp edge of gin on his breath.
Scorpius smirked, his eyes dropping to Albus's lips for a split second before meeting his gaze again. “What’s with all the touching, Potter? You that desperate to kiss me again?”
“Your grandmother’s watching,” Albus murmured, his thumb trailing slightly. “And she looks completely unconvinced about us. So let me stay like this for a bit.”
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. The ambient gallery noise blurred into a distant, inconsequential hum, until Albus finally let his hand slip away. His thumb left a distinct trail of heat on Scorpius’s lip.
“Hey,” Albus said, his tone shifting effortlessly back into something casual as he looked past Scorpius’s shoulder. “The girl your grandmother picked out for you? She’s actually really pretty."
Scorpius snorted softly, grateful for the easy shift, even if it came from Albus.
“You should ask if she has a brother,” Albus added. “Something more your type.”
“You and my grandmother should start a club,” Scorpius replied, shaking his head as the tension cracked. “‘Let’s fix Scorpius’s love life because we’re bored.’”
Albus tilted his head, his gaze turning reflective as he watched him. “I just don’t get why you’re so against dating.”
Scorpius arched an eyebrow. “Look who’s talking.”
“I date,” Albus countered, as if that were a legitimate defense.
“Not for more than a month,” Scorpius shot back. “Same difference.”
Albus memory-palaced a small, offended sound. “You don’t date at all.”
Scorpius took another sip of his gin, letting the alcohol settle warm and familiar in his chest before answering. “I don’t have time for that.”
“You spend all your free time on your phone,” Albus deadpanned. His hand drifted right back to Scorpius's face, his thumb beginning to rhythmically stroke the line of his jaw again.
“Yeah,” Scorpius muttered, his voice vibrating slightly under the touch. “Because someone has to beta-test your stupid games before you release them to the world. I’m currently stuck on level forty of your Unicorn Agents vs. Centaurs, you sadist."
That pulled another laugh out of Albus—short, real, and pooling warm into the close space between them. His thumb didn't stop; it lingered at the corner of Scorpius's mouth, tracing the soft edge of his skin. It was a terrible habit, but underneath all that sharp, immaculate Malfoy tailoring, Scorpius had always been entirely too tactile when it came to Albus. He found himself leaning slightly into the touch without even realizing he was doing it.
Albus’s eyes darkened, the playful bickering instantly evaporating into something much heavier.
“Since you broke up with Louis—”
The name hit the air, but Scorpius didn't even blink. He didn't let Albus finish, not because it hurt, but because he was genuinely bored by the ghost of a relationship that had ended a lifetime ago. They had dated back when he was a freshman art student—like eight years ago, for the love of Merlin.
“I don’t want to talk about your cousin with you, Albus. It’s ancient, dusty history.”
Albus didn’t back off. If anything, his hand tightened slightly on Scorpius’s jaw, his eyes flashing with a sudden, sharp resentment that had absolutely nothing to do with family loyalty.
“He broke your heart, Scor. I was the one who had to put you back together.”
Scorpius rolled his eyes, a small, amused huff escaping him. He looked at Albus—really looked at him—and saw the raw, lingering irritation Albus still carried, a grudge far heavier than any Scorpius himself had ever held.
The truth was, Scorpius had never actually told Albus why they broke up, and Albus had never asked. Back then, Albus had kept his thoughts entirely to himself—both about Scorpius dating his cousin and about the eventual split. By the time it ever came up again, it was far too late, and Scorpius had realized Albus had concocted some atrocious, wildly dramatic narrative in his head that he'd never shared. Scorpius was fairly certain Albus’s imagination involved tragic infidelities, tears, or some kind of dramatic underworld threats. Who even knew.
“We broke up civilly, Albus. He is happily dating Lysander now. It happens. People find their person and they move on.”
Albus’s jaw tightened, a flash of dark, restless jealousy crossing his features. He looked far more offended by the breakup than Scorpius had ever been.
Scorpius reached up, his own hand momentarily covering Albus’s where it rested against his face, a quiet gesture of grounding complicity.
“You should probably do the same,” Scorpius added, his voice light, almost teasing. “Stop hating him on my behalf. It’s a waste of your energy, and frankly, you’re making it weird.”
Albus made a face, looking away toward a nearby painting for a second, but he didn't pull his hand away. Instead, his thumb moved again, deliberately stroking Scorpius’s lower lip in a way that was far too slow to be accidental.
“Whatever. He’s still an idiot who didn't know what he had.”
The silence that followed was different now—heavier, charged with a sudden, inescapable awareness. When Albus looked back, the playful banter was entirely gone, replaced by something much sharper, much more intent.
“I’ve improved, you know,” Albus said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous velvet.
Scorpius held his gaze, refusing to look flustered, though a steady pulse of heat hit his chest. “I’m almost afraid to ask.”
“My kissing skills,” Albus clarified, his gaze dropping to Scorpius’s mouth as he closed the final fraction of space between them. “In case you were wondering if I still bite.”
Scorpius let out a quiet, amused huff. It felt dangerously like a surrender, but he kept his footing. “Doubt it.”
“I can show you now,” Albus whispered, his lips so close Scorpius could feel the phantom brush of the words against his skin. “If you want. That would shut your grandmother up for the next century.”
Scorpius held his gaze a second longer than he should have. The alcohol was definitely blurring the edges of things that were usually easier to keep separate, but it was Albus’s absolute certainty that made the moment heavy. Albus wasn't treating this like a joke they could just laugh off tomorrow.
It would have been easy to say yes.
Ridiculously easy.
And that was exactly why he couldn't.
“No, thank you,” Scorpius said lightly, slipping right back into his usual dry, untouchable tone. “I have standards.”
Albus smiled—slow, unbothered, and entirely unsurprised. “Shame.”
For a second, neither of them moved.
“Scorpius.”
Narcissa Malfoy was standing a few steps away, looking impossibly elegant and entirely unimpressed. Her sharp eyes darted between them, taking in way more than either of them wanted her to. “I have allowed you to entertain yourself long enough,” she said smoothly. “Now that you have both taken this show out of your system, you will come with me.”
Scorpius straightened up instantly, years of pureblood training kicking in like a reflex. He knew his grandmother; there was no getting out of this. If he wanted any peace later, it was just easier to get the blind date over with as fast as possible.
But honestly? Narcissa was a lifesaver. Between the gin and how hard Albus had been pushing the 'fake boyfriend' bit, they had been about two seconds away from repeating the exact same mistake they’d made at sixteen. Albus was taking the performance way too far, and Scorpius desperately needed a tactical retreat.
Still, he couldn't just walk away without setting a timer on the hazard in front of him. He leaned in slightly, keeping his voice down. “Give me an hour.”
Albus’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing instantly. “You have fifteen minutes.”
“Scorpius?” his grandmother called again, her tone sharper, hitting the absolute peak of Malfoy impatience.
Scorpius looked at Albus and could practically see the gears grinding in his head. It was hilarious. Albus was already fiercely calculating how to completely wreck the upcoming date, as if his intense 'fake boyfriend' routine hadn't been doing exactly that all night. He absolutely loathed losing to Narcissa.
Amused by the stubborn, competitive fury on his best friend's face, Scorpius decided to throw him a bone.
“Fine. Thirty minutes,” Scorpius whispered, already taking a step back. “Go mingle, Al.”
Albus didn’t answer, clearly too busy drafting his sabotage strategy.
Scorpius didn’t wait around. He turned and followed his grandmother into the crowd, the low hum of the gala closing back in around them. As the distance grew, Scorpius let out a long, quiet breath, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
Honestly, he didn't even know what was worse: surviving a painfully stiff blind date orchestrated by Narcissa Malfoy, or staying in that corner with Albus Potter, a head full of gin, and the very real danger of crossing a line they'd spent all their lifes avoiding. Both options felt completely ridiculous.
End of chapter 1