Chapter Text
Rain had battered the castle for almost a week now. Most students had only ventured outside when absolutely necessary, but it was clear people were starting to get restless. Even Albus, who wasn't an overly outdoorsy person, had started brewing some serious cabin fever.
Scorpius had practically had to drag Albus out of bed that morning. The Potter had dragged his feet, complained and threatened to drop out of school before finally donning his robes and grabbing his wand. Both boys had brought their school things with them when they’d left the Slytherin common room, knowing there wouldn’t be enough time to return to the dormitory after breakfast.
Scorpius was waffling, as usual, about something interesting he’d read last night in Great Magical Disputes of the Seventeenth Century, and Albus was barely even awake. He had followed Scorpius up the stairs from the dungeons mostly on instinct, blinking blearily at the brighter light that greeted them as they emerged into the entrance hall.
They had barely reached the top step when a thoroughly drenched group of Gryffindors swept into the space through the large oak front doors, leaving a trail of wet footprints across the stone floor as they headed for the ascending staircase.
James Potter led the band of red-and-gold drowned misfits through the entrance hall, his Gryffindor Quidditch Captain badge pinned to the front of his Quidditch robes. He smirked cockily at his brother and winked at him as he passed. Albus scowled back, frozen to the spot, watching as the Gryffindor Quidditch team swarmed the entrance hall.
Scorpius came up beside him and almost instinctively stood a little straighter. He tightened his grip around the shoulder strap of his bag and lifted his chin, slipping effortlessly into the sort of quiet arrogance that seemed to come naturally to a Malfoy. He didn’t wear it often, but by Dumbledore, did he wear it well.
Lily Potter brought up the rear. Her new Quidditch robes were soaked through, the number seven embroidered on her front darkened by the rain. Her long Weasley-red hair was tied in a plait down her back, and she was dripping water everywhere. Despite all that, she was wearing a huge smile as she trailed after her teammates; clearly the miserable weather had only made her morning practice more enjoyable.
As soon as she spotted the two Slytherins, her grin turned into a smirk to match her eldest brother’s, and she diverted towards them. The other Gryffindors stopped to watch as she made a beeline for the blond boy, stopping mere inches from him.
“Malfoy,” she greeted, raising her eyebrows in challenge.
“Potter.” Scorpius nodded once, aiming for respectful but sounding cold.
“I’d heard Slytherin had themselves a new Seeker,” she drawled, clicking her tongue as she looked Scorpius up and down, clearly not intimidated by him, or the way he towered over her by a good foot. “But I didn’t realise they were this desperate.”
“Hey!” Albus hurried to defend his house and his boyfriend as the Gryffindors behind them started sniggering.
“Eh, don’t be so hard on the boy, Lils,” James called over to them from where he was standing on the bottom step, watching on with glee. “Slytherin needed to put someone on the broom after all.”
“It just feels too easy.” Lily tilted her head, not taking her eyes off Scorpius.
“This whole season is going to be easy,” one of the Chasers piped up.
“No one’s getting past us,” another scoffed, crossing their arms. “Not with two Potters on the team.”
“We can’t help that it runs in the family,” James taunted gleefully. His eyes slid towards Albus, his grin widening. “Well… most of it.”
“Hey!” Scorpius finally snapped, as the Gryffindors laughed.
Lily didn’t say anything, but her smile faltered, and she didn’t join in when the teasing turned unnecessarily on Albus. She shot a look over her shoulder at James, who merely shrugged at her. Albus crossed his arms and went to turn away, but Scorpius stepped forward and squared up to the red-headed Gryffindor in front of him.
“Just you wait, Potter,” he told her with much more confidence than he usually displayed. “You’ll be considerably less confident when I catch the snitch from right under your nose.”
“Oh, I’m going to enjoy beating you.” Lily shook her head, her grin now back in full force. She went to step back towards her team but turned to her brother. “Hey, Al!”
“Hi, Lily,” Albus grumbled back, James’ jibe still stinging more than he cared to admit. He forced himself to let it go, returning Lily’s smile with a smaller one of his own, and was grateful when she glanced down at her wet robes and thought better of going in for her usual hug.
She didn’t say anything else; she just smiled and waved before skipping back towards her teammates, falling into step beside James and jabbing him with her elbow as they continued up the stairs.
“How did I do?” Scorpius asked as soon as the last red-and-gold robe disappeared round the corner of a moving staircase.
Albus turned to look at him, his eyes softening as he watched Scorpius melt back into the dorky nerd he knew and loved.
“What?”
“That was my first time doing Quidditch banter!” He practically vibrated with excitement. “I think it went rather well, if I do say so myself.”
“I still can’t believe you actually made the team,” Albus huffed a soft laugh and shook his head in disbelief.
He was, of course, beyond happy for Scorpius. And proud. But he was still struggling to wrap his head around the fact that his boyfriend - his homework-loving, sweet-obsessed, potions nerd of a boyfriend - was now the Slytherin team’s Seeker. Only a year ago, Scorpius wouldn’t have been caught dead in the stands of a Quidditch match. Now, apparently, he was playing in them.
“Neither can I,” Scorpius gushed, following Albus as he finally led the way into the Great Hall for breakfast.
A clean plate, bowl, goblet and set of cutlery appeared in front of each boy as they settled into an empty spot at the Slytherin table. The hall was mostly empty now, save for a few stragglers who were attempting to get some food into them before classes started in thirty minutes.
“I don’t think my Dad can either,” Scorpius continued, as he helped himself to the breakfast spread. “He sent me an owl this morning telling me to expect the delivery of a Nimbus 5000.”
Albus started choking on his orange juice, placing his goblet down on the table harder than he’d intended. He took a moment to compose himself, but when he did, he rounded on Scorpius with a look of awed scepticism.
“Are you serious?”
“That’s what his letter said,” Scorpius shrugged. “I was just going to play on the school’s brooms, like I have been. But you know what Dad’s like. As soon as he found out it was all—”
Scorpius threw his hands into the air, and in a squeaky voice he launched into an appalling imitation of his father.
“No son of mine will be seen on a first-generation Firebolt!”
“But, but, but,” Albus spluttered. He wasn’t a Quidditch fan, and he wasn’t a very good flyer. But he’d grown up in a family that lived and breathed flying and Quidditch. He’d spent all summer listening to James beg their father for a Nimbus 5000, but Harry hadn’t given in. They’d only bought James the newest Firebolt Pro the year before, and according to Harry it had ‘more than plenty of life left in it.’ “The Nimbus 5000 isn’t even out yet!”
“I know.” Scorpius looked over at him sheepishly. “Not for another month. But Dad said he knows someone and…”
“And he’s managed to get you one early, hasn’t he?”
“Yes,” Scorpius sighed again. “And I’m trying to be mad at him about it because I don’t need him splashing his money around like that. Nor do I need the other teams thinking I’m only good because I’ve got the latest broom. But…”
He trailed off, staring down at the eggs on his plate that were getting cold. For a moment, he seemed determined to maintain his disapproval. But then, he glanced sideways at Albus and a giddy grin broke across his face.
Albus couldn’t help but beam back, because this was exciting.
“God, your dad’s so cool! My dad would never!” Albus marvelled, taking a bite of toast.
“Your dad is Harry Potter,” Scorpius reminded him, unhelpfully, in case he’d forgotten. He lifted both hands in front of him, punctuating each point with its own little flourish, as though presenting evidence in a case Albus really ought to understand by now. “The Boy Who Lived. Head of Magical Law Enforcement. Saviour of the wizarding world. I’m sure he’s got more connections than he knows what to do with. But… I think your dad cares far too much about doing what is right. And fair.”
Scorpius lowered his hands and poured himself some pumpkin juice.
“My dad, on the other hand, is a Slytherin through and through. He has absolutely no qualms about using his name, connections and money to his advantage.”
“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Albus scoffed in glee. “God, I can’t wait to see the look on James’ face when he sees it!”
Scorpius took a satisfied sip of his pumpkin juice before turning serious again.
“Talking about James…”
“No. Don’t,” Albus ordered, his smile disappearing. He’d known Scorpius was going to bring up the snide comment his brother had made earlier, but Albus wasn’t interested in rehashing it. The words had hurt, because his brother knew exactly which buttons to press; he knew how much Albus hated being made to feel like the one Potter who never quite fit the mould.
James had taken to a broom easier than walking. Lily had been flying circles around them all by age three. Their father had climbed onto a broom for the first time at eleven and had immediately been offered a spot on the Gryffindor team, making him the youngest player in over a century. Their mother had played Quidditch professionally and reported on the sport for a living. And then there was Albus. The only Potter who hadn’t inherited the Quidditch gene.
Albus owned a broom. Unfortunately, being a Potter meant he wasn’t allowed not to own one. Much to his father’s dismay, it hadn’t seen the light of day for almost four years now. Albus had no wish to fly, no desire to play Quidditch. He wasn’t jealous of his siblings for being gifted and for enjoying something he didn’t. What he didn’t like was how his lack of skill and interest in the sport made him obviously different from them.
Albus wasn’t a stereotypical Potter in many ways, and if it wasn’t for the fact that he looked unmistakably like his father, he might have started wondering whether he’d been adopted. But alas, according to his mother, looking at Albus was like looking at a fifteen-year-old Harry.
Albus looked like Harry, but that was where the resemblance ended. Everything else that made the rest of his family so unmistakably Potter had somehow skipped over him.
“Hey,” Scorpius hushed, reaching under the table and taking hold of Albus’ hand. The touch pulled Albus from his spiralling thoughts, and he looked over at Scorpius with a small, appreciative smile. “Don’t listen to your brother. He’s a twat.”
“You can say that again,” Albus scoffed in agreement, the corners of his mouth turning up properly this time.
“James Potter is a twat,” Scorpius repeated cheekily, the words spoken softly for only them to hear.
“Yeah, well,” Albus shuffled awkwardly in his seat, his head tilting slightly as he took in Scorpius’ profile. He felt butterflies take flight in his tummy, and couldn’t believe that he still felt this same rush every time he looked at the blond. “You can get him back for me by wiping that smug look off his face and thrashing him during the match on Sunday.”
“That’s the plan,” Scorpius agreed, pushing his hair back out of his face. He smiled, and Albus’ tummy did a somersault.
For a moment, both boys seemed to forget where they were, oblivious to the last few breakfast stragglers around them. They inched closer as if to kiss, completely lost in one another before the school bell rang through the castle. Albus and Scorpius sprang apart, briefly disoriented before Professor Wetherby’s voice called over the Great Hall to remind them all that school had officially started.
“Shit,” Albus groaned, letting his head thump against the table just as the dishes in front of them disappeared.
Scorpius blinked for a second longer, his cheeks and the tips of his ears tinted pink before he scrambled up and slung his bag over his shoulder.
“Come on. We’re going to be late!”
“Leave me here,” Albus complained dramatically, not lifting his head. “I’m done. I’m not cut out for this.”
“We do this every morning, Albus,” Scorpius sighed, picking up Albus’ bag too, knowing that it would save them precious time. “We’re going to get into trouble.”
“I don’t care.”
“Potter! Malfoy!” Professor Wetherby called as she swept towards them. Albus sat up instinctively at the sound of her sharp tone. “Traditionally, the sound of the bell means you're expected to go to class.”
“Yes, Professor,” Scorpius acknowledged politely for both of them.
“So with that in mind, don’t you both have somewhere else to be?”
“Yes, Professor.” Scorpius grabbed a fistful of Albus’ robes and hauled him to his feet. Albus allowed himself to be pulled upright with only slight resistance.
“I thought, as a prefect, you’d know better, Malfoy,” Wetherby admonished.
“I do, Professor Wetherby,” Scorpius said quickly, shoving the strap of Albus’ bookbag into his hands. “We’re leaving now.”
Albus let himself be dragged out of the Great Hall by his robes and only pulled away when they reached the staircase. He straightened his school jumper and robes before hoisting his bag onto his shoulder and following Scorpius up the stairs towards the Divination classroom.
Scorpius had a skip in his step, already a few stairs ahead of Albus. His robes flared around him majestically as he climbed, and he kept muttering about being late. They would be getting a detention for sure.
But Albus supposed, as long as he got to serve it alongside Scorpius Malfoy, how bad could it be?