Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/283723.

Rating: Archive Warning: Category: Fandom: Relationship: Character: Additional Tags: Series: Stats: Mature Major Character Death, Underage M/M Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Scorpius Malfoy/Albus Severus Potter, Albus Severus Potter/Louis Weasley James Sirius Potter, Albus Severus Potter, Scorpius Malfoy, Louis Weasley old fic, Typos -- Sorry!, Romance, Angst, Abuse, Domestic Violence Part 1 of A Winter Amid the Ice Published: 2008-11-26 Chapters: 12/12 Words: 107106

A Winter Amid the Ice

by midnightlily Summary

A chance meeting between Scorpius Malfoy and Albus Potter leads to an intense friendship neither boy is ready for. They bond over the Christmas break; but will the darkness of their shared secrets forever tie them together or only tear them apart?

Notes

I wrote this fic sometime between 2008 and 2009. It's one of my older fics, my first real attempt at a full-length story, and one which has been deleted, edited and re-posted many, many times. While I don't necessarily feel proud of the quality of the writing in A Winter Amid the Ice, I can't bring myself to delete it. Writing this story helped me work through a lot of pain -- it was written during a really dark period in my life -- and I found a lot of other readers who really connected with it; so I have reluctantly stopped telling myself that it's nothing but silly rubbish. This is for those readers. Another thing I should probably mention: I'm sure this story is full of typos and errors that I never got around to fixing. Avoid if that sort of thing really irritates you! Also, the formatting here leaves a lot to be desired: things that should be italicized/bolded are not, etc. I'm sorry, but to go through and add all of those tags manually would make my head explode, not to mention consume hours I just

don't have. If you can read the text without those things, please proceed. WARNINGS: This story contains disturbing themes and triggering subject matter, including but not limited to: violence, language, child abuse, underage drinking and sexuality, incest, domestic violence situations and suicide.

Chapter One
"Ah, childhood, grass and rain, the puddle on the paving stones, Moonlight when the clock strikes twelve ... And as the Damned soul rises, so does the fire." - A Season in Hell, Arthur Rimbaud It was a cold December evening, and the temperature at Hogwarts had dropped below zero. Scorpius Malfoy emerged from the trees with flushed cheeks, and clutching his cloak closer for warmth, he nearly tripped over his boots in his longing to make it back to the castle, where the thought of his warm four-poster bed was becoming increasingly alluring. The ice had spread like wildfire that winter, freezing everything in reach of its arctic breath. The surface of the lake was frozen, hard and reflective as glass. Scorpius struggled to imagine anything would survive its depths this winter: the merpeople, even the fabled Giant Squid. The surface was smooth, an eerily perfect reflection of the sky above, and instantly he imagined the gnarled, mottled hands of the dead breaching the surface of the water, their empty eyes scanning the night, seeking vengeance upon the first thing in sight. Fear rose like bile inside his chest, and he ran on without a backwards glance. Hogwarts had always seemed far more foreboding at night; the stories of the War, in which his own father had played a role, seemed to come to life in the moonlight. The deaths of hundreds the night the Dark Lord fell had left a tangible stain upon the grounds, one the passage of time refused to erode. Although its ghosts preferred to stay hidden, Scorpius knew that they were there; often, in the depths of silence, distant screams echoed throughout the grounds, the anguish of souls now long departed refusing to die easily. It had been over two decades since the night the war ended, yet the screams reverberated through the intervening years, undiminished. Sometimes, it seemed like only he could hear it. The oak doors came into view at last; Scorpius bounded up the stairs two at a time, pausing only to take one more look at the moonlit grounds. The sapphire-blue sky glittered like crystal overhead, printed with a thousand silver stars precisely the color of his eyes. His hand went to his pocket instinctively, feeling for the object he had placed there earlier. He didn't know what it meant yet, or why he had taken it; all he knew was that the closer he got to the past, the more alive he felt. "Are you alright? Your eyes are crossing." "What?" Realizing that he'd been a million miles away, Scorpius shook off his dazed expression and tried to appear more focused. "Better?"

His breakfast companion, the ever-austere Paige Zabini, shrugged her shoulders and muttered, 'Slightly', before turning back to that morning's Daily Prophet. He stared at her gormlessly from across the table. Paige was the single most interesting person he had ever met, even if it seemed to him as though she'd been stripped of anything even slightly resembling a human personality at birth - she had only one facial expression, cold indifference, and in that respect she was the perfect Slytherin. Being around her was safe, boring, and not always unpleasant, but still, she wasn't exactly stimulating company. Scorpius supposed her one saving grace was her ruthless quick wit, something that provided him with at least some small amusement. Paige was a genius when it came to cynicism, and being as pretty as she was with her long, wavy brown hair, smooth, caramel colored skin and greengold eyes it was a pleasure watching her tear down a seemingly endless procession of unsuspecting suitors. Only last week she had pushed Harvey Gregson, a fifth-year Gryffindor, over the staircase on the third floor (while it had been in motion) without a backwards glance. "I heard your mother signed a deal with Claude Estelle." Scorpius broke away from his thoughts and looked at Paige, who was regarding him strangely. "Yeah, how'd you know?" Paige shrugged and delicately sipped her tea, a special Japanese infusion she always brought from home. Privately, Scorpius thought it tasted bitter, and a little too much like Skele-Gro. "Grandma told me." "Oh," Scorpius muttered, picking at his fingernails. He supposed he should have known. The only reason the two of them were acquainted in the first place was because Paige's grandmother had once been almost as big a celebrity as his mother was now. If it hadn't been for that one thing they had in common, Scorpius doubted whether they ever would have spoken at all. Paige drained the rest of her tea in one gulp. "I've got to go or I'll be late for the train," she announced, fastening the clasp of her cloak with manicured nails. "Send Astoria my regards." "Yeah," Scorpius agreed uncomfortably. "Will do." Paige stood and paused for a moment, as if she was unsure what to do next. Briefly, Scorpius wondered whether she felt half as awkward as he did. After all, were friends not meant to give one another embarrassing, tearful farewells? The thought was almost comical to him. Eventually Paige cleared her throat, and settled on, "Well ... goodbye then." Without waiting for a reply, she turned and walked away. Scorpius watched her disappear through the wide open doors, knowing that it was the last he'd see of her for at least a week. Unsurprisingly, the thought stirred no emotion in him. The Slytherin table was nearly empty now, and he held court at the far end alone. Over the past few days he had watched the other House

tables slowly diminish in size until only a few students were left on each. Looking around himself, it was clear he was the only third-year Slytherin left at school. Scorpius glanced up at the enchanted ceiling above; a surging mass of dark storm clouds swirled ominously overhead. It was going to storm this afternoon; heavy rains were on their way. He prayed only that they abated before that evening. He had to get back to that house, even if at first glance it was dead and barren as a sunken ship. Because there was something there he needed, something he craved, something that kept drawing him back like a moth to a flame. Darling, Terribly sorry about the holidays. Will send you latest shoot with Claude Estelle. Your father wants to know if you need new dress robes for the Winter Ball. Enjoy your gifts! Love, Mommy. P.S Just wait 'til you see the new Italian marble in the foyer! Scorpius cast his mother's letter into the flames with a scowl. These inane, often psychotic, scribblings never ceased to disturb him; he simply couldn't understand why, now that he was thirteen, she still insisted on speaking to him as though he was a toddler. He slumped back in his armchair and let his most recent off-schoolgrounds encounter play behind his eyes like a reel of film. Although he was alone - depressingly so - the memory was soothing, a never-ending source of comfort and warmth. Unfortunately, his reverie didn't last long. Although the common room was empty, Knox Temperdon's cat - which he had unceremoniously left there over the Christmas break - was now mewling loudly at the entrance, and entreating Scorpius with large, sad eyes. Leaving his pile of gifts behind, he grudgingly got out of his armchair and sauntered over to the entrance. He picked the cat up by its middle and dropped it outside, barely restraining the urge to kick it down the hall. It weaved between his legs, tail in the air, and looked up at him expectantly. "Go on, out," he ordered. As if sensing a possible kick up the behind, the cat meowed once, blinked its eyes, and trotted off across the stone. Grateful for the quiet, Scorpius fell back into his armchair with a sigh. He picked up the smallest of his mother's gifts and turned it around on his fingertips. It felt heavy, and the coldness beneath the wrapper told him that whatever was inside was most likely made of metal. He tore open the wrappings with little excitementhis mother deluged him with so many gifts that almost nothing was sacred anymore. In his hands was an antique-looking mirror, and he smiled wryly: a useless, overly

extravagant gift like this was so very typical of his mother. The mirror was oval in shape, and sat on a gilded stand inlaid with various precious stones: rubies, sapphires, and even diamonds. Just above the glass, embedded within the silver, was a single, large emerald. A note was stuck to it, obscuring his reflection: Darling, Picked this up at Borgin & Burke's last week. I knew it was for you the moment I saw it (Scorpius was unsure how this was possible; sometimes it was like his mother honestly didn't know who he was). It's like a Remembrall, darling, only better! If you've lost something, just look into the mirror and you'll see where it is. Isn't it wonderful? I knew you'd love it. Merry Christmas! Love, Mommy His interest momentarily roused, Scorpius unstuck the note from the glass. He was only half-surprised when he saw nothing in its reflection but himself. He surveyed his face carefully for a moment, cringing with distaste. With his white-blonde hair, pale skin, and cold-gray eyes, he was, in many ways, just like his father. But where his father's visage faltered - he had a cruel mouth and pointed nose and chin - his own was perfection. This was not something he was entirely thankful for; he loathed the attention it afforded him and resented being constantly stared at: after all, his reputation was remarkable for enough reasons already. His mother was a celebrity, his father a well-known ex-convict (he had spent several years in prison following the War), and the family name had only recently begun to gain back some of its former prestige: while it was no longer mud, it wasn't something to wear with pride, either. Scorpius sighed and carelessly brushed aside the long strands of hair that fell into his eyes. He gazed at himself thoughtfully for a moment, and briefly entertained the ludicrous idea of smashing himself in the face with this latest gift. In the end he shrugged and tossed the gift to one side with indifference. It would, he supposed, at the very least, make a handsome addition to his dresser. The rest of the morning passed in much the same manner. The remainder of his gifts were similarly dull - the usual ridiculous amounts of expensive clothes, designer colognes, jewellery, and even several books. The impersonal nature of these items led Scorpius to suspect that most of the presents had been picked up by one of the maids and not his mother. A letter from his father, something acknowledging his existence, was also noticeably absent. Apathetic, Scorpius left his gifts behind and dressed in his finest winter clothes, prepared once more to make the cold, unforgiving journey back to the only thing that mattered right now: his precious secret.

Dinner that evening was an altogether embarrassing affair. The four House tables had been pushed against the walls and out of the way, leaving a rather small one in the middle of the Hall. The Headmaster, Ignatius Hugo, sat at the far end, a simpering young woman Scorpius didn't recognize gazing dreamily at him from his left. Several empty wine canisters were scattered about him and his complexion was ruddy; he giggled in an entirely unbecoming manner as the young woman whispered in his ear. A motley-crue of students belonging to various Houses were gathered around the table, looking on at the scene with substantial embarrassment. Scorpius rolled his eyes and took a seat as far away from the excitement as possible, at the opposite end of the table. Professor Hugo, once quite an accomplished wizard, was now little more than a middle-aged philanderer with a particular fondness for young women and wine and privately, Scorpius wondered just how long the School Board would allow it to continue. Scorpius rolled his sleeves, and without waiting for the appropriate permission, began to fill his plate with roast chicken, potatoes, peas and gravy. Nobody else at the table was eating; in fact, most of the red-faced students currently had their eyes fixed upon their plates, not daring to raise their eyes. A small, dark-haired boy closest to him had cheeks the color of beetroot. If his mouth hadn't been full, Scorpius would have struggled not to laugh at him. He absentmindedly stabbed a potato with his fork. Such innocence, he mused. Clearly they had never been to one of this father's parties. Whether he'd wanted to or not, Scorpius had learned from a very young age just what adults got up to when there was a mixture of alcohol, extravagance and opportunity, and he had never had the luxury of ignorance to keep him warm and fuzzy. Loud giggles and smooching noises emanated from the head of the table, and Scorpius rolled his eyes. Although he was certain that Hugo's outlandish displays of debauchery wouldn't last long at Hogwarts, it didn't make stomaching his food whilst listening to the sickening grunts and giggles any less revolting. From the corner of his eye, he noticed that the boy sitting nearest to him appeared to be following his lead. Eyes still firmly fixed on his plate, he'd at least picked up his fork. At that moment a loud moan erupted from the head of the table, and the dark-haired boy dropped his fork with a clatter. Scorpius lifted his gaze and surveyed the scene disinterestedly over the rim of his goblet. The witch, presumably a whore, was leaning close to the Headmaster and giggling, so close she was nearly in his lap. "Headmaster," she simpered, one hand covering her scarlet lips, "Oh Headmaster, youmustn't!" The dark-haired boy made a choked sort of noise beside him. Scorpius looked at him, struck with a rare attack of pity. Feeling unusually goodnatured, he sought to distract him. "Hey." He nudged the other boy his foot. "Psst."

The boy looked at him. The first thing Scorpius noticed was his eyes. Huge with distress, they were a startlingly bright green - almost like poison, or battery acid. The boy flushed when their eyes met, and nervously pushed his hair away; without it obscuring one side of his face, Scorpius recognized him immediately. It was the Potter boy. What he was doing at school over Christmas, however, was anyone's guess. Scorpius supposed it shouldn't matter to him, even if the Potters were the darling's of the wizarding world, the crme de la crme of high society. His mother often professed her hatred for them, branding them 'common' or 'uncouth', but Scorpius happened to have it on very good authority that she had tried her darndest to befriend Harry Potter's wife on several occasions, including last week at Flourish and Blotts. Because the Potters were the poster-family for every wizarding family; they were mentioned almost daily in every publication that mattered The Daily Prophet, Witch Weekly, even The Quibbler. His mother devoured these articles with an intense ferocity: she was insanely jealous of everything Potter, and made it her life's mission to ensure everything she had was bigger and better than theirs. If the Potter's had thrown a party last week, Astoria Malfoy made it her business to throw a bigger and better one the next. Scorpius found it all rather mundane and pathetic - he was a pureblooded wizard from a (once, anyway) noble family. The Potters, with all their popularity, status and fame, couldn't compete with that. Still, Scorpius recollected with distaste, the eldest Potter boy - James wore the family name like a crown, strutting about the school like an exotic breed of peacock, lapping up attention and praise wherever he went for heroics he had never accomplished. Hanging from the coattails of his father's fame, the boy was arrogant - an overconfident git who believed himself a prince. And yet this one, Scorpius thought, the youngest boy - Albus - was strikingly opposite. In fact, Scorpius couldn't recall a single instance where he'd heard him mentioned at all. They were in the same year, but did not share classes and had never spoken. He flew far below the radar, and never caused much of a fuss about anything. It was this more than anything else that inspired Scorpius to (momentarily, anyway) bury his distaste for the boy's loathsome brother. Motioning for him to watch, Scorpius drew his wand from his pocket and gently nudged the folded napkin beside his plate. The Potter boy looked on warily, eyes narrowed. Scorpius muttered a spell his godfather had taught him, and the napkin sprang to life, folding itself into the shape of a swan, suspended in mid-air. "Propello." The swan shot forward as though fired from a cannon. It sailed across the table and landed in the nameless courtesan's highly teased hair. Her head jerked to the side and she let out a high-pitched squeal. "My hair, my hair! Get it off! Get it off! Ignatius!" Raucous giggles erupted across the table. The Potter boy burst out laughing, clapping one hand over his mouth.

The Headmaster himself appeared to be stifling a smirk as he removed the napkin from his mistress's head. "Now, now, boys and girls," he slurred, clearly amused. "There's no need for such childish pranks. This is neither the time nor the place." Scorpius bit back a scathing retort, choosing instead to watch the drama he had created unfold. The prank seemed to shatter the tension at the table somewhat, and the students were now eating freely and chatting amongst themselves. When the laughter had died down to a low hum, he took his own napkin and folded it into a lotus with his hands; the Potter boy watched on mutely with guarded interest. Scorpius pushed the paper lotus across the table. Potter cast him a nervous smile and took it in his small hands, turning it around slowly on his fingertips. His color, which had since returned to normal, was beginning to darken again. "Th-thanks," he stammered. Scorpius watched his embarrassment with growing interest. "No problem," he said, leaning back in his chair. "What's your name?" The boy refused to look at him, choosing instead to look at a piece of wall behind his head. "Albus," he answered, swallowing hard. Scorpius had known this of course, but thought it polite to ask. "What's yours?" "Malfoy," Scorpius replied smoothly. "Scorpius Malfoy." The boy didn't scoff at his name, as many often did. Instead he extended his hand like the perfect caricature of a gentleman. "It's nice to meet you," he said, taking Scorpius's hand in his own. Uncomfortable, Scorpius released it almost immediately. Pushing his dinner plate away, he rested his chin in his palm and sighed. Storm clouds coalesced angrily overhead; heavy rain had replaced the snow, pelting the stained glass windows so forcefully Scorpius almost expected them to shatter. He lifted his wrist to check the time. It was close to seven, and if the weather continued like this, he wouldn't make it back to the house that evening. Swallowing disappointment, he looked up to find the Potter boy looking at him curiously. He seemed mortified when their eyes met, and hastily looked away. Supposing it would do well to have some company for the evening, Scorpius sighed and said, "Want to play chess?" The question hung there for a few moments unanswered. He raised an eyebrow. "Well?" Finally, the awkward boy seemed to find his voice. "Yes. A-Alright." "Have you ever been down here before?" "N-no." Potter stuttered. "I always wondered what'd be like though." It was becoming increasingly difficult to execute a conversation with someone who was capable only of stammering his responses and

choking on his words. Scorpius supposed he had discovered why the youngest Potter boy was a shrinking violet with few close friends besides his cousin - that irritatingly smart Weasley girl. He was so excruciatingly shy it was a little like a disability. He seemed to be in a perpetual state of mortification, and Scorpius wondered why he had ever agreed to come to the dungeons with him in the first place. Scorpius slowed as they approached their destination, and reached out to touch the other boy's wrist. "Stay here a moment," he ordered. Speechless, the boy nodded, his eyes wide. Scorpius gently pressed him to the wall and left him there: it was strictly against the code of conduct to reveal the passwords of common-rooms to members of other Houses if he was ever found to have revealed his own House's password to a Potter, much less a Gryffindor, his fellow Slytherin's would burn him alive. He rounded the corner and stopped before a seemingly blank stretch of damp stone wall. The damp dungeon walls glittered in the flickering torchlight. "Baby unicorn," he muttered. One of the Slytherin Prefects, a girl whose name he'd never bothered to learn, had picked this month's ridiculous new password. A door, concealed in the stone, appeared before him. He pushed it open and immediately, Knox Temperdon's cat leapt between his legs and jumped through the opening. He rolled his eyes and fought the urge to kick it. "Potter!" he called. He heard no reply. He looked to his left. "Potter?" Once again, nothing. Scorpius shrugged and looked both ways, feeling inexplicably let down. Great. He'd been ditched. By a Potter. Scorpius was about to slam the entrance shut when Potter appeared from behind the door, his eyes on his feet. Scorpius looked at him oddly for a moment before he stepped back to let him pass. All embarrassment was for a moment forgotten the second Albus Potter stepped inside the Slytherin common-room. "Wow..." he whispered, his eyes wide with wonder. "It's so - " "Dark? Green?" Scorpius offered. The boy laughed a little. "Yeah ... kind of." "So," Scorpius said airily, lifting his jumper over his head and draping it casually over an armchair. "Which is bigger?" "What?" "Which common-room is bigger?" Potter looked slightly breathless. "Oh," he said, swallowing, his eyes darting nervously. "Ours is taller but this ... this is a little bigger." Scorpius smiled and plopped down in an armchair, pulling his chess set toward him. It had once been his grandfather's, and had been given to

him on his fifth birthday. His father hadn't approved but his mother had given it to him anyway in secret, insisting that the man had wanted him to have it. It was a thing of beauty and extravagance, just like everything else he'd ever owned, but for some reason it meant more to him than most of his possessions, which were worthless in his eyes. He'd never actually met his grandfather (who still languished in prison, two decades later), but the fact that the man had wanted him to have this meant more than he knew how to express. By all accounts his grandfather had been a foolish man his actions had cost them everything; had sullied the name of which he was supposed to be proud but despite his folly, Scorpius thought he felt an unspoken connection with him. He fiddled with the carved ivory pieces, placing them in their proper positions, and motioned for the Potter boy to sit in the armchair across from him. Potter obliged, lowering himself into the chair slowly as though he was afraid it would bite. "So ... are you the only one still here?" he asked meekly. Scorpius looked up. "Yeah," he muttered distractedly as he set up the board. "My mother, she's on a ... a fashion shoot. My father ..." He cleared his throat. "My father..." He found that he couldn't finish this sentence. The silence was deafening for a few moments. "Why are you still here anyway?" he said, hastily changing the subject. "Where's the rest of your family?" Potter cleared his throat and averted his eyes, his expression suddenly serious. "M-my parents had to go away. My brother and sister went to stay with my Uncle." "So why aren't you with them?" Potter seemed lost for words. "I-I just had a-a lot of work to catch up on," he stuttered unconvincingly. "That's all." Scorpius sensed the boy's uneasiness and quickly dropped the subject. "This is a-a nice chess set," Potter remarked suddenly. Scorpius smirked at his awkward attempt to change the subject. "Thanks," he said. "It was my grandfather's." As soon as the words left his mouth there was a sudden shift in atmosphere. Potter opened his mouth but quickly closed it again, fiddling with his hands. Clearly, he knew very well who Lucius Malfoy was and exactly why he'd been sentenced to rot in prison. Scorpius stared at him, intrigued. "It's okay," he assured him, pushing the chess set into the center of the table. "Forget it." Potter looked as though he wanted to say something but was unable to. Scorpius nudged his foot with his boot and the boy nearly jumped out of his skin at the touch. "It's your move." "Checkmate."

Scorpius had beaten the Potter boy twice already that evening - he was truly woeful at chess, almost as though he'd never even played it. The other boy didn't seem to be particularly competitive, however he laughed at all of Scorpius' jokes, even the ones that weren't particularly funny, and privately, Scorpius wondered just how much he got out. "Fancy another game?" Potter shrugged his shoulders. "Only if you do." Scorpius didn't, and promptly packed the board away. The silence in the room was heavy, though Scorpius didn't mind. After all, here he was, sitting in the Slytherin common-room alone with Harry's Potter's son, and it was all the boy could do to look him in the eye. After several moments of silence, Scorpius, doubting he'd ever have another opportunity like this one, decided to throw caution to the wind and ask the boy all the things he'd always secretly wondered. "Tell me," he said lazily, looking Potter up and down. "What's it like being Harry Potter's son?" Potter bit his lip and dropped his eyes to the stone floor. Flames danced in them, reflecting the crackling fire opposite. "It's alright," he shrugged, fiddling with his hands. "But..." the boy looked thoughtful. "When people look at me they don't really see me. They see him." Scorpius swung his legs over the side of the armchair. "Yes, well I know what that's like," he said, attempting to keep the bitterness from his tone. "Still, it can't be all bad can it? Having a famous hero for a father?" Potter's eyes sought his. "I don't know," he said, a little defensively. "Maybe. What's it like being Draco Malfoy's son?" Scorpius was impressed with his boldness. "You know my father, do you?" "Of course," Potter replied earnestly. "Doesn't everyone?" Scorpius's confidence faltered and Potter looked instantly mortified. "I-I didn't mean that how it sounded!" Scorpius frowned not disgruntled with Potter, but himself and quickly recovered his composure. "Relax," he said quietly, twisting the ring on his finger a discreet nervous habit. "It's okay." His father was, of course, illustrious ... for all the wrong reasons. To his credit, he had never tried to milk it. He had maintained his veil of silence over the years in the interest of the family, trying to salvage whatever shreds of his dignity remained. Thinking of him now, Scorpius rummaged through his pockets. With slightly weak fingers he took two brown cigarettes and held one out to Potter. "Would you like one?" Potter's eyes widened. "Where did you get those?" Scorpius smiled and placed the box back inside his pocket. Without preamble, he said, "I stole them from my father."

Potter laughed. "That's terribly honest of you." Scorpius shrugged. "I'm a terribly honest boy." Surprisingly, the boy he had christened 'Potter' leant forward and took the cigarette from his outstretched hand. Their fingers touched and the smile quickly faded from his face; he drew back to his seat in silence. Potter regarded the cigarette as though he'd never even seen one before. Scorpius leant over the table between them and took the cigar from Potter's hand, placing it between his lips instead. "Here," he said, lighting it with the tip of his wand. "You have to suck the smoke back." Potter's eyes went wide with fear but he did as Scorpius told him to. "There you go." As soon as he drew the smoke back, Potter coughed and spluttered uncontrollably. Scorpius laughed and drew back to his chair. "No matter, Potter," he told him, drawing back on his own cigarette with the ease of long practice. "You'll get used to it." Potter drew back more smoke and coughed again, this time less vigorously. He wrinkled his nose. "These taste terrible," he said hoarsely. "Why on earth do you smoke them?" Scorpius laughed, choking on the smoke he had just inhaled. "Well, I suppose they sort of make me feel like a grown-up." Potter laughed again before falling silent. "Sc-Scorpius?" This was the first time Potter had called him by name. Disliking the sound of it on Potter's lips, Scorpius waved it away. "Please ... call me Malfoy," he insisted. "Everybody else does." "M-Malfoy?" Scorpius smirked, gratified. "Yes?" "Would you like to play chess again tomorrow? In the Gryffindor commonroom?" "Why, the Slytherin common-room's no good for you?" Potter paled at this. "Th-that's not what I meant, I just th-thought maybe you'd like to see where I " Scorpius nudged the other boy's foot with his own. "Relax, would you. I was being humorous." Potter looked confused. "You mean you were j-joking?" Scorpius cleared his throat; once again, the gap between himself and his peers, with their informal speech and horribly modern colloquialisms, was showing. "Right," he agreed. "Joking. I'd like to." Potter let out a low breath. "Alright then," he said stiffly. He rose slowly

from his armchair, absently rubbing his elbow. "It's been nice talking to you but I should really be going. The prefects'll be wondering where I am by now. I'll see you tomorrow?" Scorpius tried to smile and found that it felt unnatural. "Sure." Without pause, Potter spun on his heel and made for the entrance. "Wait," Scorpius called after him, getting to his feet. Potter turned back to him, eyebrows raised. "Yes?" "Want me to walk you back?" Scorpius struggled to imagine someone as nervous as Potter walking through the dungeons alone at night; the thought inexplicably stirred his sympathies. Potter stood rooted to the spot, apparently searching for something to say. "Well?" Scorpius urged, beginning to feel his cheeks grow hot. "No," Potter said eventually. "It's okay. But thanks." Scorpius shrugged. "If you're sure?" After he'd left, Scorpius couldn't help but think that this was, quite possibly, the beginning of something very interesting. The next morning he awoke to the sound of loud meowing coming from somewhere above his head. He slapped a pillow over his ear and groaned, trying to blot out the noise. When it refused to cease he threw the pillow across the room. It hit the door with a thud. Looking up, he saw Knox Temperdon's cat traipsing up and down the head-board. "What?" he growled. "What do you want?" The small grey cat blinked at him and meowed some more. Scorpius dropped his arms and let out a defeated sigh. "You want me to let you out don't you?" The meowing stopped. He groaned. "Fine!" He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his bare feet freezing as they hit the stone. "I can't believe I'm getting out of bed for you," he said murderously, using his toe to shoo the cat, which was now at his feet. He trudged down the stairs and opened the entrance to the commonroom, letting the cat out into the dungeons, all the while making a mental note to cook up a particularly nasty punishment for Knox Temperdon upon his return. After getting dressed and hiking his way out of the dungeons, the first thing he did was check the weather. Light sleet fell from a dark grey sky, clinging to his hair as he stepped out onto the grounds. Ignoring the bitter cold that lashed his face, Scorpius hurriedly made his way through the trees and out of sight of the castle, his heart pounding. The Headmaster was noticeably absent from dinner that evening. Sitting at the head of the table in his stead was the groundskeeper and Care of Magical Creatures Professor, Rubeus Hagrid. The man's sheer

size had always fascinated Scorpius, and no matter what his father's opinion on the man was, he thought it would take a very cruel person to muster hatred for him. He always looked so cheerful and ignorant, his constant good mood seemingly contagious to all those around him. But then again, his father hated almost everybody. Scorpius looked idly to his right and spotted Albus Potter making his way over to the table; his cheeks were flushed as though he'd been running, and his hair hung in damp tendrils all about his face. Scorpius caught the boy's eye and tried to smile. Instead of smiling back, the boy blushed and tripped over his laces. Frowning, Scorpius called, "Over here," and gestured to the seat across from him. He didn't know whether Potter had plans to sit with somebody else, or whether or not they were even well-enough acquainted to make a habit out of sitting together, but as the only other third-year who remained at school over the Christmas break was Potter, Scorpius thought it was worth it for the company. Potter cast an apologetic look at Hagrid before making his way over to him; he was breathing very hard when he sat down across from him. Scorpius tried to look indifferent. "Hi." Potter obviously didn't share his talent for concealing emotion: he only looked embarassed and awkward. "H-hi," he stuttered, knocking over a goblet that was thankfully empty. His cheeks reddening, he righted the goblet with clumsy hands and laughed nervously. "Er - hi." Scorpius shot him a curious look. "Are you feeling alright?" "Sure," Potter answered, sounding breathless. "Great." "Right." Scorpius shrugged and pulled an empty plate towards him, quite aware of the fact the Potter's eyes seemed permanently glued to every move he made. Uncomfortable, he took a large sip of pumpkin juice and eyed Potter over the rim of the glass. "So," he said, trying to make small-talk. "Get up to anything interesting today?" Potter busied himself with pushing his food around on his plate. "Not really," he answered, his voice unusually high. "I had tea at Hagrid's if that counts." Scorpius looked to the half-giant at the head of the table before turning back to Potter. Hilarious images of the two of them wearing pretty dresses, chatting about the weather and sipping tea from dainty porcelain cups inundated his mind. It was all he could do not to laugh nastily. "Right. Sounds ... riveting." Potter averted his eyes, clearly embarrassed. "Where do you think Hugo is, anyway?" he mumbled, obviously wanting to change the subject. Scorpius looked at the spot Professor Hugo usually occupied, now occupied with the groundskeeper (and then some), and shrugged absentmindedly. "Who knows," he said absently. "Out on the turps I'd

imagine." Potter choked on his pumpkin juice and swallowed hard, laughing. "What's that supposed to mean?" Scorpius shoveled more pie into his mouth and shrugged. "He's always out on Thursday's. It's not hard to put two and two together." Potter gave him a questioning look and Scorpius rolled his eyes. Honestly, Gryffindors were so naive. "Thursday's topless-waitress night at the Hog's Head," he explained, pausing to savor the dazed expression that came over Potter's face. "Topless night?" "Yes, Potter, topless night," Scorpius teased, unable to resist. "You know, ladies, serving drinks with their boo" "Yes, yes, alright," Potter said, clamping his hands over his ears. "I know what topless means." He went dangerously red, and Scorpius smirked into his desert. "Are there many Gryffindors left?" Scorpius's legs ached as they made their way up to the infamous Gryffindor Tower. For the first time in his life, he was grateful that his common-room was in the dungeons. "No," Potter replied distractedly, bounding up the stairs two at a time. Obviously, he was used to it. "Just me, a fourth year, and a couple of seventh years." Sensing they were getting closer now, Scorpius hesitated. "Are you sure they won't mind?" Potter turned to him, confused. Scorpius noticed he had pumpkin juice dribbled down the front of his robes. He ignored this and pressed on. "The others ... the other Gryffindors, I mean, do you think they'll mind having a Slytherin in their common-room?" To his surprise, Potter laughed this off. "Come on," he said, "it's not like you're a noxious weed." Scorpius privately disagreed with this statement. "Perhaps I am." Potter shook his head at him. "They won't mind." They were drawing closer to a large portrait the Fat Lady. She was chatting animatedly inside her frame with another woman; she stopped and looked the pair of them up and down with obvious annoyance as they approached, and Potter stopped a little way up the corridor and turned to look at Scorpius apologetically. "I better um...y'know..." Scorpius rolled his eyes and urged him forward, palms flat against the other boy's chest. "Just go," he advised impatiently. "I'll stay here." Potter gave a small smile and hurried the rest of the way alone, leaving

Scorpius behind. He leant forward to whisper the password into the Fat Lady's ear, and the painting swung open immediately, revealing the opening to the Gryffindor common-room. Instantly, curiosity overtook him, and Scorpius found himself hurrying forward. He was about to see inside the famous Gryffindor common-room with his own eyes. Potter waited for him to catch up and guided him through the entrance with one hand on his elbow. Scorpius's vision was momentarily assaulted by the overwhelming red and gold color scheme. Where the Slytherin common-room was dark and understated, theirs was light and bold. It had a slightly quainter feel to it, and the atmosphere felt far more relaxed. The room was empty by this stage, a fact Scorpius was rather grateful for, and he allowed Potter to lead him to the chairs by the fire; it crackled merrily in the grate, casting its light all over the room, bathing the two soft-looking armchairs closest to it in warm golden tones. Everything looked as though it was designed with comfort in mind: beanbags, tables and cushions were scattered randomly across the room, creating a pleasant yet disorderly effect. Potter settled into his chair. "Chess?" Scorpius, still enthralled with being inside another House's commonroom - the very one in which Harry Potter himself had once lived and slept - nodded slowly, took off his cloak, and hung it over the back of the chair. "Chess it is." Later, when he was bored out of his mind, Scorpius moved his chess piece and pushed the set closer to Potter, sighing heavily. By the looks of it he was going to win. Again. "So what's this Winter Ball thing you were talking about?" Scorpius shrugged. "Checkmate," he said without enthusiasm - playing chess with Potter was nothing if anti-climactic: the boy never even looked upset at losing, only impressed. He drew a deep breath and relaxed into his chair. "My family holds an annual Winter Ball. It's all rather boring, really. Full of old fuddy-duddies and high-society wenches." Potter looked introspective, his lip caught between his teeth. "It doesn't sound boring." Scorpius yawned loudly and stretched, placing his feet on the table between them. "Well it is," he said shortly. "But far be it from me to dissuade you. You're quite welcome to come." Potter looked up, his eyes suddenly bright, and smiled. "Really?" "Sure, but it's your funeral. Like I said, it's boring." Potter shrugged and rested his chin in his palm. "I don't think so. It sounds sort of exciting and mysterious, actually. My family, we ... we never do anything like that. It's always a house full of cousins, mum

drinking too much wine, and my father and uncles all pissed and singing out 'Drunken Sailor'. We're not as glamorous as the world likes to think." Scorpius watched Potter intently, and wondered briefly how much Witch Weekly would be willing to pay for that story. He opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by Potter. "My parents work at the Ministry too ... do you think they'll be invited?" There was an awkward moment of silence. The unspoken conflict that they both knew existed between them - a rich history full of family conflict, hatred and enmity - reared its ugly head once more. Scorpius cleared his throat uncomfortably and twisted the ring on his finger. "I don't know. Do you want them to be?" Potter shrugged. "Maybe." Scorpius took a deep breath and drew two sticks of Drooble's Best Blowing Gum from his pocket, throwing one at Potter. The action caught the other boy unawares, and the gum hit the side of his head instead. Scorpius pretended not to notice. "Look," he said, "I think I know what you need to cheer up." Potter unwrapped the gum slowly, his expression confused. "You do?" "Yes," Scorpius lied, getting to his feet. He was fairly sure this was the World's Daftest Plan, but whatever the reason, he knew both of them could use some good old fashioned rule-breaking at this juncture. "You need to get drunk." He returned from the dungeons twenty minutes later carrying a small package wrapped in brown paper. Potter, who was still sitting in the same armchair Scorpius had left him in, gulped nervously at the sight of it, and Scorpius paused for a moment. There was one difference in the dcor. Potter had changed out of his robes and was now wearing an ugly, bright-red, handknitted jumper, emblazoned with a large yellow 'A'. Scorpius buried the urge to say something snide, but Potter had already caught him looking at it: "Shut up," the boy mumbled defensively. "My grandma knitted it for me." Scorpius smirked as he collapsed into the armchair across from him. "What?" he asked innocently. "I didn't say anything." "No," Potter agreed, looking slightly amused, "but you were thinking it." "Nonsense," Scorpius told him distractedly, tearing at the brown paper parcel. He dusted off the bottle of Firewhiskey and placed it on the table in between them. Potter stared at it as though it were a pound of drugs. "Where did you get that?" he whispered darkly. Scorpius raised an eyebrow and unscrewed the bottle. "I stole it," he answered without being asked. "And you don't have to whisper, you know; there's nobody here." "If you were caught "

Scorpius rolled his eyes. "Like that's going to happen." He pushed the bottle toward Potter, who was still wearing an expression of alarm. "Go on," he urged, looking from Potter to the bottle. "Last one to drink's a wet ponce." Potter shook his head vigourously. "No, I can't. If my father - " Scorpius rolled his eyes. "Potter, you're father's not here, and - hold on," he said. "You have had whiskey before, haven't you?" Potter gave him a weak smile. Scorpius sighed. "Good lord," he muttered. He seized the bottle himself and took a deep drink. The liquid burned his throat at first, but after a few seconds the fire receded until all he felt was a familiar dull glow spreading through his limbs. "See?" He handed the bottle to Potter. "Wasn't so hard. Your turn now." Potter eyed the bottle suspiciously. "Will it hurt?" Scorpius regarded him with deliberate derision. "No. Now don't be a baby; just do it." Perhaps spurred on by the insult, Potter picked up the bottle and raised it to his lips. He closed his eyes tightly and took a short swig. His eyes remained shut and he cringed, perhaps at the burning sensation. When he spoke again, his voice was hoarse. "That was god awful," he rasped, handing the bottle back to Scorpius, who immediately took another drink. "Don't be silly," Scorpius muttered, handing the bottle back to Potter. "Everybody does it." Potter took the bottle hesitantly and stared at it. "Oh for - come on, Potter." Potter snatched the bottle, scowling, and raised it to his lips. "Fine." An hour later, Potter, who was clearly not used to alcohol in any amount, had his head hanging out the open window. "Are you alright, Potter?" "I'm fine," Potter choked, pulling his head back in for a moment. He was terribly pale; his lips were bluish and bits of snow were caught in his hair. Scorpius felt a sudden surge of pity for him. "Bloody hell," he muttered, hauling himself out of his chair. "No you're not, come here." "It's okay, I just need some fresh air," Potter argued, stumbling away from him. Scorpius raced over to the window and grabbed him around the waist. "Don't, just ... stop. Come on, I'll take you to the bathroom."

"No it's alright," Potter protested weakly, his knees giving out under him. Scorpius struggled to stabilize him he threw the boy's arm over his shoulder and held him about the waist. "Don't talk, alright?" he advised, slowly pulling Potter toward the stairs. "C'mon, you're a mess." Potter went with him but only grudgingly; Scorpius virtually had to carry him up the stairs and to the bathroom, where he immediately collapsed around the toilet bowl. Scorpius knelt down beside him and held back his hair, which was falling in his face. He supposed it was the least he could do, though it didn't make the task any more pleasant. After several minutes of retching Potter groaned, his head lolling to the side. "I'm sorry," he muttered thickly. Cringing, Scorpius wiped his mouth with a paper towel and let go of his hair. "Don't be," he said, patting his hand. "It's my fault; I shouldn't have given it to you without warning you. It can be nasty your first time." Potter coughed. "No," he argued. "S'not your fault. I-I should know better." Scorpius was confused. He got to his feet and helped Potter up with one hand. "What do you mean?" Potter sniffed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes were glassy. "This happens to my mum all the time." Scorpius hid his surprise. "Your mother?" "Yeah," Potter mumbled, shuffling over to the basin to rinse out his mouth. "She likes her gin." "Right," Scorpius said, taking a small white washcloth from the rack and dampening it under the faucet what his mother would've given for that particular piece of gossip - "Who'd have thought?" Potter had his head in his hands, both elbows planted firmly on the sink. His body swayed dangerously from side to side, and he groaned as if he were in pain. Scorpius stood dutifully beside him. "Come here," he said quietly, guiding Potter toward him by his elbows. Gently, he turned his face upwards. Potter's eyes were unfocused and weary. Scorpius couldn't help but spare a thought for his expensive cashmere sweater, and sincerely hoped Potter was done with the vomiting. He wiped the other boy's face down with a cool wash-cloth, over his forehead, his cheeks, and down to his lips. "Better?" Potter groaned something unintelligible and closed his eyes. Scorpius wiped the cloth over his neck to his collarbone. Once done he tossed the cloth aside and steadied Potter by his shoulders he had begun to sway dangerously from side to side again. "C'mon; bedtime." Scorpius reached for his elbow - the sooner he got out of here the better; he still had a letter to owl tonight - but before he had

the opportunity to do so, Potter raised his head and looked at him curiously, his eyes unfocused. Scorpius raised an eyebrow. "What?" Potter reached out to touch his cheek, and whispered, "Am I dead?" Scorpius rolled his eyes at him and threw the other boy's arm over his shoulder. "No," he said. "Not quite." With Potter out like a light in the safety of his dormitory, Scorpius turned to leave, but not before something red and green caught his eye: Sitting atop the other boy's dresser was the lotus he'd folded out of a Christmas napkin and given to him over dinner. Disturbed, Scorpius looked over at the bed where Potter was already soundly asleep. Why had he kept it? He felt something very much like foreboding settle in his stomach, and without really thinking about why, he picked up the lotus, crushed it in his fist, and tossed it to the floor. He took one last glance at Potter's unconcious form before he firmly closed the door behind him, an unfamiliar heaviness settling in his stomach. Lucius Malfoy, Azkaban Wizard's Prison Grandfather, My name is Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy. I am thirteen years old and in my third year at Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. In case nobody has written to you lately, merry Christmas. S.H.M "I wrote to him." The woman with the long white hair smiled, her cold hands framing his face, and stroked his cheek with such tenderness that he closed his eyes, content just to feel. After a few moments he opened them, his heart sinking inside his chest. "Do you want to go back?" It always hurt to have to see her go, but he knew that it was painful for her to stay here where she didn't belong. The woman said nothing, only touched his cheek and smiled. Scorpius nodded and bowed his head. The stone felt warm in his hand, and he knew it was time. But not just yet. "Wait," he said. The woman was still there before him. Scorpius's eyes stung. "Why? Why did you have to die?"

The woman looked at him with sadness, and for a moment he thought he saw guilt behind her eyes. He knew better than to wait for her answer. Gripping the Stone tightly, he turned it over in his palm, and when he opened his eyes again she was gone.

Chapter Two
Chapter by Ketamine (midnightlily)

"And even if you were in some prison, the walls of which let none of the sounds of the world come to your senses - would you not then still have your childhood, that precious, kingly possession, that treasure-house of memories?" - Rainer Maria Rilke It was Neville Longbottom's sixth year as Herbology Professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. For a long time now, plants had been his life, his passion, the only thing he'd ever understood. He had never been happier than he was right here, teaching the students all about the most mysterious and wonderful of magical plants, having a schedule, a place, being part of something. But lately, his peaceful routine had ground to a rather stuttering halt: every time he rounded a corner, turned his back, or left the greenhouses, he was confronted with that painfully reminiscent whiteblonde head; and every time, he felt as though he was eleven years old all over again. Of course, common sense assured him this was not the same boy who had made his childhood miserable so long ago. This boy's face was less sharp and angular, more beautiful than his father's had been, yet in some ways they were identical: the arrogant tilt to the chin, the regal carriage, slight frame, and of course the gleaming hair. This boy was a Malfoy, and for some reason Neville couldn't understand, he seemed to have developed an overly keen interest in the Herbology Professor. It was the Christmas break, and Neville had been dividing his time preparing for the coming term's lessons, taking care of the maturing Mandrakes and arranging exams for his Newt class. The day was dark, the icy cold snaking its way amid the spaces between doors and windows, in spite of all the Warming charms he'd cast about the greenhouse. He shivered as he graded his papers; there was a mountain of work to be done before the students' return, and only a week and a half to get through it all. There was a light tap on the door of the greenhouse; Neville didn't bother to look up, and yet the tapping continued: perfect and rhythmical. His breath quickened. He looked up at the flimsy greenhouse door, buffeting with the gale outside, and reminded himself to use his brain. Sensibly chalking it up to little more than bad weather, he took a deep breath and turned back to his papers. But it wasn't long before fear gripped him again, as the door slowly

creaked open from the outside. Palms sweating, Neville cursed himself for being so utterly silly as the chink in the door grew wider, revealing the swaying white winterscape outside. Breathing shallowly, he got up to shut the door - properly this time - when the boy appeared from behind it, his body trembling, his hair out of place. The shy smile he wore didn't reach his eyes, and Neville felt his fear quickly turn to anger. "Professor Longbottom?" Neville squared his shoulders and held the door steady, determined to remain unimpressed. For a boy so small Neville towered over him at sixfoot-four the child had an overwhelming presence. His demeanour was perfectly polite, yet betrayed no diffidence, and though Neville knew quite well that this wasn't the same Malfoy, it didn't make the boy's cold stare any less unnerving. He took a deep breath and reminded himself to curb his temper. After all, he knew he'd be no better than Professor Snape had been all those years ago when he'd punished Harry for being the son of a man he'd hated, if now he did the very same thing to this child. Still, something about the boy unnerved him. He cleared his throat and slipped into 'teacher mode'. "What are you doing here?" he asked sternly. "Get back to the castle, boy; it's freezing out here." "I'm sorry, Professor," the boy told him, lowering his gaze. "I just wanted to see what you were doing. There's not much happening in there." He gestured toward the castle, his hand slipping from the pocket of his robes, and Neville was suddenly alarmed by how pale he was. "Mr. Malfoy," he began, crossing his arms against the harsh wind. "What is it? What do you want?" The Malfoy boy's eyes remained fixed to the ground. "I'm sorry, Professor," he mumbled, gnawing at his lip. "I think you'd find me awfully silly if I told you the truth." Neville rolled his eyes and urged the boy to go on. "Out with it, Mr. Malfoy," he sighed, lifting his wrist to check his watch. "I don't have all day." The boy shrugged and stepped a little closer to the door. This close, Neville thought he didn't so much resemble his father as an oversized porcelain doll. "It's silly, really," the boy said. "I suppose I admire you, that's all." Though dumbfounded, Neville remained sceptical. "Might I be frank for a moment?" The boy looked up at him, and Neville was struck by the emptiness behind his eyes. It was like being splashed with a bucket of freezing water. He'd only seen that look once before: on Inferi. Swallowing, he said, "I don't know what you're up to, but if you'd like something from me, why don't you try being honest?" The boy looked thoughtful at this, and tilted his head to one side. "I am being honest," he said with a frown, and added, "We learned all about

you in History of Magic last month." Neville cleared his throat at this reminder. The War had recently been added to the school's History curriculum, and Neville had been surprised to learn he was mentioned as a notable personality - alongside Harry Potter of course. "Really," the boy went on, "I ... I thought you were very brave." Neville faltered for a moment, unsure how to respond. The boy stared at him mildly, burying his chin in his scarf. "What's the matter, Professor?" he asked, his voice jittery with cold. "Don't you like me?" Neville, feeling defeated, took a deep breath and stepped back against the door, ushering the boy in. "Go on, then," he muttered. "I suppose a cup of tea wouldn't hurt." For a moment the boy stood still, as though hardly believing his luck. Neville raised an eyebrow. "Well come on, boy," he said impatiently, thoroughly tired of the cold. "Take a seat opposite my desk." ~o~ The greenhouse, usually warm and humid, was overwhelmingly draughty. There were warm patches here and there, but Scorpius suspected that Professor Longbottom a notoriously incompetent wizard hadn't cast his Warming charms properly. This resulted in the both of them being almost as cold as it was outside. Scorpius followed the Professor over to his desk, which stood hidden behind multiple pots and frostbitten plants at the far end of the greenhouse, and hesitantly pulled out a rickety old chair. The desk was covered in papers and bits of plants, potted dirt and dragon-hide gloves, and Scorpius cringed, not understanding how anyone could possibly focus amongst such filth. Still, he had a plan, and the plan was working. Scorpius had watched Professor Longbottom half-heartedly over the past few weeks, wondering whether the man would make any sort of confidant. Although he remained unsure, Scorpius knew he needed guidance from someone who had lived when the Stone had last raised the dead. He needed to know whether it was possible to bring her back. Scorpius watched the Professor intently as he bumbled about with his wand; he'd conjured a hot pot of tea but only half a teacup, and Scorpius had to try very hard not to smirk. After several attempts, each causing him to grow increasingly flustered, the Professor finally managed to conjure a working pair of porcelain cups. He poured steaming tea into the best one and pushed it across to Scorpius with an unsteady hand. "Did you enjoy Christmas?" he asked

uneasily, his voice a few octaves higher than usual. Scorpius looked sullen without much effort. "Not really, Sir, no," he admitted, raising the hot cup to his lips. Professor Longbottom sipped thoughtfully from his own cup. "Is that so?" "I was alone," Scorpius explained shortly. "My parents, they ... had more pressing business to attend to." Scorpius sat still as Professor Longbottom regarded him pityingly. "Well no matter, son," he said uncomfortably. "I'm sure it's for the best. Did they send you lots of nice gifts?" Scorpius resented being spoken to like a toddler, but said, "A few." There was a short moment of silence before he spoke again. "What did you do over Christmas, Professor?" he asked politely. "Did you visit your parents? His question had the desired effect. Professor Longbottom looked suddenly stricken. "No," he said stiffly. "They, ah ... they passed some time ago." Scorpius tried to look appropriately sympathetic. "I'm sorry to hear that, Sir." Professor Longbottom waved this away. "No matter," he said feebly. "There's no need for that; you didn't know." He cleared his throat. "So ... how is your father?" Scorpius couldn't help but notice that Professor Longbottom now wouldn't meet his eyes. "He's well," Scorpius told him shortly. "Or so I hope." Professor Longbottom looked suspicious or concernedScorpius couldn't decide which. "Is there something the matter?" Scorpius looked up and shook his head. "What? No, Sir," he lied. "Nothing at all." Professor Longbottom looked unconvinced. He drained the rest of his tea in one gulp and checked his watch. "You'd better be getting along," he said kindly, setting down his cup. "I've got a lot to do and it's far too cold out here for a child. Look at you, you're turning blue." Scorpius touched a finger to his cheek. He despised his fair coloring; the cold always left him looking like a bloodless corpse. Professor Longbottom moved to stand and Scorpius decided it was now or never. "Do you miss your parents?" he blurted. The Professor paled, obviously taken aback. "Pardon me?" Scorpius drew a deep breath. "Do you miss them?" he repeated, feeling the blood thrum beneath his skin.

Professor Longbottom narrowed his eyes at him. "Well of course I do," he said slowly. "Why do you ask?" Scorpius was beginning to wonder whether he'd made a monumental mistake. But it was too late now, and so with this in mind he plunged further with abandon. "What if you could bring them back?" he asked, slowly rising from his chair. Professor Longbottom's eyes flickered toward the door. Scorpius saw the muscles move in his throat as he swallowed. "What if you could see them again?" Professor Longbottom backed away from him, his skin chalk-white. "I think you should leave now." Scorpius recognized defeat and gave up the fight, disappointment, bitter and heavy, settling over him. "Fine," he said bitterly, heading for the door. One hand on the knob, he turned back to the Professor, who looked like he'd just seen the Dark Lord. "Did Harry Potter ever tell you where he dropped the Resurrection Stone?" ~o~ "Your father's bin writin' non-stop," said Hagrid, pouring Albus another cup of steaming black tea. "Rock cake?" Albus politely declined and sipped his tea in silence, determined - once again - not to have this conversation. Hagrid looked utterly lost; Albus knew how much the man loved his father. "Why won't you talk to him, Al? What's he done?" Albus tried very hard not to let the growing lump in his throat get the better of him. It wasn't his father - Albus loved his father. He just couldn't stand to look at him right now. "It's killin' yer mother," Hagrid went on. "Not havin' you there for Christmas." The last thing Albus needed was another guilt trip. He knew that this was all his fault, that everyone's pain was caused by him, but he couldn't go home. Not yet. "Talk to me, Al..." Albus bit his lip and forced himself to look up at his father's oldest friend. "Sorry, Hagrid," he mumbled. "You wouldn't understand." Unable to bear Hagrid's hurt expression, he turned away in frustration. He couldn't take another day of this the shame, the dread, the fear that his father would someday find out. It consumed his every waking moment. He took a deep breath, and for Hagrid's sake, helped himself to a rock cake. "It's not you, Hagrid," he said gently, scratching at the wooden table with his fingernail. "I like sitting here with you. It helps." Hagrid smiled behind the bush of his beard and poured himself more tea. Albus noticed that his eyes were very bloodshot, almost as though he'd been crying which, Albus reminded himself, he probably had.

Despite Hagrid's alarming size, he was a very emotional person. "I just wished yer'd tell me what's botherin' yer, Al," the man sighed. "I know I could help." Albus felt his eyes stinging, and before he knew it the battle was lost. Hagrid looked positively alarmed by his tears. He knocked over his cup of tea in his rush to be by his side, and Albus tried to pull himself together. His father had always told him that crying never solved anything, and he'd been right. He shook his head and wiped his nose with the sleeve of his robe. "I'm alright," he said hoarsely. "Honestly, I don't know what's come over me." When Hagrid sat back down, a look of deep concern had come over him. "I think I'd better write to yer Dad, Al," he said, reaching for a blank square of parchment. Heart pounding, Albus leapt out of his seat and pulled the parchment toward him. "No! Don't. I'll write to Dad," he lied, sitting down slowly. "Please. Everything's going to be okay soon, Hagrid. I promise you." Hagrid eyed him shiftily. "Are you in trouble, Al?" Albus shook his head. "No," he told him firmly. "Everything's fine, I'm just ... there's a lot going on. I'll explain later, just please ... All I need is some time." "I'm just worried about you, is all," Hagrid said, biting into a rock cake. "You're all alone here without yer family, and I hate seein' you like this, Al." Albus rested his chin in his palm. He hated this too, but it couldn't be any other way. "I heard yer Aunt Fleur had a fit when she learned you weren't comin' to Christmas dinner," laughed Hagrid, obviously trying to cheer him up. "Yer shoulda seen her, Al. Shell Cottage looked a right palace once she was done with it. And yer cousins are missin' yer too," he continued with a sigh. "Specially Louis; he looked a real mess." Albus must have gone very white, because Hagrid immediately asked whether something was wrong. Albus shook his head. "No. Nothing." He lifted his tea cup with a shaking hand. It was hearing the name again that had done it - even if Hagrid never pronounced it right. It always sent Auntie Fleur spinning with rage according to her, Louis's name was always to be pronounced in the proper French: Loo-ee. ~o~ It was one of the best summers Albus could remember. His parent's had gone to Madrid, and left the children at Shell Cottage. Albus didn't mind: Aunt Fleur's French cooking was to die for - they had the ocean right on their doorstep, the freedom to wander and explore, and funny Uncle Bill to come home to at night.

Even though the house was somewhat in turmoil that final week Victoire's and Teddy's wedding was coming up just before school went back, and no matter how hard anybody tried, they just couldn't get her or her mother to calm down Albus didn't see what the big deal was. Victoire would look beautiful in a garbage bag all of Aunt Fleur's children where irritatingly lucky that way, and Victoire was no exception. Still, The Hunt for the Perfect Dress was a recurring theme that summer, and Aunt Fleur hadn't exactly helped the situation: As the date of her daughter's wedding drew closer she'd been almost unbearable, running around like a madwoman and speaking in rapid French, something she only ever did when she was under stress. But the Potter children were occupied with much less pressing entertainments. Over the summer, Albus had even been getting along with James, which was a miracle in itself. Every day they would go down to the water together and swim, play water polo, kick the 'football' (a game of Uncle Dean's that'd stuck), or teach Lily how to play Quidditch. Everything was perfect, only there was one thing missing: Louis. For Albus it had been hardest without him. He was close with Louis, far more than his other cousins, so when Louis had left school and headed to Paris not long afterwards, Albus had tried to ignore the searing emptiness that accompanied every thought of him. For as long as he could remember summers at Shell Cottage had been spent in Louis's company. The house, though beautiful, was no manor. Auntie Fleur had always economized by putting Lily in with Victoire, James in Dominique's room, and Albus with Louis only this time, he slept in Louis's room alone, without his cousin there in the dark making jokes, the steady sound of his breathing for comfort. Louis was his favorite person in the whole world, and his absence left a noticeable hole in the household. Albus comforted himself with the thought that Louis would be back before he knew it, for a visit at least. And he was not disappointed. That first night Louis had been far too preoccupied to pay much attention to Albus. Irked, he had laid down to rest in Louis's bed alone, listening to the sound his laughter made as it echoed through the house. He'd woken later on that night when Louis's weight settled beside him; his body was warm next to his as he crawled beneath the doona. He felt Louis's fingertips touch the lids of his eyes, and his mouth stretched into smile. Laughing, he batted his hand away and flipped onto his side. "For a while there I thought you'd forgotten me." They play-fought with each other's hands, Louis laughing quietly. "And how could I forget about you, dbile?" Albus dropped his hands, his smile fading, while Louis fell strangely quiet. "I missed you, Louis." For a while there was no answer. Albus wondered if Louis had fallen asleep; after all, he'd had too much to drink - or he certainly smelled like it. But from the darkness Louis's cold hand settled on his cheek, startling him. "I missed you too."

*** Having Louis back lifted everybody's spirits: Victoire wasn't nearly as stressed, Aunt Fleur was glowing with happiness, and Uncle Bill was home more. Aunt Fleur was even making bouillabaisse and Aunt Fleur only ever made bouillabaisse when she was in a particularly good mood. Albus watched from the table as Lily ran around the kitchen, Louis chasing her. Laughing, he lifted her easily with one hand, and she giggled uncontrollably and squealed as Louis spun her around and around in the air. "Careful, Louis!" Auntie Fleur growled as she passed, floating a boiling pot of freshly caught fish in the air with her wand. "You will make me drop ze pot!" Louis let Lily down then, laughing as he kissed his mother on the cheek. She shook her head in disapproval but Albus saw her secret smile, and it made him smile in turn: That was the effect Louis had on people he made them happy. Being around him was like basking in the late afternoon sun; everybody crowded around just to feel a bit of his warmth. Louis caught his eye then and winked, disappearing through the back door and into the garden, and Albus felt a dull heat spread upwards from his neck toward his face. "Go out back and help your cousin with ze Noms," Aunt Fleur said to him, snapping her fingers in front of his face. "Go!" Albus, startled, shook his head and raised an eyebrow at her. "Noms?" "Noms!" Aunt Fleur repeated loudly, looking agitated. "They are overrunning ze garden!" Understanding washed over him and he smiled. "Oh," Albus said slowly. "You mean gnomes." "Noms!" Aunt Fleur yelled shrilly, pointing to the back door, her blue eyes wild. "Go!" Albus found Louis out in the back garden, crouched over an overgrown thicket. He'd thrown off his shirt and tied back his hair, his hands thrust into the brush, braving the gnomes gloveless. Albus smiled as he approached. Although it would have been only too easy for him to put himself above such menial labor as this, Louis had never been too good for anything, had never thought he was better than anybody else, even if he'd been Quidditch captain and head boy, had hair the color of spun gold, skin browned with too much sun, and eyes blue as forget-me-nots. He was the most perfect person Albus could imagine and yet he never acted as though he bought into any of it, not for a minute. Sometimes Albus wondered whether he even knew just how wonderful he was. "Need help?"

Louis looked over his shoulder, his skin flushed, and winced slightly. "Did mother tell you to come out here and help me with the noms?" he asked drily. "Ouch," he hissed before Albus could respond, tossing a screeching gnome over the fence. "It bit me." Albus dropped to his knees and put a hand on Louis's shoulder, his eyes wide. "Are you alright? Do you want me to " Louis started laughing at him, and Albus frowned. "What?" "It's just a gnome, Al," Louis told him breathlessly, tossing another one over the fence. He wiped his hands on his trousers and caught Albus's chin. "You worry too much." Albus bowed his head, suddenly embarrassed. When he opened his mouth to speak, Louis cut him off by lurching forward, his lips brushing his cheek. Instantly, Albus felt his cheeks grow hot; he scrambled to his feet as Louis's smile faded, their friendly banter fading to awkward silence. "What was that for--" "Go inside," Louis interrupted, turning back to the hedge. "I've got this." Albus watched him intently. "Are you sure?" "Al," Louis repeated, sterner this time. "I've got it." Feeling as though he'd been dismissed, Albus left him and trudged back to the house alone, thoroughly confused. Later on that night, he put off going to bed by taking the longest bath of his life. When he was certain the entire house was sleeping, he tiptoed down the corridor to Louis's bedroom, feeling along the walls. When he reached it, he pushed open the door, careful not to make a sound, when Louis spoke first. "I was wondering when you were going to come out of there." Startled, Albus snatched up his pyjama top and threw it over his shoulders. "I thought you'd be asleep." "Lumos." Albus's eyes struggled to adjust to the light. When they did, he saw that Louis was sat up in bed, the sheets pooled around his waist, wearing an expression Albus had never before seen on his face. "Are you alright?" he asked him. Louis looked distant. "Yeah, 'course I am." Albus dressed uneasily. "You don't look alright," he remarked, losing his footing as he pulled on his pants. "Did something happen?" Louis looked at him and smiled, though it seemed wistful. "I didn't startle you today, did I?" Albus, still bemused, threw himself down on the mattress beside him, not bothering with the duvet, and propped himself up on his elbow. "What are you talking about?"

"When I kissed you." He swallowed hard and tried to laugh off the awkward reminder. "What?" he asked, his heart thumping. "No, what would ... what would make you think that?" Louis looked down at his hands. "Nothing, I just ... I thought you were avoiding me." "Avoiding you?" "Let me explain." Albus's heart pounded away inside his chest. Louis was confusing him now: his words, the expression on his face, it was all unfamiliar. "You don't have to explain anything, Louis," he said finally. "Merlin, what's the big deal?" Louis fell back to the pillows and covered his eyes with the heel of his hand. "I'm so stupid," he hissed. "I knew I shouldn't have said anything, now I ... I can't take it back." "Take what back?" Albus spluttered, growing exasperated. He grabbed at Louis's wrist and wrenched it away from his face. "Louis, I don't get it. Did James put you up to this or something? Is this some kind of joke?" But Louis only looked at him with that same unfamiliar expression and closed his hand over Albus's own. "Louis," Albus repeated, beginning to grow uneasy now. "Are you feeling alright?" Louis's hand tightened around his own and he smiled, though it looked forced. "Yeah," he muttered, shaking his head. "I'm just being an idiot; forget I said anything." Albus let out a breath he'd been holding, at once relieved. He shoved Louis's shoulder, his heart still pounding. "Don't do that," he said halfheartedly, forcing down the fear that had risen inside of him. "Git." Louis shoved him back with far less force, instigating a shoving-war, before Albus fell onto his body laughing, certain he was being pulled into a hug. But Louis's face was suddenly inches from his own, the sound of his laughter fading into silence. He leaned forward the moment Albus turned his head and kissed his cheek, his lips lingering in a way they hadn't before. Albus froze, suddenly hyper-aware of everything in the room: the colors in the wallpaper above Louis's head, the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks beneath the cliff, the roughness of Louis's cheek against his own, and the sound of his own breathing, heavy and labored. His cousin's hand was at his elbow now, holding him still, and Albus was very suddenly reminded of the fundamental difference between them: Louis was much stronger than he was. If he saw any reason to keep him here, Albus didn't stand a chance. He opened his mouth to speak when Louis cut him off: "Don't run away from me." Albus's breath caught in his throat. "I ... I wasn't going to."

Louis released him slowly and pushed him back to the mattress. "Louis," Albus began, his uneasiness betraying him. "Knock it off. It's not funny anymore." Louis regarded him strangely, the light behind his eyes suddenly not so bright. "Are you afraid?" Albus swallowed hard, now thoroughly unnerved. "Yes," he admitted. "Why?" "Because you won't let me go, idiot. Now knock it off," he complained, struggling half-heartedly. "Come on, Louis, let me go!" Louis pressed his chest, gently but firmly, into the mattress, prohibiting his escape. "I won't hurt you," he whispered, wearing an expression that was unrecognizable to Albus. "Please," he said, lifting one hand to his cheek. "Just trust me." And then he kissed him again, only this time on the lips. Albus scratched at his chest and spluttered, utterly scandalized. "What are you doing?" he spluttered, attempting to throw the older boy off of him. "Louis, get off me!" Louis put a hand over his mouth and hushed him. "Keep it down," he warned, still wearing that face that wasn't his own. "Do you want to wake Mum up?" Albus stopped struggling, and when Louis finally removed his hand, Albus shoved his shoulder, his heart pounding so fast he thought it might burst from his chest. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he hissed, blood pounding in his ears. "If James put you up to this, I swear..." "He didn't," Louis said at once, and Albus saw him swallow nervously. "It's ... I ... I've seen the way you look at me." The words tumbled from his lips all at once, as though he'd been waiting a long time to say them. Albus was staggered, even if his cousin's words stirred the guilt that until now had lain dormant at the pit of his stomach. So Louis had noticed him staring, then. "I don't know what you're talking about," he lied. Louis's expression wavered, and for a moment Albus thought he saw despair in his eyes. "It's alright," Louis told him quickly, his hands moving over Albus's back in a way that made him feel uncomfortable. "I ... I'm sure you've seen the way I look at you. Don't tell me you haven't." Albus, overcome with both fear and confusion, shoved at him, his cheeks throbbing. "I don't know what you're talking about," he lied. "Now g-get off me." Louis bowed his head, his hair tickling Albus's cheek. Immediately, Albus felt guilt for upsetting him, even in light of the situation. "Don't do this," Louis whispered.

"Do what?" said Albus, suddenly aware that Aunt Fleur's room was less than eight feet away. "Make me feel like this. Like I'm going crazy or ... or imagining it. I ... I love you," Louis said desperately, throwing an arm over Albus's stomach and dragging him closer. "I know I shouldn't have done that but I ... I thought you'd understand." "I love you too," Albus said, breathing hard. "But don't." "Don't what?" Albus looked at the boy he had idolized most of his life and tried to swallow down the growing lump in his throat. "Don't make it like this. Just ... please. Can we pretend this didn't happen?" "Al, it's ... it's not wrong if we both want it," Louis whispered against his cheek. Albus felt a shiver run along his spine. "I ... Louis, don't," he stuttered, troubled by the hard warmth of Louis's chest against his side, how close they were. As young as he was, he understood this much: if Louis wanted to do what Albus thought he wanted to do, there would be no coming back from this. Their relationship would be ruined forever. Louis's hand was hot at the back of his neck now, his breathing rhythmic against his skin. "You're so beautiful," he murmured. "Please. I won't hurt you, I ... I promise I'd never hurt you." Albus swallowed hard. "I'm not afraid you'll hurt me," he confessed, trying to ignore the conflicting feelings coursing through his body. "I'm afraid you've ruined everything. I ... I'm afraid you don't know what you're doing - " Louis looked him square in the eye, his expression fierce. "No," he said decidedly, shaking his head. "No. Don't even think that, Al." He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. "I know exactly what I'm doing. Don't think I haven't spent every hour of every day, for I don't know how long, thinking about exactly what would happen if I ever went through with this, how it might ruin you, ruin us." "Then why?" "I'm a man who's got nothing to lose." Albus felt a sudden rush of anger. "Nothing to lose?" he repeated venomously. "What about me?" He shoved at him. "Aren't you afraid of losing me?" Louis smiled wistfully and shook his head. "You're the only person who loves me, Al," he said quietly. "You're the only thing I've ever been sure of. I can't lose you. I won't." Albus was stunned, and angrily, tried to turn away. "What are you talking about? Everyone loves you, Louis," he said bitterly. "You're

perfect." Louis kissed the back of his neck and Albus didn't know whether to be disgusted or enthralled. "No they don't," he said quietly. "Not the way you do." Albus pushed Louis's hands away from him, unable to let himself want this, even when the line between what was gross and what was pleasurable was beginning to become blurred. "Don't touch me like that," he snapped. "It's gross." Louis sighed, pressing the length of his body against Albus's from behind. "Don't be like that, Chri." Albus knew Louis well enough to know that he sounded gutted by the harshness of his words. "Please." This was the first time Louis had been unhappy with him since he'd told him he hated his girlfriend back in sixth year. Albus folded his arms across his chest. "Well, what do you want me to do, Louis?" he spluttered. "What do you want from me?" "I want you to kiss me back." "N-no," Albus stammered immediately, suddenly wanting to be further away from here than ever before. "Why? I ... I don't understand." Louis touched the side of his face, and ever so gently pulled him toward him. "Because I love you," he said, and Albus was suddenly devastated by the realization that things were never going to be the same between them. "And I know this is right." Before Albus knew it they were kissing, and as though his limbs were atrophied, he couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't breathe. Louis's hands were all over him and he could swear he was crying but if he thought it was wrong, he didn't stop, made no move to halt the madness, to put things right; if that possibility even existed anymore. He felt it as his own body betrayed him, responding to Louis's touches with muted sighs rather than disgust. Louis kissed him all over his face, whispering in rapid French, things Albus hadn't a hope of understanding. "I'll stay for you," he said suddenly, and in that moment Albus was forced to yank himself from the foggy haze of desire and pay attention to what was happening. "What?" he breathed, halting Louis's hands. "What did you say?" Louis's eyes fluttered closed, his reddened lip caught between his teeth. Albus watched the gleam of his skin in the moonlight that filtered through the open window, and briefly thought about how beautiful his cousin was. "I'll stay for you," Louis repeated, his voice unsteady. "I will. I'll do anything for you; I promise you that." "You're lying," Albus told him, unable to believe anything Louis said at this point. Louis shook his head at him, eyes blue as sapphires, and touched Albus's cheek with the back of his hand. "No," he said heavily. "I mean it.

I can't stand it, being away from you. I ... I need you." Albus closed his eyes and tried to let it all wash over him, but none of it was sinking in, not yet. "Why did you never tell me this before?" Louis leant down and rested his forehead against his. "Because I'm telling you now." Albus let himself fall motionless as Louis kissed him, touched him in a way that at once made him feel both dirty and exhilarated. It was over so quickly Albus thought if he tried hard enough he could almost forget it had happened, could turn over on his side and pretend it had all been a dream. But Louis was so quiet the silence was deafening, and Albus couldn't help but feel as though the world had ended. "Say something." Albus adjusted his clothes and tried to find his voice. "There's nothing to say." "Please don't push me away. Al " "Don't touch me." Louis drew away from him in silence, and Albus surprised himself by staying unmoved by the fact that he was crying. "I didn't mean to ... I never wanted to ... " "It's done now," Albus said shortly. "There's nothing more to say. Just leave it." Louis touched his hand in the dark; Albus could feel him trembling. "I'll leave," he said, his voice hitching in his throat. "If it's what you want I promise you'll never see me again." Albus turned on his side, the room a blur of darkened colors and shapes, and tried not to think about the shame he'd caused his father. "So go." "Al " "Leave." Albus listened to him get dressed in silence, saving up his tears for when he was alone. "Tell mum I had to go," Louis said quietly, sniffing. "Make something up " "Fine." Albus shuddered instinctively as Louis's hand touched his shoulder. "I meant it, you know," Louis said. "Every word." Albus shrugged him off. "Your words," he said, "mean nothing to me." "Alright. If ... if that's the way you feel, then I understand. I'm so sorry,

Albus." He lay perfectly still as Louis opened and shut the door the loudest sound he'd ever heard and in a moment, he was gone, the scent of him still heavy in the air. Louis had made some excuse not to come to the wedding (something Victoire deemed completely unforgivable) and Albus hadn't seen him since. Over the months he had withdrawn from everything, his family and his friends. Still, he refused to return home, unable to face his family, any of them. How could he look at his mother, knowing what he had done with Louis? How could he keep this secret from his father, the man to whom the truth meant everything? "We'd better get yer back up to the castle, eh? We'll be late fer tea." Hagrid's voice filtered through his mind, and Albus looked up, startled. Lost in memory, he'd forgotten where he was. ~o~ The words had been swimming around inside his head all day. 'Did Harry Potter ever tell you where he dropped the Resurrection Stone?' Neville tried, over and over, to decipher their meaning, and each time arrived at the same conclusion: the Malfoy boy knew something about the Resurrection Stone. It was so cold his breath misted each time he exhaled. Neville checked his watch impatiently; he'd been waiting over an hour for the boy to emerge. He was embarrassed to admit that, even after all these years, the exact whereabouts of the Slytherin common-room was still a mystery to him. "Professor?" Neville spun on his heel, his heart pounding in his throat. "Malfoy." The boy raised an eyebrow, his expression blank. "Can I help you?" Suddenly furious, Neville found himself hating everything about the boy, right from the top of his perfect blond head, to the soles of his expensive shoes. "Yes," Neville said coldly, taking a step toward the boy. "I was hoping you could." If the boy was nervous he certainly didn't show it. He gazed up at Neville impassively, his hands hanging limply at his sides. "Well," he said softly, "anything I can do to be of assistance, Sir." Neville stopped short of grabbing the boy around the throat, only to back him into the nearest stone wall. "You've got it, don't you?" he growled, knowing as he said it that it was true. The boy's expression remained listless, grey eyes glittering in the flickering torchlight. "I've no idea what you mean, Sir."

"Don't play games with me," Neville barked, his voice bouncing off the damp walls. "You..." He reminded himself to keep his calm, and took a deep breath. "You've one day," he continued quietly, "to hand it over." "Or what?" The boy's tone was polite, yet to Neville it sounded challenging and all too much like Draco's. "Or suffer the consequences," Neville answered him. Scorpius waited until the Professor was out of sight before he let the anguish he felt manifest on his face. Feeling as though everything was crashing down around his ears, and he had nothing but his own stupidity to blame, he stood there alone in the dark, his hands trembling, and wondered vaguely just why it was that seeing Albus Potter again was the only thing he wanted to do.

Chapter Three
Chapter by Ketamine (midnightlily)

"But what is Hope? Nothing but the paint on the face of Existence; the least touch of truth rubs it off, and then we see what a hollowcheeked harlot we have got hold of." - Lord Byron "Have I done the right thing?" The man in the fire looked thoughtful. "You're certain he's telling the truth?" Neville took a seat by the furnace and placed his hands on his thighs; he was already beginning to sweat, and hoped Harry didn't notice. "Yes, I ... I'm certain." Harry exhaled loudly, causing the flames to flicker wildly. "Oh, Neville," he said heavily. "What do we do?" Neville resisted the urge to raise his fingernails to his lips. "I don't know," he said finally, eyes fixed on his desk. "The boy's obviously disturbed. The look on his face when I asked him, Harry " "Nev." Neville broke away and reluctantly looked at his friend. "Calm down." Neville exhaled and flattened his palm against the cool wood of his desk. "I don't know, Harry," he said, lightly rapping his fingers against the desk. "What choice do we have? We need to alert Hugo " "No." Neville looked at the fire. The expression on Harry's face was immovable, resolute; that look was all too familiar, and Neville knew better than to argue. "Yes, well what then?" he stammered, his palms growing increasingly sweaty. "We could involve the ministry, send an owl to " "Draco." Neville swallowed, on the verge of hyperventilating, and shot Harry and exasperated look. "Pardon?" "Draco," Harry repeated, his eyes glazed over. "Owl him. Explain the situation. Tell him to be here in the morning, or the situation's likely to escalate. I'm sure he doesn't want this splashed all over the Daily Prophet Neville, and nor do I. I'd like to avoid it coming to that." Shakily, Neville pulled an empty square of parchment toward him. "You think he'd do the same for you?" "Neville. It was twenty years ago. People change."

Neville shook his head. "No. Malfoy's don't." Harry sighed. "You might be right. But we need to give them a chance to prove us wrong, don't we? Besides, if it was my son--" Harry stopped here, clearing his throat, and Neville felt instantly guilty. "Harry--" "How is he, anyway?" Harry asked gruffly. Neville took a deep breath and turned to face his friend. "Quiet," he admitted. "He comes to all his meals, does what his told, but other than that he's " "Changed," Harry said quietly. Neville lowered his eyes to the ground. "Harry, I know there's nothing I can say that's going to make this any better for you, but if it helps any, you know I'm here. He's safe. And if there's anything I can do " "Thanks, Nev," Harry stopped him. "You've no idea how much I appreciate you looking out for him. If it weren't for you I'd drag him home myself." "He needs time," Neville told him gently. "He's a kid. And whatever it is he thinks he's going through, he'll come around. You'll see." Harry forced a smile. "I hope so." He cleared his throat then and checked his watch. "I've got to go, Ginny's calling." Neville nodded. "Of course." "You'll write to Malfoy?" Reluctantly, Neville agreed. "Right away." Harry nodded, exhaling heavily. "Good," he breathed. "Whatever's going on Nev, we'll sort it out before it gets out of hand. This doesn't have to be front page news." Neville found himself needing desperately for Harry to explain himself. "With all due respect Harry, why do you care? This is Malfoy's kid we're talking about." "That's right," Harry said firmly, the flames dancing about his head like a halo. For a moment he looked the same to Neville as he had twenty years ago, full of compassion and the most finely tuned distinction between right and wrong. "Malfoy's kid. Not Malfoy." ~o~ Albus Potter regarded the package in front of him with intense trepidation. He knew who it was from, of course; the spidery green letters made him think at once of Aunt Fleur. Suddenly so disgusted with himself he couldn't bear to touch it, Albus

tossed it onto the nearest chair and buried his head in his hands. "Hi." Albus looked up suddenly, his pulse quickening. Scorpius Malfoy stood a few feet away from him, his sleek blonde hair damp, lips slightly blue. Albus narrowed his eyes, determined not to look as startled as he felt, and shot him a questioning look. "Hi. Were you ... looking for something?" Malfoy opened and closed his mouth, the color slowly returning to his cheeks. "I ... yes," he stammered. "You, actually." Albus felt the slow burn of anxiety start at the pit of his stomach; he stayed glued to his chair and stared at Malfoy from across the room; the expression on his face was unreadable, and Albus found himself wondering just where he'd been and why he was here. "Right. Well, what can I help you with?" Malfoy shuffled over to him, leaving wet footprints on the carpet, and carefully lowered himself into the seat opposite. "I thought you might like some company." Albus raised an eyebrow, looking from the sodden hem of Malfoy's robes, to his tangled mess of hair. "Of course," he said, careful not to sound too bitter. "Thanks." They sat in silence for a while, Malfoy chewing his bottom lip until it was the color of blood, Albus watching him with curious wonder. "How are you?" Malfoy looked startled for a moment, but quickly concealed it. "Well," he said politely, eyes fixed upon the fireplace. "And yourself?" Albus took a moment to appreciate the ridiculousness of the situation. Of course, he'd seen his parents do this on countless occasions the mindless small-talk, the meaningless niceties and it had always confused him. Why didn't anyone ever say what they really thought? Why was it necessary to conceal every single thought and feeling from the people who supposedly knew you best? With this in mind, Albus promptly decided to follow his own advice. "I'm fine," he said, leaning slightly forward, his chin in his palm. "But are you alright? Forgive me, it's just you seem a little ... bothered." Malfoy looked at him blankly. "I don't know what you mean." Albus took a deep breath. "What are you doing here?" he said more directly. "I'm sure you didn't come here just to stare at the fireplace. Is there something I can help you with?" Malfoy looked instantly uncomfortable. He swallowed and shook his head. "No," he said quietly. "I just wanted to visit." Albus was conscious of the blood rushing to his cheeks. "Oh." Malfoy gave him a small half-smile and began to remove his sodden

robes; he wore a clean white shirt underneath that was almost the color of his skin, and he was shivering even his fingernails were pale blue. Albus was surprised to find he felt sorry for him. "May I?" Malfoy gestured to a small chair closest to the fire. Wordlessly, Albus nodded. When he'd hung his robe over the back of the chair to dry, Albus struggled desperately to find something to say - they had nothing to talk about, knew nothing about each other, and were the sons of two enemies. Malfoy settled into his chair again, and Albus looked at him uncomfortably for a few moments. He was the palest person Albus had ever laid eyes upon; his skin reminded him of expensive china, beautiful yet delicate, and all too easy to break. "I'm sorry about the other night," Albus blurted. Malfoy looked up; Albus noticed that the grey in his eyes seemed darker than usual. "Pardon?" Albus flushed, embarrassed by the memory. "You looked after me," he explained. "Put me to bed. Thanks." Malfoy looked at him curiously. "What, did you expect me to leave you unconscious on the bathroom floor?" Albus narrowed his eyes. "No, of course not." Malfoy shrugged and placed his hands in his lap. "Then you're welcome." Albus cleared his throat, determined not to bring up the napkinincident. "Do you want to play chess?" "No, thank you," Malfoy politely declined. "Exploding Snap?" Malfoy shook his head. "Maybe later." Albus felt slightly deflated. "Oh. I don't blame you, I suppose," he laughed. "I wouldn't want to play chess with me either. I suppose you've gathered how awful at it I am by now." Malfoy looked at him strangely; Albus was slightly unnerved by the aura of mystery surrounding him, by the fact that it was virtually impossible to know anything about him at all. "I'm not here to play chess." Albus shifted uncomfortably. "Then why are you?" Malfoy tapped his fingers nervously against his thigh. "I don't know." Albus looked at him carefully, trying to glean something from him, a clue that might explain him, no matter how small. "You don't have to be so secretive, you know." Malfoy's longish hair, warmed by the fire, fell across his cheek. He

pushed it away with obvious annoyance and took a long breath. "Neither do you." Albus was slightly taken aback. "Sorry?" Malfoy's expression was offhand, only his eyes were intense, reflecting the fire like molten lead. "You're just as secretive as I am," he explained. "You're just easier to figure out." Albus felt his heart begin to thump forcefully against his ribcage. "What do you mean by that?" "You're not with your family. It's the Christmas break." Albus felt instantly defensive. "So?" "Avoiding someone, perhaps?" Albus swallowed and averted his eyes, suddenly annoyed. "What's it to you?" he asked, rattled. "What about you? What are you doing here? And why do you always look like somebody died?" To his surprise, Malfoy let out a low laugh. "Is that how it seems to you?" Albus took a calming breath and shrugged. "Sometimes." Malfoy resumed his usual solemn manner; he was looking at him, but Albus could tell that his mind was elsewhere. "What do you want to know?" Albus was quiet for a moment. "Why are you so wet?" Malfoy laughed again, and Albus wondered how long it had been since he'd last smiled. "That's what you want to know?" Albus shrugged. "It's a start, isn't it?" Malfoy smiled again, and Albus realized the effect was mesmerizing. "I was out in the snow." "Yes, but why?" "Does it matter?" Albus stared at him a long moment. "If you're just going to be difficult " "Why do you care?" Albus was silenced by this remark. "I ... I'm curious, that's why." Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "I've been curious about you for three years. You've never bothered with me until now." Albus opened and closed his mouth. "What? I ... you were the one that spoke to me," he accused, trying not to stutter. "I didn't even--" "What, realize I existed?" Malfoy's expression was pleasant, but Albus

thought he saw something jaded behind his eyes. "That's not what I was going to say," Albus said stiffly. "But it's the truth." Albus considered getting up and storming away, before realizing he was in his own common-room and there was nowhere to go. "No it's not," he argued. "You're impossible to miss. I realized you existed the second I saw you on that platform." Malfoy was pale again. "What's that supposed to mean?" Albus clenched and unclenched his fists. "Nothing. It just means that ... you're wrong about me." Malfoy surveyed him for a moment, his hands motionless on his thighs. "Well I knew that the second you opened your mouth." Albus tried to figure out whether or not he was being insulted, while Malfoy's eyes continued to watch him. His head tilted to the side, he said, "You look like your father. Has anyone ever told you that?" Albus felt a stabbing sensation deep in his stomach. He didn't know whether Malfoy intended to be spiteful, but if he did, the remark had the desired effect. Suddenly, Albus wanted to be alone. "Yes," he said stiffly. "I get that a lot." Malfoy looked at him intently. "Your eyes," he said, gesturing to his own. "They're just like his." Albus swallowed reflexively. "I know that." There was a lengthy moment of silence, which Malfoy was the first to break. "I'm sorry." Albus looked up at him, determined to remain stoic. "For what?" Malfoy bit his lip, and for the first time that evening, his careful veneer of apathy cracked ever so slightly. "I shouldn't have said that." Albus shifted uncomfortably, the silence and emptiness in the room suddenly magnified a thousand times over. "So why did you?" Malfoy pushed his drying hair out of his eyes and looked down at his hands. "I don't know. I've been told the same thing since I was old enough to talk. I suppose I wondered whether you'd hate hearing it as much as I do." "You could say that." Malfoy stared back at him, his eyes glittering in the light. "I know. I'm sorry." There was silence for a few more moments. Albus thought about Malfoy's words, and even though they stung, he couldn't help but think

he'd never met anybody more like him; he wondered whether Malfoy felt the same unspoken connection. "What were you doing out tonight?" There was a long moment of silence before Malfoy answered him. And when he did, he told the truth. Albus listened in amazement as Malfoy spoke in a dull monotone, telling him all about the night he'd come across the Resurrection Stone, what he'd been doing with it since then, and what had happened once Professor Longbottom had found out. "He says I've got one day to give it up," Malfoy finished heavily, staring into the fire. "My father's probably on his way, and ... " Malfoy swallowed and took a deep breath. "I'll probably never see her again." When his eyes returned to Albus, he looked as though he was waiting on a reaction Albus hadn't provided. "Do you think you understand me now?" he asked distantly. "Now that you know the truth?" Albus ignored this, inhaling deeply as he tried to process his thoughts. "I ... what will you do?" Malfoy looked at him curiously. "What do you think?" Albus fell quiet. "After hearing that, I don't know." "To be honest I thought you'd be halfway to the Headmaster's office by now." Albus was slightly surprised. "What, you think I've never done something I shouldn't have?" Malfoy stared at him, and Albus was left with the distinct but unnerving impression he could see straight through him. "I know you have," he said quietly. Albus didn't want to stop and think about what this meant. Instead, he shrugged. "I told you you were wrong about me." Malfoy looked almost amused. "I'm never wrong." "No?" "You're afraid." Albus folded his arms across his chest. "I don't know what you're talking about." "You're afraid of me," Malfoy continued. "And you're afraid of something else. Something's keeping you here, away from where you should be." Albus swallowed nervously. "You've no idea what you're talking about. And I'm not afraid of anything," he lied. "Especially not you. Why should I

be?" Malfoy smirked, and Albus found it suited him well. "You should be at home," he informed him. "With your family." "Is that right?" Albus scoffed. "And what about you? Shouldn't you be at home with your family too?" "My home and my family are rarely in the one place." Albus found he wanted to be away from this strange boy, away from his unsettling stare and uncanny observations. But something kept him pinned to his seat, and he didn't know quite what it was. "I can't go home," Albus said eventually. "And no, I won't say why." "Why not?" Malfoy pressed. "I don't kiss and tell." Albus flushed and looked away. "It doesn't matter. It's nothing you want to know about, believe me." "How do you know what I want to know?" Malfoy got up and dragged his chair closer, causing Albus's heart to hammer wildly. "You have that look on your face," Malfoy continued quietly; he was so close Albus could smell him. "I want to know why." Albus backed into his chair instinctively. "What look?" "Like the world's ending." Albus looked at him then, and bizarrely, felt an unstoppable urge to spill his heart and soul to him, this shady boy he'd known all of five minutes. "I can't," Albus whispered. "You ... you wouldn't understand." "I think I would," Malfoy protested mildly. "No " "Try me." Albus took a deep breath, and without stopping to really consider the consequences, launched into an abbreviated version of the whole sordid tale how it had started, and how, after everything, it had ended. Malfoy's reaction was less than he'd expected. Albus had expected him to be horrified, disgusted at the very least sympathetic. Instead, he displayed no outward reaction at all. For some reason, this made it even worse than if he'd stood up and run away. "And that's it," Albus finished quickly, his entire body trembling. "And if you say anything to anyone I'll " "I wouldn't," Malfoy looked up, his eyes glittering in the light. "I promise you that." Albus inhaled shakily, already regretting his lack of self-control, and stood up from his chair. "I have to go," he mumbled, fumbling with his

sweater. He felt stupid, exposed. "I have to ... I've got to ... I'll see you later." Malfoy jumped out of his seat not a second later and grabbed his wrist. "Wait." Albus, his breath unsteady, closed his eyes and cursed himself over and over, inwardly demanding an explanation of himself as to what the hell was wrong with him. He felt it as Malfoy stepped closer, invading his carefully guarded space. "Stop," Malfoy urged him. "You don't have to run away. I won't ... I'm not going to look at you differently or anything like that. I-I understand." Albus slowly pulled his hand back and turned around. Malfoy looked intense rather than detached for a change, prompting Albus to stay rooted to the spot. And how was it that he knew just the right thing to say, as though he could see inside his head? "No. You don't," Albus said quietly. "But ... thank you." Malfoy cleared his throat and placed his hands in his pockets, looking at the floor. "Do you want to go somewhere with me?" Albus folded his arms across his chest in an attempt to appear blas. "I don't know. Does it involve Firewhiskey?" The slightest hint of a smile appeared on Malfoy's face. "No," he assured him. "But I ... I'd like you to see it. Will you come?" Albus found it impossible not to be swayed by Malfoy's flawless manners, and was admittedly intrigued by the offer. Careful not to seem too eager, he shrugged. "Alright then," he agreed. "Is it far?" ~o~ The winter sky was sharp as glass above their heads, a heavenly sphere littered with a million sparkling diamonds. The snow crunched like wet sand underfoot; Albus's feet were already frozen as ice-bricks, leading him to sorely regret not wearing more appropriate footwear. Malfoy was quiet beside him, walking with purpose, his eyes fixed directly ahead. Snowflakes caught and melted in his hair, and Albus found himself fixated by it again - the pale color, the way it fell to his shoulders like liquid. "It's not much further now." Albus quickly snapped out of it and cleared his throat. "Right," he said breathlessly, tucking his hands beneath his armpits. "I take it you do this a lot." Malfoy shrugged, his breath a misty cloud as it left his lungs. "Lately." An echoing shriek shot through the night like an arrow. Albus stopped in his tracks and placed a hand on Malfoy's upper arm, his chest heaving. "Did you hear that?"

Malfoy stopped and looked at him blankly. "They won't hurt you, you know," he told him evenly. "They're from a different time." Albus let his hand drop back to his side, and feeling faintly foolish, began to walk. "Do you think they're still there?" he asked quietly, wondering what Malfoy was thinking. "Still where?" Malfoy asked, easily catching up to him. "Reliving that night," Albus explained. "Over and over. Do you think they know it's over?" "I don't think they're here at all," said Malfoy, walking so close to Albus their arms brushed. "I think it's just an imprint. It's not real, it's just " "On replay?" "An illusion." Albus saw Malfoy smile in the dark blue light. "But yes," he said, "something like that." Albus watched Malfoy surreptitiously as they walked through the snow and entered the forest through a thick copse of trees; in the blue winter light he was pale as the moon, his eyes impassive, his hair gleaming like polished silver. Albus found himself inexplicably wanting to know more and more about this strange boy, and wanting to share more of himself with him Before he knew it Malfoy was slowing to a stop in front of a huge, foreboding-looking willow tree. Its branches swayed creakily in the wind, as though it was warning them not to come a foot closer it didn't take very long for it to dawn on Albus exactly what he was facing. "Malfoy!" Albus grabbed Malfoy's forearm and tried desperately to yank him backward. "Get back, it's the Whomping Willow!" Malfoy stood his ground, his expression disparaging. "I know that." Albus backed away slowly, confused. "You do?" "Of course," Malfoy said flippantly, pulling his arm from Albus's grasp. "You know where it leads, don't you?" Albus swallowed hard; of course he did. One of the men for whom he was named had lost their life just beyond that entrance. Albus's heart started to pound, and he knew then he'd made a grave error in judgment. Malfoy standing here so impassive, like he was waiting for a train was insane. And he'd followed him here like a rat to poison. "Get away from that tree," Albus breathed, as a trunk-like branch lurched forward. "Please." Malfoy moved only to draw his wand from his robes. "It's alright," he drawled, looking far more confident than Albus felt. "I know how to calm

it. Have faith in me, will you? Just for tonight?" Albus backed into a neighbouring tree a few feet away. "What are we doing here?" he stammered. "Are you trying to have us killed?" Malfoy looked over his shoulder. "I don't want to hurt you," he said matter-of-factly. "I want to show you " "Show me what?" Albus demanded. A silver spark shot from the end of Malfoy's wand like a sparrow; not a moment later, the Willow was calm as a doe. Malfoy placed his wand back inside his robes and walked slowly toward him. "The Stone," he said, reaching inside his pocket. Albus felt his stomach contract. "I want to show you what it does " Albus tried to force down the fear that had arisen like a flame inside him. "And what exactly does it do?" he asked in a small voice, though he was fairly sure he knew the answer. Malfoy pulled a small object from his pocket and placed it in his palm. "It's a bridge between our world and theirs," he whispered, and though he was small, his presence was so overpowering Albus couldn't take his eyes off him, even if he wanted to. Malfoy looked up at him, his eyes glinting. "It brings her back." Albus swallowed and shut his eyes. "You know we're not supposed to be doing this," he whispered, trying to envision a thousand different ways to get Malfoy out of here and back up to the castle. "Why here? Why the Willow?" "This is where I come to see her," Malfoy confessed. "No one ever comes near this place. It's safe." Albus opened his eyes, his teeth chattering. "It's not safe," he argued. Malfoy looked at him entreatingly. "Will you stay?" Albus exhaled, his breath like smoke in the freezing night air, and nodded quickly, his stomach tangled in knots. "Alright," he said quickly. "But please. Make it quick, I ... I can't stand it out here a second longer." Albus fell away from the tree, the air so cold it hit his lungs like a thousand knives, and scrunched his eyes shut, determined not to witness the horror Malfoy was about to summon. After a few moments there was a subtle change in the air, where every sound - every scurrying animal, swaying tree, or hoot in the night - was silenced. Albus kept his eyes shut tight. "You're here." Apart from Malfoy's voice - thin, and unlike Albus had ever heard it there was no noise. "They're taking it away."

Silence. "I don't know whether I'll ever see you again." Daringly, Albus opened one eye, and instantly wished he hadn't. Standing not two feet away from him was the image of a woman, not quite corporeal and not quite solid, with long white hair that flowed eerily, like she was underwater. Hyperventilating, Albus fell flat against the tree. Malfoy caught his eye and looked at him in a way Albus couldn't quite decipher, before his eyes turned back to her. "I'll look after him," he said cryptically as he touched her, both of them seemingly impervious to the cold. "I promise you. He won't be alone." The woman reached out and touched Malfoy's cheek with long white fingers, and the scene changed from being the most frightening thing Albus had ever witnessed, to quite possibly the saddest. "I wish I could bring you back," Malfoy's eyes were wide, as though this woman his dead grandmother was the most beautiful thing he'd ever behold. "I don't want you to go. I ... I don't want to be alone." Albus felt a lump rise in his throat, and suddenly wanted to rush forward, to wrench the stone from him, to rescue this boy from himself. The woman touched his hair, the light she emanated growing steadily dimmer, and Malfoy closed his eyes. "I'll see you again," he said, his voice broken. "I promise." Albus closed his eyes and counted to three. When he opened them again, she was gone. He rushed to Malfoy who had fallen to his knees and instinctively drew him closer, ready to haul him to his feet. His shoulders were shaking Albus suspected he was crying and he was hunched over, his face shielded from view. "Don't," came Malfoy's muffled voice. "Please." Albus released him, and defeated, sank to the snow beside him. "I'm sorry," he whispered, shivering, the snow beneath him seeping into his clothing. "I ... I don't know what to say." Malfoy smoothed his hair back away from his face, sniffed, and looked up at him. "Did you see her?" Albus swallowed the lump in his throat. "Yeah," he whispered. "I saw her." Malfoy sniffed and wiped his eyes. "She died when I was three." Albus touched his hand, which felt as cool to the touch as his own. "I'm sorry." Malfoy bit down on his reddened lower lip. "She was the only one who ever ... she was the only one who "

"It's okay," Albus said quickly, wiping snow from his face. "You don't have to talk." Malfoy looked at him strangely, his eyes narrowed, unfocused. "It's different for you, isn't it?" Albus was confused. "What do you mean?" "Your family. They all love you. They miss you, don't they?" Albus nodded slowly. "Yeah," he admitted. "They do." Malfoy wiped his face. "So bury it," he said impassively. "What?" "What your cousin did, he ... You don't have to wear it like this. You can bury it; forget about it." Albus shook his head. "I don't understand " Malfoy looked him square in the eye. "He could have done worse," he told him. "He didn't. So bury it." Albus took a deep breath and squashed down each and every thought of Louis. "Come on," he whispered, extending his hand to Malfoy. "Let's get back to the castle. You'll catch your death out here." Malfoy looked at his hand but didn't take it, the expression on his face unreadable. "Why?" "Because we have to," Albus said forcefully. "If we're caught " Malfoy moved so quickly Albus didn't see it coming. Shoving him to the snow by his shoulder, Malfoy climbed atop him and pinned him down by his throat, his expression suddenly feral. Albus spluttered and tried to throw him off, but superior strength or sheer force of will lent Malfoy a clear advantage. Malfoy lent so close to him Albus could make out every color that made up his eyes. "I told you I was never wrong," he breathed. Albus grabbed at his hands and tried to push him away. "Get off!" he coughed, the snow freezing against his back. "Are you insane?" Malfoy pinned him down harder; his robes thrown off, his shirt rolled up to his elbows, Albus could see the strength in his arms. "You're perfect," he whispered. "Just like I always knew you'd be." Albus scratched at him until he relaxed his grip slightly. "Get off me," he panted. "What are you doing? G-Get off." The starry night sky a backdrop behind Malfoy's tortured face, Albus started to grow slightly dizzy, while Malfoy clearly furious, crazy, or both shook him. "Why can't you be more like me?" he demanded. "You never even looked at me before," he panted, "and now you want to help

me, do you? Well?" Albus, tired of struggling against him, grew limp, his muscles aching. "I don't understand," he rasped, everything hitting him all at once. "I don't know what you're talking about!" Malfoy relaxed his grip, and to Albus's disgust, gently touched his cheek with the back of his hand. "I can see why he likes you," he murmured. Feeling as though he'd been struck, Albus slapped his hand away. "Don't t-touch me." Undeterred, Malfoy touched his cheek again with one finger. "That's why he likes you, isn't it? Because you're beautiful." Albus freed one hand, and instantly, used it to belt Malfoy across the face. He scrambled to his feet and staggered away, feeling as though he was going to be sick. "Where are you going?" In a moment Malfoy was behind him, pushing him to the ground. "Tell me, what's it like?" Malfoy breathed, struggling to keep Albus down. "Having the perfect life, having everyone love you just because your father" Albus landed a solid punch to Malfoy's stomach. "My father saved your father's life, you prick!" Malfoy ignored both him and his flailing hands. "But it's all smoke and mirrors, isn't it?" he continued breathlessly. "Because you're not as perfect as you look; your mother's a drunk and your own cousin tried to fuck you." ~o~ The guilt was nearly instantaneous. Albus Potter was silent beneath him, his breathing slow and labored, like a wounded animal. "Does it ... does it make you feel better?" Potter stammered, his lip trembling. "Knowing I'm just as fucked up as you are?" Scorpius exhaled heavily, suddenly not wanting to punish Potter anymore for being everything he wasn't. "Yes," he said after a moment. "It does." Potter shoved him away, and this time, Scorpius let him. "You're so pathetic," Potter told him as he got to his feet; Scorpius could see how hard he was trying to conceal the fact that he was crying. "You want my life?" he shouted down at him, his voice weak. "Well you can have it." Scorpius got to his feet, suddenly dizzy, and ran his hands over his face. "God," he whispered, as the enormity of everything he'd done hit him at once. He hurried to catch up to Potter. "You were right to be wary of me!" he called.

Potter stumbled in his attempt to gain some distance on him. "Just get away from me," he snarled. Scorpius stopped, his chest rising and falling in rapid rhythm with his breathing, and clenched and unclenched his fists. "Better now than later," he called as Potter stormed away. "At least now you'll never have to wonder whether I'm just like my father." Scorpius faltered, his lungs heavy inside his chest, and resisted the urge to collapse. Potter stopped and slowly turned, his expression unreadable. Scorpius found he couldn't meet his eyes; he didn't deserve to look at them. He never had. "Now you know that I am," he said breathlessly. "I'm ... I'm just like him." Potter looked at him a long moment, his anger seeming to recede slightly into pity. "No," he said quietly. "You're not." "Potter" "No. Just ... don't." Potter turned and stumbled away, leaving Scorpius standing there in the snow, in the very same place he'd always be. Alone.

Chapter Four
Chapter by Ketamine (midnightlily)

"Guard your roving thoughts with a jealous care, for speech is but the dialer of thoughts, and every fool can plainly read in your words what is the hour of your thoughts." - Lord Alfred Tennyson "Colloportus." The heavy wooden door swung shut with a bang, the metal lock sliding into place with an ominous click. Scorpius fidgeted nervously in his seat by the window, waiting for the starched looking medi-wizard wearing horn-rimmed spectacles to take a seat opposite him. "Presumably, you know why I've been asked to see you, Scorpius?" The wizard's voice was high-pitched and annoying; Scorpius disliked it at once. They were in Madam Pomfrey's office, where he'd been waiting for the past half-hour, sitting in silence. He averted his gaze to large window to his left and stared vacantly. It was snowing heavily outside, the blizzard obscuring any view he might have used as a distraction. He'd had an uncomfortably large lump in his throat since the night before, and his heart felt so heavy in his chest that it hurt to breathe. The Stone was finally gone. He'd fished around in the snow for it when he'd been alone, desperate to possess it again, to use it just one last time; but he hadn't. It was gone now and he'd never have it back. The walls were closing in on him: his parents had been informed of his latest indiscretion, Harry Potter himself and the Ministry of Magic had become personally involved, and Albus Potter hated his guts. It was odd, he thought. For a moment there he'd been onto something good, something that could have been genuine and real; not like the only other 'friendships' he'd had in the past, where there'd been nothing but mutual using, backstabbing, and general two-facedness. And yet, as usual, he'd done his absolute best to sabotage it all completely. "I understand that you found the Stone in the forest, yes?" Scorpius swallowed the lump in his throat. He felt like his heart was caught in a vice. None of this was supposed to have happened; the secret he'd held so close to his heart was now laid bare, for all the world to see. How had it come to this? Where had everything gone wrong? He felt exposed now, naked, and wished for nothing more than for the

ground to open up and swallow him whole. Surely the jaws of hell would welcome him after all that he'd done. Finally, he managed, "Yes. That's correct." It had been a long day. He'd been sent to the Headmaster's Office at eight o'clock that morning, where Professor Longbottom, Harry Potter, and the Headmaster had all been waiting for him with grim expressions. He'd been forced to admit everything to a room full of strangers, who had proceeded then to yank his insides out through his chest and examine them at length. Harry Potter had insisted he be evaluated by a trained medi-wizard, in order to avert an 'emotional crisis' he might now incur due to his ubiquitous use of the Stone. He thought they were all crazy; they didn't know anything. Cringing at the memory, he took a deep breath and rested his chin in his palm, staring bitterly into the blinding blizzard outside. He promised himself he wouldn't cry. People were stupid when they cried, he decided, wearing their hearts so openly on their sleeves like they wantedpeople to see the filth on their insides. He would never stoop to their level. "You've been using the Stone to communicate with a dead relative on a regular basis, yes?" The wizard's voice was entirely clinical; devoid of emotion or inflection; and somehow failed to encapsulate the gravity of the subject matter. "Yes," Scorpius grunted. "And how old were you when your grandmother committed suicide?" Scorpius's heart skipped a beat, and his throat tightened. He wanted to run away, to be anywhere but here, somewhere no one could touch him. He closed his eyes and tried desperately to retreat back inside himself, searching for that place inside his mindthat safe, silent place, where he could watch all of this happening from afar and not have to be truly present. It was frightening how easy it had become for him to do this, to operate on auto-pilot. It was easy when he didn't have to feel anything, when he was so numb that nothing truly mattered. He took a deep breath. "I was three." He heard the medi-wizard hurriedly scratching notes on his clipboard; it didn't seem so important anymore. All he had to do was make it through this; after that he could go back to his room, climb into his bed and shut the hangings, and finally be alone. It was admittedly pathetic, but it was all there was for him to look forward to. "Do you remember her at all?" "No."

"Are you aware of the circumstances surrounding her death?" "Yes." "Would you mind running through that with me now?" Scorpius took a deep breath and gritted his teeth. He didn't see how this was in any way relevant. "She was a proud woman," he began in a monotone. "When my grandfather went to prison she couldn't bear the shame; she never got over it." Distantly, he could hear that dratted quill scribbling away with fervor. He kept his eyes focused on the snowflakes that drifted lazily by the window, floating like ashes from a burning sky. "Tell me about your father." Scorpius breathed deeply. "There's nothing to tell." "I see." The medi-wizard scribbled a few new notes on his clipboard. Scorpius was grateful at least that he didn't pursue this particular line of questioning. "Why don't you tell me about your mother?" Scorpius clenched and unclenched his fists. "If you read The Daily Prophet you needn't ask." The medi-wizard gave a little chuckle. "Yes, your mother is quite renowned, is she not?" Scorpius gave the man a withering look that wiped the smile right from his face. "You could say that," he said coldly. The cleared his throat and pressed the tips of his fingers together his expression suddenly serious. "Tell me, Scorpius," he said, "Your mother's celebrity. How do you feel about it? Do you see her much? Is she often away?" Scorpius shifted in his seat. "I suppose so," he conceded. "I don't really have time to think about it." The man gave a sage nod, and as he always did when Scorpius seemed to have said something of particular interest to him, jotted down a new set of notes. On and on the questions came, even when no satisfactory answers were being offered. Scorpius felt exhausted, and not with lack of sleepthere was an indefinable weariness that penetrated to his core, as deep as his bones, that no amount of sleep could ever sate. He just wanted it to be over; all of it. Finally, the medi-wizard lowered his glasses over the bridge of his nose and placed his clipboard on the desk in front of him. He took a deep breath. "Scorpius, you're aware that your father's been informed?" Scorpius set his jaw. He was aware of it. He just didn't want to think about what was going to happen to him when they finally came face to

face. "Yes." "You're father's sent word this morning that he'll be visiting the school today to see you." Scorpius looked up, suddenly panicked, his pulse pounding. "What?" "He's asked to see you," the medi-wizard repeated bluntly. "Today." Scorpius didn't know what it was that had him feeling so shocked. Of course his father would want to see him; he'd be perfectly furious about all of this. The last thing the Malfoys needed was yet another scandal to drag their already battered name through the mud. When Draco Malfoy discovered that his own son was responsible for this latest public disgrace, Scorpius would be very lucky to escape with his life, much less in one piece. The medi-wizard's quiet voice broke through the frenzied din of his mind. "Scorpius is there anything you'd like to talk about before I go? Anything at all?" Scorpius shook his head, resolutely, and stood up, straightening his robes. No one, not even this crackpot old wizard from St. Mungoes, was ever going to be able to understand why he'd done the things he'd done; no matter what he said. And how could they, when he himself barely understood it? "No," he said firmly. "I have nothing to say to you." The wizard looked mildly affronted before, with a wave of his wand, the door opened. "Very well," he said stiffly. "I think I have everything I need. You are free to go." Without another word, Scorpius stalked through the door and slammed it shut behind him. The Hospital wing was silent, all of the beds empty. Bright light blazed through the tall windows and onto the stone, briefly blinding him. He'd only ever been here once, when Matthew Barker had broken his arm back in First Year, and he'd always hated everything about iteven more so today. The double doors at the far end burst open and Madam Pomfrey came bustling towards him, wiping her hands on her white apron. "Mr. Malfoy," she greeted him, looking almost surprised to see him there. "Have you and Healer Laconius finished already?" "Yes," Scorpius said, reluctantly stopping before her. "We're done." The old woman looked at him pityingly; apparently she'd grown strangely sentimental with old age. She reached out and placed a gentle hand on his shoulderhe fought the urge to recoil from her. He'd never liked it when strange people touched him; he found it uncomfortable, invasive, and altogether unnecessary. "I've spoken with both Professor Hugo and Mr. Potter," she informed him

croakily. Scorpius tensed at the mention of Harry Potter's name. None of this had anything to do with him, he thought coldly; why was he even involved? The old woman's age-spotted hand travelled from his shoulder up to his cheek, and he shivered in disgust and leaned away from her. Being pitied was something he was unaccustomed to, and he was unsurprised to find that he didn't much like it at all. "I spoke with both of them just now. They've both agreed that, in this case, no punishment shall be given." Scorpius blinked. "ErI don't understand." Offering no further explanation, Pomfrey smiled kindly and walked away, leaving him stunned and confused. No punishment? No suspension? No expulsion? Scorpius felt infinitely pathetic for this. He would have preferred it had they raked him over the coals, but no. This meant only one thing: people felt sorry for him, he realized; they pitied himthe poor, troubled, lonely little rich boy... He left the room in a daze, his feet on auto-pilot for the dungeons. The fact that someone was waiting for him outside very nearly escaped his attention. "Malfoy?" Scorpius whipped around, pulse racing. His father's impending arrival had him wound tight as a piano wire. Albus Potter stood just outside the doors, his eyes downcast as he leant against the stone. Scorpius narrowed his eyes, breathing hard. What on earth did Potter want from him now? He'd told him where to go and no mistake last night; what more could they have to say to each other? Scorpius stopped front of the other boy, steeling his expression. It was imperative he appear cold and detached now, regardless of how he really felt. What he felt wasn't all that important; it was what people saw that counted. "Yes?" Potter met his eyes with a meek look, and the light hit his face in such a way that he was all sullenness, sharpness, shadows and angles. Scorpius breathed in sharply. The memories of last night were still fresh in his mind, and, if he was right, Potter would be sporting some rather baleful-looking bruises under those clothes: bruises that Scorpius had caused when he'd grabbed Potter and manhandled him. The violence of the incident left him deeply ashamed of himself; how had he ever seen it fit to behave that way? He ignored the fact that Potter's eyes were red-rimmed with crying and

looked away, desperate to flee. But Potter stepped forward first, preventing his escape. Instantly Scorpius recoiled; Potter either didn't notice or didn't carehe came toward him slowly, his hands clenched tightly at his sides, and briefly Scorpius wondered whether the boy was going to punch him; but these fears were laid to rest when instead he stretched a hand toward him and, slowly, opened his palm. Inside sat his gold ring, the one he'd worn on his finger since the age of ten, the priceless family heirloom that had once belonged to his grandfather, Abraxas. He struggled to conceal his surprise. "Where did you get that?" The question sounded slightly accusatory, despite his intentions. He looked down at his finger and was shocked to find that he hadn't even noticed the ring was missing. Potter looked sheepish. "You dropped it in the snow," he mumbled. "Last night." Scorpius narrowed his eyes. What he really wanted to know was what Potter had been doing out in the forest again, but what came out was a rather dull sounding 'Thanks'. He took the ring from Potter's open palm and placed it back on his finger. They looked at each other nervously for a few moments, the tension almost tangible in the space around them, and Scorpius turned to leave. There was no point in staying; Potter had made it very clear just what he thought about him last night; he didn't fancy hanging around to hear more. Potter had seen his true colors, knew that he was nothing, and the presumption was spot-onhe was nothing. But what was done was done, and his fledgling friendship with Potter was as good as dead; staying any longer when they could barely look each other in the eye was like rubbing salt into an open wound. "Wait." Scorpius took a deep breath. Biting his lip, he turned around. Somehow, he didn't think things were going to be as cut and dry as he'd likeafter all, Potter was almost as complicated as he was. "Yes?" Potter was looking at the floor again, his brow furrowed, as though he was thinking very hard. "Look," he started, "I-I'm sorry about everything." Of all the things Potter could have said, this surprised him the most. Scorpius almost forgot to be anguished for a moment; he narrowed his eyes, bewildered. "Why are you apologising?" Potter's face was very flushed, his mouth set in a tight line. This time, Scorpius wasn't amused at all by his discomfiture; he was just as, if not more, uncomfortable than Potter was. Potter shifted from foot to foot nervously, struggling for words. "I didn't mean to be so hard on you last night," he said eventually, breathing hard. "I know you were upset, and..." He trailed off here, apparently

frustrated by his inability to articulate what he wanted to say. "Look," he sighed, "I didn't mean a lot of what I said and I-I didn't want to leave it like that. It didn't feel right." Slightly distracted by how nicely Potter was dressed today, Scorpius quickly caught himself and said, "No, you were right about me. You were right about a lot of things, so please, just forget it." He felt torn now. Part of him wanted to let Potter accept responsibility for everything, to just stay. Being around the other boy made him feel like, even for a fleeting moment, he could be somebody else, something other than this. Potter made him laugh, which was more than he could say for most people, and his presence ... his presence was warmth, purely and simply. There was no way he could explain that to him, though, without sounding like an idiotor worse, a freak. But there were things about him that inspired his jealousy, too: his enviable good fortune in so many aspects of life, for example; it wasn't an emotion he was in any way accustomed tobeing around him reminded him ever so effectively just how much he was lacking. In short, Potter was like no person he'd ever met and it frustrated him that he couldn't figure him out. He was accustomed to being around deceitful, self-indulgent liars on a daily basis, but being around Potter, someone who still had at least some semblance of innocence and purity, was like the difference between light and dark. He tried to clear these thoughts from his mind. It was infuriating, he thought, the effect Potter had on him. It was early days, and yet still it was clear that Potter was capable of making him feel a whole multiplicity of emotions he wasn't in any way accustomed to dealing with: anxiety, jealousy, and, most curiously, warmth. He despised it. The very idea of someone being able to influence his emotions or feelings was a weakness he couldn't ever excuse. Just thinking about it turned him cold. Potter looked hurt. He stepped a little closer, causing Scorpius to take an involuntary step back. "No," he started, shaking his head. "We were...we were both...idiots. It was a mistake." He drew in a sharp breath. "I know you didn't mean for me to get hurt, okay? I know that. I justI want to start over. Forget about last night." Overwhelmed, Scorpius didn't know what to say next. He could hear voices and footsteps coming down the hall to his left, and he tensed. He didn't know when his father was going to appear, or what even would alert him to his arrival, but he knew that he just had to get away. He threw a last glance at Potter, his expression a mixture of longing and desperation. Potter smiled back at him benignly, causing his legs to tremble, and he shuddered. Everything about Potter made his knees bloody weak. Briefly, he wondered whether Potter was just as fascinated by the way he lookedevery gesture, every facial expressionas he was with him.

But allowing his mind to wander was dangerous. If he allowed this ... this fascination to continue, it could very easily turn into obsession. He didn't want that for either of them. If it was the first unselfish thing he ever did, he was going to walk away from Potter and leave him to get on with his life. Because his poison was contagious, and whatever happened, he didn't want it to rub off on Potter. He was still too clean for that. "Look, Potter," he said uncomfortably. "I appreciate what you're trying to do, really, but it's unnecessary." Potter stared at him, confused. "I don't understand. I'm not trying to do anything." The footsteps coming from down the hall were growing closer. Potter looked toward the direction of the noise at the same time he did, and exhaled in frustration. "Look," he said impatiently and turned back to him. "I want to be friends, that's all. And I think you were right," he added earnestly. "Things with us are kind of ... intense. Maybe that doesmean something." This wasn't going to be as easy as he'd imagined, thought Scorpius; especially with Potter going all gushy on him like this, and wearing his big, bleeding, Gryffindor heart on his sleeveit was almost too much to bear at once. "You shouldn't pay any attention to me when I get like that," he said dully. "Half the time I don't even know what I'm saying." Potter frowned, and it struck Scorpius then just how different he seemed today. He was wearing clothes that, for once actually fit his frame, and he looked like he'd had finally gotten some sleep. His hair was slightly messy, and fell into his eyes in a way that was unintentionally charming. His skin was perfect as usual, like roses and cream, and Scorpius realized with some level of embarrassment that he was pretty. He buried this thought almost as soon as it surfaced, and hoped fervently he'd never have to see it again. He searched for something to say to Potter, something that would end this endeavour beyond doubt, but in a way that wasn't altogether unkind. Oddly, there was an urgent desire inside him to shield Potter from himself, to protect him, and he didn't know why. Generally he delighted in watching other people squirm; but not him; not today. "Listen, Potter," he began in a strained voice. Already, Potter's face had begun to fall. It was heart-rending, really, just how personally he seemed to take everything. It was eyes, Scorpius thought; they were his downfall, giving everything away, like the clearest window. "I can't do this right now," he went on, trying not to look at him. "I just think perhaps it's better if we stay away from each other. I mean, you and me" He gestured at the space between them "it's been nothing but trouble from day one, you have to admit."

Potter smiled a little, but Scorpius could see that he was very hurt. "Yeah," the other boy said weakly. "You're not wrong there." "Look," Scorpius added gently, "just because we're not friends doesn't mean that ... I just want you to know that I'm not going to sell you out you're secrets, anything you told me last night, it's safe with me." He touched a hand to his heart. "I swear it." Potter gave a tight smile and nod. His eyes had gone a little glassy; Scorpius felt overwhelmingly anxious and guilty. He wasn't...he wasn't really going to cry, was he? Scorpius had always actively despised people who were uselessly emotional, but there was something about Potter's emotion that always seemed so real, justified, and uncontrived that you couldn't help but feel for him. "Are you going to be okay?" he asked. "Sure." Feeling more than a little guilty, Scorpius attempted a weak smile before turning promptly on his heel and walking away. At that moment Harry Potter rounded the corner, accompanied by Professors Hugo and Longbottom; the three of them chatted animatedly amongst themselves as they walked. They fell mute when their eyes fell on Scorpius. Professor Hugo, wearing robes of ridiculous fuchsia, spared Scorpius a pitying smile which made his blood boil. Professor Longbottom avoided his eyes completely, and the great, famous Harry Potter did nothing but stare at him with open curiosity. Scorpius glared at them all as he passed, not bothering even to mind his manners. He hated themthey either pitied him, feared him, or loathed him; but not one of them understood a thing. No one did. As soon as they were all out of sight he broke into a run and made for the dungeons. Scorpius kicked the door to his dorm open with a booted foot and kicked it shut again. He collapsed against the wood, breathing heavily. "Fuck!" He lashed out in frustration, beating his clenched fists hard against the door. Knox Temperdon's gray cat slinked around between his legs, purring. He glared at it and nudged it away from him with his foot. "Piss off," he seethed, unsticking himself from the door and making his way over to his bed. Falling back on it, he shut his eyes and groaned loudly. Within a few days the rest of the school would return from Christmas break and it would be almost like the last week had never even happened. Potter would become harder and harder to spot at mealtimes, the two of them would likely never speak again, and it would almost be

like they'd never met. The thought filled him with an unfamiliar grief. Ever since Potter had barged in on his life with his big, honest eyes, and made him start feeling things, his existence had become a one, giant, ugly mess. He exhaled loudly, feeling suddenly helpless. It was a fairly reasonable to assume that he was now obsessing over Albus Potter, but what confused him was why. It wasn't that he wanted him in that way. He didn'the couldn't. He didn't feel for him the way he'd felt for girls he'd liked in the past. It was something different, he was sure, like admiration perhaps. Briefly, curiosity overcame him, and he fantasized about pinning Potter up against a wall, about their lips touching and the way the way it might feel to be crushed against him. He halted this dream-scenario rather abruptly. It wasn't happening, and he refused to let the idea of kissing another boy excite him. He pushed the thought straight to that place at the back of his mind he kept the rest of his unsavoury thoughts, and scowled. Covering his face with his hands, he groaned aloud in frustration. He let his hands fall and stared up at the ceiling; if his room had a window, he might've considered ending his torment by hurling himself out of it. But as he was cursed to live in a freezing, airless, sunless dungeon, suicide by falling to his death wasn't really an option right now. Supposing he ought to dress himself in more appropriate attire before his father arrived, Scorpius got up grudgingly from the bed and made his way over to his dresser. He opened his closet door and took out a pair of traditional black robes with a serpent clasp. They'd been made for him months ago, and had elicited the first and only compliment his father had ever bestowed on him. He'd told Scorpius he 'looked like a Malfoy', and had even seemed slightly proud. From that point on, Scorpius had made an effort to wear them every time he saw him. Scorpius stared intently at his own reflection in the full-length dress mirror he'd had delivered from home, unsurprised to find he did not at all enjoy what he saw there. His pallor was, if possible, worse than usual, making the redness of his lips appear almost grotesque by contrast. Empty grey eyes stared back at him from the blank canvas of his face. Mechanically, He pulled his robes on over his clothes and began fastening the clasp at his chest. He was always surprised at the change they made to his appearance: he looked undoubtedly aristocratic, his shoulders squared and his chin tilted slightly upward. His father had always been one for such outlandishly expensive attire. The fact that he belonged to one of the last truly pure-blooded aristocratic wizarding families was a source of great pride to him, and he followed everything by the book, making sure his son did the same (even if most of their custom did seem to belong to the dark ages). But trying to please the man was admittedly tiresome. It never got him anywhere at all. He took a hairbrush from his dresser and pulled the black band from his hair. It fell to his shoulders at once, and he wrinkled his nose. He hated this perhaps more than he hated anything his father made him do. It was

traditional, since antiquity, for young wizards to leave their hair long, uncut until manhood. Hardly anyone observed this tradition anymore, but his father had, of course, insisted. The result was that most of the time, he looked like a complete idiot; it was little wonder people snickered at him in the corridors. When his father wasn't around he almost always tied it back, out of sight. But in his presence he left it out, as tradition dictated, to placate him. Sighing, he brushed through the white-blond strands quickly and threw the brush to his bed. He took a deep breath and regarded his reflection one last time. Although to the untrained eye he looked immaculate, he wouldn't be surprised at all if his father found some fault in his appearance; he nearly always did. Sometimes, Scorpius thought that his father simply detested the sight of him, immaculate or not, and if that were true, nothing he did or said was ever going to be enough. Gingerly, he touched a hand to his head and ran his fingers through his hair; it was smooth and straight, waving only slightly around his ears. He had been complimented on it nauseatingly often; but he was not a girl, and being complimented on something as insipid as his hair made him feel like he was nothing more than something pretty to look at, like one of his mother's stupid bloody dolls. It was little wonder he'd attracted so much attention over the years, and not just the teasing from his peers but from grown menthe wrong sort of attention. It made him feel dirty and sick to his stomach, and most of the time he thought he would have much preferred it had he been born plain. He often wondered whether his father would have preferred that too. He'd always been left with the impression that his father was embarrassed by his delicateness and the attention it afforded him. He wasn't sure even if the man knew about the first time he'd been touched, much less the second. Those things were never to be discussed in the Malfoy household. The one incident his father did know about had taught him as much. Thinking about all of this reminded him of the perceived connection he felt with Potter. He supposed that in some way, Potter reminded him of himself. In most ways they were as different as it was possible to be, but there were certain things about their lives which were parallel: Both of them had grown up in some way at least in the public eye, born of prominent wizarding families. Potter (Scorpius suspected) had also fallen victim to many of the same attentions that had plagued Scorpius throughout his life. Potter was a good-looking boy, there was no denying it. Sometimes, even before they'd formally met, Scorpius had found himself staring at him without really being conscious of it, idly appreciating his beauty in much the same way as people had always done to him. It wasn't that he was beautiful the same way Scorpius was. It was subtler than that: his innocence radiated from him in a way that was almost, well ... cute. Scorpius caught himself even thinking the word 'cute' and cringed,

disgusted with himself. Two loud knocks resounded throughout the room, jolting him out of the maelstrom of his own mind. Adrenaline rushed through his veins, causing his heart to pound wildly. He knew who that knock belonged to; and when he heard it, it was almost always followed by a great deal of pain. The door creaked open and in that moment he crumpled in on himself, terrified and feeling as if his stomach had disappeared. His body was wracked with tremors; his palms were sweaty, his mouth dry. He straightened up and tried to slow his breathing as his father, Draco Malfoy, entered the room. ~o~ "Is there anything else you want to tell me? Anything, before I go?" Albus tried to appear as sincere and convincing as possible as he smiled up at his father. "I told you, Dad. Everything's fine. It's like I said, I've just been stressed with school lately." "Well, Professor Hugo's agreed to let you drop Runes" Albus smiled and took his father's hand. His Dad, apart from being one of the strongest and greatest wizards who had ever lived, was at times woefully nave. "I know, Dad. Thanks." Harry Potter combed his fingers through his son's unruly hair and smiled. Albus grabbed his father around the waist and pressed himself against his chest, clinging on for dear life, and inhaling deeply. "I love you, Dad," he said quietly. He tried to put everything he felt into these words; if anything he wanted his father to know just how much he loved him. He knew that if his father ever came to know what had happened between himself and Louis, it could well be the last time he'd ever get the chance to say it. His father hugged him back tightly before releasing him and holding him at arm's length. He looked hard at his son, and looking into the identical bright green of each other's eyes, it was a little like looking into a mirror across the abyss of time. "I love you too," he replied. "Listen" He cupped Albus's cheek with his hand. "I want you to promise me something." Albus nodded slowly. "Anything." "Promise me you'll never shut me out again. Losing you nearly killed me." Albus felt the guilt he'd been trying to hold back gnaw at him like hungry piranhas. For the first time he felt the true gravity of the pain, the suffering, he had caused all those closest to him. If only they knew why he'd felt the need to keep away from them. If only they knew what he was really like. He tried to smile but failed dismally; a large lump had formed at the back

of his throat. If there was one thing he'd learnt during his brief friendship with Scorpius Malfoy, it had been that sometimes, it really was necessary to just bury itwhatever it was you were feeling, whatever secrets you were hiding, no matter how terrible they wereif it was for the sake of those you loved. Malfoy had been right all along. All this time, he'd been focusing so much on his own disgrace that he'd been blind to how much pain and anxiety he was causing his family. This made him so ashamed he could barely look his father in the eye. Finally, he breathed in deeply and plastered on a smile. "I won't," he promised. "Dad, I-I never meant to hurt you like this." His father nodded. "I know." The lines in his face seemed deeper now than ever, the faded scar on his forehead more vivid than usual due to how pale and pinched his skin had become. Albus felt another stab of guilt. "Well, I've got to get back to the office some time this century," his father told him with a sigh, his hand heavy atop Albus's head. "You'll owl me later on tonight?" Albus could see his own reflection in his father's glasses, and what he saw made him sick. The fact that he was standing here, lying to his father by omissionhis father whom he loved more than anyone else in the worldwas so unnatural that it made him ill to do it. But he was doing it to protect him from something that'd kill him, Albus reminded himself. That fact was all that kept him going. "I will," he promised. "First thing." His father smiled and turned toward Professor Longbottom's fireplace; he reached for the Floo Powder and Albus's breath quickened. "Dad?" he said quickly. His father looked back at him. "Yes?" "Tell Mum I love her," Albus said, his voice threatening to break. "I will." His father smiled at him then, a real smile, and left. Later on Albus stood in the Owlery alone, an empty square of parchment in his trembling hands. It was so very quiet here that every scratch or flutter of a wing was audible and seemed magnified fifty times over. It was freezing, tooso cold that his breath came out in great silvery clouds. The bluish moonlight streaming through the huge open windows spilled liquidly onto the stone where he stood, falling down around him like some sort of tainted spotlight. He shivered. What he was about to do was ill-advised at best, and he'd told himself this a hundred times since his father had left. He'd done everything he could to try and fix things, and he was quite possibly about to destroy it all.

Last night had shattered him into a thousand pieces; after everything that had happened seeing the ghost (if that was even what she was) of Narcissa Malfoy, and fighting with a confused and unbalanced Malfoy he had spent the rest of the evening raking over old bones, trying to put himself back together after Malfoy had torn him down. Somehow the solution had come to him like some sort of grand epiphany. He had Malfoy to thank for that, he supposed. The last week had been momentous to him; it had brought everything that had been bubbling silently away inside him, poisoning him from the inside, right to the surface. He'd been trying his best to forget the horrors, to block it all out, but it had been destroying him and everyone around him. Malfoy, unstable as he was, had made him see some sort of sense. His words had been harsh but true; and though they had stung him, they had forced him to listen. Shutting out a family that loved him just because he couldn't face them was selfish. And all because of Malfoy. It had been clear to Albus soon after they'd met that Scorpius was a very troubled boy. Fortunate on the outside and crippled on the inside, the torment that seemed to live within his young body was so disturbing that it eclipsed everything else Albus had seen. In some ways, Albus felt like he understood the boy. He knew that it was almost incomparable, but he recognized parts of himself in Malfoyhe knew what it felt like to be a fish out of water; he knew what it felt like to second-best, to be overshadowed by a brother who seemed to have all the luck and all the fortune while Albus stood by unnoticed, watching from the sidelines; he knewwhat it felt like to feel that nobody liked you. Still, this didn't compare at all to the belief Malfoy seemed to hold that no one loved him. The difference was, Albus knew that he was loved: His parents loved him, as did his brothers and sisters, even James though he rarely ever showed it. But aside from his parents, Malfoy had no family, no close friends, and Albus supposed perhaps this explained his social awkwardness. Because of this he had been willing even after last night to stick by him, to give him the boy a second chance; but today it seemed, Scorpius didn't want to know Albus, nor did he care about anything they had in common. He'd looked like a wounded puppy when he'd emerged from the Hospital Wing that morning, and Albus's first urge had been to comfort him, to make him feel better, just like he'd want to do for any of his familybut Malfoy's guard had been well and truly up, and Albus knew (especially in light of what he'd seen last night) that once that wall went up, no one had a chance in hell of getting through it. Scorpius, it seemed, didn't want a second chanceand had even taken the trouble to explain to Albus why. It made perfect sense, Albus knew it did, but that didn't make him feel any less alone. He felt like he needed

Scorpius around right now; he knew the other boy would understand everything he'd done today in a way no one else could. Because Albus had lied to his father today, something he'd never before had to do, and now felt spoiled and dirty and rotten; no amount of acting and pretending everything was okay was going to clean him from the inside. He didn't know who he was or what he had become; he needed Scorpius to help him understand it. And now, with this letter he had for Louis, he was torn. He wanted to send it, and knew he had to, but strangely, he was sure if he were here that Scorpius would scold him for it, tell him it was a mistake, tell him everything he knew was true. But none of it would stop him. Albus thought either he was an eternal fool, or just loved Louis far too much, even after everything, to ever see him hurt. He took a quill from his pocket and pressed the piece of parchment up against the stone. His fingers were numb, and he fumbled to keep a firm grasp on his quill. He took a deep breath. What was he going to say? What was there to say? Louis, Everyone misses you. Dad says Auntie Fleur's so depressed she can't get out bed some days. Everything here is fine. I made it up with Dad and everything's back to normal. EVERYTHING. So please, come back. It's like nothing ever happened. Al. Albus looked at the words he'd written on the parchment and conscientiously double-checked each and every word. Satisfied that he couldn't have put it any better, he turned his head and made a clicking noise with his tongue. His snow-white owl, Lucy, flew down from where she'd been perched on the rafters and landed on his shoulder. She nibbled his ear affectionately and held out her foot. Albus smiled, petted her, and tied the note to her outstretched leg. "Find Louis," he whispered. "Find him, wherever he is." Lucy clicked her beak twice to show that she understood, and flew upward into the night. Albus, alone once more, felt heavy all over. Already he had begun to regret sending the letter, and still couldn't understand why he'd felt such an overwhelming need to do so in the first place. Was he worried for Louis and how all of this had affected him? Did he miss him so much that, selfishly, he just wanted him back? Albus thought perhaps it was a mixture of both. Besides, they both owned this secret, didn't they? And by default, they both held equal responsibility for it. Why should he alone have to bear

the burden of the guilt? Louis was doing to Auntie Fleur and Uncle Bill exactly what Albus had been doing to his own family. It wasn't fair on any of them, and if Albus had made the effort to move past what had happened, then Louis should have to do the same. He sighed out loud and slowly began to make his way back inside. He wrapped his cloak closer to him; the chill in the air was getting so under his skin that his teeth were chattering and his skin felt numb. It was still early; the Gryffindor common-room was sure to be empty. He paced the corridors for a while like a ghost, not wanting to be alone in his dorm just yet. Though he told himself his wanderings where random, he was venturing deeper and deeper inside the castle, and before he knew it, he had found himself outside the entrance to the Slytherin common-room, breathing heavily. To his surprise, he found that it was open. This was even worse. If it had have been closed, he didn't know the password; he would have been forced to go away, and like scratching at old wounds, leave it alone. "Damn it." Albus kicked the stone wall in frustration. He was going to go inside and race up the stairs to Malfoy's dorm. It was inevitable and infinitely stupid but he knew he was going to do it, even if he didn't want to. "He doesn't want to see you," he breathed to himself, clenching his fists at his sides. "He doesn't want to see you, just walk away..." He and Scorpius weren't friends anymore (not that they really ever had been) but Malfoy had made it clear today that he didn't want to continue to see Albus at all. Albus knew that he should have respected those wishes, not that Malfoy really deserved the courtesy, considering how rude he was, but for some reason, he found that he could not. Malfoy had looked so broken today, and he didn't deserve to be alone like that. No one did. He didn't want to be alone like that either. Berating himself, Albus pushed open the door to the common-room and quickly ducked inside before he thought better of it. The common-room was dimly lit, shadows flickering in the torchlight. The fire in the hearth had been reduced to glowing orange embers, and its warmth was diminishing. His eyes flitted nervously about the room. He was alone. He had half-expected Malfoy to be right here in the common-room, but now that he thought about it, it was quite possible that Malfoy wasn't even here. He felt foolish and angry. Why did he feel the need to pursue someone who clearly had no interest in knowing him? Biting down hard on his lip, Albus took off his cloak and tossed it aside onto an empty couch. He noticed one of Malfoy's knitted jumpers hung loosely over the back of an armchair and smiled, not quite knowing why. He ran his fingertips languidly over the wool. Malfoy had such nice clothes, he thought, and he always looked so nice in them.

Albus was suddenly reminded of how envious he sometimes felt about Malfoy's beauty. It was silly, really, and he knew that, but like Louis, sometimes it just wasn't fair for one person to be so lovely. Not wishing to pursue this particular line of thinking any further, Albus attempted to purge his thoughts somewhat as he sought out the entrance to the boy's dorms. He saw two flights of stairs to his right, both dark and shadowy, and each with infinite possibilities. Assuming that the boy's dorms would be on the left like they were in Gryffindor Tower, Albus made his way over to the staircase with gnawing unease. If Malfoy was in his dorm, what was he going to say to him? Would he be laughed at, asked to leave? Gathering all the courage he had left, he climbed the stairs two at a time, his heart pounding, and soon found himself inside a narrow stone corridor. The torches danced in their brackets, leaving his shadow dancing along the walls. He walked slowly along the corridor, examining each door, looking for one that held a sign saying 'Third Years'. He found it. The door stood slightly ajar, and from what he could gauge the interior was dimly lit, as if from the light of a single candle. His heart jumped into his throat. Perhaps Malfoy was asleep? It wasn't too late to just call his own folly and leave quietly, he knew that, but he was unsurprised to find himself unable to do so. He did want to check that the other boy was alright, that much was true; but part of him also wanted to see Malfoy for his own selfish reasons. He didn't want to be alone. Nervous, Albus nudged the door a little with his foot. It fell open silently. It was dark, and it took his eyes a while to adjust to the dim light, but slowly, everything started to come into focus. The room was small and windowless, the walls made of glimmering dark stone. Four four-poster beds were crammed into this space, three of them empty and undisturbed. The fourth bed, at the farthest corner of the room, certainly looked the most grand. Next to the bed stood an expensivelooking chest of drawers, upon which a number of very costly looking items were placed. Up against the wall stood a long, silver dress mirror that glimmered dimly in the candlelight. Albus smiled. Although Malfoy's he assumed the bed belonged to Malfoy, anyway - was identical to all the other's in the room, the deep-green brocade hangings that adorned it were certainly far more regal-looking than the one's on the other beds. A single flame flickered upon Malfoy's dresser, and in that moment, Albus could have sworn he heard the bed creak. He swallowed nervously and made his way towards it. "Malfoy?" He was so nervous his mouth was dry. "Malfoy, are you awake?" "Go away, Potter." Albus's heart sank. Malfoy sounded undoubtedly annoyed. Albus swallowed hard and tried to muster some courage. Since when had he become so persistent? "I just wanted to see if you were alright," he

called. He stood right beside the bed now, twisting his hands anxiously. Malfoy didn't answer, but Albus found that if he listened very closely, he could hear the sound of Malfoy's breathing. It was very slow, strained and shallow, almost as if he was...hurt. Albus frowned. Something felt wrong. He tapped his foot anxiously; he was worried now, and even if Malfoy went psycho on him again, he knew that it wasn't right for him to leave without at least checking that he was okay. Tentatively, he parted the hangings on Malfoy's bed with a shaking hand. Even in the very dim light of the room, what he saw there shocked him. "Malfoy!"

Chapter Five
Chapter by Ketamine (midnightlily)

"We always long for the forbidden things, and desire what is denied us." - Francois Rabelais The sky over Hogsmeade was bleeding. Louis Delacour-Weasley stood motionless outside the ramshackle inn, his hands trembling as he held the spotted piece of parchment out in front of him. Just over the horizon, Hogwarts was visible: huge, grand and foreboding, its windows glowing red in the setting sun. He shivered to think that not so far away, inside that castle, slept the boy who had ruined him; a boy who he couldn't seem to stop loving, despite the fact it was wrong. He was Adam in his own private Eden, and his cousin his beautiful, blameless cousin was the forbidden fruit. Only this wasn't paradise. This was hell, a torment so real and profound that he was beginning to lose his way in the darkness. He was falling hard, deeper and deeper, drowning in a pit so cavernous that he could no longer see the light at the surface. He thought longingly of the days when he'd been able to keep his secret under wraps. Then, the darkness had still surrounded him, sometimes swallowing him whole, but if he tried hard enough, he could still yank himself out just far enough to breathe. The summer before last had been both the worst and best he could remember. Everything that had been simmering beneath the surface for years every desire, every want, every illicit craving had almost reared its ugly head. The complexity of his obsession with Albus had been almost too intense to continue to hide, and he'd very nearly caved on more than one occasion. The fabric of his life slowly came undone as he sank further and further into the abyss with little to no chance of ever returning. That summer he'd taught Al how to swim. James refused do it, deeming it a supreme waste of his precious time, so Al's father - his Uncle Harry had entrusted him with this charge. It was crucial, especially with the students' partiality to swim and play in the Lake at school during the warmer months, that Al learned how to swim. Louis, never one to do anything by halves, made it his mission to do it successfully. Besides being a skill necessary for the safety of one of his cousins, it was also an excellent excuse for Louis to do nothing but spend time with him, without anyone thinking anything untoward. They would go down to the water every day, and there they formed new ties and bonds, strengthening the old ones, laughing and playing and enjoying the sun. There he had created some of the purest, most poignant memories of his life. But there had been times, especially on the occasions when they had been completely alone, that it had been the

struggle of a lifetime just to keep his mind focused and his hands from wandering, especially when he had the object of his longing right there in his arms: lithe, wet and near on naked. He didn't know where he'd found the strength to get through it, especially when many days they were not only together, but alone. Yet somehow he'd managed to scrape through it with his secret intact, Albus still blissfully ignorant, and still kept his perversity shrouded just enough that no one particularly his cousin ever noticed that the way he looked at him was anything other than chaste and pure. But it forever teased him to be able to touch something and not quite be able to tasteit. As his feelings for his cousin became more and more perverse in nature, he'd almost put a stop to their age-old tradition of spending their summer's togetherit was just too maddening to be near him, to be so close and yet not close enough, as they lay together in his bed. But he couldn't do that to Al it would have broken his nave little heart. He wouldn't have understood why his Louis wanted to be apart from him; it would have left him gutted and confused, and Louis didn't think he had the heart to do that to him. Hurting him went against everything he felt was natural and right: he had always stood in the role of big brother to Al, had always taken responsibility for him, cared for him, looked after him at school. The idea of hurting him, even if it would ultimately protect him from the worst, made him feel sick to the pit of his stomach. So that last summer, he stayed. Admittedly the frustration had nearly killed him; it had been a searing blur those nights, the two of them wrapped together, when the air was muggy and the crickets sang and the ocean licked and crashed at the rocks beneath the cliff. It had been delicious and erotic and innocent all at the same time, especially when they slept with shirts off, skin on skin, pressed together like lovers; for his whole body achedto touch him, to kiss his lips, explore his mouth with his tongue, to undress him and touch him until they were both hot and sweaty and screaming. But he knew that caving now would ruin everything. Those thoughts were filthy; and if anyone ever found out about them his life not to mention Al's was over. It wasn't supposed to be this way. He hated himself for it, but he couldn't just stop. He wanted to, desperately. He longed to find the root of this sickness, this obsession, to dig deep within his mind and weed it out, set it on fire, stomp on it, spit on it, bury it until he never had to see it again. But it wasn't that simple. He was alone, single-handedly bearing the burden of this secret, and the weight of it was crushing him further and further into the ground. He had no one to confide in. How did one attempt to explain the fact one believes himself to be in lovewith a cousin? It was ridiculous and warped and wicked, it was true, but no one would possibly understand or even believe him if he said that it wasn't all lust and depravity: He loved Albus, more deeply and completely than anyone would ever know, and even if he was sure of nothing else, he was always sure of that.

he was sure of nothing else, he was always sure of that. Each night that they spent together Louis prayed to a God he wasn't sure existed, prayed for his lusts to fade, for his mind to be cleared, purified of all its filthiness, of the thoughts that clouded his judgment and robbed him of his self-control. Because he knew that if this was to continue, this summer was to be their last spent in sweetness and innocence, and he didn't want that. The way they were now, close like they were with no other, understanding and loving and accepting and beautiful, was perfect. He thought that if he lost it he might die. He had never had a relationship with anyone that was like the relationship he shared with his cousin. Not with girlfriends, family members, friends. He had never had to work hard to win anybody over: he'd been born blessed with beauty, and charm alone had never failed to get him what he wanted. But it was different with Al. Al never saw him that way. He saw past his skin and his bones and his body, right through to his soul, which was where they had always connected on the deepest level. They were soul mates, he was convinced of it, and although he had been cursed to fall in love with the wrong person, sometimes all the pain and the anguish and the self-hatred was almost worth it. Loving him felt good, even through the darkest of times. But the frustration of wanting something so unattainable ate at him, and slowly gave way to an anger that scared him witless. At times he found himself wanting to lash out, whether at himself or at his cousin for making him feel this way he could never quite tell. It soon became clear however, that the anger, combined with the intensity of his desire, was a dangerously dark combination. Frighteningly, his fantasies - about the very boy he loved and cared for so much grew increasingly morbid and violent. In the beginning, the strength of his love for his cousin had permeated even his fantasies: they were always gentle and kind, loving and tender; he'd fantasized about soft kisses and warm touches, holding Al ever so gently as they rocked back and forth; kissing the sweet skin of his neck; running tender hands over his body and through his hair. Now it seemed his frustration had redirected inwards - he was starting to scare himself with new, darker fantasies, these having nothing to do with gentle kisses or careful touches; these were shocking, vulgar, where his cousin wasn't his cousin and he wasn't him. He was someone else, someone evil a monster, a villain, someone capable of being violent and selfish and hasty and cruel. In these scenarios Al wasn't always the willing participant he usedto dream about; now he was fantasizing about taking him by force. In these chilling dream-like scenarios, he would lock the door to his room, pin his unsuspecting, wide-eyed victim to the bed, and hold him down hard as he fucked him, his hands grabbing at smooth flesh and pulling hair and slapping and bruising and hurting. He would hold one hand over his mouth to silence him, blocking out the inevitable screams and begging and pleading for mercy, removing it only to kiss cold, indifferent lips. He would be brutal and vicious, biting those lips instead of kissing them, biting down so hard that it would draw blood and elicit

screams and yelps and cries for help. In these fantasies, it wasn't love that made him do these things it was rage. Pure, unadulterated, rage. That was the first time Louis had actively wished for death. The first time he came to one of these fantasies it had been powerful and earth-shattering and blissfully bittersweet. Afterwards, he had been so sick with grief, remorse and disgust that it made him physically ill. He had lain on the floor in the bathroom for hours in the foetal position, his cheek pressed to the cold tiles, sobbing, pleading, for someone, something, to end his suffering, to take it all away. The fact that these fantasies had him so excited, that he had been able even to entertain the idea of hurting the one he loved a sweet boy who had never done anything but worship and idolize him in the purest possible way meant that all hope was lost. He had finally reached the point of no return. As he lay on the bathroom floor he had considered the ridiculousness of his predicament. How was it possible that he was going through all of this alone, with no one any the wiser? Through everything it was astounding that his cousin had never once seemed to clue to the darkness behind Louis's eyes; the wickedness there when he looked at him. It seemed that his cousin would be forever blind to the fact that Louis's own intentions were growing ever sinister, but he wondered how long it was going to take before the inevitable happened and someone noticed what had been there all along; surely it wouldn't be long. Because he had always taken special interest in Al, even when they'd been very young. He loved his other cousins, too, but the relationship he shared with Albus was different. While the other children in their family were happy to run about the house screaming, playing, chasing each other around and throwing things - Al had always been the quiet one. It was not unusual to sometimes find him sitting outside in the grass by himself, studying a flower or a small insect, his eyes wide and curious. Louis had always loved that about him; he was a gentle spirit. When he had been injured in that Quidditch accident back in sixth year, he'd awoken in the hospital wing, dazed and aching, to find Al sleeping on his chest, small white hands knotted in the fabric of his jumper, eyes swollen, cheeks stained by tears. ...How could no one notice? Now that obsession had taken over his mind, he had never more appreciated what it was to be normal. He had been a boy of fifteen from a perfectly respectable family when it had all begun, with a bright future and the world at his feet. He had been born fortunate in life, he knew that - handsome and athletic with brains and talent and everything else a boy of his standing could hope for. It had almost been too good to be true. And yet within the space of a single moment, everything had changed. At a time when he was just beginning to discover himself, something happened to him, something he had no words for, and he began to see Al differently; his cousin went from being just that - his cousin - to being the only thing he thought about when he closed his eyes. At first he had

been terrified about the shift in his feelings, sure that he was sick or damaged or confused. He became withdrawn and shuttered, unable to eat or sleep or even look at Al without feeling nauseas. At a time when his friends and everyone around him were enjoying their youth and sexual precocity, jerking off over images of plastic, bikini-clad, bottleblondes in Muggle magazines, he was capable of seeing only one thing in the throes of passion: Al beneath him, holding him and calling out his name. As a result he withdrew further from everything even vaguely tethering him to reality. He began to lose Quidditch matches, failing his classes. His interest in girls waned so profusely that he dumped his girlfriend of six months and didn't think twice about it. That year he very nearly failed his exams. His parents had been called in, and he'd been forced to lie to them in order to pacify their worries and soothe their concerns, especially his father's. After all, he doubted that merely telling them he'd been too busy obsessing over his cousin to study would ease their minds any. And so the summer after he'd finished school, he left for Paris, determined to be a success and more determined still to keep Al safe. None of these things he managed to achieve. While his career had taken off with unprecedented success, nothing had changed but distance. Every time he closed his eyes he saw Albus's - those eyes were the most potent shade of green he had ever known: like battery acid, poison, fireworks and unforgivable curses. Thinking about them made him homesick. He missed Albus so much that it hurt to breathe; he missed his smell and the feel of his arms, the freedom of being able to look at him and touch him whenever he wanted. He'd taken it for granted before, and he hadn't imagined that when it was taken away from him he wouldn't be able to function. He dated an endless procession of beautiful women but it was never enough to distract him. The sex was nearly always bad; abysmally dissatisfying. Nothing they could do for him was ever enough. Over time, he became jaded, and even considered ending his life; all that stopped him was the pain that it would cause Albus if he ended things that way. And so he stayed. But those memories he shared with Albus haunted him relentlessly, and when the pain became too much, when it coursed through him like venom, crippling and burning and bleeding and hurting, he reminded himself why it was that he had forced himself into exile, why he couldn't be near Al - it wasn't safe. He wasn't safe. He knew that he was sick; he needed help; and until he got better, it was imperative he stay away. The letters Albus sent him from home didn't exactly help. The words teased him with the illusion of closeness; it was like being trapped behind a wall of thick ice - he was there, the only thing he'd ever loved, so close and yet so far from him. Albus would go on and on for pages about how much he missed him, how the summer didn't feel complete lest Louis was near, how much it hurt to be alone without him, how forlorn he felt, like he hadn't a friend in the world.

The women he was sleeping with all assumed he had someone back home, someone whose words induced endless torment in him. He allowed them to draw their own conclusions; what they thought was of no concern to him. They were insignificant to him, and in many ways he hated them - they made him see what he had tried so desperately to blot out: that he was damaged goods, and could never love them the way they wanted him to. But most of all, he hated them because they weren't him. It didn't matter, because in the end he lost. The end was coming, he could feel it in his blood, and he received a letter from Al one day that sealed it. He lost the battle of wills with himself, and he was finally going home. It was liberating in a way, even if his heart knew what his mind did not: that if he went back, all hope was lost. It was just a visit, he told himself; just a visit. He wouldn't stay long, just enough to check on Al and remind himself exactly why it was that they had to be apart. So when he finally returned home, he put off the inevitable confrontation for as long as possible and welcomed the attentions of his family, indulging his parents as they fussed over him telling him he was too thin, that he wasn't eating enough or looking after himself. They were right, although it didn't matter much to him when all he could think about was Albus. He caught small flashes of the boy from around corners and doorways, his eyes wide with confusion, probably wondering why Louis hadn't come to see him yet, why he was ignoring him. But Louis could not be alone with him - if he was the words 'stay with me forever' might tumble from his lips, whether he wanted them to or not. That night, after he'd drunk too much champagne and admonished himself over and over for ever daring to come back, he'd ignored his own advice and gone straight past the couch and to his room and to his bed. He knew then in that moment as he lay down beside Al, tickling him, holding him as he laughed and giggled, that this time it was different. This time, there would be no turning back. He was walking straight into the jaws of hell. In a way, giving in was like sweet relief. That second night he finally accepted defeat. Everything he had ever wanted was finally his for the taking, and in each other's arms, nothing could ever be wrong, he was sure of it. In one moment all of his pain, anger and shame evaporated - it was like breathing in a lungful of oxygen after being held under water for far too long. The moment that Al pressed back up against him was the moment he finally lost it. As though he had fallen deaf, he ignored Al's pleading, his protests for Louis to stop, and continued to take what he wanted. Afterward the guilt had torn him apart; he wanted nothing more than for Albus to take him in his arms, lie against his chest, and tell him everything he wanted to hear. But when reailty finally set back in Albus had been as cold and unresponsive as a block of ice, had told Louis he never wanted to see him again. And so he had left that night broken,

never wanted to see him again. And so he had left that night broken, sure that he would die, and uncaring now as to whether Harry Potter himself hunted him down and murdered him for what he had done. For a long while he had been as good as dead, until he had received Albus's brief letter of truce, like a white flag, signalling a last reprieve. He returned to England and stayed in Hogsmeade - he would not return to Shell Cottage, not back there to his room, the place where it had all begun and ended. It was too tainted. People stared as they passed now, watching the beautiful young man, who seemed so very out of place outside a building that was falling apart - a fitting residence for a man who was falling apart. Louis placed the note back inside his pocket and tried to ignore the staring passers-by; he went back inside the inn and into the lobby, the last dying rays of the sun shining weakly behind him. Impatient, he stopped before the front desk and said, "I need to send an owl." The spotty manager smiled at him with crooked brown teeth. "Certainly, sir," he simpered, and gave a small bow. He pulled a few empty squares of parchment from under the desk and handed one to Louis, along with a fresh quill and inkwell. "Will that be all, Sir?" Louis waved him away, and the manager - clearly accustomed to this sort of rudeness - disappeared accordingly. Louis's stomach clenched as he stared at the empty parchment before him. He was unsure of what to say, when he knew that really, he shouldn't be saying anything at all. Finally, he wrote: Al, I received your letter in Paris. I've spoken to mum, and I'll be visiting her soon, so please don't worry. It's not like nothing ever happened, don't say that. I know you, Al. Don't try to pretend that everything's okay for my sake when I know it's not. Nothing will ever excuse what I've done, and nor was it your fault, so please don't feel like you have to make it better. I'm staying in Hogsmeade for work, staying at the Gypsy Inn, and I know you've got a Hogsmeade weekend coming up. If you want to meet and talk, about anything, you can meet me here, but if not, that's okay too. Don't feel obliged to see me, because you owe me nothing. You'll never know how sorry I am for hurting you. Just please, don't ever let yourself believe that it was your fault, when it was completely, entirely, mine. You were never meant to get hurt, I promise you that, and if we

don't see each other again, please just know that I love you. Forever yours, Louis ~o~ Albus's first reaction was to run. He stood rooted to the spot, stunned. He felt sick to his stomach. The sight of blood terrified him, and ever since childhood he'd had an oddly deep-rooted fear of it - he didn't know whether it was the smell, the sticky feel as it bled from an open wound, or its association with pain, but he knew that if he was going to help Malfoy, he was going to have to get over it fast. Malfoy sat propped up against a wall of deep-burgundy pillows; his white collared shirt was open, exposing a pale-white chest, upon the surface of which several large, blue-black bruises marred his skin, and his bottom lip was split. For a brief their eyes met, and Malfoy's were eerily hollow. Although he appeared to be looking at him, Albus was left with the distinct impression that he was looking straight through him. Finally, Malfoy turned his head and looked away, and Albus was surprised that he didn't even shout at him or tell him to go away. He looked like a broken china doll, and the sight of him made Albus feel uncomfortable - he felt embarrassed for Malfoy, because he knew how much he would hate it if he was made to expose his fragility like this, especially when he thought he knew Malfoy just well enough to know how how proud he was. Albus parted the deep-green hangings and planted one knee upon the mattress. "Malfoy," he said carefully. "Malfoy what happened?" Malfoy seemed to want to uphold the delusion that Albus did not exist, and refused to meet his eyes. His jaw was set as he held a bloodied cloth to his lip, and he dabbed at it robotically. Unthinking, Albus reached out to touch the largest, most painful looking bruise on Malfoy's stomach, and the boy was quick to react, slapping his hand away so fiercely that Albus flinched back. "I'm sorry," Albus squeaked, cringing, and drew the offending hand back to his side. After a few more minutes of tense silence, he was rather surprised to find his shock slowly receding into anger. Malfoy was hurt, and it was only logical to assume that he hadn't done this to himself. Someone else had. "Malfoy," he said again, "who did this to you?" Again, Malfoy appeared not to have heard him. "Malfoy," Albus repeated, more forcefully this time, "who did this to you? Answer me." Finally, Malfoy lifted his gaze and let the bloodied rag fall to the mattress, his eyes suddenly ablaze with malice. His lip curled into a

sneer, his fists balled up at his sides. Two red spots appeared on his cheeks, while his chest rose in fell in time with his harsh breathing. "Get out of here, Potter," he ordered hoarsely. "The last thing I need right now is some chivalrous, selfrighteous, Gryffindor prick trying to make me feel better. Just leave." Anger surged through Albus, causing his temper to soar and his vision to flicker. So that was how it was, was it? After a moment he forced himself to swallow his rage and take a calming breath. It wasn't going to work this time. Somehow, Albus was beginning to come to some sort of preliminary understanding regarding Malfoy's erratic behavior. He had arrived at the irrefutable conclusion that this was all part of the act; a performance Malfoy had designed to keep everyone away, and to uphold the illusion that he was not weak. It was a coping mechanism, Albus thought - one he recognized rather well himself. Knowing this just made looking at Malfoy hurt like this even worse than it would have been otherwise. Carefully, Albus placed his other knee on the bed and, very slowly inched closer to where Malfoy was sitting, all the while refusing to break eye contact. Malfoy stared back at him incredulously, as if daring him to proceed. "What do you think you're doing?" he said loudly, leaning back against the headboard. "I thought I told you to leave; did you not hear me?" "I heard you," Albus told him. " But I'm not going anywhere until I know you're alright, I can't. I need to know you did this to you." Malfoy laughed coldly. "You have no idea how pathetic that sounds, Potter. And it's none of your damn business, so go away." The cut in his lip reopened as he laughed, and much to Albus's horror, a fresh rivulet of blood trickled down his chin, splattering his pale chest with red droplets that looked like rubies on snow. Albus suppressed the urge to turn away from him in revulsion, and instead stayed put out of pity. He held Malfoy's gaze and didn't move away, and this seemed to unnerve Malfoy more than anything else he could have done. Malfoy stopped laughing at once, his expression blank once more and betraying nothing. Albus thought hard as they sat there in silence. Logically, there was only one person who was likely to have caused Malfoy's injury, and yet the very thought was so foreign to him, so despicable, that he didn't even want to entertain it: Malfoy's father. He pushed the thought to edges of his mind and tried to focus on Malfoy, who was very studiously ignoring him. Privately, Albus admired his dedication to the task. Eyes travelling downwards, past the blood on Malfoy's chest, he focused his attention on a large, purpling bruise just over Malfoy's ribs, and winced. It looked awfully painful, almost as though someone had driven a boot right into his ribs. Malfoy caught him looking at it and smirked; following the line of Albus's gaze, his traced the bruise with pale fingertips, and Albus blushed and looked away. "Looks pretty, doesn't it?" Malfoy taunted. The statement was clearly intended to provoke, but if Albus listened closely he thought he could detect a faint note of sadness beneath the sarcasm. Bizarrely, he felt like

crying, and Malfoy stopped looking at him then. Albus wasn't quite sure whether it was out of courtesy, or if he was simply disgusted by emotion. He watched as Malfoy closed his open shirt and tried to fasten the buttons with fumbling fingers. It was then, and only then, that Albus became aware of several things at once: He had been so taken by the initial shock of finding Malfoy like this that he hadn't noticed anything about the other boy's appearance aside from the obvious injuries he had sustained. Now however, watching Malfoy fasten his top button, he realized that the other boy's hair long, silky, and impossibly pale was loose as he'd never seen it, and fell just past his shoulders. Albus's mouth was suddenly dry. He had seen plenty of boys with long hair before (from old wizarding families mostly, those who couldn't seem to move past the nineteenth century) but it wasn't that - he had never seen Malfoy with his hair out before, and right now, with it fanned out around him, he looked like an angel to him. Malfoy must have caught him staring with his mouth-open, because he flushed and hastened to tie back his hair. Albus, dying with humiliation, quickly cleared his throat and said, "I'm sorry." He was mortified by his reaction to Malfoy's state of dress. "I didn't mean to stare." "Forget it," Malfoy muttered. "If I was you I'd be staring too. Look at me, it's revolting." If the situation was any less serious Albus might have laughed. He sincerely doubted that it was possible for Malfoy to ever look revolting even now, bloodied and bruised, his beauty was rivaled by only one individual Albus knew: Louis. He moved then so that he was sitting beside Malfoy, next to the headboard, and waited anxiously for the other boy to tell him off for getting too close, but the words never came. Malfoy only watched him curiously. "Why won't you leave?" he asked, sounding genuinely curious. "That's what friends are for, right?"Albus replied. He smiled, and Malfoy didn't smile back, only closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the wood. "You're an enigma, Potter," he sighed, letting his head droop so that it almost rested on Albus's shoulder. Suddenly uncomfortable, Albus eyed the bloodied rag that lay between them, and though the sight of it made his stomach heave, he swallowed down his distaste and picked it up with trembling fingers. He turned slightly and lifted the cloth to Malfoy's face. Without asking for his permission, he gingerly dabbed at the other boy's split lip, one hand coming up to rest on the heated skin of his left cheek. Malfoy's eyes went wide with alarm. "It's alright," Albus reassured him with a kind smile. "Let me help you." The blood-flow from the cut was slowing, and Malfoy's chest was rising and falling slower than before. He closed his eyes again and let Albus

wipe his forehead with the cloth. "You need to go to the Hospital Wing," Albus told him reluctantly, wiping down Malfoy's neck and chest. "You're a mess." Malfoy shook his head. "No," he mumbled, "I can't do that." Albus dropped the cloth. "And why not?" He thought he knew why, but he still didn't want to voice his suspicions. Not yet. Malfoy shoved him hard without any warning. "Because I can't!" he shouted. "Hey!" Albus fell back onto the mattress. "What the hell was that for?" Malfoy closed the last few buttons of his shirt, his fingers trembling, and smoothed back his hair. The wall was up again, as quickly as he had let it down. "I told you before," he said coolly. "I don't need you to tell me what to do. Stop trying to be a hero, alright? Please." Albus sat up again and stared at him incredulously. "Are you for real? You're my friend, Malfoy. I want to help you. I'm not trying to be a hero and you know it. You're hurt and you need help." Malfoy snorted. "Hurt? Please. This is nothing; I'll be fine." Albus's temper flared. "Nothing?" he shouted. "You look like you just went twelve rounds with a block of cement! If this is nothing, I'd hate to see how you look when you're really hurt." Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Look, I know you're trying to help, and it's sweet, really, but you needn't bother. There's nothing you can do here." Defiant, Albus tried to gather the courage to voice his suspicions. "Fine. But it was him, wasn't it?" Malfoy laughed coldly. It sounded stark and unnatural. "What? I don't know what you're talking about, Potter." Albus wriggled closer to where Malfoy was sitting. He put his hand on Malfoy's arm and tried to speak as gently as possible. "Him. Your father." Malfoy tensed. He pushed Albus's hand away roughly, and immediately Albus knew that he had gone too far. "Get out," Malfoy said, so quietly that Albus was sure he must have misheard him. "Please, Scorpius," Albus pleaded with him. "I want to help you. If we just tell someone, maybe we can fix it. I'll be there with you, I'm not going anywhere!" "I said shut up!" Malfoy yelled, and Albus reeled back. "Just shut up! I don't need anything from anybody, especially not you. I know how much you love your daddy, Potter, but some of us aren't so fortunate. My father disciplines me when I deserve it, and that's all. I misbehave - I get punished. There's nothing more to it." "No!" Albus shouted back at him. "He shouldn't punish you, not like this.

It's not right. I can't let this happen to you again." "And just what do you think you're going to do about it? Run to the Headmaster? Run to Daddy? Your father couldn't care less about me and neither could you. You live in a dream world Potter, and you need to grow up. You're just a silly...little...boy." Albus groaned. "Look, if you don't want anyone to know, I'm not going to force you to tell anyone. But it's wrong, and you don't deserve this, I don't care what you've done." His eyes flickered from the bed, to the candle dancing in the bracket, to the intricacy of the patterns on the bedspread, and finally to Malfoy, where he was all bruises and pale flesh and fire and beauty. He shifted closer to where Malfoy was sitting, and watched him intensely. "And don't call me a little boy," he added bitterly. "I'm not, and neither are you." Malfoy leant further away, and tried to back away into space that wasn't there. Briefly Albus wondered whether he should back off now and leave him alone, but for the first time in his life his mind seemed to be separate from his body and refused to obey him. He was feeling something now, something fiery and intense, something that he couldn't quite put his finger on. "You're my friend," he told Malfoy softly, lifting a hand to the other boy's chin, and forcing his face towards him. Their eyes met and it gave him chills to be so very close to another person. "I want to be your friend, whether you like it or not. I...I want to know you. But I can't unless you let me." He sighed deeply. "You're so much like me, you know. Nearly always alone. But it doesn't have to be that way. You said it yourself, this is intense, and sometimes I-I think maybe we were meant to find each other," he finished lamely. Malfoy tried to turn his head away, but Albus refused to let him go. He had never been so forceful with anybody. "Listen," he implored. "I know things haven't been easy for you and I know you need a friend. Look " He delved a hand into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled paper napkin. Malfoy's eyes went wide. "Is that...?" "Yes." Albus placed the napkin on Malfoy's lap - he looked at it curiously for a moment before picking it up and twirling it about on his fingertips. "It is. You found me. You gave me this. You tried to take it away, but I never forgot it. In a way, just by being you, you helped me. I was a mess, but you ... you made me see sense. You...you explained things to me like no one ever has. From the moment I met you I wanted to be more like you. You're so much stronger than you think." "You're talking nonsense," Malfoy dismissed, "you don't even know me. Now get away from me; you're in my aura." Albus laughed a little; Malfoy's defences were still up, but he thought that if he persisted just a little bit longer he might be able to breach them. "Sorry. I just...I want you to hear me, okay?" "I can hear you," Malfoy sneered. "And I'm sure I'd hear you just as well over there." He pointed to the opposite end of the bed.

Albus nudged him gently. "Don't be like that." He reached out then to touch a silvery strand of Malfoy's hair, and marveled at its softness before he tucked it behind his ear. Malfoy watched him through narrowed eyes. "What do you want from me?" Albus swallowed guiltily. His behaviour was growing slightly improper, he realized, because friends - much less boys - did not touch each other with tenderness like this. He supposed that maybe it was because he hadn't ever had a relationship with a boy he didn't know, and had nothing to compare such things to. His relationship with Louis had shaped him most; they had been very close, and if he looked back on it now, with new eyes, he was old enough to realize that the line between what was right and wrong had often become very blurred when they were together. He fell quiet, confused. He had nothing untoward in mind and he knew that: He touched and hugged Rose whenever she was feeling down and there was nothing wrong with that, so why was it so wrong to touch a friend this way? "Well?" Malfoy's voice crashed through his thoughts again. Their eyes met and Albus was surprised to find that Malfoy looked angry again. "I don't want anything from you," Albus admitted quietly. "Why would you think that?" He shifted away then, deliberately placing some distance between them. "Yeah, well why are you looking at me like that, then?" Albus was puzzled. "I don't understand. Like what?" "Like them," Malfoy accused. "You're looking at me like they do." Albus searched his mind and tried to glean some sort of meaning from Malfoy's words. When he found one, the blood drained from his face and he felt faint. Malfoy couldn't possibly mean what he thought he meant. "Who are 'they'?" he asked unsteadily. "I think you know what I mean," Malfoy snapped, his eyes full of disgust. "Do you want something from me - like this?" He gestured then toward himself, hands trembling, and began to undress, hands flying and buttons popping. "Do you? Well if you want it, take it." Albus sat there speechless, feeling very much like a child trapped within a nightmare. He didn't understand what was happening - whether Malfoy was really angry at him, or angry at something else and taking it out on him. Malfoy's hands dropped to his belt and started unhooking it, and Albus snapped into motion so fast he surprised himself. "STOP IT!" he yelled. He flung himself forward and grabbed at Malfoy's hands, holding them in his own tightly. "Stop it," he breathed, quieter this time. He pushed Malfoy's hands back into his chest. "Don't take this out me, whatever it

is." He felt crushed with sadness. "I'm sorry about all the things that happened to you, I really am, but don't take it out on me just because you can." Malfoy fell quiet and sunk back into the mattress where he lay limp; he turned his cheek; Albus noticed his eyes were suspiciously glassy. "I don't want anything like that from you," Albus told him gently. "How could you even think that? Not everybody's out to get you, you know. You've got to know that, right?" Malfoy mumbled, "You've never had it like I have. No one's ever taken you the way they took me." "No," Albus conceded, feeling very sad, "and I'm sorry if someone did that to you. I-I am. It makes me feel sick. But you shouldn't have to live like this just because someone hurt you. It's not your fault." Malfoy made a noncommittal grunt. "You don't get it, do you? You think this is bad?" He turned around and gestured to his swollen lip. "If my father ever knew half the things I do he'd probably kill me. I got off easy this time, believe me." Albus shuddered. "Yeah, well one day you're going to have to tell somebody. About all of this. Promise me that you will." Malfoy wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his shirt and cleared his throat. "Maybe I will. But not now. It'd be more trouble than it's worth." Albus nodded. "And listen, I'm sorry if I scared you before, that was never my intention. I want to be your friend, okay? That's all. I don't want anything from you, not like that. I don't think of you that way, believe me." Malfoy looked at him strangely for a moment, his pale hair glinting in the candlelight. He licked the wound on his bottom lip. "If you don't want that then what do you want? Why do you keep hanging around? What else is there to like?" "I don't know," Albus mumbled, "I like you. You're not like anyone else I've ever known." Malfoy sighed and folded his arms across his chest, staring up at the ceiling. "Has the thought ever crossed your mind that maybe I want something from you?" The room fell very quiet, the only noise audible the sound of their combined breathing, the gentle rustling of bed sheets when one of them moved. After a while Albus swallowed and cleared his throat. He wondered if maybe he had misunderstood Malfoy's question, but then again, he didn't think he had. "Er ... do you?" Malfoy lifted his arms to cover his face. "I don't know," he groaned in a muffled voice. "Half the time I don't know what I want from people." "I don't get it," Albus said slowly.

"Well, I like you too if that counts for anything," Malfoy informed him. "You're exceedingly ignorant, but I think I like that about you. It's refreshing. Plus, I can't seem to get rid of you, can I? You're like a lost puppy who won't go home." Albus let out a nervous laugh. "Well, you need a friend and so do I. So that's what I want. But what do you want? Tell me." Malfoy looked at him. "I just want you to stay," he confessed with a downward look. "Even if you are insane. I mean, I nearly took my clothes off in front of you and yet-" He waved a hand over Albus- "here you sit." "Well," said Albus, "what are friends for?" When Scorpius Malfoy's defences were down, it was almost like he was a different boy. He was funny and complex and deep and honest, and Albus was sure he'd never met anyone quite like him. He laughed easily and smiled often, and the darkness that seemed to live so deeply in him was apparent less and less as the evening went on. They lay on their backs now, side by side, The Dimwit's Guide to Quidditch open above them. "Could you do that?" Malfoy pointed to a moving illustration of a robed Quidditch player, zooming toward the ground impossibly fast, seeking a tiny winged object that flitted about over the page. "No," Albus admitted. "I'd definitely fall off my broom." Malfoy laughed and flicked through the pages. "The Gryffindors are looking for a new Seeker, aren't they? Are you going to try out or not?" Albus snorted and folded his arms over his chest. "Er, I don't think so. I'm not good enough; not like James." Malfoy snapped the book closed and turned his head on the pillow, eyes searching his. "That's not exactly true, though, is it?" Albus looked back at him, puzzled. "Um, yeah it is." Malfoy frowned. "No it's not. I've seen you fly, and you're good. Really good." Albus laughed this off. "Yeah? When? When have you seen me fly?" He was absurdly sensitive when it came to Quidditch. His brother, James, was the Gryffindor Keeper, and also happened to be exceedingly good at it. That, coupled with the fact that his father was unrivaled in his reputation as youngest and best Seeker the Gryffindor team had ever boasted, was almost guaranteed to make him never want to step foot near a broom. Ever. Malfoy must have noticed the strained look on his face, because he said, "Relax. I saw you practicing the other day. You're good," he said again without a trace of sarcasm. "You should try out. Really, you should." Albus took a deep breath. No one had ever told him he was good at

anything up until now he hadn't thought he was. "Do you really think so?" "Sure I do," Malfoy said, idly flicking through the book. "So try out." "Thanks," Albus said quietly; he could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks in great, pulsating floods. "Don't mention it," Malfoy said offhandedly, and giggled at an illustration of an ancient Quidditch player falling off a broom that looked like a long, knobbly twig. He looked almost normal in this moment, Albus thought, like any other child: untouched and whole. If you looked past the bruises, the sarcasm, and the entirely unpredictable behavior, Albus thought it would be very hard to believe that he was anything other than an ordinary, beautiful child. He liked him the way he was now, too funny and open and sincere. Sadly, he didn't know how long it was going to last, or whether they'd even be friends this time tomorrow. With this in mind, he sighed. "School gets back on Sunday." He looked sidelong at Malfoy, who still had his eyes fixed on the book. "I know," the other boy replied, without looking at him. Albus didn't know whether this was something only he was thinking about, or whether Malfoy was thinking about it too, but it had been on his mind for the last two days. "Do you think that " Malfoy sighed and slammed his book shut. "Yes," he sighed, "we'll still be friends." "Well," Albus said, "I'm sorry I asked, but how exactly is that going to work?" Malfoy sighed and smoothed his hair back from his forehead, and again ran his tongue over his split lip. "I don't know," he admitted, "but I'm sure we can work it out. People consort with people from different Houses all the time, right? It shouldn't be a big deal." Albus didn't know about that. "Yeah," he grumbled, "maybe." He didn't want to think about not being friends with Malfoy now, and though he loved Rose - she'd been his only true friend since he'd come to Hogwarts - it wasn't the same as being friends with a boy; being able to talk about Quidditch and sports and...girls? "Listen, Scorpius," he blurted. Malfoy glared at him then. "Er, sorry - Malfoy," he amended. Malfoy smiled and nudged his foot with his own. "That's better. Yes?" "Do you want to go to Hogsmeade with me next weekend? There's something I want to show you." To his surprise, Malfoy burst out laughing. Albus frowned and propped himself up on his elbow, confused. "What? What's so funny?" "Nothing," Malfoy said, breathless. "It's just that - you do realize I don't have a vagina, don't you?"

Albus's eyes widened. "I beg your pardon?" "I mean, we can't start going on Hogsmeade dates together. People will talk." Albus felt lost for words. "I didn't...I didn't mean it like that," he stammered. "I just wanted to show you my my Uncle has a " "Potter?" He felt Malfoy's cool hand on his forearm, and he turned to look at him. "What?" "Just relax, will you? I'm only teasing; I'd like to go. Paige never wants to come to Hogsmeade with me - I think she's embarrassed to be seen with me, actually - but it'd be fun." Albus released a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding - he'd almost forgotten that Malfoy seemed to enjoy toying with him when he was in one of his better moods. "You've got to stop teasing me ... Don't say things like that." "Sorry," Malfoy shrugged. "You know I can't resist, and you're far too easy to wind up. But seriously, though, it's a ... date." Albus cringed. "It's not that either." "Oh, I'm joking, Potter. And like what?" Malfoy took in Albus's irritated expression and laughed louder. "Oh, come on Potter, you know I'm only mucking about. Things are only weird when you make them weird. You'd do well to remember that." Albus stared up the ceiling, watching their shadows dance on the stone. "I don't know what you mean; I don't ever know what you mean. You make a habit of talking in riddles, don't you?" Malfoy was quiet for a moment, and from the corner of his eye he could see the boy playing with his hands. "You're not, um, you know - attracted to me or anything, are you?" Albus blanched. "What?" he shouted. "No! Of course not! Ugh, we've been through this already, and no." Malfoy looked at him strangely. "So what's the problem?" he asked, narrowing his eyes. "We're friends, right? Friends tease each other." "Yeah," Albus conceded. "I know that. But after tonight " Malfoy flushed and looked away. "I already said I was sorry about that. I got the wrong idea, I-I can't explain it. You wouldn't understand. And yeah, sometimes I get a little...crazy. Clearly." Albus shook his head. "You're not crazy. Confused, yes, but crazy? I don't think so." "In any case," Malfoy continued haughtily, "I'm perfectly glad you think I'm unattractive. It makes things far less complicated."

"Huh? Um, I don't think you're unattractive, Malfoy," said Albus. "How did you even get that from what I said? And I think you know how unattractive you're not, so please don't even go there." "Then why?" Malfoy asked innocently. "What's wrong with me?" "Nothing's wrong with you. But I'm a boy and so are you. We're not meant to like each other that way, so drop it." "Yeah, and who told you that?" Albus, slightly exasperated now, said, "Do you want to tell me what this is all about?" His head was spinning. "What are you trying to say? Do you like me, is that it?" Malfoy snorted and folded his arms across his chest. "No," he said loudly, "of course I don't. But how's it wrong? Your brother had a thing going with that Hufflepuff, didn't he? The whole school was talking about it for ages." "That was a rumour!" Albus protested, blushing. "And he's got a girlfriend now, so don't bring it up again." He himself didn't even know whether those particular rumors were true, but that was beside the point. It was getting late and things were getting ... weird. "I have to get going," he sighed, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. "Um, I'll see you in the morning, I guess." Malfoy grunted and turned away from him. "Malfoy?" He didn't answer, and Albus sighed and rolled his eyes. "Are you not speaking to me now?" "Potter, just go," Malfoy said finally. "You talk too much." Albus smiled and touched his shoulder. "Are you going to be alright? Do you need anything?" Malfoy looked at him over his shoulder, his eyes shining; they looked like a storm tonight - deep, like molten silver. "Stop fussing over me, Potter," he said half-heartedly. "You're worse than my governess." "Governess?" Albus shook his head. "Okay, I'm going now." He crawled to the end of the bed and parted the hangings, his feet finally finding solid ground. Malfoy's scent was all over him; he could smell it on his clothes and in his hair. He wondered just how long it would take for it to fade, and whether or not it would drive him crazy when he tried to sleep. "Potter?" Albus turned back, his heart racing. "Yeah?" "You're stronger than you think, too."

~o~ Later Albus eyed the letter in his hands with trepidation, knowing that when he opened it his world would flip. He recognized the hand-writing; he'd recognize it anywhere. He supposed that it shouldn't have come as such a shock. After all, he had written to Louis first. But it couldn't have come at a worse time; not now, when things were just starting to look up. He opened the letter, eyes scanning down the page, and felt his heart sink. He read the last line over and over, unable to purge it from his mind: You were never meant to get hurt, I promise you that, and if we don't see each other again, please just know that I love you. ...and if we don't see each other again... His chest felt strangely empty. Louis ... He was in trouble. Albus knew Louis like no one else - inside out and in between - and something was very wrong. A feeling of foreboding rose from deep within him. Somehow he knew that if he didn't get to Louis and soon, he might never see him again. Shaking, he dropped the letter onto his bed and closed his eyes. Images flashed through his mind, one after another: Waves rising and falling and licking at rocks; a foaming red sea, a sea of blood; Louis, his Louis, a sleeping angel, eyes closed and pale, lips blue, beauty frozen forever in the cold embrace of death... Albus opened his eyes with a start, and stopping only to grab his father's Invisibility Cloak from beneath his mattress, he raced from the castle and set off into the snow, running for his life. He ran against the chill of the wind, his clothes growing soaked with melted snow, but none of it mattered ... He had to see Louis; he had to know whether he was wrong. Overhead, a black owl flew low over the castle and circled the Owlery, a scuffed envelope attached to its leg. On the back of the letter a return address: Lucius Malfoy, Azkaban Wizard's Prison.

Chapter Six
Chapter by Ketamine (midnightlily)

"Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same." Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights ~ One week later ~ For the third night in a row, Scorpius Malfoy lingered alone in darkness and shadows, his pulse racing and his mouth dry. Tonight would be the night, he was sure of it. Tonight would be the night he would finally catch him in the act; put all of his suffering to rest; convince himself that Potter was just as worthless as he was. Then, and only then, could he accept that this this thing between them was truly over. A shriek cut through the night, sending chills down his spine and adrenaline pumping through his blood. His eyes flickered sideways, toward the source of the scream, and he convinced himself he'd seen something - a dark shadow flickered in the corner of his eye, and shrewdly disappeared from sight as soon as he laid eyes on it. His heart pounded behind his ribcage, his mind's eye full of monsters and ghosts, demons and ghouls; they were watching him, he was sure; hunting him. He forced himself to calm down some. It had most likely been nothing. He knew the screams he heard were little more than echoes forever imprinted on the ether, remnants of the Battle of Hogwarts - but knowing this never made it any less chilling, especially when he was alone. He took a deep breath and drank in the night: the lake, smooth and glassy, was frosted over by a sheet of clear ice; the moon and the stars were reflected perfectly upon its surface like a mirror, and the trees swayed menacingly over the grounds, as slow and eerie as a funeral waltz. He shivered. It was so late that not a single light streamed from the castle, and standing out here in the snow alone, he didn't know whether he had ever known a darkness so complete. Swirling thoughts, angry and jealous, coalesced inside his mind like a thunderstorm. Shivering, he balled his hands at his sides and was forced to physically restrain himself from hitting himself about the head or tearing at his own hair. He settled for biting down on his lip so hard that he drew blood. Why did everything have to be like this? Why couldn't he have just stuck to his word, been stronger? But it was too late. He was trapped now; trapped within his web, and held captive by the memory of his smile. He had always been one to obsess whether it was over the Stone or something else, he was never content unless he was so completely fixated on something that it consumed his every waking thought, and blotted everything else out. He supposed this had something to do with running uselessly from reality, but this time it was different: It wasn't something he was obsessing over, it was someone, and somehow that

made it all the worse. He waited and he waited, but that night, he never came. ~o~ Ever since the fight he'd been seeing his face in the mirror. It had been a Christmas gift, and Scorpius's mother had told him that if he looked into the mirror's reflection, he would see something that he had lost - a precious belonging perhaps. But knowing what he knew now, it seemed his mother had been grievously misinformed. The mirror was a dark object, powered by dark magic, and now Scorpius wished he had never laid a hand on it. The first time he'd seen it had been after the big fight, and the image had endlessly taunted him from behind the glass. It was not wholly him, but something vaguely comparative to his likeness, and composed of a million grains of sand. At first he'd been overcome by the heated desire to smash it to pieces, to throw it out a window or to crush it underfoot. It was dangerous, clearly dark magic, and needed to be destroyed; but he could not bring himself to do it. The fact that it was his face he saw, that his soul obviously felt the loss so profoundly must mean something; he was convinced of it. So after a while he had simply given up in despair, and remembered the age-old truism that mirrors never lied. If the mirror said that Potter was never coming back, that he had given up on him, then perhaps he really had. The last time they'd spoken had been a little over a week after the school had returned. Everything had been going so well, or at least that's what he'd thought, but this time Potter had found the letter his grandfather had sent him from Azkaban; it had fallen out of his pocket after their Transfiguration class, and Potter - the doe-eyed Gryffindor fool that he was - had decided to chivalrously retrieve it for him - but not before perusing its contents. Letting the letter fall from his grasp, he had looked at Scorpius then like he had killed his dog, and would have caused a very public scene had Scorpius not dragged him by the elbow to the nearest empty classroom and out of sight. It seemed keeping up appearances wasn't very high on Potter's list of priorities; and as soon as the door slammed, Potter had picked up where he'd left off and truly let him have it: "You're writing to him now? What is it with you, Malfoy? First the Stone and now this!" They had been friends two weeks now, and Potter had never really shouted at him before. Scorpius found that when he was angry, really angry, the overall effect was rather disturbing: Bright green eyes burned into him like acid where he stood, and he had inadvertently taken a step back, ashamed to find that he was afraid. Being an exceptionally good liar, however, he easily masked his fear by giving Potter a blank look and shrugging his shoulders, all the while trying to appear nonchalant. "He's my grandfather," he said casually. "What's it to you?"

For a moment it looked like Potter was either going to hit him or slam him up against the wall. Scorpius had been most dissatisfied when he'd done neither. Potter never got angry enough to really lay into him, despite the fact that every time they were alone for more than ten minutes a fight of some sort ensued. Scorpius would often deliberately provoke him by being spiteful or cruel - testing the waters to see just how much Potter would actually put up with from him before he gave up on him and walked away for good - but it never worked out quite the way he wanted it too, and he nearly always came off worse: Potter was always more likely to stand there like a wounded unicorn, all hurt and bewildered, than actually fight back. As a result Scorpius was left feeling guilty and torn, knowing that Potter didn't deserve his unkindness but somehow unable to stop wanting to hurt him. It was a compulsion he could not fight. "What's it to me?" Potter shouted, eyes alight with fury. "I thought you were my friend, that's what!" "I am!" Scorpius yelled back, not quite sure whether he was being entirely truthful or not. Potter was his friend, but what Scorpius was unsure about was whether he was really Potter's. If he was he had to be the worst friend in the entire world. Potter deserved so much better than him. But it was too easy to be drawn into someone like Potter, so easy to lose oneself completely. Kindness, warmth and empathy were alien concepts to Scorpius, but the more time he spent with Potter, who was compassionate and warm, the more it was starting to rub off on him. So when Potter looked at him like this, he was disturbed to feel that slow, foreign burning in the depths of his stomach, and knew that it was guilt. He tried to be apathetic to it, but it was beginning to get harder and harder to keep his mask from slipping. And sometimes Potter just didn't buy it, and so easily saw past his faade like he was looking straight through him. When Scorpius thought of his father - to whom indifference seemed to come naturally - it made him feel ashamed. He took this out on Potter, angry that someone else could do this to him, make him feel this way. "Then why?" Potter went on coldly. "Why would you do this? You know who he is - you know what he is!" His eyes burned like flames in a skull. Two red spots had appeared on his cheeks, and his fists were clenched tightly at his sides. While one would never gather it simply by looking at him, Potter was strong beneath the surface. He was hard-willed and overwhelmingly decent, and Scorpius wondered if he knew just how much like his famous father he really was. "How could you do this to me?" Potter said breathlessly. "After everything! After this week I thought...I thought I meant more to you than that!" Scorpius snorted and crossed his arms across his chest. He looked away, fearing that if he looked his friend in the eye, his attempt at bravado would come undone. "Don't be so dramatic," he said cruelly. "I haven't done anything to you - and this isn't even about you!"

"The hell it isn't!" Scorpius had to resist the urge to childishly plug his fingers in his ears and start humming. He didn't want to hear it, not any of it. Potter didn't understand, he couldn't understand. He had most likely been adored all his life. He didn't know what it felt like to be truly alone, to wander the halls of a cold, empty mansion at night, barefooted and aimless, nothing but the hollow, painted eyes of dead ancestors for company. He didn't know what it was to be the worthless heir of a crumbling estate, son to a father who detested the mere sight of him. Potter didn't know any of these things, which is why he would never understand Scorpius's need to latch onto something anything - that made him feel even slightly worthy of his life. His grandfather's letter had done just that: adorned him with praise, lavished him with kind words and heartfelt sentiments, and reinstated his pride in who he was born to be. His grandfather had told him how important he was, that the future of the family now rested with him, and that he had duties and responsibilities he had never even known about; he felt significant and wanted, and nothing - not even perfect Potter, with his perfect little face and his perfect little family could get in the way of it. Still, he hadn't been prepared for this in the slightest. Potter his first and only friend was looking at him like he hated him; this in particular had him reeling, and it was testament to how far they'd come that he'd actually feared this - Potter's reaction and subsequent rejection of him more than he feared his father's. "Why? Just tell me why!" The hurt in Potter's voice cut him deep. Scorpius turned his back to him. "Please don't do this to me now, Potter. And don't look at me like that!" he added, viciously. He hated this perhaps more than anything else. Potter was looking at him with a tragic mixture of disappointment and sadness. He detested seeing him look this way; he knew Potter well enough by now to know that it meant he was genuinely disappointed in him. "Like what?" Potter barked. "Like you hate me." He turned around then, his cheeks flushed with shame. Potter took a step toward him. He was smiling sadly. "You really think I could hate you?" He grabbed one of Scorpius's wrists before he had the opportunity to jerk it away, and circled it loosely with his thumb and index finger. Scorpius's heart jumped into his throat. He hated it when Potter touched him like this - hated it even more when he liked it - but he tolerated it for the moment. Potter was the first, and quite possibly the last, friend he would ever have. If Potter deserted him he'd be right back to the start, with nothing and absolutely no one to share it with. He cleared his throat and tried to pull his wrist away, but Potter's grip was far too firm. "I won't let you go," Potter whispered. He rubbed soothing circles on the sensitive skin of Scorpius's inner wrist, and Scorpius shuddered and bit

his lip, wanting the contact to stop. "Don't," he muttered, struggling to keep his eyes level. Potter gave him a weary half-smile, and for the first time that day Scorpius noticed just how tired and wilted he looked. He was haggard; there were dark circles under his eyes and his hair was messier than usual. Scorpius wondered - not for the first time that week - just what Potter got up to when they were not together. It was something that troubled him endlessly, because he knew that Potter was hiding something from him and he wanted - needed - to know why. Potter continued to stare at him, and would not stop touching his wrist. "Ugh, let me go," Scorpius finally snapped, and shrugged away. He was losing himself again and felt powerless, and it was all Potter's fault. Potter did as he was told and loosened his grip. "What's your problem, Malfoy?" he grumbled, clearly annoyed. "You know I don't mean it like that." Scorpius jerked his arm back and rubbed at his wrist, scowling. "I know you don't," he snapped, "but that's not the point. I don't want you to touch me." Potter rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and looked exhausted. "God, will you listen to yourself? Stop insinuating that I'm trying to feel you up or something every five seconds, because I'm not!" he snarled. "Why do you always have to do that? It ruins everything, Malfoy! You ruin everything!" Scorpius was stunned by the harshness of Potter's tone, and felt like he had been slapped. He bit back his retort; after all, it was his fault. Potter had every right to hate him now, after what he had done. Still, he was furious with himself for being so careless with his secrets. He had always had many of them, but never before had it been so hard to hide them from one person. He'd known that, were Potter to find out about his grandfather's letter, he would take it as a personal insult - after all Lucius Malfoy had tried to kill his father on more than one occasion, and Scorpius knew that through Potter's eyes it would seem like the ultimate betrayal. But it had never been about that, and he didn't want to lose Potter over this. Potter had put up with so much grief from him and yet he was still here. After everything, it could not be this. "I'm sorry, Potter," he said after a while, feeling like he was choking on the words. He regarded Potter with a mixture of desperation and loathing. He'd always found it trying that his expression almost never truly reflected what he was feeling inside. Potter stared back at him. "Damn it all to hell," he groaned, and looked absolutely wretched. "Look, don't apologize to me; you didn't do anything wrong. I'm not mad at you, okay? I've just...I've got a lot on my mind right now and I...I'm just looking out for you, that's all. I know I'm not exactly going about it the right way, but that's all I want to do."

Scorpius nodded once and turned to look out the window, where the view was far less depressing. The blizzard was thick outside, tiny flakes of snow descending toward the earth like feathers. It made him think of fallen angels, of heaven burning. Potter followed his eyes and moved to join him, moving to put a gentle hand on his arm; out of habit, Scorpius yanked it away, and Potter looked mildly hurt and then annoyed. "Fine," he said darkly, "be like that." Breathing hard, Scorpius stifled the urge to hit him. Touching was a constant source of tension between them, and though he knew that for Potter the touching was meaningless, for him it was anything but. Only Potter couldn't know this not ever. "I'm not being like anything," he mumbled in the direction of his feet. "I just don't want to get all soppy with you; you know it's not like me to be that way." This was not the first time they had had this conversation. Potter, who was very affectionate by nature, constantly tried to touch him - whether it be a hand on his shoulder or his back, a hand brushed delicately against his, or a finger absentmindedly stroking a lock of his hair. Though he knew Potter meant nothing by it, the gestures always seemed overtly intimate to him. Scorpius would berate the other boy for it, over and over, and yet it never seemed to solve the problem. Potter would do it anyway, protesting innocence, and Scorpius believed him. But somehow that just made it all the worse, that Potter wanted to touch someone as dirty as him. He wanted to crumple in on himself and run away. No one had ever cared about him enough to want to touch him in kindness and affection, not perversion, and it was too much for him to bear. He treated Potter like garbage most of the time, and could not understand why Potter wanted to be anywhere near him at all. It made him suspicious of everything. Potter folded his arms across his chest then and took a few steps back. "Fine." He held up both of his hands, wearing an unusually sarcastic look. "You don't like to be touched? I can respect that; I'll never lay another hand on you as long as I live. But if you care about me at all, you'll tear that thing up and never write to him again. Are you listening to me?" He gestured at the envelope still hanging limply in Scorpius's grasp, looking both disgusted and enraged. Scorpius concentrated hard on his feet. He knew that he couldn't do what Potter asked, but also knew that he didn't want to lose him either. "Scorpius?" "Don't call me that," he growled. "It's your name, isn't it?" Potter challenged. "I'll call you what I want." Scorpius made an angry noise and looked away, fidgeting with a stray lock of hair for lack of something better to do. He felt trapped by the intensity of Potter's gaze. He'd never seen him this angry before, and was unsurprised to find that he didn't like it much at all. He hated it when Potter got mean and confrontational. It was so unlike him it was frightening. Potter being mad at him and not the other way around caught him off guard, and he didn't know why it was so different this

time - the majority of the time Potter was surprisingly tolerant of Scorpius's mood swings, spite, and frequent temper tantrums. He never refused to make up with him after they had fought. He seemed forever calm, always so willing to forgive and forget, and such patience was no easy feat, Scorpius knew - often the things he said in the midst of a fullblown rage were unforgivable, even if they were only hollow attempts to wound and maim in the hope Potter would go away and save himself all the trouble. But he wouldn't. Fight after fight, Potter returned to him with apologies he didn't deserve, ready to do his bidding and help with his Astronomy homework, or simply to sit beside him in a dark and empty classroom, the two of them ensconced in blankets and reading to each other from his battered old copy of Tales of Beedle The Bard; when it was late at night and he couldn't sleep and he was drowning in a sea of nightmares and there was no one in the castle that he'd rather be with than Potter. Only it was different this time. With his tired, empty eyes, and frequent unexplained disappearances, Potter was hiding something. Their arguments were growing increasingly vicious; he could feel it, and he knew that Potter could too. Scorpius was sure that things between them were only going to get worse; the time he'd already shared with him had given Scorpius more than he'd ever thought possible; but he'd known from the start that it was too good to last. They wouldn't couldn't last as friends like they were. Now the room was silent and the air was motionless and he still hadn't answered him. Potter looked him up and down with obvious loathing before he turned his back. "I see. You choose him." Scorpius began to panic, anxiety tightening his chest. "Don't walk away from me, Potter!" he demanded suddenly. Potter spun around then, and it was heartbreaking just to look at him; he had his school shirt rolled up to his elbows; his tangle of black hair was hopelessly unruly, and his eyes were glassy. He was a study in contrasts, Potter: all blacks and grays and whites, augmented here and there with shades of gold: his skin for instance, or the sunlight streaming in through the open window onto the top of his head. "Then tear it up," he told Scorpius through gritted teeth. "Right now, in front of me." "I can't." "And why the hell not? Don't you think you're fucked up enough as it is? Honestly, Malfoy! Making friendly with your incarcerated grandfather is hardly what you need right now, is it?" The blood drained from Scorpius's face. Potter rarely swore, was seldom so impassioned about anything, but when he was, it seemed, his nastystreak was razor-sharp. Scorpius's knuckles turned white with the effort of suppressing his emotion; he was sickened with the realization that Potter had almost made him cry.

Potter seemed to note the look on his face, and notoriously soft-hearted, he quickly crumbled. He sighed and wrung his hands. "God, what am I saying," he groaned. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that either. Look, I don't want to bloody hurt you! Why can't you see that? I'm trying to help you. Why is it so hard for you to let me? Please, Malfoy. I'd do anything for you, and you know that, just please ... do this for me. After everything, why am I not worth it?" Potter's words, and the inherent truth behind them, mortified Scorpius. His rage boiled to the surface and he clenched his teeth, teetering on the edge of a full-blown explosion. "Did I say that?" he shouted, so angry that he scrunched up the precious envelope and threw it at Potter's feet. "Did I ever say you weren't worth it?" Potter stared at him open-mouthed. "God, I hate you!" His eyes were swimming and Potter's shape was blurry but it didn't matter. "This," he hissed, gesturing between the two of them, "is doing my head in. What the hell is this Potter, you and me?" He stepped toward Potter's blurry shape, sadistically pleased when the other boy's eyes widened in fear. Potter was so close Scorpius could smell him; could feel the heat radiating from his body in steady, pulsating rhythm with his heartbeat. He'd backed him into the door so that he was standing flush against it; Potter seemed to gather himself quickly, however, and stared back at him resolutely, his trepidation vanished. His quiet courage made Scorpius sick with hatred; the boy truly was his father's son. Not taking his eyes away from Scorpius, Potter reached out, his fingertips ghosting across the sensitive skin of his inner wrist. Briefly, his eyes fluttered closed shut at the touch. When he opened them again, Potter was looking at him like it was the last time. "I don't know what we are," he whispered, and it struck Scorpius then just how very young he was - how young they both were. He brushed a strand of white-blonde hair out of Scorpius's face and dragged his fingertips down the length of his cheek. Scorpius watched him portentously, almost daring him to do it again. They were silent for a moment before Potter spoke once more. "But sometimes I think if I was older I would." What had gone unspoken between them since the day they'd met was now right here before them, real and physical and ugly. For a moment Scorpius allowed himself to be swept away in the moment. He closed his eyes and placed a hand on the door above Potter's head. "Don't make this harder," he begged, understanding what Potter had meant even if he'd thought he was being cryptic. "Things are bad enough as it is." And it was true. Being close to Potter made him feel dizzyingly high. When they were friends he was euphoric; but when they fought it was awful. It was starting to take its toll on the both of them, he could see that now, and he was suddenly and horribly reminded of all that he had done to try to prevent this from happening, from dragging Potter through the depths of his torment with him. He'd told Potter he was no

good, but Potter's problem was that he never listened. He was so typically Gryffindor that it was nauseating: determined to be a knight in shining armor and savior to the weak - the weak like him. Potter had been so certain that he could 'help' Scorpius, that he could fix him, but judging by the mess they had made of everything in such a short space of time, Scorpius was miserably satisfied with the realization that for once he'd been right all along. They were doomed from the start. He dropped his hand and rested it on Potter's shoulder, squeezing gently. Potter inhaled sharply, and he wanted so badly to watch him, to see his face as he was being touched; briefly, he wondered why this was. Eyes still closed, his hand travelled down Potter's arm, barely touching his wrist before it came to a stop on his hip. He inhaled deeply and tried to block his father's cold face from his mind. He knew that he was touching Potter in a way that his father certainly wouldn't condone, and friend or not, he would most likely kick his arse into next week were he to ever find out. But his eyes were screwed shut, so the chance that his father might see this - even in a memory - was slim. He felt Potter's hand on his face, gentle and searching. His breath caught in his throat and he could feel himself flush. He knew that he was shaking, and hoped to God that Potter didn't notice. He wasn't unintelligent - although he didn't know precisely what it was that they were doing or why, being this close to someone else, touching them, feeling them, had only one logical conclusion: kissing, or something worse. He knew by now that his skin, usually so diaphanous and white, would be flushed a dangerous shade of red. Not for the first time, the thought of kissing his friend crossed his mind. He was petrified to find that the thought did not disgust him. If anything, he was curious. He shook his head and tried to clear these thoughts, this made much harder by Potter's thumb gently rubbing circles against his cheek. He closed his hand over Potter's and gently dragged it away. "Don't," he whispered. "Why not?" Potter's breath was uneven. He rested his hand on Scorpius's chest instead, a slightly less confronting compromise. "Because," Scorpius explained in a whisper, licking dry lips. "We...I...you and me...we might...we might think we want something," he said, "but we'd only end up being sorry." His eyes flew open when Potter roughly pushed him away. He found it very hard to tear his eyes away from him, even though the boy was clearly livid with what he'd just said. Potter's skin was flushed a delicate shade of pink, and his lips were red and bitten. Unthinking, Scorpius lingered a little too long on this sight, and flushed angrily when Potter plainly caught him out. "You really are arrogant," Potter growled at him. "How nave do you think I am?" Scorpius snorted derisively and tried to gather himself. He'd slipped for a moment there and he knew it. "Was that an actual question?"

"Yes, it was. And I'm perfectly serious." "So am I! If we're talking about the same thing, that is." He didn't know. Were they talking about the same thing? God, it was infuriating this, trying glean some semblance of meaning from any of this! He had never understood why it was that people couldn't just say what they meant. Potter's silence and unfaltering glare only served to confuse him further. He groaned aloud and rubbed his temples, trying to stop his mind from racing. He was getting dizzy, and Potter, though clearly incensed, was starting to look miserably good to him; all he felt like doing was falling against him. He bit down hard on his lip. These thoughts had to end. Right now. "Look," he snapped, pushing his emotions to the side, "we can't do this anymore." "Do what?" Scorpius exhaled with frustration. "All of this - touching each other - you know what I mean. It might feel nice and all but people'll think we're queer." He tried to sound as callous as possible as he said this. He cleared his throat then and straightened his robes. "And we all know what a disaster that would be." Potter looked positively miserable at this. In all the ways Scorpius had ever tried to hurt him, he had never succeeded in making him look as hurt as he did right now. The remorse was instant, and Scorpius felt overwhelmed by the sudden desire to press Potter back into the door, to draw his body close to his and feel his warmth, to hold him until this hurt between them disappeared, until all they could feel was each other. He dismissed this with difficulty; he would never do something so crass and they both knew it. "I didn't know you felt that way," Potter bit out. "I didn't know having feelings for someone made you queer." Scorpius's throat felt uncomfortably tight. He swallowed thickly and tried to appear far less terrified than he actually was - for Potter's sake. "What are you trying to say?" Potter shrugged. "Does liking a boy make you queer?" "It depends," Scorpius said airily, uncomfortable about where the conversation was headed, "on whether you like a boy, or boys in general." He was confused. Again. Boys? Was Potter talking about him now or somebody else? Potter shifted nervously and looked to the window, fidgeting with his red and gold tie. "A boy," he clarified quietly. He didn't look at him as he said this, and Scorpius was struck by the sudden, freezing realization that Potter probably wasn't talking about him at all - and why should he be? How could anyone have feelings like that for him?

Something broke inside him then and all of a sudden his insides were screaming. Through the wild vortex of his mind, something clicked: Potter's frequent vanishing acts, his tired appearance, his reluctance to answer questions about where he'd been, what he was up to. Had he got it all wrong? Had he just stumbled across Potter's secret? "I knew it," he hissed then, surprised by the viciousness of his tone. He didn't care; in his own, twisted way Potter had been fooling around with some boy behind his back, and now what? He wanted to talk to him about it? Potter's eyes snapped up, confused. "What do you mean? You knew what?" Scorpius, all sense of propriety momentarily forgotten, lurched forward and violently shoved him, pushing him into the door. He slammed up against it with a bang, and winced in pain. "Don't toy with me, Potter," he warned him rancorously. "A boy? Who? Who is he?" Fury - jealousy like he had never known it - clawed at him from the inside. The look on Potter's face: stunned, confused, and frightened, seemed to tell him that he was correct. Black spots danced before his eyes, and he fought the urge to tear at his own hair, to claw at himself with misdirected rage. Potter was his now: to find out that he was doing this behind his back sent him into a jealousy so blinding that if his wand had been in his hand, he probably would have hexed Potter into oblivion. He leaned in until they were mere inches apart. "Who is it?" he repeated, enunciating each word very clearly. He wasn't sure of much at all aside from the fact that when he did find out, whoever'd been touching Potter who was his friend would be choking on poison. Potter's eyes were huge. "Please don't go crazy on me, Scorpius," he said weakly. "Not now." "Is this your idea of a joke?" Scorpius shot back, ignoring him; his mind was on fire. He didn't think he had ever hated anyone as much as he hated Potter right now. "Here I was thinking you were throwing yourself at me, when all the while you're thinking about someone else!" "Th-throwing myself? You've got it all wrong, Malfoy!" Potter said earnestly. "Please, look at me." He placed both of his hands on Scorpius's chest in an attempt to calm him, and looked him squarely in the eye. "That's not what I meant... It came out all wrong, just let me explain " Scorpius shoved him away. "Don't you dare touch me." To his utter humiliation, angry tears were pricking at his eyes. He wiped them away with the sleeve of his robe. Indirectly, his father had taught him how to read people from a very young age: Potter's blundering and lack of articulation were all indicators of guilt. There was nothing more to say. It all made sense now. He looked Potter up and down with disgust, loathing the very sight of him. "God, you're just like the rest of them," he croaked. "All you've ever done is fuck with my head."

Potter was staring back at him, bewildered. "What? What are you talking about? You're my best friend, Scorpius - my only friend - please, just listen. You're jumping to conclusions, you don't even know " "Jumping to conclusions?" Scorpius yelled. "What am I supposed to think? You've disappeared off the face of the earth three times this week," he pointed out, "and you're even skipping classes!" "IT'S NOT THAT!" "THEN WHAT IS IT?" Potter groaned and buried his face in his hands. "Why do you even care? You're my friend; that's all; it shouldn't matter what I'm doing when you're not there." "Bullshit," Scorpius said through gritted teeth. "Friends? It's so much more than that and you know it." The air was silent, nothing but the sound of their combined breathing to breach the quiet. For the first time one of them had voiced what had been obvious since the day they'd met, and he regretted it already. After a while, he felt rather than heard Potter come closer to him. "Why are you so mad at me?" he murmured. "Are you jealous or something?" Scorpius looked at him, really looked at him, and what he saw only served to make him madder. Although it was ten kinds of wrong, Potter was so beautiful to him. He hated himself for even thinking this. He looked away, no longer able to tolerate the sight of him, and spat, "I'm not jealous. God, you're so vacuous, Potter. Forgive me if the idea of you off with another boy completely disgusts me." Potter flinched. "Damn it, Malfoy," he said. "You hurt so much when you want to." Scorpius tried not to crack, especially now that Potter appeared to be trying not to cry. He hated seeing Potter look like this - especially when he was nearly always the cause of it - but none of that mattered; he doubted he'd ever see Potter, crying or otherwise, after today. And if Potter was seeing someone, it wasn't exactly front page news; it had been bound to happen to either of them at some point, hadn't it? What Scorpius hadn't counted on was how much watching someone steal him away would hurt. "Pull yourself together," he said suddenly, trying to conceal the profundity of his despair by looking repulsed. "God, if I'd known you were such a bloody nancy-boy I'd never have spoken to you in the first place." Potter made a choked sort of sound, and deep stabs of guilt burned Scorpius's stomach. He cleared his throat and crossed his arms over his chest, steeling his expression into one of emotionless detachment. His father had taught him well in this respect, and for that he was grateful. Potter would never have to know just how broken he felt on the inside

right now, how the thought of him kissing someone else was killing him with jealousy. He tapped his foot on the stone and looked down at his feet. From his periphery he saw Potter wiping his face and blowing his nose on a red and gold handkerchief. When Potter placed it back inside his pocket and cleared his throat, he looked up. His face was tear-streaked and miserable, his eyes totally devoid of their usual spark. "Well..." he began, his voice thick. "I suppose there's nothing left to say, then, is there?" "I suppose not." "I'm sorry about everything," Potter said in a monotone. "I'm sorry I'm not the person you thought I was." Scorpius sniffed but said nothing. Potter was so bloody stupid sometimes. If he honestly didn't know him well enough by now to know that this was all an act, a ruse designed to conceal truth and to protect pride, he was a bigger idiot than he'd thought. Part of him hadn't wanted Potter to accept defeat so easily. Part of him wanted Potter to disregard his insults, to see them for the hollow lies they were, and grab him and shake him and make him tell the truth. But none of that was going to happen. He had finally succeeded in doing what he'd halfheartedly attempted to do all along: break Potter's heart. And he wanted to fix it. He wanted to grab Potter and tell him how sorry he was, tell him not to go, that they could work it out, just like they always did after arguments. But that wasn't his way, and forcing himself to apologize and beg for forgiveness was like trying to chew cement. They were truly done this time. It was over. "Louis wrote..." Potter said eventually, and the mention of that particular name made Scorpius's blood run cold. "I wasn't going to tell you until you calmed down. He's staying in Hogsmeade; that's who I've been seeing. You know - when I disappear?" Scorpius felt a dark cloud descend over him. He didn't know what Potter was playing at by telling him this, but all he wanted to do right now was slam his fist into the other boy's face. Potter sniffed a little and cleared his throat. "He's in a bad way," he added, fidgeting with his fingers. "I was so scared for him. I was afraid he was going to d-die, and he needed me. I was going to tell you everything but I suppose it doesn't matter now." He turned away before Scorpius had a chance to stop him, and twisted the door-knob. "I better get going," he croaked, opening the door a crack. "I suppose I probably won't see you again." "No!" Scorpius threw himself forward and slammed the door shut again. He put his hands on Potter's hips and dug his fingernails into his flesh. He leaned in behind him, his lips almost touching his ear, and Potter whimpered in pain and began to struggle. Scorpius ignored him and gripped harder, knowing that he was bruising and hurting and possibly

drawing blood, but he didn't care. Potter deserved this deserved this for forcing him to feel this way - and after all the secrets they had shared this was the worst betrayal he could imagine. "Tell me something," he spat, and Potter braced his hands against the door and pushed back against him. "Stop it," he whimpered breathlessly, trying desperately to turn around. "Please, Scorpius; stop it - you're hurting me!" "Tell me," Scorpius repeated, ignoring him. "Louis. The two of you; are you...? Is that what you've been getting up to?" He fancied he could smell the treachery on Potter's skin, and he felt anger - with Potter and for Potter - that he had been touched, and anger that he had apparently allowed it. Potter whimpered but didn't answer. Scorpius laughed without humor. "God, you make me sick," he hissed, slamming Potter face first into the door. Maddened, he pressed his own body flush against his - even in a rage he wanted to be close to him. Potter was panting and whimpering, and his back heaved against Scorpius's chest with the force of his breathing. Now he was unable to move, as though his limbs had turned to lead. Images of Louis touching Potter - Potter, who Scorpius had taken as his own - inundated his mind in a sweeping flood, and suddenly he was choking on jealousy. "No," he said to himself. "You wouldn't do that. You wouldn't." Potter still didn't answer his question, only sobbed and choked, "Get off me." "I will if you just tell me what you've been doing with him!" He was stunned when Potter's hands fell away from the door, and he collapsed against Scorpius, who - taken aback -struggled to catch him and then find his own footing again. Some of his anger diminished, replaced by shock, and he loosened his grip and wrapped his arms around Potter's torso, and held him there awkwardly. "I...I couldn't tell you," Potter finally sobbed. "I couldn't explain it to you. I wanted to, I swear, I wanted to so badly, but Louis ... He needed me. You wouldn't have understood." With considerably gentler hands, Scorpius eased Potter around and pressed him gently into the door so that they were facing each other. He forced himself to remain calm. "What is it?" he said gently, and held onto Potter's wrist. "What happened between you?" Potter bit his lip and shook his head, unable to meet his eyes. Scorpius grabbed his hand and dragged it away from his face, forcing Potter to look at him - his face was tragic, his eyes huge and glassy and full of something Scorpius suspected was shame or guilt - possibly a combination of both. "Talk to me," he implored. "Did he ... Did he f-force you?" Potter hesitated a moment before shaking his head. "No," he mumbled,

"it's not like that, but-" "But what?" He wanted to hit Potter now to make him speak. He wanted to scream, 'Is he fucking you or not?', but he forced himself to keep his composure. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "Is there something going on ... or not?" His lip trembling, Potter finally met his eyes. "No," he said, "but ssometimes we get close." Scorpius let out a breath and closed his eyes. He let his head fall, utterly defeated, until his face rested in the crook of Potter's neck. Potter ran a hand through his hair and gripped him close, whispering words in his ear that he didn't understand - a feverish, uninterrupted stream of apologies. He was too sickened to care. Potter was his, and had been since the moment he saw him, but now - not only had he lost him before he had even had a chance to try and make it work - he had lost him to some pervert who hadn't even the decency to ask his permission before he put his hands all over him. He shuddered when he felt hands on his face. "You hate me, don't you?" Potter's voice was trembling. "I can see it in your eyes - you hate me now." Scorpius stilled and breathed in Potter's scent: soap and rain and clean skin. He wanted to both punch him and embrace him, and the conflicting urges had him twisted in knots. "I d-don't know," he admitted. "It depends, I suppose. On whether you want him like he wants you." Potter's breath caught in his throat. "Don't be stupid," he breathed. "I never wanted him like that, I swear to you. If anything, I just wish I could make it stop. I don't want this anymore, but I can't ... I can't make it stop!" To Scorpius this sounded like a plea for help, and it stirred something fierce within him. "You're not lying to me?" The look on Potter's face told him that he was not. "Then what did you mean when," Scorpius said, "you were talking about a boy?" "It doesn't matter now," Potter said quickly, the words tumbling from his lips. "I-I have to go." "No." Green eyes met silver. Potter looked back at him as if begging him not to say anything else, and Scorpius inched closer, his heart smacking against his ribcage. "I'm sorry," he said then, "about the fight." Forcing out these words was like trying to squeeze blood from a stone; he hated to apologize, but for Potter, it seemed, he would do damn near anything.

Potter's expression brightened some. "So you didn't mean...?" "No, of course I didn't," said Scorpius, grudgingly. "Not a word of it. You know me, and I'm always saying things I don't mean. I thought you'd know that by now." "No, but it's good to hear you say it anyway. Those things you said really hurt me." Scorpius nodded. "I know they did; that's why I said them. But I'm sorry I hurt you ... Do you believe me?" Potter touched his shoulder. "Of course I do." They were close, Scorpius realized, and very alone. If he really wanted to he could lean in right now and kiss Potter. No one would ever have to know - hell, the gesture might even make it feel better for a while - but he pushed the thought to the back of his mind and tried to focus on the moment. It was no good living in a fantasy. Actions had consequences, and that particular action had consequences he didn't dare to gamble on. After a moment of awkward silence, Potter cleared his throat and said, "We're late for class; we should probably get going." Ignoring this, Scorpius touched his cheek with the back of his hand. "Who cares?" he said softly. "I'm sure class can wait." Potter gave an uncomfortable smile. "Yeah ... I guess so." "Are you going to stay mad?" Potter glanced away from him and shrugged. "I don't think you will," Scorpius decided. His face was now so close to Potter's cheek now that his lips almost touched his skin. Potter took his hand then and interlocked their fingers, surprising him. His hand felt heavy in Scorpius's own, warm and dry, and Scorpius took this for acquiescence. "Potter?" he said, feeling a curious warmth spread through him. "Hm?" Scorpius paused then and said, "I-I don't want to think about him touching you when I close my eyes." There was a long silence. "Then don't." "Stop seeing him." Scorpius hadn't known he was going to say this until the words left his mouth. "Please; I want you to promise me that." Potter gave a short laugh. "Promising something's harder than it sounds. I think I get that now." Scorpius placed both of his hands on either side of Potter's face and

forced the boy to look at him. "No, it's not. Look ... I know you think you love him " Potter raised his eyebrows - "Okay, you love him, but so what? He's your cousin." Truthfully, Scorpius had no idea how this mattered. He had no brothers or sisters of his own, let alone cousins, to compare such things to. "But you're not supposed to love him like that, and you know it. It's wrong. You're thirteen - he's older than you; he's supposed to look out for you, not do this to you." Potter's fingers tightened around his. "Look, if he loved you at all," Scorpius pressed on, "he'd leave you well alone. He wouldn't want this from you." "I know that," said Potter with a distant look, "but sometimes he's all I've got." Scorpius fixed him with a determined look. "That's not true," he argued. "Not anymore. You've got me; you've always got me. We have each other, don't we?" These declarations were like choking on nails, but they had to be said. If Potter didn't know how he felt - how desperately he needed him - Scorpius would lose him. "Do we?" Potter asked with a sad smile. "I thought you said I was a nancy-boy." "Damn it, Potter!" Scorpius's restraint snapped. "I told you I didn't mean that. I didn't mean any of that. I was angry, okay? Look - you know how I feel about you. The only reason I get up in the morning is because you're here too." He allowed himself to be completely unguarded for once. "You know I couldn't cope without you." This was the first time he had ever said such things to Potter's face. It was strangely liberating. Potter sniffed. "Do you mean that?" Scorpius nodded, and Potter cracked a small smile. "Well," he said, "I don't think I could make it through the day without you either." Scorpius stepped away from him them and gave Potter back his space. It seemed the gentlemanly thing to do. Suddenly he felt very awkward. "Hey ... Do you remember not last night but the night before?" Potter's voice was quiet and tentative. Scorpius thought about this, and of course he remembered. That had been the one night they had almost spent together. Potter had fallen asleep in the middle of reading to him, breathing softly, his head lolling close to Scorpius's shoulder. Scorpius had left him there for much longer than he had first intended - it was too easy to enjoy the comfort and safety Potter's presence lent him, and it was too rare a moment to be so close to another human being: ensconced in their warmth, under the very same blanket. Listening to Potter's steady breathing had been a lullaby enough, and he had closed his eyes then, safe in the knowledge that there would be no more nightmares that night.

Unfortunately, the serenity hadn't lasted long at all. He was, after all, a teenage boy, and sleeping so close to another warm body had produced feelings of a different kind feelings he was sure were not entirely appropriate; feelings that made his stomach tight and his palms sweat; feelings that made it hard to breathe, let alone sleep. If he hadn't woken Potter up and insisted the boy return to his dorm, he was afraid to think his hands may have taken on a mind of their own and done some midnight wandering. He had found it difficult to look his friend in the face ever since, afraid that if their eyes met Potter might just know what he had been thinking that night. After a while, he cleared his throat and said, "Yes, of course I do. Why?" "I don't know," Potter said with a noncommittal shrug. "I mean, before you woke me up, I think that was one of the best nights sleep I've had in ages. I didn't want to tell you that, but " "No, it was good for me too," Scorpius interrupted. "Really?" "Yes." Potter glanced away, clearly embarrassed. Scorpius felt much the same, and didn't want Potter to know just how dearly he cherished that memory. "What...what about Louis?" he said then, aiming for a change of subject. The air around Potter seemed to vibrate with the potency of his emotions, possibly even his magic. "What about him?" he bit out. "Is it going to happen, then?" Scorpius sounded bitter and he knew it, but he had to know. "Is what going to happen?" Scorpius fought the urge to sneer, poisonous jealousy building to a peak inside him. "You know - it. Is he going to fuck you or not? Is it something you've talked about?" Potter's mouth fell open. "Of course not!" he shouted. "How can you even say that to me? He's not my boyfriend, Malfoy, he's my cousin. And is that really what you think of me? That I'd let it go that far? Don't you trust me?" "He's in love with you, isn't he?" Scorpius said cruelly. "I think it's him I don't trust." Potter groaned, and Scorpius heard his head fall back against the door; but he pressed on: "You know that's what he wants, right? How old is he - nineteen? He wants what they all want, Potter. Sex." "Damn it, Malfoy!" Potter cried out. "Why are we having this conversation? It's humiliating, and you don't even know the full story. It's...it's not all like that," he finished feebly.

"No? Well, I'm sorry if I've offended your delicate sensibilities," Scorpius snapped, "but you need to get your head out of the fucking clouds. Louis wants you and he won't stop until he has you. You think its love? You think it's anything other than selfishness? Look at you," he implored, looking Potter up and down, "you're just a child. Have you ever even stopped and asked yourself why it is that he wants you so badly?" Potter glared. "I'll tell you why." Scorpius paused then, his chest heaving. Now that he had started it was all spilling out; there seemed no way to stop it. But if this is what it took to protect him, Potter was going to hear it whether he liked it or not. He forced himself to bury everything he felt for the other boy, knowing that what he was about to say would crush him, but knowing that it had to be done - for his sake. "Louis?" he went on. "Your precious Louis? I'll tell you just what he wants from you - that part's easy. Because he's just like the rest of them. He doesn't love you; he loves what you can give to him. He's just another pervert with a taste for pretty little boys. Take it from me, he's a " "SHUT UP!" Potter cut him off by launching himself at him and knocking him backward onto the floor. He climbed on top of Scorpius, straddling his waist, and placed cold hands around his throat. Half-sobbing and half-screaming, he squeezed, and gradually increased the pressure until Scorpius could not breathe at all. "SHUT UP!" he screamed, over and over, and the look on his face was manic. Scorpius tore at his fingers and tried desperately to loosen them, coughing and spluttering as Potter strangled him harder. "You don't know anything about this, Scorpius," Potter sobbed, his face wet and red. "You don't know us! He's not anything like you think he is he's not!" Potter's grip relaxed for one brief moment and Scorpius, fast running out of air, seized that moment to throw him off. He grabbed Potter's forearms with all the strength he possessed and threw the boy onto his back. Panting, he clutched at his chest and gasped for air. The room spun violently around him, and his throat felt tender and bruised. How was any one person worth this? he asked himself. Potter could not be worth the anguish he caused, and if being alone hurt it was nothing to this nothing to watching someone you cared anything for slowly destroy themselves. Scorpius focused his eyes on the wooden door ahead. It was open a crack, and distantly he could hear loud and heady chatter, laughter, and dozens of pairs of feet. Class had finished, and unless he ended this right now they were going to miss another. "Do whatever you want," he said finally, and staggered to his feet. He did not bother to look behind him, where Potter was curled in on himself and sobbing quietly. He straightened his robes and rubbed at his tender throat, one hand on the doorknob. "I don't ever, ever want to

see you again," he said evenly. "Understand? Don't talk to me, don't write to me, and don't come looking for me. We're done." He left the room then without a backward glance, and slammed the door shut behind him. Scorpius thought it a fitting and abrupt end to something that should have ended before it had begun.

Chapter Seven
Chapter by Ketamine (midnightlily)

"I have drunken deep of joy, And will taste no other wine tonight." - Percy Bysshe Shelley Four days had passed since then, and Scorpius was barely holding up. He wandered the first-floor corridors now, alone and aimless. It was one forty-seven am, and for the second night in a row there was no sign of Potter. Scorpius had seen him steal away after dinner, watched through a second-floor window as he surreptitiously made his way across the grounds and disappeared from sightpresumably to be with him, and the thought made Scorpius shudder with disgust. He had told Potter that he never wanted to speak to him again, and while that had been true, it had not stopped the boy from consuming his every waking thoughtif he wasn't seeing Potter's face in his mind, he was seeing him in the mirror; if he wasn't seeing him in the mirror, it was stolen, furtive glances across a hall or classroom. Sometimes Potter would catch his eye with a pleading expression, and each time Scorpius would give him a fleeting look of disdain and turn away. It was taking its tollPotter seemed to be getting worse with each passing day. Every night he sat at the farthest end of the Gryffindor table alone, and played with his food but would not eat, instead pushing it about on his plate, his chin in his hand, not even that frizz-haired Weasley cousin of his for company. The more Scorpius watched him disintegrate, the emptier he felt. In was like Potter had become him. Seeing him like this was like looking at himselfPotter's eyes were so hollow; and that look ... Scorpius had never seen it on anyone as young as they were before. Unless of course he counted himself. He saw it each time he looked in the mirror. But Potter wasn't alone; not really. What he failed to realize was that Scorpius was still there, watching from the shadows, and his fixation for him had not waned. Potter did not know that Scorpius missed their friendship more than he could say, and that for every day they hadn't spoken, the nightmares that plagued him during the night had returned with a vengeance. But it was over now. Scorpius had made sure of that. It was hard, and most days he felt even worse than he had before Potter came along, but it was a necessary evil ... They had to be away from each other. He didn't want to feel this way anymore, did not want to allow any more of his poisonthe same poison that ruined everything he touchedto seep between them. Because it had already begun, and they were both paying the consequences for it: Potter's misery coupled with his own was more than Scorpius could bear unaided. Scorpius kept the mirror in his robes at all times, and checked it absently throughout the daywaiting in vain for the moment when he

could gaze into its reflection and see nothing but himself. It had not happened yet, but he supposed that the more he distanced himself from Potter, the more imminent the moment became. In the meantime, he tried to block him out where he could, but with the whole school now glaringly aware of Harry Potter's youngest son's 'disturbance', this was getting harder and harder. Potter was losing it, and apparently even his family were sitting up and taking notice. On Monday, Scorpius (along with the rest of the school) had overheard Potter having a row with his brother James in the Entrance Hall. He had gleaned only bits and pieces from their conversation, but it seemed that James was just as worried as everybody else about his brother's declining state of mind. "Look at you!" James had shouted at his brother, grabbing him by the shoulder. 'You haven't been the same all year, what is it with you? I'm writing to Dad, Al! Someone needs to do something here!" Potter had looked back at him with vacant eyes and walked away, not a word spoken. Scorpius had watched him disappear into the shadows with his heart in his throat. James was right. Potter was not the same. He was falling fast, and part of Scorpius wanted to write to the Great Harry Potter himself and tell him all about what was really going onall about Louis and their late-night rendezvous'. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. As hurt as he was, as worried as he was, he just couldn't. Because he had made a promise to Potter, had given him his word, and nothing on Earth would make him break it. Again tonight, Potter had not returned from wherever it was he disappeared to of an evening. Scorpius was tired of roaming aimlessly and tired of waiting for him; was sick of being crushed over and over again. It was tiring having to care for someone other than himself, and the misery he felt reminded him of why it was better this wayto have no friends; to be alone. But he could not stop thinking about what might be happening to Potter right at this very second. He so desperately wanted to catch the other boy outto accost him on his way back and tell him how disgusting he was; that he could smell Louis all over him; that he was a disgrace to his family and a dirty whore for letting this happen. Because maybe if he did thattold Potter what he really thoughtall of this bullshit would be over; this torment; this pining for him. And it was ridiculous to feel this way, he scolded himself. He wished he had never spoken to Potter that night. Because he had much preferred it when the object of his obsession did not have a heartbeat. He blinked back tears of pure frustration, and not watching where he was going, nearly collided with a pillar. "Psst, kid!" The voice came out of nowhere.

Scorpius whipped around, his heart thumping, and squinted into the darkness, trying to discern who had spoken. "Who's there?" he demanded, reaching for his wand. No one answered him, but a hand flew out from the shadows and grabbed his arm, dragging him into a secluded alcove. It was late, and most of the torches were out. Scorpius could not see anything. A cold hand clamped over his mouth, and he kicked out at the mystery assailant's body and violently squirmed about. "Hey!" he yelled, hitting out at the unknown attacker's arms. "Geroff!" And then his eyes slowly adjusted to the change in light, and he could just make out a tall dark-haired figure wearing Ravenclaw robes. Anthony Zapelgia. He rolled his eyes then, and the mystery suddenly solved, he stopped struggling at once. The boy released him in turn, and laughing quietly to himself, whispered, "Relax, it's only me." Scorpius wrenched himself away, and dusting himself off, staggered back from him. "What the fuck do you want?" he asked rudely, adjusting his robes. Anthony, a seventh year Ravenclaw prefect Scorpius barely knew, had been making doe-eyes at him since First Year. It was perfectly disgusting, but Scorpiusby now accustomed to his clumsy advances was fast growing tired of being accosted by the boy every time he turned his back. Anthony sniggered at this and touched his shoulder. Scorpius grunted angrily and shrugged him off. "Language, language," Anthony tusked, clearly amused by it all. "I think perhaps I should take a few points from Slytherin now for cursing." "Really?" said Scorpius. "Well, I wonder how many points they'd take from Ravenclaw if they knew you were trying to molest a third year." Anthony scowled and fell quiet. Scorpius snickered thenthe Slytherin in him could not help but take quiet delight in the art of making someone else uncomfortableand went on in a teasing tone, "What do you think, Tony? I think it'd be worth at least a hundred." Anthony backed him against the wall, looking like a hungry animal cornering its prey. "Now, now; play nice, little one," he said in a mocking voice. "You know I'm not trying to molest you; I just wanted to talk to you. There's nothing wrong with that, is there?" Scorpius raised an eyebrow at this. "Depends what you want to talk about."

Anthony shrugged. "Oh, I don't know." Scorpius could hear the smirk in his voice. "Anythingschool, Quidditch, whatever. It's all the same to me." Scorpius gave a sarcastic snort. "Yes, well that sounds riveting, butoh, would you look at that?" He made a point of checking his watch. "Sorry, but I'm a little late for a prior engagement. Perhaps some other time." He made to leave when Anthony grabbed at his wrist and would not let go. Scorpius felt his temper spike. Anthony, though clearly besotted, had never tried to actually harm him before. The older boy would gaze at him unashamedly during dinner, invited him to every Hogsmeade weekend, and even sent him notes of questionable proprietybut so far he had never really crossed the line. Scorpius tolerated him for this reason only that and he found Anthony's worship of him somewhat hilarious. Until it wasn't. "Just wait, will you?" Anthony implored. Scorpius glared at the other boy's hand with open disgust. "Let me go," he demanded. "I'm not in the mood for this right now. We can talk later." "Okay, okay," Anthony conceded, and loosened his grip on Scorpius's wrist. "It's not like I really wanted to talk, anyway." Scorpius let his wrist fall limp for the moment. "Then what did you want, then, hm?" he asked in a bored voice. "A striptease? Blow-job? What, do you want to touch me in bad places?" If Anthony thought Scorpius was being funny, he wasn'tby now he was old enough to know that what the older boy wanted from him was scarcely a laughing matter at all. Anthony stepped into a sliver of moonlight then and Scorpius could see that he was frowning. He let go of Scorpius's wrist and cast him a hard look. "Hey," he said seriously, "I'd never ask you to do any of those things. Jesus, you should know by now that I'm all talk. All I want is an excuse to look at you" Scorpius cringed at this"but I'd never lay a hand on you. I'm not an idiot." Scorpius snorted and Anthony let out a short laugh. "I'm not," he repeated. "LookI know you probably hear this all the time, but you're just so beautiful." Anthony reached down to touch a strand of his hair, and Scorpius swatted it away with a baleful glare. "Don't." "Sorry," Anthony mumbled, and withdrew the hand accordingly. Scorpius let out a frustrated sigh. "If that's really all you want," he said, "then you can look at me another time. Or take a picture, it'll last longer. I've got to get going."

"Someone's cranky tonight," Anthony remarked. Scorpius threw him a sarcastic smile and replied, "And someone's a filthy deviant." Anthony feigned indignation. "Deviant? Surely not! Was Ruskin a deviant?" "And who the hell is Ruskin?" Scorpius said flatly. "He was an art critic," Anthony informed him in his most condescending tone. "But then I suppose you wouldn't have heard of him, would you? You're an aristocratic little pure-blood." The word rolled off his tongue like a curse-word. "So?" Scorpius sneered, uncaring how immature he sounded. "Ah, pure-bloods," Anthony continued airily, as though he hadn't heard him. "Sort of a dying breed, don't you think? Ignorant, one might venture to say." Outraged, Scorpius drew his wand and pointed it at Anthony's heart the older boy's eyes widened a fraction and he took a step back. "I think the joke's over now, don't you? I'm not in the mood for this anymore, so get out of my way and let me go." Anthony held up his hands in surrender. "Hey, kid," he said in a calming voice. "Relax, would you? I was only teasing. And I'm not going to hurt you or anything, if that's what you think. Put your wand down; you're making me nervous." Scorpius narrowed his eyes, and reluctantly, lowered his wand. Anthony let out a low breath. "Thanks." "Piss off." Anthony rolled his eyes. "Fine. But can I at least ask you something before you go?" "What?" Scorpius snapped. "What do you want?" Anthony gave him a sheepish look before saying, "I wanted to ask whether you...whether maybe you'd..." Scorpius groaned. Anthony was dux of his year, and was generally the smug and self-important sort. Why then was he choking on his words? "What is it?" Scorpius asked again, and tapped his foot impatiently. "Come onout with it. But if you're going to ask me to take my clothes off, you can forget it right now." Anthony gave him a wry look. "You should really stop doing that, kid," he advised. "I told you before, there's a difference between looking and touchingand I'd never lay a hand on you."

"Then what is it?" Scorpius half-shouted. "I don't have all night, and I have to get back up to bed soon." Anthony took a deep breath, and nodding, blurted, "Fine. I just wanted to know whether maybe you'd sit for me and let me draw you sometime." Scorpius gave him a dumb look. "Er, let me guess: naked?" Anthony wrinkled his nose. "What? No! Just you. Your face." Scorpius would have laughed in his face then but couldn't muster the energy. Instead, he drawled, "I had my portrait painted with my parents last year ... You knowfor the manor? It's one of those pureblood customs you seem to find so abhorrent. But anyway, it was tedious and altogether boring. I don't really fancy doing it again. Sorry." "Hold up a second," Anthony said with an amused smile, and shook his head. "I swear to you it wouldn't be like that. No paint. Just paper and a pencil, that's it. And we could do it anywhere you wanted tooutside, Hogsmeade, my room..." "Ugh. Whatever. I'll think about it," Scorpius lied. Anthony beamed at this. "See, you're not so bad, kid." "Just stop following me around and staring at me all the time," Scorpius demanded, rankled. "It's weird. And if you don't, I'll tell your girlfriend you tried to take my trousers off. How does that sound?" Anthony frowned. "Right. I'd forgotten you were a Slytherin." "Born and bred," Scorpius countered. He could feel the mirror in his pocket like it was a living, pulsating thing, and he needed to get the hell out of here so that he could check it again; but the longer Anthony held him up like this, the longer he would have to wait. He had to get away from the boy and soon. "Hey." Anthony's voice crashed through his thoughts. "Have you ever heard the story of Ganymede?" Scorpius glared up at him and set his jaw. "You know I haven't." Anthony ignored his obvious irritation, and said, "Well go to the library some time and look it up. You'll find it under Greek mythology." "Er, yeah," said Scorpius. "I'll make sure I do that. " He had no intention of actually doing so. "You should," Anthony said with a small shrug. "Maybe then you'd understand that that's what you are to me." Anthony reached out then to touch him, and shoving him away and

opening his mouth to snap at him again, Scorpius was stunned by a jet of red light ricocheting off the wall in front of him. It hit the stone just above Anthony's head, and confused, the boy muttered, "What the...?" Scorpius whipped around and drew his wand. "Lumos!" he shouted, and the tip of his wand glowed brightly in the darkness. His heart skipped a beat. It was Potter. The green-eyed boy was standing beneath the archway now, and his wand was drawn and trembling in his grasp. He was looking not at Scorpius but at Anthony, and although he was small, his expression was so fierce that Scorpius himself would not have dared to approach him. He was also soaked from head to toe, his dark hair plastered to his face, and his eyes burned with a furious intent. Shaken, Scorpius lowered his wand and turned back to Anthony, who had now drawn his own wand and was looking about himself in apparent confusion. "What are you doing?" he commanded of Potter, his wand unwavering in his grasp. "Shut up," Potter told him, his tone dangerously quiet. Anthony opened and closed his mouth but did not speak again. "If you ever touch him again," Potter went on, "I'm going to kill you. Do you understand me?" Anthony snorted and looked cavalier, but Scorpius could tell that Potter had caught him off-guard. "And just who do you think " Another jet of red light shot toward Anthony, leaving a smoking scorchmark in the stone above his head. "Do you understand me now?" Potter repeated calmly. Anthony cleared his throat and lowered his wand. "Er, sure, k-kid," he stuttered. "Whatever you say." From his periphery Scorpius watched as Potter lowered his wand, and suddenly his stomach was full of butterflies. He realized then that he didn't want Anthony to leave, because he didn't want to be alone with Potter. "Good," Potter said finally. "Because if I ever catch you with your hands on him again, I swear to God I won't miss." Anthony muttered something inaudible and hastily left the alcove, nothing but the sound of his footsteps echoing down the corridor to fill the silence. Breathing hard, Scorpius turned his back on Potter and fixed his eyes to the floor. He wanted to believe that Potter would go away, but he could feel the other boy's presence behind him, and the air around them

seemed to crackle with the force of his magic, and his anger. Tentative footsteps came up behind him, and Potter said, "You didn't answer my letter." Scorpius could not find words to answer him. "Did you read it?" Although he had demanded Potter not write to him, the boy had of course flouted the rules and done so anyway. Potter's snowy-white owl had found him as he sat on the roof outside the North Tower one night, and the moment he had seen her, Scorpius had known who the letter was from. Panicked, he had been unable to open it, and had instead placed it inside his robes and tried to forget that it was there. "Did I hurt you?" If the situation were different Scorpius might have laughed. He wanted to shout out that yes! yes he was hurt! but ultimately did not. He stayed silent and willed Potter to leave him alone. It was easier that way. Potter was drawing ever closer now, until Scorpius could smell the rain on the other boy's skin. He didn't smell entirely like himself either, and the sudden awareness made Scorpius want to heave. He was most likely smelling Louis on him, he realisedLouis; that person who was so important to Potter that he would apparently do anythingkill himself, strangle Scorpius, forsake their friendshipjust to be with him and protect him. Why could Potter not see Louis for what he was? "Please say something," Potter pleaded in a hoarse voice. "Did I hurt you the other day?" Scorpius did not reply. He had not changed his mind, and still did not want to talk to Potter. If the boy didn't want to be his friend (and no one else seemed to, so Scorpius couldn't really blame him there) and listen to reason, then Scorpius wasn't going to waste any more grief on him. Potter could fight his demons on his own. It was tragic to himhe had truly felt an affinity with Potter he had not felt with anyone elsebut when the two of them were together, so too were their demons, and the end result was nothing short of catastrophic. He was no good for Potter and Potter was no good for him. There was nothing more to it. Potter exhaled heavily behind him. "Right. I suppose we're not going to make it up this time, then, are we?" Slowly, Scorpius shook his head. "Okay," Potter sniffed, "you win. I don't want to waste any more of your timeyou don't deserve that. And you didn't deserve what I did to you

the other day, either. That was unforgivable." For Scorpius, Potter's hands around his throat were the least of his worries: the boy could do it to him all day, if he liked. It was nothing to the pain of his rejection, and his refusal to walk away from Louisthe person who, by Potter's own admission, was ruining him. "Ever since that day I've been killing myself over it. I wish I could take it all back but I can't. I...I shouldn't have got so mad at youI know you were only trying to help." Potter paused then and said, "I'm so sorry, Scorpius." "Go." Scorpius's own voice rang in his ears. He could hear Potter's sharp intake of breath behind him, before slowly, the sound of his footsteps began to retreat. They paused for a moment, and Potter said thickly, "Ganymede was a Trojan boyso beautiful that Zeus stole him away from Earth and to the heavens to keep him for himself." "I didn't know you were listening," Scorpius bit out, and closed his eyes. He had meant for it to come out sounding accusatorythreatening, even but in the end it only sounded weak. "You weren't supposed to," Potter remarked. "I could have killed him for touching you, you know. If I see him with you again I think I just might. Please, if it's the last thing you ever do for me, stay away from him. He's rightyou are beautifulbut all he wants is to use you up; just like they all do." Something stirred inside Scorpius, and despite his better judgment he whipped around, his wand alight, and said viciously, "Yeah? Well, I suppose it's a bit like you andLouis, then." Potter gave a defeated smile. "Yeah," he agreed, "I suppose it is a bit like that." There was a long moment of silence before he spoke again. "I was with him again tonight," he confessed. "But I suppose you already knew that; didn't you." Scorpius said nothing, only clenched his fists tightly at his sides. "Nothing happened," Potter went on. "I know you don't care anymore, but I need you to know that." "Is that right?" "Yes," Potter said with earnestness. "Nothing." Scorpius had not wanted to broach this subject with Potterhad promised himself it would never happen againbut here they were, at it again, almost as though the past four days had never happened. "So," he said then, steadilyand this time he was aiming to wound"if you're not blowing him, then what are you doing?" Potter winced at this and said, "We talk, Malfoy. Spend time together. He's so messed up that"

Scorpius gave a derisive snort, and unable to contain his bitterness, said, "He's messed up? Have you looked in the mirror lately?" Potter said, "He thinks he's in love with me," and Scorpius didn't know what to say to this. Finally, he managed, "Has he tried anything?" Potter cleared his throat and said, "Yes." "Like what?" "God, you don't want to hear this," Potter pleaded with him. "Trust me." "Like what?" Scorpius repeated acidly. "He kisses me," Potter admitted tonelessly, "and touches me. I told you you didn't want to hear it..." "And what?" Scorpius yelled, ignoring him. "You just go along with it, do you? You try to stop itwhat?" Potter groaned and wrung his hands. "Damn it, Malfoyyes!" he shouted, and Scorpius jumped. "Yes, I try to stop it! God, is that what you've been waiting to hear? You're convinced that I'm in love with him, are you? That I'm getting off on it; is it that it?" Scorpius threw him a dirty look and shouted, "Yeah, well maybe I am! How would I know, Potter? Everything you've ever said to me is a lie!" Potter looked truly angry now. "A lie?" he repeated. "Is that what you think? Do you want to know something, Malfoy? I couldn't ever be with him like that; even if it wasn't wrong! Because I can't be with anyone not when all I think about is you!" Scorpius felt like he had been punched in the stomach, and Potter noting the look on his facelaughed coldly and said, "You should see the look on your face right now. You're disgusted, aren't you? But can you honestly say that you're surprised? I know we've been lying to each other about this from day one, but I'm not going to do it anymore. You can lie to yourself all you like, but you wanted the truth and here it is: I think about you all the time!" Scorpius could not form a coherent thought, and snapped, "Don't presume to tell me what I'm feeling! And if you don't want to lie anymore, then why don't you just cut the bullshit and say what you really mean, Potter? Well go on, then!" he dared him. Potter was right. He was so tired of pretending. He wantedneededit to end now. "If you have something you want to say to me, just say it!" "I'm trying!" Potter cried. He groaned, and clutching at his hair, said, "God, I'm trying so hard right now, but I don't think I can explain it to you so you'll understand! Damn it, Malfoy, I don't understand! All I know is that I don't think I can cope without you right now. You're the only one who understands. And I can't stand it when you look at me like you do like I'm nothing to you, like we mean nothing. I mean, the past couple of weeks have been the best and worst of my life! The best because I found

you an-and the worst because I found you..." Scorpius was silent for a long while, and tried to process somehow what he had just heardit seemed to him like Potter had managed to describe everything he himself was feeling. And really, words fell short. He had no names for the things he was feeling. Finally, he held his wand aloft and said, "Nox." In a moment the light was gone, leaving the two of them swathed in blue moonlight. Closing his eyes, Scorpius felt for Potter's hand in the darkness, and when he found it he interlaced their fingers as tightly as he could, and leaned forward until their foreheads touched. He could feel Potter's rapid breath against his face, and rubbed small circles on the other boy's cheek with his thumb. "What are you doing?" Potter whispered. Scorpius wasn't sure he knew. The truth was, Potter's confessions had left him both elated and devastated: elated because he knew that, despite everything, it seemed that Potter felt the same way about him, and devastated because he knew then that no matter whatno matter how many times they fought, and how many times they ran away from each othereven in the dark, Scorpius would always find his way back to him. This would have no end. Because this was not a passing phase for him. It was not a mere obsession which would someday lose its lustre. This was something for which he had no name; something which ignited a fire in his blood, and contained the power to destroy him all over again, in ways he had never imagined. Every nerve-ending in his body was on fire. He gripped Potter's hand even harder, and was gratified when Potter squeezed back with equal fervour. "I-I missed you," he heard himself say. With a sharp intake of breath, Potter said, "I missed you too. More than anything. And I promise I'll never do anything to make you mad again. God, I thought you'd hate me forever." Gently, Scorpius hushed him and ran a hand over Potter's head, lips so close to his skin that it was almost like a kiss. It was not lustful, and this alone was new to him: he had never known that it could be like this; that to touch someone in this way did not have to mean pain, or burning shame. Full of tentative hope, Scorpius placed both hands around Potter's waist and embraced him gentlythe other boy was warm and yielding in his arms and melted against him, laying his head upon Scorpius's shoulder. The demons lay dormant for that moment, and all that existed in the

world right now was he and Potter, their hearts beating against one another's in perfect cadence. "I never thought you'd hold me like this," Potter confessed, lips moving against Scorpius's neck. "You're always so cold with me." Every breath he exhaled was warm and wet against Scorpius's skin, and it made him shiver. He was not ignorant, and realized with a certain sense of disenchantment that this was probably what true desire felt like. He stiffened in fear, and slightly loosened his arms. Potter made a disgruntled noise when he pulled away, and Scorpius met his eyes in the darkness. Potter stared back at him, and after a while lifted a hand and smoothed Scorpius's hair back from his forehead with unprecedented tenderness. "Are you still having nightmares?" he asked. Scorpius's breath caught in his throat. This was something only the two of them shared: one of many confessions that he had made to Potter under cover of darkness. That first time Potter had confided in him that when he had been very young, he too had been plagued with much the same problemand according to him, his mother had cured it by reading him fairytales; had lulled him to sleep with nothing but the sound of her voice and the security it lent him. Scorpius had at first been sceptical of this, but had soon changed his mindwhen Potter had read to him that first night, the sound of his voice was like a lullaby, and had ensconced him in a warmth unlike anything he had previously known. He had been able to sleep for the first time in weeks with Potter there beside him, forsaking his own rest for the sake of Scorpius's. The memory was still tangible in his mind. Finally, he said, "Yes." Potter hushed him. "It's okay," he said, and his fingertips stroked over Scorpius's cheek and throat and came to a rest over his heart. "Do you want to do it againtonight?" "Do what?" Scorpius whispered, swallowing. "Sleeping," said Potter. "I'll read to you?" Scorpius nodded. "Okay." Potter smiled. "Good," he said. "You look like you haven't slept in days." "Yes, well look at you," Scorpius retorted. "You look like a train-wreck." "I know," Potter admitted heavily. "But that's all going to change now that we're friends again." Scorpius took quiet offense to the word 'friends'it seemed so much than that now.

"And Louis's leaving soon, anywayfor work," Potter went on in a hopeful tone. "I won't see him anymore. Not like this." "Yeah," Scorpius said, unable to completely disguise his bitterness. "Sure." "Just promise me something." Scorpius gave Potter's hand a squeeze and nodded. He could make promises until the world ended, he thought, and still he knew they would most likely be broken. They always were. "Promise me we'll never fight like that again," Potter said. "Please, I can't stand it. You're all I've got right now, Scorpius." "What about Louis?" "No," said Potter, "forget him. You and I ... It's different. I need you," he explained, "and I know you need me too." Scorpius was overcome with the blinding desire to lean forward then, andto hell with the consequenceskiss him. Cowardice alone kept him from doing so, and finally, he answered, "I know I do. And I promise." Potter sat beside him now in the semi-darkness, and stared at his reflection with narrowed eyes. "I don't understand," he murmured. "I see ... I see myself." Scorpius smiled, and gently took the mirror from his hands. "I know. But you the way I was seeing you it was almost like the ghost of you; like it was your face, but" "And this was when we were fighting?" Scorpius nodded. "Yes," he replied. "I thought that maybe if we were apart for long enough it'd go back to normal, butI don't know." He sighed and rolled over onto his side, resting his head against the pillow and trying to erase the memories of the last few days. He didn't have to think about them anymore, he reminded himself. Even if Scorpius struggled to believe him, Potter had said that everything would be okay now that they were talking again. "Your mother said that the mirror was supposed to show something you'd lost, right?" Scorpius made a noncommittal grunt. "Right. Well, I still don't get it. You never lost me." Scorpius rolled over onto his back and watched Potter carefully from the corner of his eye. "I don't entirely understand it either," he said finally. "But I don't know, the first time I saw you in the mirror it ... it felt wrong. Like dark magic." Potter snorted. "Well, it did come from Borgin and Burke's; what did you

expect?" Scorpius cast an amused look at him. "And what the hell would you know about it, hm? I didn't think you were quite the type to go gallivanting about Knockturn Alley, Potter." Potter shoved him gently and said, "Oh, shut up. I don't go gallivanting around Knockturn Alley, as it happens. After what my father's told me about it, I wouldn't dare." "It's not all bad, you know," Scorpius pointed out, and thought then about the first time his father had ever taken him there and how frightened he had been. "It's an eye-opener at the very least." He could feel Potter's eyes burning into him, and he cleared his throat then and shifted uncomfortably beneath the blankets. He felt Potter's fingertips on his throat, gentle and searching, and instinctively he seized up, his fingers clawing the blankets. "It's alright," Potter hushed him. "I'm sorry, it's justthere's a bruise." Scorpius bit his lip and stared up at Potterthe boy looked despondent, and in turn, so now was Scorpius. He propped himself up on his elbow, and Potter's hand fell away. "Don't think about it," he told the other boy, and placed a hand on Potter's forearm. "I bruise easily, and it wasn't all your fault." Potter looked bitter. "I strangled you, Malfoy," he bit out. "Of course it was my fault." Scorpius groaned, and without really thinking it through, lifted the hem of Potter's shirt and shoved his hand inside it. Potter yelped and jerked away, but Scorpius held him steady, and dragged the material up over the boy's hips until his ribs were exposed. "See?" Scorpius traced the bruised skin with his fingertips, careful to be gentle. He felt wretched that he had been the one to cause these black and blue blemishes, and he recalled with an awful sense of guilt the way that Potter's flesh had felt under his hands as he had grabbed the boy from behind and shoved him into the door; the way that he had whimpered and pleaded with him to stop. "Look at you," Scorpius urged, and tried not to enjoy the feel of warm, unfamiliar skin beneath his palms. "This is much worse." Potter sighed and pushed Scorpius's hand away. His mouth set in a tight line, he pulled his shirt back down and said, "Look, it doesn't matter now who's got the worst bruises. I'm just sorry I hurt you, that's all." Scorpius threw him a contemptuous look. "Well I'm sorry I hurt you, too. I'm not your hapless little victim, Potter," he reminded him. Potter mumbled something inaudible, and grunted, "Fine." He settled back down on the makeshift blanket, cross-legged, and pulled a book

onto his lap. "Are you ready to sleep yet?" Scorpius turned away so that Potter couldn't see him and smiled. He knew that he would sleep well tonight. But there was still the issue of where Potter would sleep, if he managed to get any at all. "Potter?" "Yes?" Trying to keep his tone level, Scorpius said, "What time do you think you'll go back to the dorms?" "Er, I don't know," Potter admitted. "As soon as you fall asleep, I suppose." Scorpius felt his heart sink a little. "Oh," he said. "Alright. I justno, never mind. Make sure you lock the door behind you when you go." "Are you trying to ask me to stay?" Potter sounded gentle and surprised, but not at all accusing. "No!" Scorpius lied, kicking himself. "I just wanted to make sure that you " "It's alright if you do," Potter interrupted him. "I'd like to. If that's what you want, that is." Scorpius licked his dry lips. He wanted Potter to stay, desperately longed for it, evenbut what if it was a mistake? Was it even possible to share a bed with someone and have it stay innocent? He groaned into his pillow. It was all the worse when the pillow belonged to Potter and smelled exactly like him. "What's wrong?" He felt Potter's hand on his back. Scorpius peeked up at him. "Can you stay?" Potter beamed at him. "Sure," he said. "Of course I can." Scorpius smiled back as best as he could, but for some reason all he could think about right now was his father's disapproving glare. If the man evercame to know that he had spent the night holed up in a classroom with Harry Potter's son, Scorpius did not even want to think about what he would do to him. He supposed it would make his most recent beating look tame. Potter must have noticed the look on his face because he touched his arm and sought out his eyes. "What's wrong?" he asked gently. "You're not worried, are you?" He let out a low breath. "Please. Don't be. It's alright; I can sleep on the floor." Scorpius threw him a dirty look and went off on a rant: "I beg your pardon? Do you honestly think I'd let you sleep on the floor? I mean, if youdon't want to share a bed with me, I can take the floor, but noyou

are not sleeping on the floor." Potter looked confused. "What?" he asked. "No, Scorpius, that's not it. It's not that I don't want toI do." "It's alright," Scorpius sighed moodily, and rolled over onto his side. "You don't have to worm your way out of it. I understand." What had he been thinking, assuming that Potter would immediately want to jump into bed with him? They were friends, he reminded himself bitterly, and friends did not share beds no matter how innocent it was. He could hear Potter breathing above him, and could almost hear the cogs working in his brain. "Malfoy?" Scorpius cleared his throat and beat the pillow with his fist, smoothing out the lumps. "What?" he answered. "I want to stay. And I don't mind sharing a bed with youI don't even know why you'd think that." Gratified, Scorpius said, "Just get in, then." He made as much space on the transfigured mattress for the other boy as possible. Still, they were close enough for Potter's leg to brush against his, and at this he made a little noise at the back of his throat, causing Potter to cast him a questioning look. "Er, sorry..." he said eventually, and removed the offending leg. "Better?" Scorpius nodded but did not trust himself to speak. "Are you sure you want to do this?" "Yes, I'm sure. Just get on with it, will you?" Potter smiled at this and settled onto his back, holding the book out in front of him. "I have a different book tonight," he said, squirming to get comfortable. "I don't know if you'll like it, thoughit's Muggle." Scorpius shrugged, and moved over until his head almost rested on Potter's shoulder. He felt the other boy stiffen. "I just want to see the pictures," Scorpius explained, curling up and crossing his arms over his chest. "Is this alright?" "You don't have to over-analyse everything," Potter told him. "It's fine. Are you ready?" Scorpius nodded but said, "I feel like such a baby, having you read to me like this. And I swear to Merlin, if you ever tell anyone about it I will gut you like a toad." Potter snickered. "I wouldn't dream of it." He opened the book to the first page then and cleared his throat. "All children," he said, "except one, grow up..." Scorpius listened in rapt fascination as Potter read to him, laughing here

and there as Potter put on different voices to portray separate characters. He was gifted in this respect, bringing whatever it was he read to life, and tired as he was, Scorpius couldn't help but follow the story. Of course, lying with his head on Potter's shoulder was distraction enough from the task of sleep. "...there was a commotion in the firmament, and the smallest of all the stars in the Milky Way screamed out: 'Now, Peter'!" Potter closed the book and let his head fall back, yawning. "Do you like it?" Scorpius smiled up at him. "It's brilliant," he admitted. "And you say a Muggle wrote this?" Potter snickered. "Er, yes, Malfoya Muggle. Is that really so hard to believe?" He poked Scorpius in the side and added, "Snotty little pureblood." "Hey!" Potter began to tickle him, eliciting a fit of torturous giggles. "Stop it!" Scorpius begged, his chest heaving. "Smart-arse. Your blood's nearly as pure as mine." Potter stopped tickling him then, and laughing dying down, fell onto his back. "Anyway," Scorpius sighed when they had both calmed down some, "that's not what I meant. It's justI suppose I was raised to think of all Muggles as sort of, I don't know, stupid." Potter shook his head. "No; that's not true. Most of them are smarter than us, you know. More inventive. Can you imagine trying to live without magic? I mean, some of the things they've come up with are brilliant. Dad uses his cellphone most days instead of Owling, and all of us watch TV at home." Scorpius blanched. He had no idea what Potter was talking about. "What's a TV?" he asked, suddenly feeling exceptionally stupid. Potter looked at him then, and his expression was so full of affection that Scorpius was forced to avert his eyes. Potter reached out and smoothed his hair away from his face. "You really don't know much about the world, do you?" Scorpius brushed his hand away impatiently, suddenly annoyed. "I'm not stupid, Potter," he said, rankled. "My father raised me the old way, that's all. I'm a wizard, not a Muggle, and you shouldn't confuse the two. Perhaps you'd do well to remember that sometimes." Potter sighed and fell back to his pillow. "You're cranky now, aren't you?" he said, eyes fixed to the ceiling. "I didn't mean to upset you, it's just there's so much more to the world than us. I wish you'd had the chance to see it, that's all."

"Well perhaps someday I will," Scorpius sniffed. "I'm thirteen, Potter. I'm not dead." Potter laughed at this and said, "God, sometimes it's hard to believe you're so young." Scorpius muttered 'Nox' and turned over in the darkness. "I could say the same about you," he murmured. "You don't always seem thirteen either." "I don't feel thirteen." Scorpius smiled to himself, and basking in the quiet peace, searched his mind for an adequate change of conversation. He didn't want to delve too deep. Not tonight. "Well," he said finally, "you might not feel thirteen, but you look about ten." "Hey!" Potter swatted his arm. "I'll have you know I grew two inches over the summer!" "Wow; that is impressive." "Oh shut up, Malfoy," Potter said lightly. "You're not much taller than I am." Scorpius quietly conceded this point. "Well," he said then, "you might be small, but you're sure as hell feisty." "What do you mean?" "You should have seen your face tonight," he explained with a snicker. "I honestly thought Zapelgia was going to wet himself." Potter groaned in disgust. "That sleazy prefect? Ugh. Honestly, I could've hexed him into next week, the way he was all over you like a rash. It's revolting." They were facing each other in the darkness, and Scorpius whispered, "You were jealous." Potter sniffed. "Yeah, maybe a little," he admitted. "But mostly I was trying to protect you." "Protect me? What, you think I couldn't take care of him myself?" Potter sighed. "So why didn't you? That snake doesn't deserve to look at you, let alone touch you. He's a total pervert; why didn't you just tell him where to go?" Scorpius thought about how best to answer this. Potter did not understand him very well when it came to things like this. He had been forced to deal with morally unscrupulous people for most of his life, and Anthony was nothing compared to some of themcompletely harmless. "I don't know," he said finally. "I suppose I'm just used to it."

Potter turned to him. "I don't care," he said fiercely. "You shouldn't have to be used to it. If he ever comes near you again I'm going to make him regret it, I swear." Scorpius smirked a little. "You will, will you? And how exactly are you going to do that?" Potter let out a low breath. "You don't know what I'm capable of. If someone hurt my brother or my sisterif someone hurt youI'd make them pay." Scorpius thought on this, and was silent a moment. "I didn't mean to offend you." Potter's voice crashed through his thoughts. "What?" Scorpius muttered, feeling a little vague. "No, I'm not ... I'm not offended. Just flattered. You know I'd do the same for you." He was trying, he reminded himself. But Potter didn't seem to want to think of Louis as a villain. "I know." Potter found his hand in the dark, and Scorpius held his breath and closed his eyes. They were too close now, and he couldn't let anything ruin this. He reminded himself to breathe. He knew what he was doing, he assured himself, and holding hands was as far as it would go. Finally, he relaxed and said, "I know the try-outs are tomorrow." Potter stiffened but said nothing. "For the Gryffindor Seeker? I want you to go. You have to try out, Potter. You have to." "I can't," Potter dismissed. "I haven't practiced for days; I'll be no good." Scorpius scowled. "That's not true," he argued. "I've seen you and you're a natural. You could fly circles around your brother; don't try to tell me any different. You're just scared is all." Potter sighed. "You're right," he muttered. "I know you're right, but I...I just can't. He'll crucify me." Scorpius frowned. "Who? Your brother? Well just forget about him for a moment, will you? I'll bet you anything he knows how good you are just as well as I do. And do you think he's just going to stand there and let you become the next star player? Of course not. He'll try and put you off; but it's on you if you let him. This is yours if you want it. You fly well, you're tiny" Potter kicked him under the blankets for this. "which is the perfect build for a Seeker," he went on, unperturbed. "You're perfect."

Potter was quiet for a while. "Why is this so important to you?" "It's not. But I think you are." Potter gave a soft laugh. "Aw," he said. "Who knew you could be so damn sweet?" Scorpius scowled at this and let go of his hand. Unfazed, Potter grabbed it back again and said, "Oh, come on, you know you don't have to be on your guard around me. I know you're not as mean and haughty as you'd like people to thinkthat's why I like you so much." "But I am mean and haughty," Scorpius told him. "Merlin, you should know that better than anyone." "I know you don't mean half of what you say when you're angry," Potter said. "When it comes down to it, I think you're a good person. You're just..." "Psycho?" Potter laughed. "Well, for lack of a better word..." "Yes, well you're just as sick as I am," Scorpius said half-heartedly. "Thanks ever so." After a while Scorpius rounded on him again and said, "Well are you going to try out or am I going to have to drag you down to the Quidditch pitch myself?" "Do you really think I can do it?" Potter asked in a small voice. "Yes." "Then fine," Potter groaned. "I'll do it. But what about you? Slytherin tryouts have just been; why didn't you go?" Scorpius snorted and tugged on Potter's hand. "Me? Quidditch? I don't think so. For a start, my father would kill me. I was born weak, sickly," he explained. "Father always said Quidditch wasn't designed for one with so delicate a constitution. Besides, I wouldn't know how to catch a Snitch if it jumped up and bit me on the" "That's not true," Potter cut in. "He's a liar. I'm sorry, but it's true. Weak? You're not weak, Malfoy. You'd love Quidditch if you just gave it a go. What's stopping you?" Scorpius sighed and rolled over onto his side. "Can we not talk about this, Potter?" Potter's hand found his shoulder, and he could feel the other boy's breath on his skin as he leaned over him. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "It's just that I don't understand why he treats you the way he does. How could he? Why can't he see what everybody else sees? Why can't he see what I see?"

"And what's that?" Potter paused for a moment, and then said, "A clever, sweet, beautiful boy." Scorpius choked a little. "Are you alright?" Potter asked, sounding concerned. Scorpius calmed him with a hand over his. "I'm fine," he assured him. "It's justI think sometimes you see something in me that's not there." "What's that supposed to mean?" "I hurt people wherever I go," Scorpius sighed. "I don't understand how you can think that's sweet." Potter inched closer to him. "It's not what you say," he murmured. "It's what you do that makes you who you are. And I can see you better than anyone can." So this boy was smarter than anyone gave him credit for. How was it that he always managed to say the right thing? "How can you know so much about me?" Scorpius whispered. "I can't explain the way I feel." Potter's lips were close to his ear. "It's almost like the moment I saw you I knew you." Scorpius swallowed. "We should probably go to sleep now," he said tightly, and bit hard on his lip. He wanted to be closer to Potter, to lay his head against his chest and feel him breathe, but he couldn't. They couldn't continue to wander down this road. "You're right," Potter said and cleared his throat. "We should, er, sleep." He settled beside Scorpius on the pillow. "Are you alright to sleep now? I could read to you some more?" Scorpius pulled the blankets up over both of them. "No; it's okay. But save it, I want to hear how it ends." Potter sniggered at this. "Scorpius Malfoy, addicted to Peter Pan; who'd have thought?" Scorpius kicked him under the blanket. "Shut up," he said sleepily. "Let me just remind you that if you tell anyone I'll" "Gut me like a toad," Potter finished for him. "Don't worry, I remember." Scorpius smiled and searched for Potter's hand again, satisfied that this at least was okay. Potter sighed and interlaced their fingers tightly, resting a tentative hand on Scorpius's hip. "Is this okay?" "Yes," Scorpius whispered back, swallowing hard.

"Good." Potter rubbed his thumb over Scorpius's hand. "Hogsmeade tomorrow," he said softly. "I know we haven't had a chance to talk about it, but...do you still want to go?" Scorpius grunted, and wished that Potter would stop that rubbing thing because it was making his clothes itch. "Was that a yes?" He grunted again. "Cheerful, aren't you?" Potter laughed softly. "Tired," Scorpius lied. He didn't want to sleepnot reallybut he was frustrated and horny (had been since that morning) and with Potter lying here beside him, warm and close, it was impossible to keep his thoughts innocent. "Malfoy?" God, this was never going to work. "What is it?" "There's just one other thing; before you go to sleep." "Hm? "My mum wrote. She said she received an invitation from your mother last week. You knowfor that Winter Ball thing you were talking about?" This piqued Scorpius's interest. "And?" "They accepted it." Scorpius smiled to himself. His mother would be over the moon. Having the famous Potter's in her house at lastafter many years of kissing arse would be a dream come true for her. "I didn't think you'd actually ask her." "I told you I would," Scorpius mumbled. "Well thanks. It was really nice of you." "Mother probably would've invited them anyway," Scorpius deflected. "She's been trying to get in your mother's good books for years. So are you coming?" "Do you want me to?" "Is that a joke?" Scorpius said impatiently. "If you're not going, then neither am I, let's put it that way." "Are you serious?" Scorpius shrugged. "It'll be no fun if you're not there." Potter gave his hand a squeeze. "Do you really never have a good time?"

Scorpius tensed and said, "Not really." Those Balls held dark memories for him, and he did not want to think about them right nownot with Potter so close. Again, the other boy seemed to know what Scorpius was thinking without being told. "It's okay," he promised him. "Nothing like that is ever going to happen to you again; not while I'm around. I promise you that. Are you alright?" "Of course," Scorpius told him. "I'm fine." After a long silence, Potter inched closer to him and said, "I really like you like this, you know." "Just go to sleep," Scorpius grumbled, irritated. Why couldn't Potter stop touching him and whispering sweet-nothings into his damn ear? It was making it hard to breathe let alone sleep. Sensing his discomfit, Potter loosened his hand and drew away. "Okay," he said. "We'll talk in the morning." "Good idea." "...Goodnight." Scorpius's resolve faltered, and he took hold of Potter's hand and dragged it over his stomach. Potter's breath caught, and Scorpius waited for him to pull away, to tell him that this was too close. Any moment now it might be over. Any second now Potter could run away from him. But the moment never came. Potter relaxed and said, "You're warm." Scorpius smiled to himself. Here, together, they were safe for the moment.

Chapter Eight
Chapter by Ketamine (midnightlily)

"Passion, joined with power, produceth thunder and rain." - Thomas Fuller "Come on, kid, you promised!" Scorpius brushed Anthony's wandering hand away. "I did not. Do you mind? I'm trying to watch the match." The older boy was leaning over Scorpius now, nagging him about that dratted drawing as he tried to watch the game from the stands. The sky was darkening overhead and the air smelled like rain. He could barely see Potter, a red and gold blur, flying in the distance, and as much as he wanted to savor the momentwatching his best friend on the path to gloryAnthony just wouldn't let up. "Don't be so difficult; come on, just give me a time and a place." "How about never-o'clock?" At that moment Scorpius saw Potter come bounding up the stairs toward them, red and gold robes flapping in the wind. His heart started to hammer, and immediately he felt the change in Anthony's attitude. Scorpius turned to him, the beginnings of a smile on his face, but it died as quickly as it had come. He sobered instantly, like somebody had thrown a bucket of ice water over him. It was Potter, alright. Just not that Potter. "There a problem here?" James Potter stood before the two of them, leaning on one hand against his very expensive-looking broom. Scorpius's eyes moved over him coldly, and he shook his head and leaned away from Anthony. "No," he said shortly. "No problem." Anthony looked the eldest Potter up and down with obvious distaste before getting to his feet. Not taking his eyes away from James, he mumbled, "I'll see you later, kid," and disappeared from sight. Thank God for small miracles. "Wasn't bothering you, was he?" Scorpius shifted over on the bench and shook his head, his chin in his hand. "Nope." "I saw you talking to my brother earlier," James said and sat down beside him, broom resting across his lap. "You two mates now, are you?" Scorpius folded his arms across his chest and tried to focus on the players in the sky, suddenly uncomfortable. "Yeah, you could say that."

Deep down he knew that he wasn't someone the Potter family would consider an appropriate companion for their youngest son. "Funny," said James, cracking his knuckles. "He's never mentioned you before. Slytherin, isn't it?" Scorpius cast a lazy glance over his own robes. "Clearly." Potter's brother was obviously stupider than he looked. "And you're a Malfoy." Scorpius suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. "That's right," he said. "Whatever gave it away?" Potter grinned broadly. "Oh, I don't know," he said. "The white-blond hair? The reticent hostility?" Scorpius turned to look at him then, sneering. "Well I don't have to ask who you are, either." Potter looked surprised, and then impressed by his boldness. "Temper, temper," he smirked. "You should really try to keep that in check, you know." Scorpius regarded him with open rancour. He didn't like the older Potter at all. The similarities between the two brothers were obvious, pronounced even, but at the same time they could not have been more different. James was tall and sinewy with dark, messy hair, large brown eyes, and tanned skin. He had nothing of his brother's gentle vulnerability or insecure sweetness, and his hands were large and callousedprobably roughened with years of playing Quidditch. He had an arrogant sort of swagger, too, an innate sense of confidence, and a wicked grin. Scorpius despised the sight of him, and hoped ardently for him to go away. He looked away then without another word, and refocused his attention on the match. He thought he could see Potter race by overhead, arm outstretched, and he smiled. James must have caught him out, because he snickered and elbowed his arm. "Doing well, isn't he?" "Why wouldn't he be?" Scorpius said distantly, not bothering even to turn his head. "He's a natural." "Er, yeah," said James after a moment of silence. "He's great and all but this isn't really what he needs right now, you know? He's got a lot going on, and he doesn't want the distraction" "Maybe a distraction is exactly what he wants," Scorpius snapped, anger rising within him. Ever since James Potter had started at Hogwarts, he had been the darling of the school. He'd held the crown of Mr. Popularity for years, and now that his little brother was making use of his one hidden talent, it was a 'distraction'? As far as Scorpius was concerned, James could

shove his broomstick right up his big fat arse. "Yeah," James sighed finally. "Maybe you're right. Maybe it'll be something for him to focus on." He turned and regarded Scorpius with an odd look. "Kind of strange ... You two seem close. I've never seen you together before now, though. Why is that?" Scorpius shrugged, lips pressed tightly together, and tried to focus his attention on the sky. "We were the only third-years left over the Christmas break," he explained shortly. "Ah." James leaned back and scratched the back of his head. "That explains it." "Mm." At that moment the Gryffindor team erupted into earth-shattering applause, throwing their hands in the air as they moved to form a tight circle around an individual player. Scorpius stood up, heart soaring, and squinted into the distance. His jaw dropped. It was Potter! It was Potter and he'd caught the Snitch! Elation like he had never known it rose up inside him, and he was clapping before he knew it, jumping up and down like some crazed Quidditch groupie. He'd done it! Potter had really done it, and it was all because of Scorpius. He had pushed him into this, and he knew then that even if he never did another decent thing for him, he would always have this moment of pride. The team was descending towards the ground now, and one of the Beaters grabbed Potter about his tiny waist and hauled him up onto his shoulders, parading him about on the pitch. Some of the girls were squealing and clapping, and from the edges of the pitch, rushing out of the fog, Scorpius made out Potter's frizz-haired cousin, the Weasley girl, falling all over herself to be by his side. James Potter was still beside him, laughing and clapping, and the next time their eyes met Scorpius noted that he looked truly pleased. It puzzled him. "He caught it in six minutes," James said disbelievingly, more to himself than Scorpius. "I think that just about does it for today." He stood then and clapped Scorpius on the shoulderScorpius wrinkled his nose and jerked away from him, but James didn't appear to notice. "He's lucky to have you," the boy said with a sincere look. His eyes were sparkling a little and for a moment, he did not seem half as cocky as usual. "He doesn't have many friends, so ... thanks." He offered Scorpius a parting smile and grabbed his broom before bounding back down the stairs two of a time. Scorpius watched him go, mystified. ~o~ "You alright?" Scorpius snapped back to reality with a painful thump. "What?" He refocused on Potterhis Potterand said, "Yeah, I-I'm fine."

Potter smiled at him and removed the dragon-hide glove from his left hand, reaching out to brush a strand of white-blond hair from Scorpius's face. "Sometimes you go so far away." Scorpius tried to return the smile with great difficulty. He turned and continued toward the castle, and in his haste almost slipped on the wet grass. Potter was quick to react, grabbing him about the waist to steady him. "You okay?" "Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks." Potter sighed behind him. "What is it?" he asked. "You're all quiet again. Is this about last night?" Scorpius let out a deep breath and slowly turned on his heel, his wrist still caught in Potter's grip. Potter was looking at him with obvious concern. His skin was flushed with exercise, his hair tousled. It was getting dark and had started to rain, lightly at first, but the longer they stood out here the heavier it poured. Before he spoke Scorpius looked to his left and right to make sure they were alone. Potter didn't miss this, and said, "What are you doing? Ashamed someone might see us together?" His tone was sharp with hurt, and wanting to avoid their next (inevitable) argument, Scorpius shook his head and said, "No, it's not that. It's just" "What, are you upset about last night? Look, don't worry about it. It's not like it meant anything, and nobody's going to find out." Scorpius was overcome with urge to slap Potter for being so nasty, but he was in no mood to start a confrontation. Instead, he sighed and said, "I'm not upset, alright? I'm just ... I was thinking, that's all." Potter visibly relaxed and fell into step beside him, throwing a casual arm across his shoulders. The gesture was uncomfortable, but for some reason Scorpius allowed it. "I'm so glad you were there today," Potter told him. "I couldn't have done it without you. I'm just pissed we missed out on Hogsmeade..." Scorpius smiled in spite of himself. "It was worth it," he decided. "I wouldn't have missed it for anything, you know that. And I told you you could do it," he teased, melting into Potter's warmth. "See? I'm not just a pretty face. I'm also wise and full of" "Shit?" Potter laughed and poked him in the ribs. "Just shut up, you." They were quiet for most of the way back, content just to be close to one another, but when they reached the stairs Potter grabbed his shoulders and spun him around. "Malfoy?" "Er ... Yes?" Potter gave him a warm smile, and Scorpius noticed (with much smug satisfaction) that Potter looked happier than he had in days. The sleep he'd had last night seemed to have worked wonders on him: the dark

circles beneath his bright eyes were all but vanished, and his very being seemed to glow with barely contained optimism. He looked a little nervous, though, and a moment later Scorpius understood why. Quick as lightening, Potter ducked forward and wrapped his arms around Scorpius's neck, brushing his lips against his cheek. When he pulled away he was staring at him intently. "Thank you," he whispered, his eyes searching Scorpius's face for evidence of rejection. Not finding it, he relaxed and smiled again. "Thank you." ~o~ James Potter watched from the shadows as his brother drew away from the boy with the moon-bright hair. He had watched them as they left the Quidditch pitch, somewhat surprised by the ease of their physical camaraderiehis brother had never had many friends aside from Rose, least of all close ones like this, and the connection between the two boys was obvious to the least informed outsider. He was already confused about precisely what was going on, but had been stunned into paralysis at the sight of his brother kissing the Malfoy boy on the cheek. Well, this was certainly an interesting development. Blood pounding in his ears, James slung his Quidditch bag over his shoulder and fell into step behind them, careful to stay out of sight, and resolved to head straight to the Owlery to write to his father. ~o~ "Oi, Malfoy!" Scorpius stopped and closed his eyes, thoroughly exasperated, and pinched the bridge of his nose. If this was Anthony again "Hey, wait up!" A rush of air flew past him, and when Scorpius opened his eyes he squealed, jumping out of his skin as he came face to face with James Potter's chest. "What's going on?" he blurted stupidly. James gave a low chuckle. "Someone's jumpy tonight. Didn't think I was Hugo, did you?" Scorpius let out a tense breath and scowled. "No, I ... Never mind." James crossed his arms over his broad chest and regarded him with amusement. "But it'd serve you right, you know," he added. "Being out of bed this late and all." Scorpius glared up at the older boy and sneered, "Hah. Need I remind you that you're out of bed, too?" James shrugged. "So? I'm older than you; I'm allowed to be out and about later than you are. Sorry."

Frustrated, Scorpius snapped, "What do you want? And make it quick otherwise we'll both be caught." "Oh, right." James pulled an envelope from his robes. "Give this to Al, would you? It's from Mum." Scorpius peered at the taller boy in suspicion. "Why don't you just give it to him yourself?" James sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Er, I can't," he said, clearing his throat. "Al's not speaking to me. Again." Scorpius snatched the letter from James's grasp and stowed it inside his pocket. "Well, I'm not surprised," he said nastily. "You didn't even bother to congratulate him yesterday." "And what's it to you?" James asked, his head tilted one side. He narrowed his eyes. "Honestly, where did you two come from, anyway? One minute you don't even know each other and the next you're what, best buddies? Sorry but this is just weird. You're that close to my brother and I've never even met you?" "You met me yesterday," Scorpius pointed out. "Hah, hah. I'm serious." "So am I." James frowned and said, "Whatever. Just make sure he gets that, will you? And tell him that I'm ... proud of him." He turned on his heel then, and to Scorpius's surprise, a tall blonde girl stepped out of the shadows to join him, taking his hand and shooting Scorpius a furtive look. He rolled his eyes at them and turned around, walking as fast as he could in the opposite direction. "Malfoy!" Scorpius spun around slowly, irritated beyond belief. "What?" James looked behind him and gestured for the girlhis girlfriend, presumablyto wait. She skulked back into the shadows, looking affronted, and Scorpius smirked involuntarily. When James stopped before him again he looked strained. "Listen, I wanted to ask you something." "Like what?" "Look, I know this is probably none of my business, but" James closed his eyes and let out a deep breath. "Are you and Al ... you know." Scorpius gave him a dumb look. "Are we what?" James gave him a meaningful look. "Well, you know ... Special friends?" Scorpius flushed angrily and shot James the dirtiest look he could

muster. "Is that a joke?" "Alright, alright," the older boy groaned. "I just had a funny feeling when I saw you two together, but ... never mind. I shouldn't have asked." "No, you shouldn't have," Scorpius snarled, his cheeks burning treacherously. "And what's it to you, anyway? Why don't you just stay out of our business?" James held up his hands in mock surrender. "Look, there's no need to get hostile. I'm only looking out for him. I mean, you're both a bit young for something like that, don't you think?" Scorpius snorted. "Maybe someone should've told you that when you were in third year. From what I've heard you'd already deflowered half the girls and a few of the boys." James glared at him for a moment, his face drained of color, and said, "Not the cheeriest of children, are you?" Scorpius glared right back at him. "Clearly not." "Look, I don't care." James said finally. "You can both do what you like, but I'm not going to be there to pick up the pieces for him when this goes balls-up, that's all I'm saying." He spun on his heel then and stalked away, girlfriend in tow. "When what goes balls-up?" Scorpius shouted at his retreating figure. "There's nothing going on!" ~o~ "Ugh, this looks awful too! What were you thinking?" Albus ripped the shirt from his chest and threw it to the floor, frowning into the mirror. From the corner of his eye Scorpius could see that he was now shirtless, and ever the gentleman he averted his eyes. "What's wrong with it?" he mumbled, eyes focused on this month's issue of The Quibbler. (It was absolute trash and he knew it, but it was a guilty pleasure he couldn't resist.) "I don't know," Potter grumbled back, his shoulders slumped. "I don't look anywhere nearas good in it as you do. You look good in ... everything." He sighed and slumped back down on the bed. "Ugh, just take the mirror away, please." Scorpius snickered at this and tossed the magazine aside. After all, for the past fifteen minutes he'd only been pretending to read, anyway. "That might be a problem," he sighed. "The thing's made of solid silver; it weighs a ton." He turned his gaze on Potter, who was sprawled out on his bed and - only slightly discomfited by the realization the boy was still shirtless - he collapsed down beside him. "Why are you so upset?" he asked gently. "You always look good to me." Potter snorted at this. "You don't have to say that. I wish you'd just tell me the truth."

Scorpius raised himself up on his elbows and leaned over the other boy. The proximity gave him goose-bumps, but he implored himself to focus on the matter at hand. Unfortunately his thoughts had a tendency to run away from him whenever Albus Potter was nearby. He said, "I am telling you the truth, you prat. You look good in all of them. What's your problem? Why are you so self-conscious all of a sudden?" Potter turned his back to him. "It's hard not to be with you around," he muttered. "What's that supposed to mean?" Scorpius asked quietly, feeling hurt. "You know what it means," Potter snapped. "You're gorgeous and you don't even have to try." If the tension had been mounting before, it was nothing to now. Ever since the night they had spent together, and when Potter's brother had accused them some sort of fling, kissing Albus Potter had been the only thing Scorpius could think aboutand now the boy had just called him gorgeous. Scorpius thought about kissing him when they were together and when they were not; when he was in class, asleep, eating his meals, or taking a shower. The desireand consequences behind itplagued him constantly. When Potter went and said things like this it sent his mind spinning. Surely he was not alone then in thinking less than pure thoughts? And now Potter was sprawled out on his bed, half-naked. It was all Scorpius could do to keep his devious little hands to himself. Potter was too important to him for that, and indulging in a heated adolescent tumble was hardly what either of them needed at this point. "Potter," he said finally, urging the other boy to roll over with a gentle hand on his hip. "Please sit up and stop acting like a prat." Potter rolled over with a grunt, looking deflated, and fixed his eyes upon the ceiling. "I'm sorry," he said, biting down on his lip. "I probably shouldn't have said that, I was being stupid." "It's alright," Scorpius told him. "Don't even think about it." Potter sighed. "I just ... I don't know if I can go to this thing with you, alright? I wouldn't know how to act, for a start, and I-I don't even have a girlfriend. Don't you need a date for this sort of thing? James has one," he added bitterly. Scorpius frowned. The idea of Potter bringing a 'date' was horrifying to him, and he was going to do his upmost to discourage the idea. Before he could talk himself out of it, he said, "You don't need a date. I'm your date." Potter let out a short laugh and shoved him. "Don't be an idiot." "What?" Scorpius asked in all seriousness, affronted by Potter's amusement. "I asked you, therefore you are my date. There, problem

solved." "Scorpius" Scorpius gave him a hard look, and Potter's face fell. "Oh," he said. "You were being serious, weren't you?" "So what if I was?" Scorpius's mouth had gone very dry. Here it was again: the fear of being rejected when he put his heart out on the line; the tensing in his guts; the silly desire to have Potter just leap up and throw himself at him. At least if that happened Scorpius wouldn't be to blame. It would be all Potter's fault, his weakness, and Scorpius wouldn't have to shoulder the guilty burden of how he was feeling. He didn't know when it was that everything had changed, but part of him suspected that it had been like this from the beginninghe just hadn't wanted to acknowledge it then. Potter was more than just a boy to him, more than just a friend, and the realization had him tied up in knots. He liked the other boy exactly how James Potter suspected, and Scorpius didn't know what to do about it because he had never felt this way before. If he had wanted a date to the Winter Ball he could've had one simply by taking a stroll around the common-room and taking his pick. A few girls had crushes on him, he was sure. But this was something else altogether. Chasing after Potter was like crawling across broken glass with his fly unzipped. "Are you really asking me?" Potter was looking up at him now with a mixture of bemusement and disbelief. Scorpius couldn't look at him, and so instead averted his gaze and studied the intricate pattern of his bed hangings. "Maybe," he said indifferently. "It's not awfully romantic, I know, but what do you say?" After a moment of painful silence, Potter sat up and ran a hand through his hair. "Er ... I have to go." He retrieved his shirt from the end of the bed and slowly pulled it over his head. "I'll see you later." Scorpius's heart sank like a paper weight. He flopped back down on the mattress and covered his eyes with the heels of his hands. He listened to Potter getting dressed and suddenly wanted to punch something. "Fine," he called, fighting to keep his voice even. "I'll ask someone else; it's not like it's a big deal. But run away, Potter. It's what you do best." The door slammed shut then, causing the bed hangings to part with the sudden rush of air. Scorpius spent the remainder of the evening meticulously ripping to shreds every item of clothing that Potter had touched, until the maimed pieces of material were strewn all over the dorm. ~o~ Albus leaned over the stone basin in the Gryffindor boy's lavatories, his

chest heaving. He spat into the basin one last time before turning on the faucet and rinsing his mouth out with water. He had been sick. Again. He patted his face dry with a wash-cloth and surveyed his own reflection, revolted by what he saw there. This afternoon with Scorpius he had been unable to look into the other boy's mirror, knowing that it was accustomed to reflecting his beauty and perfection, and not something soulless like him. Malfoy's face ran through his mind then like an uninterrupted stream of filmlaughing and pink-cheeked, holding Albus's hand, walking with him down to the Quidditch pitch, sleeping in his arms. But between him and Louis, Albus's world was upended. And Malfoy had been so sweet with him these past couple few days, Albus reminded himselfforgiving him for his betrayal, investing all of his trust in him, sharing all his secrets, and finally letting down his guard for the one person who wasn't even decent enough to be honest with him. Albus spun around when he heard somebody else enter the bathroom. James. Fury welled up inside him as his brother walked towards him. His brown eyes were full of a concern that Albus didn't for a moment believe was genuine, and he said, "Al? What's wrong, are you okay?" Albus wiped his mouth. "I'm fine, James," he rasped. "Please, just leave it." James continued towards him anyway, and laid a hand on his shoulder. "What's up, are you sick again? Do you want me to take you down to the Hospital Wing?" Albus shrugged away his brother's concern, and growled, "I told you I'm fine, so just bloody leave it!" "Al," James said slowly. "You know you can talk to me, right? I think I have a right to know what's going on with you. I mean, what happened to you?" Ignoring him, Albus shoved straight past him and made for the door. "This is about your little friend, isn't it? James called from behind him. "I met him, you know. That day on the Quidditch pitch. Tell you what Al, he's carrying a big torch for you. You should've seen his face every time your name came up." Albus felt his blood run cold. "You stay away from him," he warned, turning to face his brother. All he wanted to do right now was lunge at James and beat him senseless, to shout stay away from him, he's mine, he's mine! even though he knew it was nonsensical. "Um, I had a chat with him, that's all," said James. "Merlin, what's your

problem now?" The world was spinning away from him and suddenly he felt dizzy. Albus closed his eyes and rested a hand against the wall for support. "I want you to stay away from him," he breathed. "Do you understand me? I know you." James snorted at this. "I have no idea what you're talking about - just so you know." "Shut up, James. I know you, and you'd try to take him away from me just to prove you could. You can't stand to see me have anything. It's always been that way." He opened his eyes to find his brother staring back at him in bewilderment. "Are you mental or something?" James started to laugh. "God, I knew you two were having it off! I wrote to Dad and told him that" "You told Dad about him?" James's laughter rang in Albus's ears. "Well, yeah. What's the problem?" Albus stalked over to James pushed him so hard that he fell back into the basin. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he yelled, wrenching back his fist and slamming it into James's hard stomach. "Ow! You little shit!" Red-faced and wheezing, James grabbed Albus by the scruff of his neck and dragged him through the door, marching him down the stairs. "This has got to stop!" he yelled, startling a few firstyears who were making their way up to bed. "God, what's the big deal? You're actually getting someso what? Dad'd never believe it, anyway and it's not like I gave him details!" He shoved Albus into an armchair in the quiet common-room. The fire was crackling in the grate, casting shadows all around them. James knelt down in front of him and gripped his chin. "Why are you so goddamn angry lately?" he hissed. "I know you hate me sometimes, but we're brothers, Al. We love each other deep down, don't we? I mean ... you still love me, right?" Albus looked deep into his brother's eyes and forced himself to calm down. Of course he loved his brother. Deep down. Deep, deep down. "Y-yes," he heard himself mumble. James clapped him hard on the knee and smiled. "See? Now why don't you sit here and calm down for a bit, eh? Tell me what's going on. I'm sorry if I upset you before, but I've been worried about you is all. That Malfoy kid" "Has nothing to do with this," Albus bit out. "He's the only good thing I've got going in this place, so leave off about him." James looked sceptical. "Little deep for a thirteen year-old, don't you think?" Albus glowered at him and he grinned. "Alright, fine. If you two are happy doing ... whatever it is you're doing ... then all power to you,

mate." He frowned then. "Mind you, I didn't really think you were into that kind of thing, but whatever. Even if he is a bit of a sweetheart." He smirked and added, "Well done." "Piss off, James," Albus warned. "You don't know even know what you're talking about. It's not like that, you pervert; we're just friends." James raised an eyebrow at this. "Look, just stay the hell away from him, alright?" Albus demanded. "He's not for you." James plonked down in the armchair opposite him and tapped his fingers against the armrest. "Not for me, eh?" Albus gritted his teeth. "That's what I said." James broke into an insolent grin. "Oh, would you calm down, Al? He's pretty and all but I'm not really into that kind of thing, if you catch my drift." Albus was quite suddenly overcome with heated rage, at his brother and his lies. "Really?" he snorted. "Funny how not so long ago the whole school was talking about that third-year Hufflepuff you were fiddling around with. Oh, what was his nameJem, wasn't it?" James paled slightly. "Who told you about that?" "Does it matter? Everybody knows about it; even your girlfriend-" "Yeah, well this is a boarding school, it happens!" "But why can't you ever just admit to it?" Albus asked him, genuinely curious. "Why, are you afraid what Daddy'll think?" James jumped out of his seat and threw a cushion at Albus's head. "You've turned into a real little prick, do you know that? That Slytherin he's got your head all fucked up. That's why you're acting like this, isn't it?" Fuming, Albus spat, "I'd rather be in Slytherin with him than here with you." James snorted and shook his head at him before disappearing up the stairs to the dormitories. Distantly, Albus heard him call, "Better not let Rosie hear you say that!" before he was gone again and Albus was alone. ~o~ It was strange, Albus pondered as he lay awake in bed that night, how one night could change your entire life. He'd experienced two nights like that recently, and the memory of neither wanted to let him sleep. When he closed his eyes he saw Scorpius, as bright and beautiful as the constellation for which he was named, and it filled him with equal parts longing and guilt. Louis never strayed far from his thoughts either, and together the two made an interesting dichotomy.

Louis. His older cousin had given him everything and taken it all away. He had taught Albus how to love and trusthow to be so open with another human being that you didn't know where they ended and you began but lately he had also taught him how to hate and resent; to become jaded with the idea that maybe love was never enough. Because if Louis would never be content just being his cousin, if he would always push for something more, then maybe he didn't really love him after all. Thinking of Louis now made Albus's stomach seize to the point where he was literally sick with guilt. He had told Malfoy that nothing had happened between himself and Louishad been prepared to swear so on his Mother's lifebut the lie was starting to eat away at him, and all the happiness that Scorpius could give him was not enough to uphold the ruse for long. It had only happened once, but once had been enough. When Albus thought back on it he realized that he could remember the very room where it had taken place with a photographic accuracythe memory was like a scar on his mind, and the more he tried to paint over it the more cancerous it grew. It had been a horrible place, that room, permeated by an overwhelming sense of misery and decay. The poisonous atmosphere had soaked right through Albus, until both he and Louis were just as miserable together. The light that evening had been very dim, their surroundings illuminated by a solitary gas lamp that sat next to the single bed. The room was littered with innumerable empty liquor bottles and overflowing ash trays, and several mucky blades (that Albus really didn't want to know what had been used for) were scattered here and there. Louis's wand sat untouched on the bedside table, and by the grimy window Albus noticed several terracotta pots lined up on the sill, all of which housed dying, wilted plants. He had looked at them and frowned, before realization struck him and it all was clear as winter ice. He was reminded of something his father had once told him about how sometimes, tragedy and loss and pain were capable of changing a wizard's magicof darkening and corrupting it, redirecting it outward. He had been reminded further of how, not so long ago, he had overheard Aunt Fleur complaining about how the roses in her garden were dying, and she could not for the life her figure out why. It was Louis. It had always been Louis. He was dying inside and so was everything around him. It had been pity and love that was the catalyst for what happened next. Albus had allowed Louis to carry him to bed, and had let the older boy kiss him until his lips were bruised and buck against him until his hips were sore. And it wasn't at all like the last time. Louis had not been forceful with him, but had instead been scrupulous about gaining his permission. He had undressed him with careful hands and massaged his skin, had memorized every inch of him with his lips, and told Albus that

what they were doing could not be wrong, because nothing in the world felt righter than this. But all Albus could do was close his eyes and grit his teeth and wait for it all to be over. He didn't want this. He wanted to be safe at Hogwarts with Scorpius close bynot dying of shame and exposed like this before Louis's eyes, trying not to cry when the older boy bent his legs back and thrust a finger in and out of him. It had hurt, but the physical agony was nothing to the shame. Mercifully it was over rather quickly, and Louis finished without ever being touched. They had lain there for a long time afterward, sprawled out and naked in each other's arms. Louis had cried for what seemed like hours, but Albus had been unable to touch or comfort him. He felt too dirty. They said their last goodbye at twelve-thirty-seven on a Friday night. Despite his better judgement Albus had given Louis a last kiss on the cheek and told him that he loved him, before walking away into the snow. He had not looked back. He hadn't wanted to see that look in Louis's eyes as he walked away from him, possibly for the last time. Seeing Malfoy so broken up over it had split him into two, but there was so much the boy still didn't comprehendnamely that the only reason Albus was able to shoulder this at all was because he was sure the other boy would understand what he was going through in a way that no one else could. He didn't think there would ever be another soul who understood him so completely. Albus knew Malfoy held secrets of his ownpossibly worse than this with Louisbut the difference between them was that if Malfoy were faced with this predicament, there was no way in hell that he would have allowed it to go on for so long, of that Albus was sure. He was weak, and so he couldn't tell Malfoy the truth. It would shatter everything. He was sure the boy would never forgive him. He would call him a liar, a traitor, scumand Albus would let him because would know that every word of it was true. But the closer they became, the harder it got to be dishonest with him. Touches that had once been brief and nervous were becoming comfortable and languid. When Scorpius looked at him like dare he say it he wanted him, it made Albus feel sick to his stomach. At first he had been convinced that he was deluding himself, but when Malfoy had given him that long and vulnerable look and asked him to be his date, Albus knew then that it was real. Everything he felt was validated. But like a coward he had run away in a panic. Just like Malfoy had said he was good at. ~o~ After only one day of Scorpius giving him the cold shoulder, Albus crumpled. He was running out of time, and if Malfoy was determined to hate him anyway, there was nothing left to lose. Scorpius,

Meet me behind the Quidditch stands at six o'clock. Al ~o~ Scorpius stood beneath the stands, his arms folded close to himself and his teeth chattering. He held Potter's note in his hand, and glanced at it every so often just to make sure that he'd got the time right. He checked his watch. It was three minutes past six, and he tapped his foot impatiently. Trust Potter to be late to his own bloody meeting. "Malfoy?" Scorpius whipped around. Potter was standing before him, arms hanging limply by his sides. Ice crystals were caught in his hair, and his eyes were red-rimmed as though he'd been crying. "Potter. I didn't" Scorpius was cut off mid-sentence by Potter launching himself at him. For a moment there he was sure Potter was attacking him, but this theory was quickly laid to rest when Potter went limp against him, his hands knotted at the back of his robes, and buried his face in the crook of his neck. "I'm sorry," Potter whispered against his skin. His body was trembling. "About yesterday, I mean. I didn't mean to run out on you, I just ... I need to talk to you about something." He pulled away then, sniffling, and wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his cloak. He took a few unsteady steps backward and stared up at the sky. Still in shock, Scorpius stood and stared at him. He was confused, not to mention furious. He had destroyed over a thousand Galleon's worth of clothing and it was all because of Potter. Trying to maintain his composure, he crossed his arms over his chest and gestured for Potter to go on. "I ... It's about Louis," Potter said, looking wretched. "I-I want to tell you everything, okay? I need you to know." Scorpius must have gone very white, because Potter said, "Oh, God. I don't think I can do this." He was clutching at his stomach as though he was in pain. "Just spit it out, Potter." Scorpius thought he knew what was coming, and part of him had been waiting for this. He'd known that Potter was keeping something from him, but he had rather thinly hoped that it would go away on its own. Now he realized just how foolish he had been. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, inwardly demanding an explanation of himself as to what the fuck was wrong with him. Why did he keep putting himself through this, time and time again? "There...there was one night. With Louis." Scorpius looked Potter up and down with loathing. He realized his hands

were trembling violently. "It's alright," he said finally, impressed with the sureness of his tone. "You needn't bother with the details. I get it. He fucked you. Are we done now?" "Wh...I just...I..." Potter gave him a pleading look. "Please don't go. I need to explain." Scorpius let out a cold laugh. "Sorry, Potter," he said coldly. "As hard as this may be for you to believe, I've actually got better things to do right now than stand here and let you make a fool of me again. I'm over this." He turned to leave when Potter threw himself at him again from behind. The wind knocked out of him, Scorpius yelled and clawed at Potter's arms, struggling for release. But Potter clung on to him for dear life, and horrified, Scorpius realized he was going to cryand he would be damned if he let Potter see it. "Get off me!" he shouted, as Potter held him up against a large beam of wood. "Get off!" It happened. He broke then and collapsed against Potter's body, strangled sobs escaping his throat. He wanted to turn around and punch Potter in the jaw, claw at his face and beat him bloodybut he didn't. He stood there crying like a toddler instead, while Potter tried to comfort him by stroking his hair and whispering in his ear. "It's...it's not true," Potter sobbed, holding Scorpius firmly around the waist. "He... he didn't" "What, fuck you?" Scorpius offered. He was seething with rage now. "You know he did, Potter. Don't even try and lie to me; I can see it in your face every time you look at me, and believe me, I should know. You two deserve each other." Potter flipped him around and pushed him into the wood, so hard that he was sure he'd be picking out the splinters for the next few days. It had started to rain now, and fat droplets splattered their faces from between the seats above. "Please stop shouting at me!" he begged. "Just let me explain! That's not what happened, alright? Just listen!" He was breathing heavily, and looking down, he said, "I don't know what to tell you. I was so afraid of what you'd say. I didn't want you to look at me like you are right now." Slowly, some of Scorpius's rage began to subside, and furious about it, he sneered, "Well spit it out, then. You know I won't tell." "I don't know what to say to you, alright?" Potter admitted, screaming at him. "How much do you really want to know? Just think about it!" With a low growl, Scorpius shoved him hard. "I want to know all of it!" he yelled back. "Tell me everything!" "Fine. But if I let you go will you run away?" Scorpius shot him a scathing look. "What do you think?" Potter released his arms then and Scorpius fell back against the beam. "Speak."

Finally, Potter began: "I went to see him that night after I-I found you hurt. He wrote me a letter and it...it scared me. I didn't know what to do. I was so worried. He was such a messall I wanted was to f-fix him." He let out a shuddering breath. "You don't understand, Scorpius. I loved him like a brother. I would've done anything for him, and so I-I let him..." "You let him what?" "Do whatever he wanted to me," Potter finished in a dead voice. Scorpius very nearly heaved. He hadn't realized until now just how desperately he hadn't wanted Potter to end up like himsullied and spoiled for anyone else. Why hadn't he done more to stop this from happening? "I'm sorry," Potter whispered. "I know it was wrong and I should have said nobut it never happened again after that, I swear. I didn't want to do it the first time but I-I just wanted to help him." "You're a fucking idiot," Scorpius cursed. "You really are. Did you honestly think that letting him have his wicked way with you was going to make the world a better place? Are you really that stupid?" "But he didn't do that," Potter sniffed, and wiped his face. Scorpius stopped ranting and stared at him. "What?" "He didn't do that." "Do what?" "That thing." "What thing?" Scorpius growled. "He never fucked me," Potter mumbled, and Scorpius didn't think he'd ever seen him blush a deeper shade of red. "He didn't?" "No. He did ... other things, but he never did that." The world stopped spinning for a moment. "You mean he didn't ... with his...?" Potter scowled. "No!" he snapped. "And why does it matter so much to you, anyway?" "It just does," Scorpius muttered, flushing. "Why?" "Because, it means you're still a virgin!" Scorpius yelled feebly. "And that's ... good." He didn't know why this was so important to him either, but he didn't particularly want to dwell on it right now.

Potter shruggedthis clearly wasn't half as important to himand hung his head. "So do you ... hate me now?" Scorpius moved to join Potter, and gently brushed his cheek with his hand before letting it fall back to his side. "Not exactly," he admitted. "I'm relieved ... I was afraid you were going to tell me that you'd ... let him make love to you." Potter shook his head, and touched Scorpius's cheek. His fingers were very cold. "I'd never do that to you." Scorpius leaned away from him slightly and said, "I think we need to have a talk now, Potter." The other boy tensed. "About what?" He sounded vaguely annoyed now. "The fact that you've spoken to my brother twice now and haven't even bothered to tell me?" Scorpius glare hardened. "I was going to tell you," he lied. "And I left your mother's letter on your bed, so it's not like I was keeping anything from you!" "I don't want you talking to him," Potter grumbled. "He's nothing but trouble." Clearly, Potter was jealous. Again. "You don't have to worry about it," Scorpius said, and played with a loose thread on the hem of Potter's sleeve. "If it helps any, I think he's a knob." "You do?" Potter gave a small smile. "Well, that makes two of us, then." Scorpius cleared his throat. "But we need to talk about us now. About this thingwhatever it is." "I don't know what you mean." "I think you do," Scorpius remarked. "I mean, we're not just friends, are we? You know that as well as I do." "I don't think we know what we're feeling," said Potter, very quietly. "I know I've got feelings for you," Scorpius said angrily, humuiliated by each and every word. "And even if I don't know what they are yet, I know they're there. I've never felt like this before!" Potter said nothing, only looked guilty. Scorpius took a deep breath and ploughed on: "Tell me right now, Potter. How do you feel about me?" "I don't know," Potter mumbled. 'I'm confused too." Scorpius let out a groan of frustration. "Well just tell me what you think you're feeling, then. How would you feel if I was with someone elseif I had a girlfriend?"

Potter wrinkled his brow. "I'd be angry," he admitted. "Jealous." "Why?" Potter threw him a hard look. "Why do you think? Because I like you!" "In what way?" "You know exactly what way!" Potter accused. He folded his arms across his chest and looked away, his expression furious. "I see," said Scorpius. After a while, Potter peered at him from the corner of his eye. "Well, is it the same for you or ... or what?" He sounded anxious. Scorpius nodded his head. Potter made a choked sort of noise and said, "But why? I can understand it for me, butfor you...?" Ignoring this, Scorpius shrugged and mumbled, "I don't know. Soon after I met you I started thinking about you that way and then I couldn't stop." He threw Potter a furtive glance. "Do you think about me?" "Of course I do," Potter answered. "I think about you all the time. But I've never even had a girlfriend or anything, ScorpiusI don't even know how these things work!" Scorpius cleared his throat and said hastily, "It's not like I'm asking you to kiss me or anything. We don't even have to do that if you don't want" Though secretly he was hoping for it "I just want you to belong to me. All of you." He couldn't believe how foolish he sounded. Did everyone who fell in love make idiots of themselves like this? No wonder he'd always hoped it would never happen to him. Potter touched his wrist. "I want you to belong to me too." Something unfurled inside him, and muttering, "Come here," Scorpius pulled Potter tight against him. It felt like heaven. "I don't want to fight with you anymore," he said into the other boy's hair. "I don't want to fight with you either..." Later they walked back to the castle in amicable silence, until Potter blurted, "Have you ever had a...?" "Girlfriend? Boyfriend?" Potter retreated into silence, and Scorpius sighed and answered, "No, I haven't. Why, is that what we are?" Potter spun around to face him. "I thought we just...?"

"I know," Scorpius said quickly. "We are. It just ... sounds stupid to me, that's all." "Worried it'll make us queer?" Potter said with a snort. "It does, but that's not the point," Scorpius mumbled, kicking a stray stone over the frosted grass. "Well my brother thinks we're up to something, anyway," Potter piped up. "He told you that?" Potter looked suspicious. "In as many words," he confirmed. "Why, what did he say to you?" Scorpius had the sense to look chagrined. "He caught me out of bed one night," he admitted. "He asked if we were ... you know." "And what did you say?" Scorpius fidgeted with his sleeve. "I said we weren't." "Good," said Potter, surprising him. "He needs to learn to mind his own business. I never poked around in his private life, so he can damn well stay out of mine." "You do have quite the temper, don't you?" Scorpius observed. Potter threw him a dark look. "I'm serious. He's had a severe case of asswipe-itis ever since First Year. He's thinks he's my father." Scorpius took one of Potter's hands and rubbed his thumb over his wrists. "You're more like your father than James is." Potter beamed at him for this. Ice crystals were caught in his eyelashes, and his cheeks were very pink. Scorpius licked his dry lips. If ever there was a perfect moment to lean in for a kiss, it was now "Come on," Potter said then, and Scorpius came to his senses. "We'd better head back before someone comes looking for us." He let Potter drag him back to the castle, momentously disappointed. It wasn't that he was so desperate for Potter that he just had to kiss him then and there, but he was curious as to what it would feel like to have Potter's lips on his, and whether he'd want to stop with mere kisses or would end up wanting more. He hadn't really thought about exactly what he would find beneath Potter's clothes, but the thought left him curiousand a little turned on to say the least. But he knew that he would have to be patient. Nothing like that could ever happen between them until Scorpius was sure that Louis was out of the picture once and for alland was never coming back. For now he contented himself with the thought that at least some part of Potter belonged to him, and that was something not Louis, or anyone else,

could take away from them.

Chapter Nine
Chapter by Ketamine (midnightlily)

"There is the kiss of welcome and of parting, the long, lingering, loving, present one; the stolen, or the mutual one; the kiss of love, of joy, and of sorrow; the seal of promise and receipt of fulfillment." - Thomas C. Haliburton The Slytherin common room was, for the first time in a long while, dead silent. Albus tried his hardest to ignore the dozens of pairs of eyes that were currently trained upon him and Malfoy, and attempted instead to focus on their game of cards and feign indifference. "It's your turn," he muttered, chin in his hand. It didn't matter how hard he tried to appear oblivious; this was one of the most uncomfortable experiences of his life. Malfoy seemed, as usual, totally impassive. He shuffled his cards with nimble fingers, lip caught between his teeth. His brow was furrowed, strands of white-blonde hair falling in his eyes. At the moment they were focused, dark and intense, almost the color of asphalt. He looked up then and met Albus's gaze for the first time that hour, and instantly Albus felt weak. Even now it gave him chills each time their eyes met. "Is there something wrong? You're awfully quiet." Malfoy's voice was tense, though his expression was unreadable. Albus wasn't fooled. Over the past few weeks he had become familiar with many aspects of Malfoy's personality. Over time he had learned that the boy's apparent coldness was nothing but a well-practiced defence mechanism, like armor almost. It made him a fortress. But when he took it all down for Albus, it was remarkable how warm he could be. Nevertheless, it made Albus think. Malfoy was clamming up, which meant that he was just as on edge as Albus waseven if he was brilliant at not showing it. Studiously ignoring every other person in the room (many of whom were listening unabashedly to their conversation), Albus answered, "No. I'm just thinking, that's all. Your turn." Malfoy cleared his throat, looked both ways, and sighed. "Are you sure? You look sort of...red." Albus gave a nervous laugh and set his cards down. "Look, I'm alright, okay?" he assured him, suddenly aware that a very large sixth-year girl was watching him intently from behind. "There's nothing wrong. Relax." Malfoy sniffed and squared his shoulders. He lifted his gaze to survey the room and his expression hardened. There were several barelyaudible murmurs and whispers, and Malfoy made no attempt to conceal that he had heard them. Brazenly, he folded his arms across his chest and sneered, "Have any of you got a problem?" He levelled a furious glare at a fifth-year girl behind him, and she raised her brow but said

nothing, and very soon afterward returned to her book. Her cheeks were very pink. "Yes, that's what I thought. Cowards, the lot of you." The silence in the room was deafening as Malfoy's gaze fell upon a slender dark-haired boy with dark-blue eyes, pale skin, and a rather long nose. Albus recognized him straight away. They had been partnered in Potions last week, and Albus had been most displeased when the boy had spent the entirety of the lesson sketching doodles on his Potions textbook and chatting with the girl next to him. He had left Albus to do all the work and chop the Gurdyroots on his own. "Got a problem?" Malfoy threatened him. Albus nearly choked. The boy was a lot bigger than they were, but Malfoy was surprisingly fearless for such a delicate-looking boy. The boy from Potions seemedunlike most everyone elseunaffected by Malfoy's show of hostility. He sniggered a little and dropped the cat he was holding, folding slender arms across his chest. "What do you expect, Malfoy?" he asked quietly. "You know this isn't right." An immovable coldness settled over Malfoy. Two red spots appeared high on his cheekbones, and Albus's pulse quickened. The boy was on the verge of a giant explosion, he could see it coming now, but this was all they needed. Causing a scene in the Slytherin common room was hardly a smart idea, especially when Albus planned on spending a lot more of his time here. Only it seemed Malfoy was not on the same wave-length. He stood up abruptly, knocking over a glass of water in the process. It shattered on the stone near his feet, splattering his boots, and the sound echoed around the common-room. Albus saw several first-year Slytherins hurriedly exit the room from the corner of his eye, and he envied them insurmountably. He didn't want to be here eitherespecially when he was the catalyst for all of this. But Malfoy wasn't the type to back out of a good fight in the interest of public relations. He pushed his school jumper up over his forearms and brushed the loose hair out of his eyes. He strode forward, past where Albus was sitting, and looked smugly satisfied when the blue-eyed boy took a large step back. Albus fought the urge to bury his head in his hands. He knew that asking Malfoy to calm down was as fruitless as asking his brother to choose books over girls: when he got in one of these moods there was simply no curbing his temper. "Have you got something to say, Knox?" Malfoy called, his voice lacking precise inflection. This was something he was very good at, and it was only because Albus had been given the pleasure of fighting with him on several occasions that he alone could detect the dark threat present in his tone. This boy, he thought, ought to be very careful indeed. Hoping to avoid a violent scene, Abus stood with a sigh and placed his cards next to Scorpius's. He moved to stand behind him and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. Leaning in close, he whispered, "Please

don't. It's not worth it." Malfoy shrugged him off with an impatient grunt. "Well?" he continued, unperturbed. "Have you got something to say?" The boy called Knox looked around the room, and sizing Malfoy up, he apparently decided it wasn't worth it and scowled instead. "Back off, Malfoy," he seethed, spitting his name like a curse. "You can be a real dick, sometimes; did you know that?" With this he walked away and bounded up the stairs to the boy's dormitories, his cat following closely behind. Malfoy made a rude gesture at his back (at which several people scoffed) and turned to survey the rest of the people in the room. "Does anyone else have a problem here? If you've got something to say, speak up now." No one said anything, and he gave a hollow laugh. "That's what I thought. And please, don't mind the Gryffindor. He's not contagious." A few people laughed, some even returned to whatever they were doing before Albus had disrupted the sanctity, but many eyes were still trained on the two of them as they stood in the middle of the room. Malfoy's chest was rising and falling a little slower now, leaving Albus with the impression he was calming down some. His stance was more relaxed now, his hands no longer clenched at his sides. Albus bit down the urge to touch him again, knowing that it was pointless. Malfoy did not like to be touched when he was angry. Dejected, Albus turned away and sat back down on the couch, waiting for Malfoy to return to him. He didn't have to wait for very long. Malfoy followed him soon after, but not before telling a frightened-looking second-year boy to "fuck off" and sending him scurrying up the stairs to the dormitories. He was breathing heavily when he plopped back down next to Albus. "Merlin, he's a prick," he muttered, picking at his fingernails. When Albus didn't answer him Malfoy gently patted his leg. Not receiving the desired outcome, he sighed. "I hope you know that all that was for you," he declared. "That little wanker has been asking for it for weeks, so don't feel poorly on his behalf." Unable to find anything to say, Albus didn't say anything at all, and Malfoy poked him in the side. "Hey," he said, sounding sulky. "Look at me." Albus shook his head, and Malfoy let out a low groan. "Are you actually upset with me now? Oh, come on, Potter; you're too soft. It's not like he wasn't asking for it." But it wasn't all that simple. It wasn't just Knox from Potions. The tension between them had been building to a crescendo over the last couple of days. The fact that Albus was a Gryffindor and Malfoy was a Slytherin something neither of them thought to be particularly importantseemed to be a constant source of contention between them and the rest of the

school. It was making everything doubly as hard, and although they hadn't exactly been bickering over it, it was something that never strayed far from their minds. After several moments of silence Malfoy exhaled heavily. "Potter," he groaned, "please talk to me. I'll hate you forever if you make me beg..." Albus turned to look at him then and felt his irritation dissolve. Malfoy's angelic beauty had a nasty habit of doing that to him at the very worst of times. "It's not you," he sighed. "It's just ... I hate seeing you get into fights like that; especially over me. It isn't worth it." Malfoy bit his lip, and a strained look came over him. His fingertips rested just on Albus's knee. He had been doing that a lot lately, Albus noticed, and his touches were growing increasingly bold. Although it left him feeling confused and frustrated, Albus didn't particularly mind being touched by himonly right now it wasn't helping him to articulate his thoughts any. Malfoy sighed then and shifted over, as close as possible, so that their arms were pressed together. "You're worth it to me," he said, and he sounded slightly angry. "So bloody fuck him. He's not going to sit in here and stare you down just because you wear a red and gold tie; none of them are. I don't like it. You don't deserve that." Trying to keep their public behavior appropriate when Malfoy went and said things like this was growing progressively harder. If they had been somewhere private Albus would have hugged him or squeezed his hand, but right nowwith half the Slytherin common-room watching from a distancehe was forced to settle for a smile. "You're right," he told him. "I'd have done the same for you. I'm sorry." Malfoy arched a brow at him. "What are you sorry for?" "For getting upset," Albus explained. "I know you're having a hard time too, I'm just ... I'm frustrated. I don't understand why they can't just leave us alone. Does it really matter so much?" Malfoy rested his head against the back of the couch and looked up at the ceiling. His hand was still perilously close to Albus's leg. "I don't know," he sighed, "but like I said, fuck them. They don't matter." Albus rested his head back on the couch and stared up at the ceiling too, following the line of Malfoy's gaze. There was a beautiful painting on the ceiling overhead: a rich scene of the swirling heavens, complete with moving stars and planets and adorned by magnificently vivid angels with flowing gold hair. One of them held a sword; the other was weeping, one hand over his heart. Albus had never noticed it before, but he supposed it was one of those things one often took for granted. It warmed him that Malfoy was swayed by its beauty. He closed his eyes, wishing vainly that the two of them were alone. "You're right. They don't matter," he agreed, echoing Malfoy's sentiments. "I just wish that sometimes we could ... be alone."

"We can be. Say the word and we'll go somewhere. Just the two of us." Albus felt the heat rise in his cheeks. Ever since they had agreed to 'be together', Albus had steadfastly avoided any situation in which the two of them would have to be alone. He suspected Malfoy knew this and it embarrassed him, but he was too intimidated by the force of his own feelings to trust himself with the other boy alone. Because the possibilities were infinite: Would Malfoy try to kiss him if they were alone? Touch him? Albus didn't know how he felt about that, but sometimesparticularly latelyMalfoy stared at him like he wanted to. It was in the way his eyes sometimes lingered on Albus's lips, the way he would then run a tongue over his own, and realizing what he was doing only when it was too late, blush heavily and look away. Albus didn't understand this. Malfoy was beautiful, crushingly so, but Albus had never considered himself to be anything special, and certainly not something that inspired those sorts of looks. He was forced to remind himself every day that Malfoy was here with him because he wanted to be, and that had to count for something. Malfoy nudged his foot then, pulling him out of his reverie. "What do you say?" Albus tore his eyes away from the ceilingthe Weeping Angel's feathers were falling from his wings one by one, and swirled all about him as though caught in a wind. Albus almost expected one to fall down upon him at any momentand looked at him, struggling to catch his breath. "We could...go for a walk?" he suggested. Malfoy smileda real smileand said, "Alright. Let's go." ~o~ The cold evening air was sharp on their faces as they stepped out into the night. "Are you sure you want to do this? It's raining." Albus shrugged, secretly relishing the stinging feel of cold raindrops splattering his skin. "I don't mind. Do you?" "Not if you don't." Malfoy bounded down the stairs before him, his cloak flapping behind him in the wind. "I love that smell, don't you?" Albus smiled at his happiness and ran hurriedly down the stairs after him. The grass crunched under their feet as they stepped out into the moonlight; the snow was melting all around them. The mirror-like ice over the lake was just beginning to crack, and tonight, for the first time in a while, Albus couldn't hear a single shriek. He caught up with Malfoy and fell into step beside him as they made their way across the grounds. "What smell?" he asked him breathlessly. Malfoy turned to him and smiled, his pale hair darkened by the water. His eyes gleamed brightly, reflecting the silver moonlight. "Rain," he

said, turning up his palms. Albus stopped and drew in a lungful of cold winter air. He hadn't really thought about it before, but he supposed rain did have a smell. Malfoy watched him curiously, and placed a hand on the small of his back, shoving him forward. "Come on, slowcoach," he ordered. "We need to get out of sight; I don't fancy being caught out of bounds tonight, do you?" Albus looked back at the castlethe windows were dark, but Albus knew that this didn't necessarily mean they weren't being watched. If they were caught traipsing about the grounds when they were supposed to be in bed they faced a week in detention, so with this in mind, Albus followed dutifully as Malfoy led him past the lake, the great, swaying oak tree, and Hagrid's cabin. Slowly, he it dawned on him that they were making their way toward the forest. "Er, where are we going?" Malfoy laughed and turned to him, his eyes alight with mischief. "What's wrong, Potter, are you scared?" Albus returned his smile reluctantly. "Yeah, sort of," he admitted. The Forest was quietsuspiciously so. He grabbed Malfoy's hand and tried to tug him away. "Come on," he said with a pleading look. "We can't go in there, it's dangerous." Malfoy's pupils were dilated; his hair was falling out of its band and his eyes appeared dark again, larger. Albus didn't know whether it was just the light but he looked wild, alive. He stepped forward so that they were standing very close. Albus could hear the Forest rustle next to them, the trees swaying languidly in the breeze, the sounds of animals and Merlin knew what else scurrying about and out of sight. Malfoy seemed to sense his fear because he placed a gentle hand on his cheek and said, "You have no idea how beautiful you are when you're frightened." Normally he would have laughed after he'd said this, or brushed it aside as a joke, but this time his expression was perfectly serious, and his eyes burned with intent. Albus tensed. He didn't know what it was that had him so nervous. After all, he and Malfoy belonged to each other, did they not? And wasn't this what people did when they fancied each otherhug, kiss, and say gooey things? After an uncomfortable moment of silence, Malfoy stepped back a little, frowning, and said, "Are you going to say something, or am I just going to stand here all night like an idiot?" The moonlight that shone from between the heavy clouds hit the top of his head, and made him a halo of glowing blue. Albus gave a wistful smile. Malfoy really did look like an angelalbeit an avenging one. Finally, he said, "I'm sorry. I was just" "Thinking?" Malfoy regarded him coldly. "You know what, just forget it. I

can't win with you, can I?" Albus's heart sank in chest. Great. They'd managed to avoid fighting for the past few days, though only just. The tension caused by the suddenly public nature of their friendship, along with the subsequent change in their relationship, had left them both painfully tense. And Malfoy had been getting into fights all weekover Albus, mostly. He had punched Michael Sampson in the face on Tuesday for accidentally knocking Albus over in the halls on the way to class, and had picked an ill-advised fight with a burly seventh-year Hufflepuff because he'd been convinced that he'd "looked at you funny." It was a dreadful state of affairs, and while the other boy's fierce protectiveness was certainly endearing, the attention it attracted was the last thing they needed when they were trying not to draw awareness to themselves. And now this. Malfoy was angry at him again, and Albus wasn't even sure he knew what he'd done wrong. "What's wrong with you?" he asked. "What have I done to make you mad?" He reached out to touch Malfoy's shoulder, but the boy turned from him and slapped away his hand. Albus swallowed his guilt. It was fairly obvious that Malfoy wasn't just angry, but hurt. Frustrated, he sighed and said, "I think it's me that can't ever win with you." Malfoy snorted at this. "No, you can't do anything with me." Albus scowled. "And what is that supposed to mean?" Avoiding his eyes, Malfoy let out a cold laugh. "You really don't know? What, you think I don't notice that every time I touch you you flinch away from me?" Albus rolled his eyes. "Oh, that's funny. Because every time I touch you, you slap me." He weighed shoving Malfoy into the snow and running away then, but ultimately decided to stay and face the music. Groaning, he added, "God, just make up your bloody mind, will you? Do you want this or not? Because if you don't I can walk away. Right now." He regretted saying this immediately afterwards. "Oh, bullshit," Malfoy snorted, but he looked wounded. "You wouldn't walk away. I know you, and you...you wouldn't." "Of course I wouldn't," Albus admitted. He didn't want to argue anymore, had thought that they were past all this, but it seemed there was no end to the drama. He wanted to have the nerve to knock Malfoy back into the snow and pull him to him, cover him in kisses, but he was too afraid to dare. "I've been trying so hard with you," Malfoy said, very quietly. "What are you so afraid of? Do you not want to do this anymore?"

Gods, they were both so thick, Albus decided. He took a tentative step forward and placed his hand on Malfoy's hip the boy tensed at first but allowed the touch. "I feel exactly the same way I always have," he assured him, and touched a lock of his hair with his fingertip before trailing it across his cheek. "Why are you so paranoid?" The wind was freezing all around them, and Albus would have gladly chewed off his own arm just to be able to hold the other boy close and bathe in his warmth. But he wanted Malfoy to make the first move ... just in case it was the wrong one. Malfoy looked down at his feet. "I'm not paranoid," he said sulkily. "I just..." His voice was very low now, and Albus had to strain to hear him. "I've been flirting with you all bloody week and you haven't taken an ounce of notice." Albus frowned. "Maybe I thought you were just being nice." Malfoy looked at him incredulously. "God, you're such an idiot, Potter," he declared. "If the sun didn't rise in the morning, you wouldn't notice that either, would you?" "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so" "Irritatingly unobservant?" "Whatever. It's just that when I'm with you, most of the time I-I don't know how to act or...or what to say. I want to be closer to you, but " "You do?" Albus looked down at his feet. "You know I do." Malfoy touched his cheek, causing him to shiver. "Then why don't you try?" Albus glanced up at him. "What right now?" Malfoy was so utterly lovely that every time Albus looked at him he felt like a drooling idiot, speechless, and completely at his mercy. "Yes," Malfoy said reluctantly, chewing on his lower lip. "I don't see why not. There's no time like the present." His knees felt weak. "I...I don't think I this is a..." Rolling his eyes, Malfoy held up a hand to silence him. "Just stop talking," he muttered, and the moment was shattered. "You'll give yourself a heart attack." "But I " "Potter, just shut up. You can't do it. I understand. You either want it or you don't"

"Let me finish!" Albus snapped. "Please." He took a deep breath. "I couldn't cope without you, you know that, right?" Malfoy cast him a sceptical look, and folded his arms over his chest. Even like this, irritated and tired, he was so beautiful. Albus felt sorely inadequate standing next to him. "Don't look at me like that, either," he snapped at him, and tried not to feel guilty. "Look, I don't want to...to rush into anything we're not ready for. Especially if it'll just ruin everything. When something happens with us, I want it to be special." The sarcastic look on Malfoy's face melted away. "I know that," he mumbled. "That's what I want, too." Albus wiped melted snow away from Malfoy's cheek with his thumb, and said, "I want it to really mean something." He didn't even care that he sounded like a big girl right now. "I want it to mean something to both of us. I want to remember it for the rest of my life. That's how much this means to me." Malfoy didn't scoff at him. He nodded once and cleared his throat. "Okay." Albus raised an eyebrow at him. "Okay?" "Yeah," he said. "Okay." Later they walked along the edges of the forest together, hand in hand, and didn't speak for a long while. Hogwarts was incredibly beautiful by the light of the moon, and wasn't half as frightening when one was not alone. The moon cast a bluish glow over everything, and the rain wasn't bothersome eitherAlbus was surprised that Malfoy was even less bothered by it than he was. As a child, Albus had loved to play in the rain: standing barefooted on grass, being soaked as the heavens opened up above him. It had always seemed cathartic to him, like the rain washed all of his problems away and left him feeling free. He wondered whether as a child Malfoy had done any of the same things, though it had always unnerved him some to think of Malfoy as a small child, considering what little he knew of the boy's past. Thinking about it always made him feel sad. When he closed his eyes he saw a lonely but beautiful child, roaming the halls of a freezing mansion alone, no one but himself for company. Albus had grown up in a noisy household, surrounded by his family and so many aunts, uncles and cousins that at first he'd had difficulty remembering all of their names. But had Malfoy ever had anybody to talk to apart from himself? Albus wondered what the boy had done with his days before he'd come to Hogwarts. The way Malfoy spoke about his mother, Albus was sure they were less than close, and as for his fatherAlbus would have a hard time believing the man had ever touched his son in anything other than anger. He was horrified then that he'd ever had the nerve to complain about his life, when he had grown up with the best father a son could ask for, and a mother who had devoted everything she had to her children.

Malfoy had a lot less than that, but still he had Albus, and if it was up to him nothing was ever going to change that. He would try to give the other boy everything he had ever been denied. The two of them slowed when they reached a copse of trees at the very edge of the grounds. Malfoy let go of Albus's hand and plonked himself down on a large tree root, his head falling against the trunk. He closed his eyes, and Albus paused, watching him unashamedly before he slowly made his way to him and collapsed down beside him. He cast his gaze to the sky. The clouds overhead were dark and swirling; here and there they parted, leaving visible patches of crystalline night sky. If he'd ever paid more attention in Astronomy he might have been able to say something clever and witty, perhaps point out a planet or a constellation but he hadn't, and so for the moment at least they sat in amicable silence. After a while, he said, "Malfoy?" "Hm?" "You all right?" Malfoy let out a breath. "Yes. Fine." "Are you sure? You look cold. Do you need a Warming Charm? Or you could have my cloak if" "Potter, shut up," Malfoy murmured half-heartedly. "You're drivelling. I'm not cold, and there's no need to fuss over me." "Oh. Okay," Albus said sheepishly. He turned then to stare at Malfoy, relishing every moment he could do so without being caught. The boy was obviously cold: His slight frame was trembling, and his lips were blue. Dark lashes fluttered against china-white skin, and moon-bright hair hung in damp tendrils all about his face. "Stop staring at me," Malfoy grumbled, startling him. His eyes were still closed, but Albus was unsurprised that he'd been caught out staring Malfoy had been stared at for most of his life. He was probably an oldhand at detecting it by now. "I'm sorry," Albus whispered. "I didn't mean to; you just looked so ... peaceful." "Peaceful?" Malfoy echoed, laughing a little. "That would be nice, wouldn't it?" Albus swallowed. Tonight would be one of the last times that he would see Malfoy after his family's Winter Ball. Tomorrow was the beginning of a seven day break, and while it was a relatively short amount of time, Albus was sure that without Malfoy it would be hell. He would be alone with his thoughts for the first time since the other boy had come into his life, and he didn't even want to think about what the separation was going to do to them: they had spent nearly every waking moment together for the past three weeks, and now they were facing several, long, unbearable days without each other.

"Are you looking forward to the Ball?" "Yeah, 'course I am." "Me too. I'm sure by then I'll be missing you like mad." Malfoy shifted closer to Albus and leaned his head on his shoulder. Unthinking, Albus wound an arm around him and kissed the top of his head. Part of him hoped Malfoy wouldn't notice. "Does your father know that we're friends now?" he asked, and Malfoy tensed. "No ... not yet. Why, is that a problem?" "No," Albus lied. "I'm just surprised you haven't told him." "I haven't really had a chance to. I haven't spoken to him since...last time." Albus felt anger lance through him. Remaining calm enough to be polite while in the presence of Scorpius's father was going to be the challenge of a lifetime. He took a deep breath and tried to calm his rage. "It's okay," he said. "It doesn't matter now." "I wish we were going together." Albus tightened his arms around him. "Going where?" "Home." Albus's breath caught in his throat, and he closed his eyes. "I wish we were too," he bit out. "I don't want to be without you." Malfoy squirmed about in his arms until he was lying down across his lap and looking up at him. Albus could see the stars reflected in his eyes, and they glittered like diamonds. "I don't want to go home," he whispered, and there was an honesty in his eyes that Albus had scarcely seen there before. "There's nothing there." Albus stroked his forehead, and Malfoy's eyes fluttered closed. "It's alright," he promised him. "We'll see each other at the ball, and the rest'll be over before you know it." At that moment a rather inspired thought hit him and his heart leaped in chest. "Would you...would you even want to come home with me? I mean ... if you could...?" Malfoy frowned. "What do you mean?" "I mean...we're friends, aren't we? I'm sure my parents wouldn't mind if you stayed with us. But ... would your parents mind?" Malfoy chewed on his lip and looked thoughtful. "No," he decided. "They probably wouldn't notice. They're not really home a lot. They're both always so busy." Albus put his hand on Malfoy's chest, just over his heart, and absently rubbed circles on his chest. "So...do you want to? If I ask my father, would you...would you want to come?" Albus could have sworn Malfoy was trying to hold back a smile. His hand

came to rest over Albus's and he laced their fingers together, squeezing gently. "I would," he said, and then frowned. "But your father hates me." "What? My father doesn't hate youhe doesn't hate anyone!" "Yes, he does." Malfoy's voice was very quiet. "Ever since the Stone...he knows I'm trouble. He won't want me anywhere near you." "No," Albus argued, shaking his head. "He knows you're just a kid, Scorpius, and he'd never hold something like that against you. He spoke on your behalf about that whole thing, remember? It'll be fine, I promise. Look, I'll talk to him. You'd like him if you just gave him a chance ... I swear." Malfoy shrugged. "Okay. It'll have to be after the Ball, but...okay. If that's what you want." Albus smiled and leaned back against the tree trunk. A tiny flower of hope had unfurled inside his chest. Perhaps he wouldn't have to spend the next seven days worrying about how Malfoy was getting on at home with his father after all, because he would be with him. Safe. "Have you ever been to Godric's Hollow?" he asked then, suddenly excited at the prospect of a full week spent away from schoolwith Malfoy. He didn't wait for an answer. "You'll love it. The garden's overrun with gnomes, but Dad's always thought they were funnyand there's a huge park in the middle of town where we can play Quidditch. The trees are full of fairiessometimes it gets really annoying; James always mistakes them for the Snitchbut it'll be great, I promise." Malfoy was smiling, his eyes still closed. "You're rambling," he pointed out. "And we're getting totally soaked." The rain had begun to pour down, and although they were protected somewhat by the tree, Malfoy's robes were still dripping wet. With his pale coloring, he was starting to look distinctly blue. Albus frowned. "Take that off," he suggested, tugging at Malfoy's sopping robes. "It'll only make you colder." Malfoy opened one eye and peered up at him. "Trying to get me out of my clothes already?" Albus flushed. "Shut up," he muttered, fighting back a smile. "You're such an idiot sometimes." Malfoy laughed at this and sat up, wriggling out of his robes. "I'm only teasing," he said, his robes halfway over his head. "Sorry." Albus helped him pull the robes the rest of the way off, until the other boy wore nothing but his school shirt and Slytherin tie. Malfoy sat back on the tree root with his chin on his knees, shivering. "I thought you said I'd be warmer," he said crankily, teeth chattering. "Are you trying to kill me?" Albus smiled and wrapped his arms around his own knees. "You will be

warmer," he assured him. "Sitting in that heavy material when it's wet is no good at all. It won't retain any heat." Malfoy raised an eyebrow at him. "Or maybe you just wanted to see me with my shirt all wet and clingy." Albus scowled. "Yeah, that's really what I was thinking." It hadn't been but now that he thought about it, looking at Malfoy like this wasn't exactly difficult. In fact, it was sort of...lovely. He was almost ashamed of himself for thinking this way, but he supposed it wouldn't do him any good to remain in Denial City for much longer. He found Malfoy very attractive, but acknowledging this didn't make things any easier for him. Malfoy was watching at him curiously. "I'm only playing with you, Potter. You know that, don't you?" Albus offered a tight smile and said, "Naturally. It's what you do best." "Sorry, you're just too easy to wind up." "Well wind me up over something else, why don't you?" Albus grumbled. "Just stop teasing me." Malfoy fell quiet for a while, before he said, "Are you really upset with me? I'm sorry, Albus." "Of course I'm not," Albus answered him, and attempted a weary smile. "But you know how I feel about you. Try not to make a joke out of it." Malfoy lowered his eyes and chewed on his lip. "I'm sorry," he said again. "I'll stop doing it, okay?" Albus waved this away. "Don't be sorry," he said. "It's me." He moved his eyes over Malfoy's body and swallowed guiltily as he said this. "I shouldn't ... Never mind. You know I'm not with you because I want to get off with you, right?" Malfoy looked shocked at this. "Yes, I know that!" "Good. I want you to." "I do." Malfoy sat up, his expression suddenly fierce. "But that doesn't mean that I don't want that with you. Is it really so wrong?" Albus retreated into silence, unable to say another word lest he dig himself a deeper hole. "Why does it always have to be one way or the other with you, Potter?" Malfoy said in a small voice, and Albus busied himself by tearing clumps off freezing grass from the earth and tossing them angrily. "It doesn't," he said, very quietly. This was no understatement. The dreams he'd been having lately, the ones that left him wide-eyed and panting, his sheets tangled and wet, were growing in frequency. They made him feel guilty, because he was terrified of developing those inclinations for Malfoylike the ones Louis

had for him. He knew how powerful they could be, and the last thing in the world he wanted to do was scare Malfoy away. Like him, the boy had had enough grief to last a lifetime, and Albus didn't want to end up just another painful memory, another nightmare in the dark, another source of pain. Or regret. ~o~ "Potter!" Scorpius elbowed his way through the thick throng of chattering people gathered outside the Hogwarts Express. He knocked over two secondyear Hufflepuff girlswho squealed and shouted obscenities at him as he passedwho looked like they were trying to chat up Potter's brother, and squinted, trying desperately to find Albus. He'd thought he'd seen him just a second before, but being as small as he was, he'd apparently dissolved once more into the crowd. At that moment someone tapped his shoulder and he nearly jumped out of his skin. Whipping around, he scowled. Wrong Potter. Again. "You alright there, kiddo?" It was James, and today the similarities between himself and his younger sibling were particularly obvious. It made Scorpius furious. Where the hell was his Potter? He folded his arms across his chest and glared up at the older boy, who was grinning at him in a way that made his blood boil. He was distracted before he could open his mouth and say something rude at him, and thinking he'd seen Albus from the corner of his eye, whirled around, his heart leaping, and scanned the crowed, utterly desperate for him. "Missing your boyfriend?" His eyes snapped back to James, who he wanted to punch in the face for daring to look so smug. The eldest Potter was wearing his trademark smirk, and had his arms folded across his broad chest. His dark hair was falling into his eyes in a way that looked effortlessly casual (but had probably taken hours) and the Muggle clothes he was wearing seemed designed to flaunt his tanned, Quidditch-toned physique to the fullest extent. Looking at him made Scorpius feel ill. How could somebody so vain and conceited possibly be related to Albus Potter? He sneered then and took a bold step forward. "Yes," he said, "and unless you're going to tell me where he is, I'd suggest you piss off." James looked as though Christmas had come early. He held up his hands, and sniggered, "Fine. But if you're looking for a goodbye kiss I'm afraid you're going to be a little disappointed. He doesn't put out. Much too shy. I mean ... frigid." Scorpius felt as though he'd slapped him. James was watching him daringly, like he wanted Scorpius to explode on the spot just for his amusement. He shook his head in disbelief. He'd known Potter's brother

was an arsehole, but what he hadn't counted on was the fact that he was actually really good at it. "Oh, bugger off," he muttered finally, and turned his back. Much to his frustration, he didn't have anything witty or nasty to shoot back at James, and for Scorpius this was a first. Kicking himself, he stalked away, the eldest Potter calling 'Any time, princess!' at his retreating figure, and thenalmost like the crowd had dispersed just for himhe spotted Albus sitting on a bench next to his cousin, who had her nose buried in a ridiculously large book. He breathed a sigh of relief, and his irritation at James vanished. Potter looked up at that moment, and their eyes met. Potter's face lit up and he smiled, beckoning for Scorpius to join them. Scorpius felt slightly nervoushe hadn't been formally introduced to the Weasley girl. It wasn't something he'd ever really felt the need to do but if it was for Potter, he'd probably do almost anything. He walked toward them slowly, not wanting to appear too eager, and was stunned (and a little mortified) when Potter jumped up and threw his arms around him, hugging him tightly and bouncing up and down a little on the balls of his feet. "What are you doing here?" he asked, voice full of unbidden ethusiasm. "I didn't think I'd see you until tomorrow night!" Scorpius patted his back uncertainly and released him. Feeling rather shy all of a sudden, he shrugged and rubbed at his elbow. "I know," he said quietly. "I just ... I needed to see you for a moment." Potter gave him a small smile, and stepped back a little. He'd probably sensed Scorpius's discomfort at the sudden display of public affection, and had subsequently given him his space. "It's all right," said Potter, seemingly unperturbed. "I was missing you already, actually." He frowned then, and tilted his head to one side. "I still don't know why your parents don't want you catching the train. Are you sure you can't come with us?" Scorpius nodded. "Yes, there's no way. Father thinks it most unbecoming for a boy of privilege to travel by train. Far too plebian," he said, mimicking his father's over-the-top aristocratic drawl. Potter burst into laughter at him, causing Scorpius to do the same, and he said, "I know. It's ridiculous, but that's what he's like. There's no reasoning with him." Potter's laughter faltered. "Yeah," he said, his eyes growing dark. "He sounds like a laugh a minute." He cast Scorpius a meaningful look before he turned around and motioned for his cousin, who was watching them intently, to join them. She seemed like the shy, bookish type, sporting a long mane of frizzy, reddish-brown hair, large brown eyes, and a light smattering of Weasley freckles across her nose. While she wasn't totally hideous, Scorpius doubted somewhat that she'd ever have much luck in the romance department. Potter looked back at him and mouthed 'be nice'. Scorpius rolled his eyes and straightened, determined to turn on the charm. If it was important

to Potter he'd do just about anything to make him happy. It was ridiculously sentimental, he knew, but these days making Potter smile was almost all he thought about. He'd never been able to make anyone laugh or smile before, and he found it was addictive. The girl approached them slowly. "Rose, this is Scorpius Malfoy," Potter said, gesturing to him. "The one I was telling you about." Rose looked at him and blushed furiously, unable to meet his gaze. Scorpius gave her a forced smile and held out his hand to her. "Just call me Malfoy," he said. "It's nice to meet you." She took the proffered hand in her own and shook it briefly. "You too," she said with a nervous smile. "Al's told me so much about you." Scorpius let go of her hand and shot Potter a questioning look. The boy smiled and shrugged. The three of them stood there for a moment, wrapped in an awkward silence, before Potter had the good sense to change the subject. "So," he said airily. "What did you want to talk to me about?" Scorpius felt his stomach tighten in anticipation. He gave the Weasley girl a polite but fake smile, and steered Potter a few paces away by his elbow. "Who said I wanted to talk?" he said, suddenly breathless. Potter furrowed his brow. Privately, Scorpius thought he looked adorable when he did that. "What do you mean?" he asked. "Is there something wrong?" At that moment the scarlet Hogwarts Express emitted a huge stream of grayish smoke and made a rather large honking noise. Potter gave him an impatient look, urging him to hurry. Scorpius sighed and fidgeted with his hands, suddenly a nervous wreck. Someone to their right wolfwhistled loudly, hollering out the window of the train: "What did I tell you, precious? Frigid!" Scorpius grimaced and set his jaw, bowing his head and pinching the bridge of his nose. He tried desperately to ignore the absolute wanker that was Potter's brother, and to gather enough mettle for what he wanted to do next. He was running out of time. Potter had gone very white, and all the warmth was gone from his expression. "Has he been bothering you again?" he asked tightly. "No," Scorpius mumbled. "He's just irritatingly perceptive." "What?" Scorpius glanced up at him. "Oh, it's nothing," he said quickly, clearing his throat. "It's just something he said." "What?" Potter barked. "What did he say to you? Tell me now and I'll make sure he bloody gets it." "It's nothing," Scorpius sighed. "Don't worry your little head about it."

Potter folded his arms and glared at him, until Scorpius cracked and said, "Oh, fine. He stopped me just now when I was looking for you and told me that if I was looking for a goodbye kiss I was going to be disappointed." He made sure his eyes were fixed firmly on the ground as he said this, afraid that Potter would laugh at him. But Potter was staring purposefully at the train, looking anything but humored. James was still goading them from the windowtrying to impress his wench of a girlfriend, most likelyand all Scorpius wanted to do right now was go on a rage-driven rampage and hex his smug, stupid face into oblivion. When Potter turned back to him his expression was resolute. "Is that so?" he said quietly. After a few seconds of silence he peered at Scorpius and said, "Well, do you want one?" Scorpius's stomach dropped. "What? No!" he lied, hating himself for being so weak. "It's just, I don't...I wanted to" He was interrupted when Potter grabbed his wrist and pulled him behind a large cement beam, away from the heaving crowd shuffling toward the train. James was still jeering at them, but herealone with Potternone of that seemed to matter anymore. Potter stared at him, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. Gently, he gripped Scorpius's chin and turned his face toward him. "Hey," he said. "Forget him, alright? It's you and me, remember?" Scorpius swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. "You and me." Potter smiled at him and moved closer, until they were almost nose-tonose. The jeering was growing louder, but Scorpius couldn't care. This close Potter had the most beautiful skin he had ever seensoft and smooth, like roses and creamand the bright color of his eyes was hypnotic. He balled his hands into fists to stop them from trembling. Potter smiled at him and fingered a lock of hairan action he seemed to particularly enjoyand inhaled deeply. "Tell me if this is okay." "It's okay," Scorpius nodded, feeling like he was choking on his words. "You can..." Potter gripped his waist and pulled him close. "I have to go in a second," he said in a nervous whisper. "So are you going to give me something to remember you by, or not?" Scorpius closed his eyes and rested his forehead against Potter's. He had waited so long for this moment and now it was here. "It's yours," he whispered. "Anything you want. Take it." Not a moment later, Potter leaned in so close that Scorpius could feel his breath, andhesitantly at firstkissed him softly on the mouth. His belly tightened, and if Scorpius had ever doubted his physical attraction to Potter, feeling those lips against his laid it all to rest. Something exploded within him: inexplicable warmth, an overwhelming sense of rightness and safety. It was almost like they'd done this a thousand

times before, but Scorpius knew that he had never been kissed like this, and would never be again. It had never felt like this with anyone. When Potter began to draw away he panicked. He knotted his fingers in the fabric of Potter's shirt, and without waiting for permission, pulled him to him and kissed him again, chaste and slow. He wasn't sure Potter was quite ready for his tongue. To hell with waiting, he thought. What had they been playing at all this time, being so afraid of each other that they'd managed to deny themselves this? After several long kisses Potter drew away first, his breathing harsh and ragged, and kissed Scorpius on the corner of his mouth, softly on both cheeks, all along his jaw, andScorpius couldn't contain a moanhis neck. He held Potter's trembling hands in his own, and prayed for the moment to last forever. But it was all over in a nanosecond, and would soon fade into a memory that he wouldn't be sure was real. He wasn't sure how long he'd been standing still with his eyes closed, but he felt a slight rush of air, and suddenly it was like someone had turned the volume back up. He could hear the train retreating into the distance, and when he opened his eyes again Potter was gone. ~o~ "If you don't shut your mouth I'm going to tell everyone what I caught you doing in the bathroom last week." The carriage erupted into raucous laughter. One of James's friends ribbed him playfully, yet he remained stoic and unamused. He had been strangely subdued ever since Albus boarded the train, and had scowled even when his girlfriend, Clarise, climbed onto his lap and tried (unsuccessfully) to snog him. Albus couldn't find it in him to care. He didn't know what his brother's problem was, but at the moment he could scarcely breathe. All he could think about was the fact that he'd kissed Scorpius Malfoy, and when he would have the opportunity to do so again. James glared at him from the opposite seat, eyes narrowed to slits, and said, "We all saw you kissing him, Al. What's everyone going to think? That's Draco Malfoy's son you're fiddling around with; just remember that. Dad'll have a fit." Albus stared out the window, deliberately ignoring him. The countryside was wet and gloomy, the rolling green moors swaying slowly in the afternoon breeze. "We're not fiddling around," he said finally, as his brother scowled in his direction. "I know you find this difficult to comprehend, but it's not even like that. You wouldn't understand what this is." He was quite sure that no one on earth had ever felt for anyone the way he felt for Scorpius, and that included James. He couldn't expect his brother to understand. He pressed his cheek against the glass then, watching in the window's reflection as Clarise snuggled up to James with a sulky look on her face,

like he wasn't paying her enough attention. Albus didn't exactly like her: she was pretty and very popular, but she'd always seemed shallow to him. He was sure the feeling was mutual, anyway. Clarise rested her head on James's shoulder and looked up at him imploringly. "Come on, just leave him alone, babe. There's so many other things we could be...doing right now." Albus's stomach turned at this, but mercifully it seemed that James wasn't too interested in returning her advances today. In fact, he pushed her away so forcefully that she left the carriage in a huff, and slammed the door shut behind her. Albus shot his brother a filthy look. Clarise might not be his favorite person in the world, but James had a nasty habit of treating all of his girlfriends like dirt. "Nice one," he snapped, gesturing the door. "Somehow I don't think she'll be back." James snorted and folded his arms across his chest. "I wouldn't count on that. She always comes back," he said with a smirk, causing his best friend, Pierce Nightingale, to snigger appreciatively. Albus looked away in disgusthis brother and his mates were all total pigs. After a while Pierce took a deck of Muggle cards from his pocket and began to shuffle them, shaking his head and smirking to himself. "Your brother and I had a bet, you know," he said. "About which girl you'd lose it to?" He exchanged a look with James and nudged Albus with his boot. "But I guess we both lost out, eh? Didn't think you'd turn out queer." The carriage fell silent. Albus looked up, his heart hammering, and saw his brother draw his wand from his pocket with record speed. He half expected James to point it at him, but instead he aimed it straight at his friend without a moment's hesitation. "That's my brother you're talking about," he hissed. "Your mouth's too big for your own good, Pierce. Maybe you ought to learn to shut it." Pierce gave a nervous laugh, and held up his hands in surrender. "Come on, Potter. You know I was only" James glared at him, his face very white, and gestured Albus with his head. "Tell it to him. Go on." Pierce turned to Albus with a helpless expression. "I'm sorry, Al," he said earnestly. "I shouldn't have said that." Albus stared back at him, breathing hard, and looked away. "I mean it, Al. I'm really sorry." Albus ignored him and turned back to the window. James must have ordered everyone to leave the carriage, because the next thing he knew, everyone was gone and they were alone together. "Al?" James sat down beside him, and tentatively touched his shoulder. "I'm sorry about Pierce," he said gently. "I know he's got a mouth on him, but his heart's in the right place." Albus seriously doubted this, unless Pierce's heart was in his

"He didn't mean what he said," James went on. "It's just ... No one wants you getting too serious with him, alright? He's Draco Malfoy's son for chrissake; not to mention a Slytherin. Doesn't that mean anything to you? Are you trying to give Dad a heart attack or something?" Albus refused to look at him. "What would you care, James? You've been trying to sabotage us from the start." There was a long pause. "It's because you like him, isn't it?" He looked at his brother, determined to see guilt behind his eyes. "You do, don't you?" "Oh, you can't be serious," said James, and moved away from him. "Please, not this again." "I know you think he's pretty," Albus went on, and resumed staring out the window. "I can read you like a book, James. I can see it in your eyes when you look at him." "Um, I think you've lost the plot," James informed him. "And just so you knoweveryone thinks he's pretty. What the hell does that have to do with anything? Merlin, you're too heavy when it comes to him, Al. If that's your attitude, if you're just going to be jealous all the time, then you'll be fighting someone new every day of the week. He gets a lot of attention, that kid. What are you going to do, duel every person who has the nerve to look at him?" Albus silently conceded this point. "It's not worth it," James told him. "You know it isn't. Look, Al, I know I tease you a lot, but when I saw you kiss him today, I don't know..." He took a deep breath. "I've never seen you look the way you did. I don't want you to get hurt, alright?" "Yeah, well you don't know us," Albus snapped. "He'd never hurt me." In truth, Scorpius had enough hold over him to break him with just one sentence, but he didn't want James to know that. "See?" James said with a groan. "This is what I mean! Can you hear yourself? You're in love with him, Al, and you're way too young for that. Believe me, you won't deal with it well if this ends badly; and I'm saying this because I care." Albus looked at James carefully, and for a moment it was like the past few years melted away and they were brothers againlike they used to be. This was the James that no one else knew, the James that still existed behind all the bravado and conceit. No one else outside their family ever saw him, but lately even Albus had started to forget that he existed. Finally, he said, "I know you care, alright?" He shuffled closer to his brother, and James's eyes widened a fractionthey hadn't been so affectionate with one another in a long timebut he soon relaxed and put an arm around Albus. "You know I'm only looking out for you, idiot," he said without malice. "I don't want to see you broken over thisand believe me, I see how bad you've got it for himbut Al, what makes you so sure he feels the same way?" "I don't know," Albus said after a while. "I just know he does. It's not

something I have to think about." James sighed and looked up at the ceiling of the carriage. "You know what's strange?" "What?" "You've changed so much these past few weeks. I've never seen you look so happyor so sad." "I don't know what you mean." "I can't explain it," James said. "You go through these stages where you look so bloody depressed it's like you've got the weight of the whole world on your shoulders, but the next day you're so blissful it's like you're floating on a cloud. It's him, isn't it?" "Not entirely," Albus mumbled honestly. James still knew nothing of his dalliances with Louis, and he was determined for it to stay that way. "We just have a strange relationship, that's all. We, er, fight a lot." "I figured that." Albus regarded his brother thoughtfully. They hadn't had a chance to be alone together, to talk like this, in so long. There was so much that Albus wanted to say to him, so much he wanted to ask, but he knew that once those compartment doors opened, everything they had in here would be lost. James would retreat once more behind his mask of arrogance. "Jamescan I ask you something?" "Um ... sure." Albus was afraid of broaching what had always been an off-limits topic, but it was now or never. "Whatever happened with you and that boy?" "It was nothing, Al," James said tightly. "Just a mistake." "I'm sorry. I know you don't like talking about it, but...I have to know. Why was it a mistake? Are you ... Do you...?" James raised an eyebrow at him. "Whatlike boys?" He let out a short laugh. "Not exactly, Al. You know I don't." "Then what happened between you?" Albus asked, frustrated. "Why do you go all funny every time someone brings it up?" "Because," James said stiffly. "It was a mistake and I don't like talking about it." "Why was it a mistake?" Albus frowned. "I saw you with him once. I thought you were friends or something." "We were. That's why it was a mistake." "But...how did it happen?" Albus pressed on, aware that he was being

irritating now. "What" "Oh, for Merlin's sake!" James snapped. "Would you just bloody leave it, Al? It was nothing! We were friendsI was tutoring him for Transfiguration. We were spending a lot of time together and..." He went pink and cleared his throat. "Well, one thing led to another and ... Look, it was a mistake, that's all you need to know. We were getting too friendly and the next thing I knew the whole school was talking about it and it was getting back to Mum and Dad. End of story." "Is that why you ended it?" Albus asked him quietly. "Yeah," James said bitterly. "And who said I ended it, anyway?" Albus bit his lip. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I didn't know." "Forget it," James shrugged. "It's done now. And that's why you should take my advice and stop knocking around with your mates. It ruins everything. It's not the same when you're friends with someone first. It makes it harder." Albus privately agreed, though he wasn't sure he and Scorpius had ever been just friends. "I know." "Just be careful, alright?" "I will." Albus turned his eyes back to the window. Storm clouds were gathering overhead, and the sky looked angry. It would storm tonight, and Albus thought the weather suited his conflicted mood perfectly. Eventually, he said, "When are you going to end it with Clarise?" "Er, what are you on about, Al?" Albus rolled his eyes. "Come on, James. You've got to stop stringing her along; she doesn't deserve that. Either let her go or stop treating her like rubbish." James laughed at this. "Hah. God love you, Al." "I'm being serious," Albus grumbled. "How would you feel if someone treated Rosie like that?" James considered this for a moment, then said, "I'd probably kill them." "Exactly," said Albus. "Why don't you stop being such a prick to her? It really doesn't suit you." "Maybe I will," James sighed. "And then again, maybe I won't. Albus scowled at him. "James" "Oh, I almost forgot ... I wanted to ask you something." James was wearing a look that spelled trouble.

Albus narrowed his eyes at him. "What?" He didn't like it when James got that looknothing good ever came of it. "Who's that Slytherin girl Malfoy's always wandering about with? The real pretty one." Albus had to think for a moment before it dawned on him. He laughed in spite of himself. "Paige?" James nodded eagerly. "Forget it. She doesn't date. Malfoy's told me all about her." "I see," James said carefully. "A challenge." Albus rolled his eyes at him. "Good luck. It's never going to work." "We'll see about that. I always get what I want." "You're so cocky it's sickening," Albus declared, mildly disgusted. "You really need to work on that." James put his feet up on the seat and rested his head against the back wall. "Maybe," he conceded. "But then again, maybe you're just too nice for your own good. You're a sweetheart, Al, that's why everyone loves you. But you need to get some backbone. You do realize that you're the Gryffindor Seeker now, don't you? You could have any girl you wanted." "I have what I want. I don't need anything else." "Told you you loved him," James pointed out. "Yeah, well maybe I do," Albus confessed, flushing. "Damn it, Albus. You've got it really bad." Albus ignored him. James was right. He'd never been in love before but was fairly sure this was it. "So when are you going to tell Mum and Dad?" "I'm not," Albus said, shooting his brother a warning glare. "As far as they're concerned, we're friends. Alright?" "Whatever," said James, "but I don't really see what the problem is. You're getting heavy with him now. You know they'll find out sooner or later." "We're not getting heavy," Albus growled. "I've only bloody kissed him once." And you'll never forget it, his mind told him nastily. James sniggered at this. "That is sort of pathetic," he agreed. "I mean, the boy wants more from you than a few clumsy kisses, Al, I can tell you that for free."

"Just shut up. We don't think about each other like that," Albus lied. "Don't give me your bullshit, Al. I'm your brother. You know you can tell me the truth." "That is the truth. Unlike you, I don't want to jump the bones of every person I meet. And I want him to come stay with us this weekif you keep saying stuff like that it'll make it weird. He'll be staying in my room." "Gross," said James, wrinkling his nose. "My bedroom's right next to yours, remember. If I hear anything" "James!" "Fine," James laughed, "but you know what Dad's like. I think you'll have a hard time convincing him to let a Malfoy in the house." "What is he, a Blast-Ended Skrewt?" Albus said angrily. "He's my friend, and your friends stay over all the time!" "This is different." "No it's not," said Albus, defiant. "I'll convince Dad. It'll be fine. And Scorpius needs this, you know." He cast a pleading look at James. "He's never even played Quidditch. Can you believe that?" James blanched. "Really? Well shit." "Exactly," said Albus, biting his lip. "I want him to come home with us. He's never known what it's like to be part of a real family. He needs this, James." "Look, it'll be alright. And I'll teach him to play Quidditch, yeah?" "Really?" "Sure. He's a pureblood and he can't play the national sport," said James distastefully. "That's not right." "I know ... Just promise me one thing." "What?" "Promise me you won't give him a hard time. Please?" "Cross my heart," said James with a smirk. "But perhaps you should consider telling him the same. He's got a real attitude on him, that one. Absolutely hates me." "No he doesn't," Albus said dishonestly. "He's just got to get to know you, that's all." "Yeah, well we'll be seeing him tomorrow night, anyway. And I'll be nice to him." He leaned back and sighed. "I still don't know why his family invited us to this thing. Aren't they supposed to hate us or something?"

"They don't hate us," Albus mumbled, once again unsure whether this was true. "Oh well," James said, stretching his arms over his head. "Doesn't matter. Should be good for a laugh, anyway. And Louis's going to be there," he added cheerfully, clearly expecting Albus's mood to brighten with this news. "Mum said he's bringing his new girlfriend." He looked distant now. "Bet she's as fit as all the others, too. Merlin, that boy's lucky with the ladies..." Albus forced a smile, but on the inside he was screaming. If ever there was anything to spoil a near-perfect day, it was fear of his next encounter with his cousin Louis. Albus closed his eyes and let his head fall against the window. It was darkening to twilight now, and the heavy storm clouds obscured the fledgling moon and stars. He felt James's eyes on him in the silence, and thunder growled overhead. The lights in the carriage flickered then and plunged them both into darkness.

Chapter Ten
Chapter by Ketamine (midnightlily)

"No ear can hear nor tongue can tell the tortures of the inward hell..." - Lord Byron The light afternoon breeze stirred through the garden, and the pungent scent of roses hit Scorpius like a punch in the nose. He wrinkled his nose. He'd never liked the smell of roses. He sat with his back to the fountain now, an open book on his lap. The sound of moving water lapping gently against the stone was calming to his senses, and if he concentrated hard enough, he could almost pretend he was in another place entirely. He drew a deep breath and tried to concentrate on the words scattered across the page. He'd been sitting here for almost a half hour, and so far he hadn't moved past the first paragraph. It was difficult to focus with all that was going on. He'd come out to the garden to be alone. Today the house was positively buzzing, the foyer flooded with frantic staff. His mother and father (mother, in particular) had been running around the Manor all day in a sort of hyper-madness, screeching and barking orders as the last minute preparations for the Ball came together. He'd had the good sense to leave after the ice sculptures had arrived: the centre piecesupposed to be a large and elaborate carving of three dolphins leaping from the oceanwas not, apparently, quite what his mother had had in mind when she'd ordered it. He'd made a hasty exit just as she, high heels clicking noisily against the marble, came charging down the hall, shouting out something about dolphins and evil smiles. He'd had to stifle a laugh as he walked through the foyer and past the sculptures in question, which were flanked by several frightened looking workers. The dolphins did look like they were smilingthough he didn't know whether evil was the right word. He'd shot a pale looking maidservant a sympathetic look as he passed; dealing with a vexed Astoria Malfoy was enough to make anyone quake with terror. After a morning spent being pinched, pulled, poked and fussed over while being fitted for new dress robes, something his mother had also left to the last minute, he'd been relieved just to get away from her. So far he'd been fortunate enough to avoid the wrath of his father for the past twenty-four hours, though he sincerely doubted his luck would last very long. Thus far their only interaction had been a rather terse greeting when he'd arrived home the previous day. Where his mother insisted on a rather more dramatic brand of reunionnoisy kisses, smothering hugs, and quite a lot of cheek pinchinghis father always thought a curt nod of the head sufficed as a greeting. He'd never been an affectionate man, and if Scorpius thought on it, he couldn't recall an occasion where he'd ever seen his father show sincere emotion, or be anything otherthan the haughty disciplinarian Scorpius had always

known him has. At that moment a shrill scream floated through the open window to his right. He recoiled; with his mother around, silence, it seemed, would be an elusive luxury. He shut his book with a resigned sigh, tracing the front cover with languid fingers. Great Expectations, by Charles Dickens. For a moment the noise around him abated and he smiled to himself. Potter had given him the book to read a few days ago, and the gesture had meant so much more to Scorpius than the object itselfno one had ever given him anything purely because they thought he would enjoy it. But Potter was like that, the selfless sort, and a mere day spent in the company of people like his parents and their 'friends' made him ache with the desire to lay eyes on him again. Here, everyone was all fake smiles and quiet cunning, opportunistic backstabbers with all the shrewdness of a venomous snake. Thanks to Potter he was loathing it here far more than usual, and time had a nasty habit of dragging on painfully slowly when one was anticipating something. The few hours that lasted until they saw each other seemed to him an eternity away. Mercifully, someone called his name at that momentone of the maidservants, presumablyand distracted him from thoughts which were both painful and pointless. He got up grudgingly, wondering just what it was he was wanted for now, and hurried to conceal the book inside his robes. Although his father was apparently tolerant of Muggle culture (in Scorpius's opinion, this attitude belonged to the Draco Malfoy only the public saw) Scorpius doubted the man would be very much impressed to find his son in possession of Muggle literature. Scorpius trudged along the cobbled stone path, the sweet scent of lilac heavy in the air. He didn't know how the landscapers charmed the flowers to grow like this in the dead of winter, but he supposed that with his father's money they found their ways. It was a pleasant enough place, nonetheless, and was usually dead quiet. It was nice to spend time out here alone when the Manor was empty save for himself and the staff. He stopped to pick a red rose. He detested the scentit reminded him far too much of certain childhood memories he'd rather forgetbut he enjoyed their deceptive beauty. Roses were beautiful, he acquiesced, yet if one had the nerve to grab them, one nearly always ended up getting pricked. He smiled then as his fingers were punctured, several times, by the rose's thorns. His name was shouted again, louder this time, and he groaned, wiping the blood from his thumb onto the fabric of his robes. The bloodied rose hung limply in his grasp as he entered the house through the open French doors. It took a while for his eyes to adjust to the light in the parlor. When they did, it was Cora he saw stomping towards him, her hands on her hips, her lips pressed together. She was shaking her head and tapping her wrist-watch. "I've been calling you for the past fifteen minutes!" she chastised, grabbing him firmly by his elbow. "Come, your mother wants

to see you." Bewildered, Scorpius allowed himself to be dragged through the doors, down the hall, and up the stairs. He didn't much mind. Cora was the only servant he'd ever allowed to touch (much less speak to) him this way. A middle-aged Irish woman with wide hips and graying hair, Cora had looked after him as a child, and although she was common and somewhat brash, she was one of the few here who had ever been honest with him. Halfway up the stairs to his mother's quarters, he looked down at the rose in his hand, and deciding it was of no further use to him, he held it out to Cora. She slowed and stopped to look at him. Eyes narrowed, she took hold of the thornless part of the stem and took a moment to smell it. She shook her head then and tutted, and although her expression remained stern, Scorpius could see that she was trying to hold back a smile. Shrouded affection was clear in her eyes when her gaze returned to him. "You've got your head in the clouds, child," she muttered, stowing the rose in her apron pocket before they continued on their way. No more was said, but when it came to Cora, it didn't need to be. She gave him a tight smile when they reached the doors to the largest of his mother's rooms, and after a few moments left him there alone. Feeling uneasy, Scorpius knocked lightly on the wood, announced himself, and patiently waited for his mother's reply. "Come in!" He braced himself and took hold of the brass knob, twisting it open carefully. The smell of his mother's perfume hit him immediately and he stifled the urge to gag; she'd never been one to take much notice of the wise old adage 'less is more.' His mother was sat at her vanity, wearing nothing but her underclothes as she idly brushed her long gold hair with a fine-toothed ivory comb. She saw her son in the mirror's reflection and smiled. "Come in, darling." Her tone was unusually subdued. She gestured for him to sit on the chair beside her, and breathing only through his mouth, Scorpius fixed a pleasant look to his face and obliged her. She continued to brush her hair for a few minutes, seemingly ignorant to his presence, before she placed the comb inside a tiny stack of gilded drawers and turned to him, her eyes full of something Scorpius didn't recognize. "Are you all set for the Ball, sweet?" Scorpius nodded at her, confused. He knew that she hadn't asked him here to make small talk, and it all served only to increase his anxiety. She smiled kindly at him and reached out to touch his face. He flinched but she didn't appear to notice. Her hand was cold and unfamiliar on his cheek, the expression on her face curious, if a little frightening. He took a deep breath and forced himself to look at her. Really look at her. She was beautiful, just as she'd always been, but this close-up she looked tired and run-down. He didn't know what was troubling her this time. The two of them were strangers at best, and her activities over the past

few months were a mystery to him. They wrote to each other only occasionally, and all he was able to garner from her few letters was that she'd been finding work (at her age) harder and harder to come by, and had filled the void with excessive spending and luxurious holidays. It didn't much bother him. He was past the point of being offended by her disinterest in him. He was aware that she was fond of him in the least personal way, likening him to another of her many possessions, perhaps, but the thought was no longer crushing to him. She didn't love him, he was sureshe was so self-absorbed he wasn't sure whether she'd ever truly loved anyonebut it no longer felt as though someone had plunged a knife into his guts and twisted it. As a child he'd been so desperate for attention and love that he'd have done almost anything to gain it from his parents; but after meeting Potter, he realized, that old hurt had somewhat faded. Potter mightn't love him either, but sometimes, Scorpius was sure that being with him was the closest to it he'd ever come. "I wanted to talk to you about something." The sound of his mother's voice brought his eyes back to hers, and Scorpius tensed, sure that he was about to discover why she'd really asked to see him. She looked away from him then and dropped her hand from his cheek, gazing thoughtfully at her own reflection. He shifted in his chair and waited for her to continue. "The Resurrection Stone," she said finally, and his heart hammered wildly. "Your grandmother." Scorpius didn't know what to say. How was one to answer a nonquestion? "It killed your father." Clearly, one wasn't. "He didn't know how to come to terms with ... with the very idea." Judging by the hesitance in her tone, Scorpius gathered his mother knew of the beating he'd received as punishment for the incident, and as far as he was concerned he'd paid his dues. The last thing he wanted to do right now was dredge it all up again. Thinking about it was still too sore, like a wound which had only recently begun to heal. "When you were born," she went on, still gazing at herself as though she was very much alone, "she was so proud. She adored you so very much." His mother gave a wistful smile, her eyes glazed. "I barely had the chance to hold you. She didn't want to let go of you; even for a moment. You were the answer to her prayers." She sighed at this. "You were the perfect child, my Scorpius. Beautiful. Too beautiful." Scorpius swallowed the lump that had risen in his throat and waited for the moment to pass. He thought he much preferred it when his mother was distant and falsely cheery.

"Your father was proud, too," she continued, her tone darker now. "He gave you your name. All he ever wanted was for things to be different for you ... Better than they were for him." She turned to look at him then. "He wants to love you, Scorpius." Scorpius swallowed hard and averted his eyes. He didn't want to be having this conversation, least of all because it bared the truth: no matter how often his mother liked to appear oblivious about everything that went on under her roof, she knew. She knew everything. Somehow this hurt more than all the ways she had ever rejected him. "He just doesn't know how." Something flashed behind her eyes, guilt perhaps, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. She smiled and shook her head, delicately wiping the skin beneath her eyes with her little finger. "Silly," she whispered, her mask of ignorance firmly back in place. "Don't mind me, darling. Would you?" She twisted her shining gold hair into a thick rope and lifted it from around her neck. It took him a moment to realize that she wanted him to lace her corset. Impassively, he did as he was told and pulled the laces in tightly, his hands shaking with suppressed anger at her. ~o~ Twilight had fallen, and the breeze blowing in from the open window was sharp and bitterly cold. Scorpius lay on his back across his bed, gazing up at the ceiling with his hands behind his head. The guests were starting to arrive, he could hear the carriages crunching over the gravel beneath his window, and it filled him with a sense of impending dread. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He was nervous. Painfully so. He would be seeing Potter again within the hour, and the thought made his bones quake. The separation had been infinitesimal, really, and yet he was filled with an outrageous sense of anxiety. Because Potter had kissed him the day before, and what if he regretted it? What if the memory was somehow disgusting to him? No, Scorpius thought defiantly. Potter had felt it too. He must have. He rolled over on his side and groaned aloud, palms covering his face. If there had been any doubt in his mind that his feelings for Potter were not genuine, that kiss had put it to rest. He'd deliberately pushed the memory from his mind as much as he could, for if he dwelled on it too long it only ended with him doing one of two things: torturing himself with uncertainty, or wanting desperately to do it again. There was a light knock on the door, and Scorpius sat bolt upright and swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Who is it?" he called, straightening out his clothes. There was no answer, only the slight creak of the door being pushed open. He went cold all over. Only his father had the power to open any door in this house. Scorpius leaped up from the bed and grabbed his shoes, pulling them on hastily lest his father assumed he'd been lazing about instead of getting ready. The door swung open and light from the hall outside flooded through the room. His father's tall figure darkened the doorway. He wore his usual cold look, and was dressed in full regaliahis hair

immaculate, his many rings gleaming. He narrowed his eyes at his son. "Why are you not ready, Scorpius?" he demanded, his tone deceptively restrained. "You're wanted in the foyer now; your mother wishes you to greet the Callowells." Scorpius finished lacing his shoes and got up from the edge of the bed. Wiping every thought of Albus Potter from his mind, he mimicked his father's expression and dutifully lowered his eyes to the floor. "I'm sorry, Father," he said tonelessly. "I'll be right down." Ignoring this, his father drew his wand, and with one flick of his wrist, the torches were burning in their brackets. Warm light flooded through the room. It would have been pleasant, Scorpius thought, but right now it only felt glaringlike he was standing under a very hot spotlight, his father criticizing his every move. The man turned and shut the door behind him then, and Scorpius's mouth went dry. He didn't understand just what he'd done since arriving home to warrant another beating, and so he racked his brains. He tried not to let his face betray his fear as his father strode purposefully toward him, wand still drawn. He cringed when the man placed both hands on his shoulders, and fully expected a hand to crack across his cheek at any moment. But it never came. Instead, his father steered him firmly around so that he stood with his back to him, and Scorpius tried to catch his breath. He was confused now about exactly what sort of punishment his father had in mindsurely he didn't mean to harm him before the ball? What if "Where is your ribbon?" Scorpius was momentarily stunned into speechlessness. He fumbled about in his robe pocket and pulled out the black ribbon he often used to tie back his hair. He passed it to his father and tried to steady his shaking hand. He closed his eyes and bit his lip as cold fingers raked through his hair. "I'm sorry, Father," he bit out, attempting to sound appropriately contrite. "I didn't think you meant for me to tie back my hair." He knew that showing even a shadow of insolence was enough to warrant a swift slap across the face, yet he was genuinely curious. His father had never asked him to tie back his hair for so formal an occasion it went against tradition. And yet he knew better than to question the man; whatever his reasoning, Scorpius would do as he was told. His father tied off the ribbon at the base of his neck and steered Scorpius back around to face him with all the ease of one handling a ragdoll. Scorpius lowered his eyes to his father's shoes. The man's familiar scent surrounded him now: leather, cigarettes, brandy and colognea scent Scorpius had to come to recognize as synonymous with pain. His father touched his face then, cool fingertips tracing the very place where, not so long ago, had been a nasty-looking bruise. The man let out a low breath and said, "We won't speak of it again. Do you understand me, Scorpius?"

Scorpius nodded his head. His father's touch was deceptively gentle, something he had rarely if ever experienced, and yet he was still on his guard. Things could change in an instant. "Yes Father," he answered. He thought he understood his father's meaning without need for words. It was everythinghis insolence concerning the incident with the Stone, the beating, that rather embarrassing psychiatric evaluation with the medi-wizard. His father had put it in the past, and he was being forgiven. The man dropped his hand, apparently coming to his senses, and withdrew it as though burned. He drew himself up to his fullest height and narrowed his eyes. Scorpius felt a tiny glimmer of fear. "You will stay where your mother and I can see you," the man said coldly. "I don't want a repeat of last year's events. I'm sure you understand my meaning." Scorpius nodded, and felt the blood drain slowly from his face. Never since the incident first occurred had his father spoken of it so frankly. It had been at last year's ball that one of his father's colleagues, Emilio Treschi, a wealthy Italian patrician, had after drunkenly leering at him all nightdragged him into an empty upstairs bedroom and imprisoned him there, forcing him under threat of Crucio to remove his clothes. The events that followed were memories Scorpius tried not to relive. His screams had gone unheard, his cries of pain cruelly silenced. And his father had known; the moment he'd seen him. The look in his eyes when his son had descended the stairs, his clothes dishevelled and bleeding, sobbing and clutching his stomach in pain, had confirmed it. The festivities had ended rather abruptly after that. His father had ordered Cora to bathe him and put him to bed, and dictated for the servants to leave him with a pitcher of wine. The alcohol had somewhat dulled the burning in his insides, but he would never forget the events of that night, which were seared into his mind forever: the way Cora had looked sick, and then wept, as she washed him, his father barking at the servants and staff. No one had looked at him the same way ever again, and it was all because of him. Scorpius had not seen Treschi sincehe'd known much better than to askbut the shame he had brought upon his family in allowing himself to be raped was worse than anything the man had forced him to endure. "Are you listening to me?" Scorpius's eyes flew to his father. "I'm sorry, Father," he said quickly. "Yes, I'm listening." "Good. You will stay where I can see you at all times; are we clear?" "Yes, Father." His father looked down at him, his eyes narrowed. "And that Potter boy you're friendly with him now, are you?" It was like someone had come along and ripped out his throat. Scorpius felt caught-out and unable to speak. He supposed it had been largely foolish of him to think that his father would know nothing of his recent

acquaintance with Potterthe man had eyes everywherebut how was he to answer him? Actually, Father, yes. He's my boyfriend. Shuddering at the ridiculousness of this thought, Scorpius cleared his throat and said, "We're acquainted, yes." "Acquainted?" "Yes, Father." Peering down at him, his father snapped, "Stay out of trouble. And I don't want you getting mixed up with their eldest, either. From what I understand he's nothing but a troublemaker." Scorpius was confused for a moment before he realized his father was speaking of James Potterclearly, the boy's bad reputation had preceded him. Resisting the urge to smirk, Scorpius shook his head vehemently to placate his father. "Of course not," he said. "I completely agree, Father." His father looked him up and down, and apparently satisfied, turned to leave. "I want you downstairs in five minutes," he said coolly as he reached the door. "And keep your hair tied back; I don't want to have to ask you twice." "Yes, Father." The door shut behind him, and feeling faint, Scorpius fell back onto his bed, breathing hard. A massive burden was lifted from his shoulders. His father, notoriously pitiless, had finally forgiven him, and as for his friendship with Potter, the man had all but given it his blessing. Smiling, Scorpius closed his eyes, and just for the moment, allowed himself the forbidden pleasure of reliving their kiss, over and over and over again... ~o~ "Louis?" Louis closed his eyes and bit his lip, his temper rising as he straightened his collar. He was exhausted. She had been at it all morning, and the entire affair had become rather tiresome to him. "S'il vous plat?" He sighed in exasperation and turned away from his reflection. Evalia's eyes were wide, her hands resting on her hips. Her pretty little head was tilted to one side, and her foot tapped impatiently against the marble. She looked stunning even like thisher long black hair mussed with sleep, her small figure wrapped in one of his old shirtsyet it wasn't enough to sway him. He stepped toward her and took her firmly by both wrists, drawing her close to him. "Anglais, Evalia," he implored her, gently kissing her on both cheeks.

She sighed a little when he touched her, her body warm and flush against his own. She pressed her head into his neck and exhaled tremulously, one of her hands snaking inside his robes to feel for his zipper. His eyes flew open, and breathing hard, he shoved her away from him and turned his back to her. She fell back against the wall with a thud. "Louis?" Ashamed, Louis turned to her and sighed, "I-I'm sorry." Evalia shook as she watched him, her eyes glassy. Her beauty was never enough to tempt him, and it was only when he closed his eyes and saw himsmooth, warm flesh, lips bruised and red and wetthat he was able to come. Thinking about it now was enough to drive him mad and ache for death. They had come so close to making love that night, so close that it tortured him with regret. He could have had it if he'd wanted it. He'd had him right there in the chapel, and it would have been only too easy for him just to take it. And yet he had found himself unable to go through with it. The thought had made him miserable. Albus deserved so much better than thatdeserved to be made love to in a bed, at the very leastand so Louis would bide his time. He looked across at Evalia, and let out a low sigh. This wasn't her fault. She would never understand why he couldn't give her everything she deserved. He held his arms out to her then and she fell against him, wetting his shirt with her tears. ~ One night earlier ~ "How is he?" Albus felt all eyes at the table suddenly turn to him and he reddened, wishing he hadn't spoken. Auntie Fleur laughed at him, her cheeks flushed with wine, and reached out to pat his head. "Ah, you miss him, non?" Albus wanted the ground to swallow him whole. For a moment he was consumed with the irrational fear that they knew, that the truth was plain in his eyes every time Louis's name was mentioned, but this was impossible. What was between himself and Louis was, and would always stay, their little secret. He gave a nervous laugh and pushed his food about on his plate with his fork, hoping to avoid further questioning. "Of course," he said, brushing this aside. "We all do." At this Auntie Fleur made a loud cooing sound and pinched his cheek, causing everybody at the tableJames, in particularto laugh loudly. "Why so sad, little one?" she teased. "You will see him tomorrow night, non?" She exchanged a meaningful look with Uncle Bill and clasped her hands together. "My Louis," she sighed dramatically, "he pines without you. You were always his favorite, Albus."

More laughter. Scowling, Albus ignored them and instead busied himself with annihilating his peas with his fork. Louis had not contacted him once since they'd last partednothing, not so much as a letterand now he was pining for him? In little ways his cousin's distance had stung Albus, who had at first solved this by hating him instead; blaming him for everything that had ever gone wrong. But nowseeing him again in the blue of Auntie Fleur's eyespoisonous thoughts bubbled away inside his head once more, and he couldn't form a single coherent thought. He swallowed hard when he heard her name mentioned. He felt a tiny glimmer of jealousy and was instantly ashamed. If this girl, Evalia, had stolen Louis's heart, was it not the best news he could have received? He'd so desperately wanted Louis to move past all this and forget about him, so why then was he feeling this way? Auntie Fleur nudged Ginny, who was sitting close beside her, and tutted. "Our boys are helpless without each other." Ginny laughed and threw her youngest son a warm smile over the rim of her glass. "They always were." There was scattered laughter across the table, and Albus quietly seethed. They all knewand found quite hilarioushow close he was with Louis, and he despised it when they made such a spectacle of it. What was between them felt private, and the last thing he wanted was to have it ridiculed by those who knew least about it. Mercifully, it wasn't long before the spotlight shifted to James and his girlfriend of the week, and Albus was able to sink into the shadows again unnoticed. He chewed his food with a painful slowness, far too distracted to really taste. His eyes glazed over as his mind drifted further and further away, and the tall flames flickering in the candelabra hypnotized him as they danced. He cast his mind back to only yesterday, and drowned himself in memory. He felt miserable. He missed Malfoy already, and wished the boy was here beside him now, to distract him from all of this. Albus knew it was ridiculous to feel lonely in a house full of family and friends, and yet somehow he did. Ever since he had arrived home he'd found himself anxious and fidgeting, wondering if Malfoy was safe. The thought of him alone in that big empty house made Albus long for him; he'd never wanted to protect someone as much as he wanted to protect the other boy. He wanted to sleep beside him in the dark again, to have the freedom to trail his fingertips over the length of his arm, or touch his pale hair. He felt the blood rush hotly to his cheeks, and silently willed the unwelcome hardness between his legs to go away. It was wrong to think of Malfoy this way, he reminded himselfeven if it felt impossible not to. And sadly the evening's predicament was not a new one for him. His body was changing as he got older, and now it felt like every time he thought about Malfoy his blood burned. Sometimes when he thought about Louis the same thing happened, and

it made him feel lost because he couldn't understand why. It kept him up at night, biting down on his lips until they bled, balling his hands into fists just to keep from touching himself. He knew it was wrong to think about the times Louis had touched him, because he condemned him for itand things that hurt and made him feel ashamed were not supposed to feel good. When he started thinking about touching Scorpius the way Louis touched him, it made him feel even more perverted. It would ruin the only thing he had left that was clean, and the other boy would likely hate him for even thinking these thoughts if he knew about them. Overwhelmed, Albus suddenly stood, almost knocking over his juice in the process, and politely excused himself from the table. He broke into a run as soon as he was out of sight and bounded up the stairs, slamming the door to his bedroom shut behind him. He collapsed onto his bed and beat the pillows with his fists. He wanted to scream. In a fit of blind rage, he snatched up the photo he had of himself and Louis on his bedside tabletaken three summers agoand pitched it at the wall, momentarily satisfied when he heard it smash. "I hate you," he hissed, his cheek pressed to the mattress. Albus really did hate him in that moment; had never hated anyone so much. He threw his pillow across the room with all the force he could muster, and it hit the door with a dull thud. He fell back onto the bed and muffled a scream into his pillow. "AL!" Startled, Albus sat bolt upright, and in his haste hit his elbow on the corner of the bedside table. Had they heard him cry out, he wondered, heard the shatter of glass when he'd smashed the photo frame against the wall? He leaped to his feet and retrieved the smashed frame from the floor. He managed to salvage the photograph, which made him furious to look at, and shoved it inside his pocket before brushing the broken glass under the fur rug with his foot. Fortunately, the hardness he'd felt at the table had finally abated, and squaring his shoulders, he threw open his bedroom door. When he reached the landing he saw his mother standing at the foot of the stairs with her hands on her hips, her waist-length red hair glimmering in the warm amber light. "What?" he asked innocently, knowing he must look suspiciously flustered. "Get yourself down here, Al," she told him with a gesture of her head. "Louis's here and he brought Evalia. Now be polite and come and meet them." She had clearly expected him to be ecstatic at this news, because when he was not she frowned and said, "What? What is it?" Albus shook his head and forced a smile that looked more like a grimace. "Nothing. I'llI'll be right down."

"Well come on, then," she laughed. "He wants to see you." Albus wanted to collapse to his knees the second she turned her back. He held a hand to his chest and winced. It hurt to breathe. He was panicking, he realized as his heart pounded painfully against his ribs. He was terrified of what would happen when they finally saw each other again, and terrified that because Louis had find someone new, it would mean that he would not love Albus anymore. He might even hate him for all the grief he had caused. One hand clutching the rail for support, Albus descended the stairs slowly, one at a time, and implored himself to stay calm. When he saw Louis it was imperative that he appear happy for him. After all, wasn't this Albus had wished for since this thing between them had begun? When he was halfway down the stairs, he heard Louis's low, melodic voice drifting from him from the kitchen, and his stomach tightened. Louis was laughing, and it had been so long since Albus had heard him laugh like that. He entered the kitchen with his head bowed. His father clapped him hard on the shoulder as he passed on his way to fetch more brandy, and Albus floundered helplessly, trying to delay the moment when he would have to look at Louis for as long as possible. This turned out to not to be very long at all. Auntie Fleurwine always went straight to her head grabbed him and steered him straight into Louis's chest, and the rest of the room erupted into laughter. Mortified, Albus looked up at his cousin, and the moment their eyes met his heart sank like a lead balloon. Louis was not smiling, nor did he seem pleased to see him. So it was true. Louis was so sick of him and all the trouble that he'd caused that he hated him. His face burning, Albus gave his cousin a perfunctory embrace, knowing that it was expected of him. Louis felt cool and stiff to the touch, and accepted the hug with an awkward pat on the shoulder. When they parted, he did not look at Albus, nor did he speak. Instead, he pulled the girl standing awkwardly beside him Evalia, Albus supposedclose to his side and put an arm around her waist. Albus wanted to hit him. His hands were clammy and he was trembling all over. It felt like he was trapped in a fishbowl, and all the eyes in the room were suddenly on him and Louis. Louis appeared quite unfazed by it all, and looked to Evalia and smiled. Albus followed the line of his gaze: the girl was very beautiful, even if her beauty paled next to Louis's. Louis was dressed sharply in black pants and a long dark coat, his throat veiled by a thick blue scarf. His shoulder-length gold hair shone in the firelight, and his eyesthe deepest blue Albus had ever seenwere very clear. He looked more put-together than Albus had seen him in a long while. His smooth skin was flushed with health and his lips were darkly pink, almost as though he'd just been kissing. Albus flushed. Of course he had. Louis whispered something into the girl's ear and they both laughed.

Finally, he announced, in a very bored voice, "This is my girlfriend, everyone. Evalia." Albus forced himself to smile at her, and she beamed down at him and clasped both of his hands in her own. "Oh, he eez handsome, this one!" she cooed, and bent to kiss him on both cheeks. Fabulous, Albus thought. She was French, too. He flushed the deepest possible shade of red and tried to stay composed even as James was killing himself with laughter at the table behind them. But Evalia wasn't finished yet. She fussed over his coat, a rather old-fashioned one his mother had bought him for the winter, and it seemed his 'cuteness' was apparently too much for her. "What a fine little prince you are," she told him kindly, straightening his collar. "Louis has told me so much about you." Albus knew that she was trying to be nice, but keeping a smile on his face was suddenly quite the challenge. He looked at Louis, who seemed rather embarrassed by her antics but wouldn't meet his eyes, and said, "Has he?" He cast his cousin a dark look. "You are the new Seeker for your House, non?" Albus saw his father smiling proudly from his periphery and rolled his eyes. "Yes," he said, "but I didn't know Louis knew about that." "Dad wrote to him," James piped up from the end of the table. His skin was very pink, and Albus suspected he had been sneaking nips from his mother's gin again. "You know what he's like; he just had to tell everyone." "Thanks, Dad," Albus muttered. "What?" Harry asked innocently. "Can't a father be proud of his son?" "Not when you make such a big deal of it, you can't." Albus's mother came up behind him then and threw her arms around him, smothering his neck and cheeks with kissesshe knew very well that public displays of motherly affection embarrassed him very much, especially in front of Louisof whom she knew he thought the world and yet she couldn't seem to restrain herself. "Don't be such a brat, baby," she teased. "You know he can't help himself." Albus cringed and shrugged away from her, humiliated. "Mum," he groaned, wiping his face. "Don't!" He had never felt so mortified. They all treated him like such a baby, even more so than they did Lily, and they knew how it embarrassed him; particularly in front of his older cousin. Feeling like he'd been made enough of a fool already, he shot a bemused-looking Louis a filthy look and left the room. In the commotion stirred by Perfect Louis's arrival, no one seemed to notice. His eyes were stinging by the time he pushed open the heavy front door and stepped out into the icy cold night. A light, freezing rain whipped at his cheeks as he stalked past the large stone birdbath and through the

carefully pruned hedges. The trees were buzzing with fairies, their tiny gold lights flitting cheerfully between the branches, and the moon hung low in the sky, bathing everything around him in blue. Surrounded by the sweet scent of jasmine, he rounded the corner and pushed his way through the brambles to the old, abandoned chapel at the side of the house. He was sure no one would look for him out here. No one came out here but him, and it had always been his number-one, foolproof hiding place. James had often teased him as a child, telling him it was haunted, but these days Albus was recklessly fearless. He cherished the moments he found out here alone. It was the only space he'd ever get some peace around here. He pushed open the heavy, creaking door, and stepped inside, instantly choking on the dust. Coughing, he pushed the door shut behind him with great force and drew his wand. He muttered 'Lumos' and collapsed against the door, sliding to the floor with his head between his knees. Of all the things Louis had ever done to hurt him, this was among the worst. And it wasn't jealousy that had him feeling so wretched; it was that Louis had finally become one of them. Whereas before Louis had always had enough love and respect for Albus to treat him as an equal and not a stupid child, here he stood now on the other side, laughing at him with the rest of them. He let out a loud sob he hadn't realized he'd been holding back. He slammed his head against the wall of the chapel, and the sound echoed in the empty space. So Louis no longer wanted himhad realized he was just a silly little boy, after all. Although this was cause for celebration, Albus could not help feeling betrayed by him. At that moment the door to the chapel creaked open and Albus scowled, wiping his face with his sleeve. So James had found him out here, had he? Albus should have knownslipping away like he had seemed blatantly obvious in retrospect, and James had never been stupid. If anything, he was annoyingly persistent. If his mother had told him to go out and find his stupid little brother, he wouldn't stop until the task was complete. "Go away, James," he called. "Leave me be; I came out here to get away from you." The door slammed shut again with ease. "James, I said" "It's me." Albus's jerked his head up. He could see Louis's silhouette in the doorway of the chapel, imposing and statuesque, his wand in his hand. The moon was huge in the sky just above his head, partially shrouded by dark clouds. Light flashed suddenly across the sky, illuminating him for the briefest moment, and he looked to Albus nothing like he had in the kitchen. His mouth was tight, and his eyes were full of that familiar torture again. Hesitantly, he entered the chapel, and with a flick of his

wrist lit the torches in their brackets. The chapel glowed to life, the cracked stained-glass windows now animate and lustrous. The Virgin Mary, beautiful in her robes of baby blue, held court at the far end of the chapel, her hands clasped together in prayer, her head held toward the heavens as a single tear ran down her cheek. Albus blinked, his eyes adjusting to the light. Louis moved toward him then, and Albus had never felt so small or helpless. He didn't want to be alone with his cousin. He buried his head between his knees and refused to look at him. After a while he heard Louis kneel down before him. "Are you alright?" Albus recoiled when Louis touched his knee, jerking away. "Don't you dare touch me, you ... you bastard!" It felt good to finally curse at Louis, but Albus couldn't help feeling like it was unnatural to him, and sounded feeble on his tongue. Louis chuckled softly. "Did you just call me a bastard, Albus?" "You heard me." Louis gave a soft sigh. "I know why you're upset." "Oh, shut up, Louis," Albus snapped. "Honestly, you don't know anything." Louis touched him again. His hand was warm and gentle, but at the moment Albus could not think of anything more revolting. Louis's hand moved to cover his, and Albus hissed and yanked it away. Louis gave an exasperated sigh. "Al, come on," he implored. "If you're going curse at me, at least look at me while you're doing it." Albus jerked away from him, and buried his face in his hands. "I never want to lay eyes on you again!" he yelled. "Just leave, why don't you? Go to her! I hate you!" Finally, he felt Louis's hands on his wrists, gently removing his hands from his face. "Do you mean that?" he asked, very quietly. "You shouldn't say it if you don't mean it, Chri. You have no idea how much it hurts me." Albus shoved him away again, and wiping his eyes, glared straight at Louis. "Don't call me Chri," he said, seething with anger. "You don't mean it and you never did." Louis frowned and bowed his head. His skin gleamed in the torchlight, and Albus averted his eyes, refusing even to look at him. "I deserve your hatred," Louis admitted, "and your scorn." He paused then looked at Albus. "But I don't believe it." Albus snorted at him and pushed himself to his feet with his hands. "That's where you're wrong," he said breathlessly, and looked down at his cousin, happy that for once Louis was beneath him, at his mercy. "I'm very happy for you," he said coldly, wiping the dust from his clothes, "but that doesn't change anything you've done. And don't rub it in my face

like that, I don't deserve it. You sit there and laugh at me with the rest of them like" Louis wrapped his arms around Albus's waist then and pressed the side of his face to his stomach. He latched onto the younger boy tightly, his fingers knotted in the back of his coat. "Why do you torture me like this?" he whispered. "Je meurs." Albus didn't know what to say. Every word he could think of died in his throat. He was shaking, he could feel it, and briefly he wondered whether Louis could too. Eventually, he managed, "Torture you? It's you that tortures meyou laugh like the others when they treat me like a little child, but I thought you knew me better than that, Louis. Why do you expect me to stand for it when she...she..." Louis looked up at him, eyes wide and pleading, and kissed his stomach. "Non, mon Chri. She meant you no harm. She ... she thinks you're adorable is all, and you ... you are. You're b-beautiful. Do you blame her that she can't resist you?" Albus glared hard at him and snapped, "Don't give me that shit, Louis." He refused to be drawn into this web again. "Why did you come for me? Did my mother send you?" He paused and said, "I saw you in the kitchen just now. You wouldn't even touch me in front of her. You were ashamed you know this is wrong as well as I do." "I'd never be ashamed," Louis whispered, pressing the side of his face into Albus's coat. "If it were up to me I'd parade you proudly for the world, but that's not what you want. You won't have me. Why then are you so impossible when someone else will?" "Do you love her?" Louis did not answer him for a long moment. When he did his voice was strained. "I didn't say that; but what does it matter to you? I did what you asked and left you alone. What more do you want from me? I love you and you hate me; I try to forget about you and you despise me further! I just can't win with you, can I?" Albus was overcome with a sudden attack of guilt. He dropped to his knees before Louis and hesitantly fell against him. Resting his head against his neck, he said, "You're right, Louis. What's between you and Evalia is none of my business and ... I'm glad you're finally happy, that's all I ever wanted for you." "I never said I was happy." Louis clutched Albus to him so tightly that it was painful. "This is torture," he murmured. "I can't be this close to you when I want you so badly." Albus knew that it was wrong to allow Louis to embrace him like this, and yet somehow he couldn't seem to gather the strength to get up and run away from him. Instead, he said, "I never meant to make you suffer, but there isn't any other way." He leaned back, and breathing deeply, touched a hand to Louis's hot cheek. "Don't make this harder than it already is."

Louis looked away from him, and Albus placed his hand over the older boy's pounding heart. "Why can't you love me with this," he whispered, stricken, before he dropped his hand and touched Louis between his legs, "and not with this?" Louis's body jerked violently. "Jesus, Al!" he hissed, roughly pushing Albus's hand away. "What the hell are you doing? Don't touch it!" Albus quieted and shrank away from him. He was breathing hard, his whole body trembling, and he didn't know what he'd been thinking or what the hell was wrong with him. And no, it was happening again, only this time Louis was here and pressed against him, and it felt like everything was upside down and wrong: He wanted to feel like this with Scorpius. Not with Louis. The torches flickered in their brackets, the draught sneaking through the broken windows dousing them both in fragrant, icy coldness. Albus lowered his eyes to the floor. He wanted to disappear. "Don't do that again, Al," Louis said finally. "You know what we get like when we ... Never mind, it doesn't matter now." He took Albus's hand then and placed it back over his chest, watching him with a furious intensity. "With this I'll always love you, alright? I want you to know that. Tonight was ... it was a mistake. I shouldn't have come here. I didn't...I didn't mean to hurt you or to ... flaunt my girlfriend in front of you, I just... I thought it was what you wanted. I was only trying to make things easier for you." Albus frowned. Louis was right. Who was he to behave this way? What right had he to tell Louis who to love? Who did he think he was to reject him so staunchly, only to tantrum like a child when his affections wandered elsewhere? "I'm sorry, Louis," he mumbled. He could see his own reflection in the clear blue of Louis's eyes. "You were right. You did everything I asked you to and I punished you for it. It's none of my business, okay? I love you and ... you deserve this. "I love you too, Chri," Louis said after a while, and he was wearing a sad smile. "Even if you do love someone else." Albus gave Louis a searching look. "What do you mean?" "James says you spend a lot of time with this Malfoy boy; that he saw you kiss him. Is this true?" Anger thundered through Albus's blood. When he got a hold of James and his big fat mouth he was going to make him pay for this. Closing his eyes, he bit out, "Y-yes." Louis inched closer, and gently pressed his lips to Albus's. Albus swallowed down his desire, determined not to let it take hold of him. "It doesn't matter," Louis said, and kissed a line over Albus's jaw. "I just want you to realize that you're in love with me too." Albus's eyes fluttered closed and his head fell back. Louis caught him

around the waist and lifted his body to kiss his neck. His lips were warm, wet and hot where they met his skin, and Albus whimpered weakly, trying to think of all manner of grotesque things in the hope that his desire would fade. Only nothing worked, and when he thought of Scorpius he only felt like a filthy traitor. "Louis," he hissed, and placed his hands on his cousin's shoulders to stall him. "This is wrong, we ... we shouldn't. Everyone, they'll be wondering where we are." Louis lifted him easily and pinned him to the floor. "So let them wonder," he said, and smoothed back Albus's hair, settling his weight over him. He kissed him on the lips and cupped his cheek. "Just say you'll be with me," he said, pressing hot little kisses all over his face, "and I'll leave her tonight. Please. Just tell me you want me too." Albus tried to ignore the fact that it was Louis touching him, and tried to focus instead on how his body felt. His hips jerked upwards, involuntarily, and Louis hissed and caught his lips in a fierce kiss, parting his legs with one knee and pressing up against him, causing them both to groan. Albus didn't know how on earth he could stop this know. Because he couldn't do this. It was wrong. He didn't love Louis like he loved Scorpius, he remembered, and it would kill Scorpius, fracture that tenous trust, shatter him into a thousand pieces, if he knew what Albus was up to right now. "Louis," he gasped, as his cousin thrust a hand inside his shirt to feel his ribs and chest. "Please...we can't do this." "It's alright," Louis breathed against him, catching his open mouth in a kiss. His hand brushed a nipple and Albus cried out against him, waves of guilty pleasure washing over him. Louis stilled him with a firm hand on his shoulder. "Sshh. It's just a kiss, okay? We won't go too far, I promise." Albus shut his eyes tightly, and Louis held his head steady as he gently nipped at his lips, grinding his hips against him in a steady motion. Albus swore loudly and swatted him on the shoulder. "Don't do that," he snapped. "Please! We can't do this...not here...not in the chapel." Louis stroked a few strands of dark, wet hair out of Albus's eyes and kissed both his bloodstained cheeks. "Why not?" He rubbed at Albus's nipple again, causing him to bite down hard on his lip just to keep from screaming. "It feels good, doesn't it?" "Yes," Albus hissed reluctantly. "Then just let go. I won't hurt you, okay? I told you...it's only a kiss. Relax." Albus squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block from his mind the fact that he was being unfaithful to Scorpius, and went limp in Louis's arms. Louis's lips crushed hard against his, and the older boy swore loudly into his mouth. His voice bounced off the chapel walls, ringing in the silence surrounding them.

Albus's eyes flew open. Hurtling back to reality, he realized that his hand was wandering, and that up until now he'd been rubbing up against Louis shamelessly, meeting his hips thrust for thrust. Mortified, he turned his head, his chest heaving with the force of his breathing, and whispered, "I...I'm sorry." Louis hushed him and stroked his cheek, breathless and panting. "What's gotten into you, Al?" he laughed, swallowing thickly. "I've never seen you like this before." He leaned forward and gently captured Albus's lips, plunging his tongue into his mouth, and drew back to stare at him, his eyes full of wonder. "Look at how hot you are," he breathed, and Albus scowled. "I-I can't help it," he stuttered, pushing at his shoulders. "It just ... happens." Louis kissed him again, despite his protests, before he gently drew away. "It's alright," he said, one hand cupping Albus's cheek. "It's perfectly normal to feel this way." Lingering just a moment longer, he got to his feet, leaving Albus there on the floor staring up at him, confused. "Where are you going?" he asked feebly. Louis cleared his throat and adjusted his clothes. "I have to take you home now, okay? It's for your own good, believe me." Albus felt overwhelmed; relieved. He swallowed hard and nodded. "Okay." Louis watched him for a moment before he dropped down to his knees, one hand smoothing sweaty, rain-dampened hair from Albus's forehead. "I don't want your first time to be on the dirty floor of some old chapel," he explained. "I can't live with that." "I don't know what you mean." Louis dragged a thumb across Albus's cheek, down to his lips. "Every time we're together we get closer. I have to be careful with you, okay? I don't just want to fuck you, believe it or not ... I want it to be nicer than that. I want it to be perfect for you." Albus shuddered and shrank away from his touch. "Don't talk like that," he snapped. "It's not fair on her to do this; you know that, don't you? Evalia? What would she think?" Louis sighed. "The fact I love you isn't fair, Albus. I know you don't understand it, and sometimes I rue the day it happened myself, but there it is. And soon you're going to realize that you're in love with me too. I'll be right here, Al, waiting for you, the second you're ready to admit it." With that he left, the heavy door swinging in the wind behind him.

Chapter Eleven
Chapter by Ketamine (midnightlily)

"Each of us bears his own hell." - Virgil Albus cringed away as his mother attempted, once again, to wipe down his face using a handkerchief dampened with her own saliva. "Mom!" he yelled at her, ducking away for what felt like the hundredth time that evening. "I just had a bath, I'm not even dirty!" Ginny frowned and reluctantly let go of his forearm. He backed a safe distance away, scowling mutinously at her as he pawed at his face. If his father hadn't have been looking on at the scene from some distance away, Albus might have shouted at her some more, told her that he wasn't a toddler anymore; that it was time to stop treating him the same way she'd done when he was five! But he knew that if he carried on like that in front of his father, there was a good chance the man wouldn't allow him to go to the Malfoys, and might opt instead to save himself the trouble and leave his tantruming youngest son with Grandma Weasley. Preferring to drink a pint of drain cleaner than miss this night with Scorpius, Albus was forced to bottle his fury. He chose instead to storm up the stairs and hide in his bedroom until it was time to leave. Collapsing onto his bed, face first, he stifled a groan into his pillow. He'd had several baths since last night, and yet still he thought he could smell Louis on him. It made him want to be sick, and the guilt had him considering all manner of self-punishments. He'd never been more disgusted with himself, and had even vaguely entertained the idea of leaping from the roof of Malfoy Manor later. Anything not to feel this way. Because he would be lying to himself if he said he hadn't encouraged it at all, even in some small way. He was just as guilty as Louis now, and had betrayed the tentative trust that Scorpius had placed him. He let out a sound like a drowning cat and punched into the mattress with both fists when Scorpius entered his mind. It was Albus's fault that last night had even happened; he'd allowed it go on and done nothing to stop it, and he knew that if Scorpius ever found out what had gone on between himself and Louis it would crush him. And there was no blaming it all on his cousin this time. Albus had curled up on the shower-room tiles last night, head between his knees, slightly too-hot water sluicing over him, and forced himself to admit the truth: he was just like Louis, a slave to his emotions and compulsions; passionate and loving, but at the same time stubborn and self-involved. After this startling discovery, he had forced himself to re-examine his and Louis's twisted little partnership from start to finish, eventually arriving at the conclusion that yes, he had been lying to himself all along. Yes, he (and for quite a while, now) harbored inappropriate feelings for Louis. Yes, Louis had inappropriate feelings for him. Yes, it was time to put a stop to

this sordid little triangle that had developed between himself, Louis, and unintentionally, Scorpius. And finally, yes ... he was totally, hopelessly in love, and hadn't a clue what to do about it. "Psst, Al!" Albus stopped midway down the hall, where he'd been pacing aimlessly and kicking his mother's favourite vase across the rug, and looked behind him. James had his head poking out the door of his bedroom, and was looking suspiciously mischievous. Albus wasn't in the mood for anything his brother might have to say, and so sighing, he made a rude gesture at him and looked away, resuming rolling the vase up and down across the rug with his toe. A moment later he felt James's hand, warm and firm, at his elbow. With a yell, he jerked away from him. "Piss off, James," he said irritably, batting his brother's hand away. "Leave me alone, will you?" "What's up with you now, precious?" James teased. "You've been in a foul mood ever since last night." He pulled Albus around to face him by his shoulders, superior strength lending him a clear advantage, and held him there firmly. His eyes were a little glazed (he was most likely pissed, Albus noted) and was wearing a rather shady-looking smirk. Albus resolved then to stand here until his brother was done with him. It was no use putting up a struggle; he knew he'd only come off worse. James touched his face, his stance slightly wonky, and frowned. "What's wrong with you, hm?" Albus shrugged at him but said nothing. He wasn't in the mood to fight with James, and although the boy had all the tact of a bull in a china shop, he was probably only trying to help. "You've been sulking all day. Is it Louis?" Albus's glare hardened and James looked triumphant. "Aw, come on, Al," he said, and condescendingly patted his cheek. "Louis'll be nineteen soon; you know that. I know you two used to be close, but he had to grow up sometime, eh? And I know you love him and all, but...you're just a kid. He's a grownup now. Things aren't like they used to be." Albus gave a weary sigh. He was tired of having these one-sided conversations, wherein somebody who knew absolutely nothing about what he was going through tried to give him advice. "Can I go now?" he asked, backing away. James stumbled a little then, catching himself on Albus's shoulder, and Albus frowned at him. "Are you alright?" "Fine," James laughed, hiccupping. "Better than fine." Albus rolled his eyes. "That's great James, but..." Without stopping to finish his sentence, he made a dash for it. "Hey!" James, quicker than he was, even while drunk, grabbed his arm

and pulled him back. "Don't go yet. I mean, are you sure you're alright, little man?" Albus cringed. Dealing with James when he was this drunk was like babysitting a senile old lady. "Do you need a hug or something?" Without waiting for a reply, James lurched forward, arms outstretched, and pulled Albus against his chest. Albus stood there motionless, and waited patiently for the moment to pass. After a few seconds, James let him go, and held him awkwardly at arm's length. "You know," he said wistfully, patting Albus on top of his head, "forget Louis, alright? I'm your big brother, aren't I? Me and you...we'll...we'll start doing more stuff together, I promise. Like you and Louis used to." Albus let out a dark laugh. He couldn't restrain himself. James knew nothing about what he and Louis really got up to when they were alone; no one did. "Yeah?" he said with a snort. "Are you going to try and fuck me too?" James's eyes widened, and he squinted down at him, confused. "What did you just say?" Albus stared up at him innocently. "Nothing. I just said you need to tie your shoe." Ever gullible, James's eyes went straight to his feet, and Albus dashed away the moment he was distracted. Behind him he heard James calling out, "Hey! Hey!" ~o~ "Where's James?" Distracted, Ginny was adding the final touches to her make-up in the hallway mirror. She looked so stunning, Albus thought. In her strapless, rose-colored gown, she appeared to him like she had when he was little - like a fairy, or an angel with fire for hair. Albus had always enjoyed watching his mother dress for an outing. When he'd been a toddler he would often sit on her lap and play with her long hair, giggling, as she applied her make-up at the vanity. Watching her apply her lipstick now, he felt a tiny stab of guilt for being so short with her earlier. They had always been close, but now that Albus was getting older, everything was changing. The more that went on between himself, Louis, and Scorpius, the less he could tell her, and the more they drifted apart. Overcome, he stopped behind her and wound his arms around her waist. Startled, she dropped her tube of lipstick, and realizing who it was, placed her hands over his and laughed. "I see your feeling better then, mister." Albus nodded against her back, his throat thick. It was moments like these that he wanted to be treated like a little boy, wanted to go back in time to when he was still innocent; to have just one day with her without feeling the gravity of all that he had lost. But that was never going to happen, and he would never be innocenta little boy whose mother knew all his secretsever again.

Ginny intertwined their fingers and lifted his hand to kiss it. They stared at each other in the reflection of the mirror. "What's going on with you, baby?" she asked him gently, and her smile was wistful. "You're not my little boy anymore, are you?" Albus nodded his head at her, and trying not to cry, squeezed her tighter. "Yes I am, Mum," he said hoarsely. Despite the hell he gave her for it, Albus dreaded the day his mother stopped fussing over him. "I love you." Ginny looked surprised at this. Albus supposed she hadn't heard her youngest son say those words in a very long time. "I love you too, sweetheart," she said, and Albus let her go. She kissed him on both cheeks, and soundlessly, turned her attention back to the mirror. Albus's father came out of the kitchen at that moment, adjusting his tie. "How does this part go? Oh, I see ... this must go" Ginny burst out laughing. "What are you doing, Harry?" Harry frowned, and abandoning his efforts, shrugged. "Well, it's not often I wear one of these, is it?" he asked defensively. Ginny shook her head at him. "Stay here," she ordered him. "I'll be back in a minute." Harry watched her go with a dazed sort of expression on his face, and Albus knew that, even now, they were still in love. When she'd disappeared completely, he turned to Albus and said, "Where's your brother? I've been calling him for the past half an hour." "He's drunk. Probably just passed out." "Huh?" said Harry, looking bemused. Albus sighed and said, "I said he's probably got the TV too loud." "Oh." His father shrugged then, pacified. Gullibility, Albus supposed, ran in the family. ~o~ Albus had known Malfoy Manor would be audacious in its splendour, but never in a million years had he envisioned anything like this. He stepped out of the carriage with his parents and James, and all three of them stared up at the grand mansion before them with eyes wide as saucers. The swaying oak trees lining the long drive were strung with thousands of tiny gold lights; the tall emerald hedges were pruned immaculately some in the shape of centaurs, others swans, people and dragons; the lights seemed to be on in every single one of the Manor's countless rooms, and the whole building glowed like a beacon in the night, grand and endless. From the corner of his eye Albus saw his father slap James upside the head. "What have I told you?" the man hissed.

"Ow!" James said, rubbing the back of his head. "If it was up to me I'd send you home right now" At that moment the double doors swung open, bathing the Potters in warm gold light. A babble of chatter, music and activity floated out into the night. A tall, statuesque woman stepped out onto the landing, her hair pinned elaborately to her head, a tall flute of straw-colored liquid in her hand. "Oh, welcome, welcome!" she cried with a smile, and opened her arms wide. Albus made the fair assumption that this was Astoria, Scorpius's mother. Upon greeting her, Albus's parents did what all parents do in the company of other adults, and plastered on their 'fake happy faces.' "Good evening," Ginny said in a voice that was not her own. "I do hope we're not late." The womanAstoria, presumablywaved this away and said, "Of course not, you're just in time. Please, do come in." The three of them hastened to climb the stairs then, Ginny holding up the long train of her dress to keep from tripping. Albus wrapped his arms around his torso, teeth chattering, so nervous that he wanted to be sick. When they reached the landing, he looked up at Astoria and nearly choked. She was one of the most striking people he had ever laid eyes upon, but it was her resemblance to Scorpius that truly caught him offguard. He stuck close to James as they entered the foyer, and was forced to physically restrain himself from latching on to the back of his brother's shirt like they'd done when they were little boys. He had never been anywhere quite like this before. The interior of the Manor was decorated to look like a French palace, and everywherethe winding staircase, the chandeliers, walls, paintings, frescoes and ceilingswas adorned in crystal and color and gold. Overwhelmed, Albus had to remind himself to breathe. His mother and father were being swamped by waiters in crisp white uniforms now, offering everything from light refreshments and champagne, to the finest whiskey and cigars. Looking at his father, Albus could see that the man was uncomfortable about being here, and that he still hadn't buried the animosity he felt for Scorpius's father, Draco. But Albus couldn't bring himself to worry about that right now. He had his own problems to contend with. James looked neither worried nor intimidated. Instead he looked rather like a child in Honeydukes for the first time. He was staring around himself in awe, wearing a distinctly appreciative smile. "Will you look at this?" he implored Albus. "Bloody hell, if you and Princess end up getting married, you won't have done too bad for yourself, eh?" Albus scowled and discreetly pinched himhardon the arm. "Ow!" James went to shove him in retaliation but stopped mid-action,

suddenly aware that their father was watching them from across the foyer, his expression holding a clear warning to both of them. "If you mention anything to do with us again," Albus hissed at his brother, "especially while we're here, I'll tell Mum and Dad you know where the key to the liquor cabinet is. Understand?" James glowered at him. "You're an evil shit," he told Albus, rubbing at his arm. "How anyone can think you're innocent is truly beyond me." He smirked and added, "Must be because you look like a baby." He dashed away before Albus had a chance to hit or threaten him again. Now he really was alone. With more guests arriving by the second, Albus found himself swallowed in a sea of chattering, drunken adults. He started to panic. He could no longer see his mother and father, James had deserted him, and now here he was, all alone "Looking for someone?" Albus whipped around, his heart hammering wildly, and came face-toface with Scorpius. "I was wondering when you were going to get here." If it was at all possible, Scorpius looked even more jaw-dropping tonight than he usually did. Albus wasn't sure whether this was because he was so accustomed to seeing the boy dressed in clothes that were slightly grubby from school, or whether he'd simply forgotten how beautiful he was, but it was impossible not to be struck dumb by the sight of him. Surrounded by hundreds of rather ordinary-looking individuals, his beauty was so radiant that Albus noted, with a certain bitterness, that several others were watching him from around the room too. Ignoring this, he pasted a smile to his face, and stepping close to him, discreetly brushed Scorpius's fingers with his own. "Thank God it's you," he murmured. "I was starting to get worried that I'd" "What, get trampled to death?" Scorpius laughed, his eyes bright. "Funny," said Albus, feeling suddenly shy. Scorpius, looking happier than Albus thought he'd ever seen him, said, "Come on," grabbed his hand, and began to steer him through the heaving crowd. ~o~ Scorpius's heart hammered wildly inside his chest. He felt giddy, ecstatic. Now that Potter was here, close enough to touch, he wasn't sure what he'd been panicking about all this time. It was far less awkward than he'd imagined to look at, much less talk, to Potter after they had kissed each other. He almost felt safe enough to try it again. They were alone now, and Scorpius had never felt so wonderful. "Come on." He dragged Potter through the packed, noisy ball-room,

where most of the adults were already well on their way to alcoholpoisoning, and led him through the French doors that opened onto the rose garden. "Where are we going?" Potter laughed, allowing Scorpius to drag him around by his hand. "Come on, you're making me dizzy." Scorpius halted when they reached the gurgling stone fountain, and reluctantly let go of Potter's hand, giving the boy a moment to appreciate his surroundings, before he sat down on one of the stone benches. He pulled his wand from his pocket, and with a simple incantation in Latin, the double doors swung shut, effectively sealing out the rest of the house. Instantly, it was quiet. His father's warning to keep himself in plain sight echoed through his mind, but right now Scorpius couldn't care less. Albus was here, and his father wouldn't dare embarrass him in front of one of Harry Potter's sons. Potter, looking deep in thought and distantas he so often didsat down beside him then, his hands in his lap. Scorpius watched him thoughtfully. "I missed you," he said matter-of-factly. He leaned his head on Potter's shoulder and put a hand on his knee. Potter kissed his temple, his smile slightly off-kilter, and said, "I missed you too." He placed a warm hand over his, and Scorpius couldn't help but notice that Potter moved their hands, ever so gently, so that they rested further down his leg. To spare Potter the embarrassment, Scorpius withdrew the offending hand altogether. He hadn't expected the other boy to be immediately okay with the idea of feeling each other up like this, and so he aimed for a quick change of subject. "What do you think?" Potter looked at him, large green eyes reflecting the moon, and frowned. "Think of what?" "The garden. I come out here all the time," he explained. "It's quiet, so I thought you might want to come out here and, you know ... talk ... or something." Potter raised an eyebrow at him. "Talk?" "Yes," Scorpius mumbled, blushing. "Talk." Looking nervous, Potter scratched the back of his head and grimaced. "I've been thinking about you a lot," was all he said. "Yes. And?" Potter moved closer to him and put an arm around his shoulders. He was too adorable when he was nervous, Scorpius thought. He leaned closer into the other boy in spite of himself, desperate to be closer to him. Potter looked so beautiful tonight, he thought with a small smile. Someonehis mother, presumablyhad dressed him finely: his dark hair

loosely framed his face, and his skin gleamed in the moonlight, cheeks flushed a healthy pink. Privately, Scorpius hoped for Potter to jump him whenever the urge took him and start kissing him again - he couldn't think of anything he wanted more. He didn't of course, although he did gather Scorpius closer to him and press a warm kiss to his cheek. "You don't have any idea, do you?" he said. Scorpius frowned at him. "About what?" Potter laughed, but it sounded strange to his ears. "How beautiful you are." He stared into space and said, "Everywhere you go, people stare at you. If we stayed together I'd be fighting off your admirers, day and night, foreverwouldn't I?" Scorpius pulled back to look at him. "What do you mean, if we stay together?" Potter gave him a wistful smile and touched his cheek, andso boldly Scorpius could scarcely believe it was really himkissed him full on the lips. Scorpius couldn't help but wonder whether his brother had given him drugs. "What's wrong with you?" he asked when Potter drew away. Potter looked up at the sky before he spoke again. When their eyes met again he looked fierce, resolved. "There's something I have to do." He stood up, leaving Scorpius on the bench. Confused now, Scorpius followed him. "Why are you leaving?" Ignoring this, Potter looked at him oddly and said, "Have you seen Louis? I have to go talk to him." Scorpius's heart sank in his chest. "What?" "Louis," Potter repeated blandly. "I have to see him." "I...I..." Potter shook his head, his lip between his teeth. "Look, never mind," he said, "I've got to go. I'll see you in a bit, alright? Wait for me." With that, he turned on his heel and left Scorpius, prince of the castle, alone and destroyed. He collapsed back to the bench, his chest hurting so much that it was hard to draw a breath. He couldn't run after Potter or shout at him, hit him, or even cry. Feeling infinitely betrayed, he touched a hand to his lips, and stifling a furious shout, spat on the ground. ~o~ Scorpius entered the Hall again, alone, and stood at the very center of the room for a moment, wondering just what it was that he was supposed to do now. When he'd thought about this evening, he'd imagined it would pan out considerably different than this; not with him feeling rejected and alone at the Ball that he had invited Potter to. But with the other boy gone, Scorpius cut a lone figure. He could feel

dozens of pairs of eyes on him, and felt more lost within the walls of his own house than he'd ever thought possible. Potter had abandoned him to see Louis, and like the idiot he was, Scorpius had walked straight into it. But he wasn't going to cry like a little girl. He was tired of being jerked around like a little puppet, and if he had anything to do with it, it was going to end here. He spotted Potter's brother standing near the punch table trying to chat upwith a small amount of success, it seemedPaige Zabini. Although she wasn't giggling and playing with her hair the way he'd seen other girls do when they flirted, she was at least looking at him, and didn't even seem to be holding anything that might be used as a weapon. Scorpius gathered himself and strode over to them. Paige looked up when she noticed him, looking genuinely surprised. "Malfoy," she said, with a slight smile. "I wondered when I'd be seeing you." Scorpius gave her a tight smile in return. Potter's brother was watching the two of them with open curiosity, taking small, covert sips every now and then from a silver hip-flask he'd obviously brought with him. Scorpius ignored him and said, "Paige, could you...could you give us a moment please?" Paige raised a brow at him. "Who?" "Us," Scorpius said distastefully, gesturing between himself and James. "Me and him." Paige shrugged. "Yes, I suppose so." She walked away then, her shining hair swaying behind her, and glanced back at them curiously. Scorpius seized his moment and rounded on James. "Where did you get that?" he demanded, gesturing the flask in the other boy's hand. "Oh, this?" James asked, wrinkling his brow. He looked at it shiftily. "Ah...it...it was given to me," he stuttered. "My" "You stole it," Scorpius finished for him. It wasn't a question. James scowled at him. His cheeks were very flushed, and he seemed inordinately pissed. "So?" He took a step toward Scorpius, and gesturing at Paigenow a distant, beautiful figure in the crowdhe said, "What'd you go and do that for, anyway? I was going to get off with her! And here you come, barging in, ruining my chances. Thanks a lot." He shook his head at him. "You've got your own, remember? My brother?" He looked over Scorpius's shoulder as if he expected Albus to pop into existence any moment. When he didn't find him he looked confused. "Where is my brother, by the way?" Scorpius shrugged, and casually pried the silver flask from James's hand. "He's not here," he said, trying to sound as unaffected by this as possible. "I don't know where he is." "Whatever," said James, looking unsteady on his feet. "Just go...go and find him and...try not to get into trouble, yeah?" He scanned the room

for Paige, squinting. "Now piss off," he said with a gesture of his thumb. "I've got work to do." Scorpius regarded the other boy carefully. "You're disgusting," he observed. "And just so you know, Paige would never let you into her knickers, if that's what you're after." "Hah. That's what you think. Now I could tell you some stories" Scorpius held up a hand to stop him. "Please don't." He unscrewed the cap of the flask and took a deep sniff. Ugh. Cheap whiskey. He handed the flask back to Potter with a revolted look. "You can have that back." "Are you done now?" Scorpius watched James, who looked so depressingly similar to Potter, for another few moments and took a deep breath. "No," he said. "I'm not." Without asking, he took James by the arm and told him, "If you want, I can show you where the real whiskey is." ~o~ "I'm not so sure we should be in here." Scorpius ignored the older boy, and uncorked one of his father's most expensive bottles of scotch, inhaling deeply. The difference between real whiskey, he thought, and cheap imitations, was staggering. He took two crystal glasses from the cabinet and put them both atop it, filling each with a liberal amount of the amber liquid. He turned around to find James sprawled out on the antique couch, still sipping from his stolen flask, and scowled at him. He wanted to be as mind-numbingly drunk as James apparently was, drunker even, but he was going to have to drink at least half the bottle if he was going to match the boy. He proffered a glass to James, who took it warily, and downed half of his own in a single swallow. It was only slightly harsh, and easily consumed. He refilled his glass then, and James watched him through narrowed eyes. "Something wrong?" he offered casually. Scorpius swallowed down his second glass. "Just shut up," he said hoarsely, "and drink." James shrugged at him and downed the rest of his glass, resting his head against the back of the couch. Scorpius, bottle in one hand and glass in the other, sat down next to himleaving as much space between them as he could. James tilted his head to look at him. "You seem sad," he remarked. Scorpius was beginning to regret his choice of drinking partner. "Your brother doesn't talk as much as you do," he observed. James laughed at this, crossing his hands over his stomach. "Why are you always so sour?" he asked him. "Seriously, it's not like you've got any reason to be. Lighten up, why don't you."

Scorpius downed his third glass of whiskey, and was beginning to feel slightly hazy now. His limbs felt looser, his head lighter. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and said, "You know, maybe it's just better if you don't talk at all." Several minutes passed in silence, and after some time Scorpius assumed James had gone and fallen asleep on him. After his fifth shot, he turned to look at the other boy, only to find that he was already watching him. "Why are you looking at me?" he asked, startled. "God, I thought you were passed out." "It'll take a bit more than that to knock me unconscious," James informed him proudly. "Lucky you." "Whatever," Scorpius said. "Just stay on your side, will you? I can see that you're slowly inching over here and it's weirding me out." James snorted and swallowed the rest of his drink. "You're so full of yourself," he said, and Scorpius shrugged, miserable. "Well," he went on, "as disappointing as this may be for you to hear, I'm not really into cutting my brother's grass. Whatever's going on between you, you can work it out yourselves." He yawned loudly and stood up, stretching his limbs. "I've got to go; my parents are probably looking for me. Thanks for the drink, anyway." Without thinking, Scorpius grabbed the other boy's wrist and yanked him bodily back to the couch. James yelped in surprise and fell into a heap beside him. "Hey!" he exclaimed. "What are you playing at? God, you've ruined my bloody hair..." Scorpius ignored him. He didn't want to be alone; not now. And James looked so much like him. When Potter was out there, doing God knew what with Louis, maybe looking at his brother was the next best thing. He took a deep, shuddering breath, and held a fresh glass out to James. "Wait," he said. "Don't go yet. Have another drink first." "What's up with you tonight?" James asked, peering at him suspiciously, but took the proffered glass anyway. "On any other day, you can't stand me. Your change of heart's starting to creep me out, I have to admit." Scorpius shrugged and sank back into the couch, his glass at his lips. "I still can't stand you," he clarified, "but ... never mind." He finished his drink and placed it on the table beside him. He could feel James watching him again, and while part of him felt desperately uncomfortable, the vindictive, Slytherin side of him almost wanted James to go and make a move on himto try to kiss him or touch him. He so desperately wanted to get back at Potter for this latest slight. He closed his eyes then and let out a sigh. What was he thinking? Even if he hated Potter, which right now he did, he could never do that to him. When he opened his eyes James was watching him. "Are you going to tell me what's wrong or are you just going to leave me guessing?"

Scorpius took a deep swig from the bottle. "Does it really matter?" At that moment James reached out to touch a stray lock of his hair, muttering something that sounded a lot like 'pretty'. Scorpius shot him a filthy, 'don't-you-dare' sort of look, and Jamesapparently realizing what he was doinghastily withdrew his hand. "Sorry," he muttered and got to his feet, his gate unsteady. He threw Scorpius an apologetic look and said, "I think I'd better get going." "Whatever," Scorpius muttered, somewhat relieved. "Look," said James, sounding strained, and rubbed at his eyes. "It's not you, it's just...I know what I'm like sometimes and" He shook his head again "I don't know whether it's the whiskey or what, but you're starting to look ... really good to me," he finished with a nervous laugh. "Starting?" "That's not what I meant. It's just ... we shouldn't be in here. Alone. Together." Scorpius raised an eyebrow at him and he sighed. "Look, I'm really drunk, okay? Al's my brother and ... I don't want to end up doing something I might regret tomorrow." Scorpius scoffed at this. "Yeah, like I'd let you." James took a deep breath and grabbed his coat. "Just...don't tell my brother about this, alright? He's like ... in love with you or something. It's probably better if he doesn't know about this." "I won't tell if you won't." James appraised him carefully and said, "What's going on between you two, anyway? I mean, what are you doing in here with me? Stop sulking and go find him; work it out." "I'm not sulking." "Look, just go find him," James suggested, and pulled on his jacket. "Do you know where he is?" Scorpius shook his head. He was properly drunk now, and the room was starting to spin like a carousel. "No," he said quietly, "but maybe you should ask Louis." "What's that supposed to mean?" James said with a bemused look. "How do you know Louis?" Scorpius gave a cold laugh and said, "I don't. But I do know that he's been trying to have it off with your brother for at least a year now." ~o~ "I can't love you anymore, Louis." Louis, beautiful as a young knight in a fairy tale, watched Albus intently in the moonlight, his eyes fierce. "Why?"

"Because I can't," said Albus. "Not anymore." It was strange, this momentlike an out-of-body experience. Along with the excitement Albus felt at the prospect of finally severing his ties with Louis, there was a deep sense of sadness, like losing something infinitely precious to you. He loved Louis and always would, but if they were ever going to break free of this, it had to be a clean breakand Albus had to be the one to do it. Louis looked down at the paving stones, his arms across his chest. Albus had never seen him look the way he did now. "You're lying to me." Albus felt a sudden flash of anger toward his cousin. "No," he said shortly, "I'm not. This is over now, okay? You and me; we're done. I can't do this anymoreI won't. I can't see you again, Louis; not ever." "Why are doing this to me?" Louis looked away and said, "You know what, nodon't even answer that. Don't say anything else; you're killing me." "Killing you? Come on, Louis, you've got to stop being so melodramatic." Albus put a hand on Louis's arm. "Look at me." Louis obliged him. He was shattered, Albus could see that, but he had to keep going. If he stopped now they'd be right back to square one; and he couldn't have that again. "You don't love me, Louis," he said quietly. "Because if you did, you wouldn't want this for me." "You know nothing," said Louis. "I've loved you for as long as I can remember. Please don't presume to tell me how I feel." "You don't know how you feel, Louis," Albus told him sharply. "You're confusing love with...with lust." "Lust?" said Louis, looking as though Albus had offended him greatly. "Yes! Because that's what we do, isn't it, Louis?" Albus backed his cousin further into the hedge. "In bed?" He didn't want to go any further with this, but he knew that Louis knew exactly what he was talking about the older boy's color darkened and his breathing accelerated. "What's so loving about that? Please, tell me ... I'd really like to know." "Why are you putting this on me now, Al? Why didn't you tell me this last night, in the chapel?" "Because," said Albus, struggling to find the right words. "I couldn't. I don't know, I..." Louis took him by the shoulders and switched their positions, so that it was Albus with his back to the hedge instead. The expression on his face was strange, frightening. "You wanted it," he said, his teeth clenched. "You know you did." Albus stood there, frozen, as Louis dragged a hand down his cheek. "I know it's love," he murmured. "Every time I look at you ... I know it's love."

Albus shoved him. "Then why can't you leave it alone?" he yelled. "Why are you pressuring me all the time? I can't do this anymore, Louis!" Louis's hold on him grew harder. "You told me you loved me," he spat accusingly, and his grip on Albus was starting to hurt. "How many times have you told me you loved me?" He was tearful now, manic, and Albus was growing increasingly frightened of him. "I can't live without you," he went on, fiercely. "I won't." Albus wriggled away from him. "Then don't, Louis!" he said breathlessly. "But I won't do this anymoreyou think it's killing you? Have you ever stopped, even once, to think about what it's doing to me?" Louis bowed his head. "Of course I have," he said quietly. "I think about it every day; it drives me mad." "Then end this with me," Albus begged him. "I can't do this by myself. End it now and we can make it all go away." Louis shook his head. "It'll never go away," he told him. "I've tried, Al. You know how hard I've tried; but it won't stop. I never stop thinking about you, never stopwanting you. It's a goddamn curse." Looking at Louis like this was breaking Albus's heart, but he had made a promise not just to himself, but Scorpius. And he was going to keep it, whatever the cost. "Then break it," he said. "I wish I could." In that moment, Albus truly believed him. "I'm going to walk away now, Louis," he told him, trying desperately to keep the emotion from his voice. "So let me go. Please," he begged, "just let me go." "You know I could make you," Louis said, very quietly. "I know." "I could force you to be with mein every way." "I know you could. But it wouldn't be love then, would it?" Louis brushed Albus's cheek with the back of his hand. "I tried to tell you," he said with a sad smile. "It isn't lust." At that moment both boys were distracted by the sound of footsteps crunching in the ice and snow toward them. Albus looked toward the source of the noise, and to his horror saw Scorpius stalking toward them from the direction of the Manor, his pale hair windblown about his face, his skin blotchy, his eyes fierce. Immediately, Albus took a guilty step back from Louiswho was instantly on his guard, eyes flitting between Albus and Scorpius. "Do you know him?" he asked. Albus choked on his words. This couldn't be happeningthe three of them, here together, at once. "Malfoy," he said, more unpleasantly than

he'd intended. "What's going on, you look like you've seen a" To his intense surprise, Scorpius stopped before him and cracked a hand across his cheek. Shocked, Albus put a hand to his face and said, "What the hell was that for?" Scorpius, his expression full of rancour, balled his fists at his sides and said, "How could you do this to me? Now...tonight...at the Ball, after everything" Like a light-bulb had switched on in Albus's mind, their last encounter played before his eyes. He considered, for the first time, what it would have looked like to Scorpius: him running off to see Louis without offering any explanation, after they'd just kissed. But Scorpius didn't really think he and Louis were "It isn't what you think!" he said suddenly. "Scorpius, please listen to me!" he begged. "I didn't come here to" But Louis had stepped between them then, his expression savage, and fixed his eyes on Scorpius. "Who are you, and why did you hit my cousin?" Scorpius's gaze snapped to Louis, and he glared back at the taller boy defiantly, his slight frame trembling with barely contained rage. Albus grabbed Louis's forearm and yanked him backward. "Leave it, Louis," he warned him. "Please, just leave him alone." Louis cast him a curious look, and tilting his head to one side, it seemed to dawn on him. "It's him, isn't it?" The three of them fell silent. "Yes," said Albus when he found his voice. "It's him." Louis gave a resigned nod, while Scorpius glared up at him with a look of pure disgust. He stepped forward, his expression feral, and shoved Albus out of the way. Albus fell back into the snow, and watched the scene above him unfold with infinite dread. "Why are you so fucking obsessed with him?" Scorpius hissed, and to Albus's surprise, shoved hard at Louis's chest. Louis stumbled but didn't lose his footing, and stared down at the smaller boy with a look of disbelief. "The same reason you are," he growled, panting. "And I'd watch yourself, if I were you. This isn't something you want to get involved in." Scorpius let out a cold laugh and appraised Louis, up and down, saying, "You have some nervethreatening me in my own house!" "You have some nerve to be putting your filthy little paws all over my cousin!" Louis yelled back at him. "STOP IT!" Albus hauled himself to his feet, wincing at the pain in his

chest, and said, "Stop fighting ... please, just stop fighting!" Scorpius and Louis continued to glare at each other, but were henceforth silent. Albus drew in a deep breath and rounded on his cousin. "Go home," he told him coldly. "Please. We can't do this here and you know that." Louis looked like he'd slapped him. "Fine," he said, clenching his jaw. He brushed Albus's cheek with his knucklesat which Scorpius made a rather loud noise of disgustbefore his hand fell back to his side. "Don't do this," he said, so quietly that Albus was sure only he could hear it. "Don't end it like this." Albus didn't answer him. After a few moments, Louis, apparently getting the message, turned his back on them and disappeared into the snow not bothering, apparently, even to collect Evalia before he left. The freezing wind swirled noisily around them, carrying with it the scent of roses and jasmine. Albus could feel Scorpius behind him, could hear him breathing, but was too ashamed to turn around and look at him. "Why do you do these things?" "What things?" Albus asked quietly. Scorpius let out an agonized laugh. "You know," he said coldly, "running back to himwhenever the moment takes you!" Albus whirled around to face him. "I never ran back to him!" he shouted. "You've got it all wrong! All I wanted was to end itfor you!" He noticed for the first time that Scorpius was crying silently. "Are you blind or something?" the boy yelled. His clothes and hair were soaked with melted snow, and he looked ruined now, like a car crash victim. "Do you not even notice?" "Notice what?" Scorpius closed the gap between them, sniffling, and wiped his face with the back of his hand. Without thinking about it, Albus stroked the hair back from his forehead. "Please don't cry," he said helplessly. "What should I notice?" "I can't say it," said Scorpius, his lower-lip trembling. Albus lifted a hand to the other boy's face and wiped his tears away with his thumb. "Say what?" he prodded gently. Scorpius startled him then by throwing his arms around him and pressing his face into his neck. Albus caught him, barely, and held him there steady. "I love you, alright?" Scorpius confessed, as though it were the last thing in the world he wanted to admit. "I wish I didn't, but I do." Albus held the other boy against his chest, stunned, and stroked his hair with freezing fingers. He'd only just admitted to himself that he did, in

fact, love Scorpius. And now everything was happening so fast it felt like he was caught in a whirlwind. He couldn't even remember how they'd gotten to this point. Scorpius drew back from him with a pleading look. "Say something," he begged. "Please, don't just stand there. Say something." "I love you too," Albus said distantly. Swallowing hard, he added, "And I don't wish I didn't." Scorpius didn't seem pleased by this at all. "I've ruined everything," he said, closing his eyes and biting his lip. "Everything's going to change now and we...we never even had a chance." "What?" Albus asked him, puzzled. "You haven't ruined anything; what are you talking about?" "Yes, I have." Albus could smell the alcohol on him. If this was why Scorpius was babbling, it made sense perfect sense. "Are you drunk?" he asked, wrinkling his nose. Scorpius looked at him, snow caught in his eyelashes, and shook his head. "No." "That's funny," Albus laughed, "because you smell like a brewery." Scorpius managed a sad smile at this. "I did a sobering charm on myself ten minutes ago. I'm not drunk." "Then why are you so upset? I just told you I loved you; doesn't that count for something?" Scorpius just looked miserable. Albus didn't know what to say to console him. He kissed him on the cheek instead, and holding both of his hands in his, squeezed. "I'm sorry about how I left you at the fountain," he told him, ambushed with guilt. "I understand if you're still angry with me, but you know how stupid I am sometimes. I wasn't even thinking. All I wanted was to end it. For good this time. I don't want what's gone on with him to get between us." Scorpius nodded. "It's me and you now, okay? Just me and you." This, if anything, was the only thing Albus knew to be true. Scorpius took a deep breath and rested his forehead against Albus's. "Me and you." The next thing Albus knew, they were frantically grabbing at one another, kissing, and not like they had beforethis was different, rougher, and now it was Albus who had to remind himself to slow down. He let go of Scorpius's freezing hands and wrapped his arms around his narrow waist instead, drawing him closer to him. Scorpius groaned a little into his mouth, and his lips were so soft and warm that Albus didn't know how he would ever have the strength to prise himself away. He let out a yelp of surprise when Scorpius knocked him back into the

snow. They fell to the ground together, a freezing tangle of arms and legs and lips. "What'd you do that for?" Albus grumbled, holding onto the other boy by the back of his robes. I'm bloody freezing here." Scorpius didn't answer him. He straddled Albus's waist, and although this scene was starting to look a little similar to some of his more private midnight fantasies, he began to panic. "What?" Scorpius asked, frowning at his expression, and pulled back slightly. "What's wrong?" He was still crying, Albus noticed with a sinking feeling, and his pupils were so dilated they swallowed the silver in his eyes. Albus took a deep breath and steadied the boy in his lap by his elbows. "Slow down for a minute," he said, still slightly breathless. He had to get a hold on himself. "Something's wrong; you're not yourself. What's going on with you? Are you still angry with me?" Scorpius gave him a withering look. "I'm sitting in your lap. Do I look angry?" Albus touched Scorpius's face, and his fingertips came away wet. "Then why are you still crying? Come on, what's going on? Something doesn't feel right here." Scorpius swallowed hard and rolled off of him, turning away. "Maybe that's because you're lying in three feet of snow," he mumbled. He drew his knees to his chest. Albus, still high from the kissing, tried to gather himself. Something was off here, and the anxiety in his chest was mounting. He laid a hand on Scorpius's shoulder. "Talk to me," he implored. "Please. I...I don't know what to say. Is it me? Have I done something wrong?" Aside from the obvious scene that had just occurred with Louis, Albus didn't know what else he could have done that would cause Scorpius to look this destroyed. The other boy exhaled heavily and said, "No. You haven't done anything wrong. But I have." ~o~ Inside the Manor it was chaos. Ginny, almost dropping her eighth glass of gin and tonic, turned to her husband and rested her head on his shoulder, drunk and exhausted. "Are you tired of schmoozing yet?" He laughed. "Me? Never." The guests were dropping like flies. The Morris's, whom Ginny knew from work, were currently exiting the party: Mrs. Morris, having consumed far too much claret, was as green as a tree frog. It was probably for the best, Ginny thought privately. If one of Wizarding society's most infamous socialites was sick all over herself at the Malfoy's

Winter Ball she'd never live it down. Everywhere there was high pitched laughter, shouting, music, and commotion. If anybody had thought the Malfoys threw a stiff party they were sorely mistaken. Mrs. Malfoy herself had disappeared into a shady corner with a young Spaniard early on in the evening, and this rather public display of inappropriateness had ensured she was a hot topic of gossip all night. Ginny, familiar with Astoria Malfoy's headline-grabbing theatrics, wondered whether perhaps this had been intentional. The host of the evening, however, Draco Malfoy, had made an appearance only once or twice throughout the evening. Ginny didn't bother herself with wondering what he was up to. She looked up at Harry, who looked blurry through the lens of too much alcohol, and sighed. "We'd better find the boys," she said wearily. "God knows what they're up to by now." Harry nodded, offering a tight smile to yet another passer-by, and said, "I suppose you're right. Knowing James we'll probably need a sick bag in the carriage." Ginny groaned half-heartedly. "Please, don't remind me." "Dad." The two of them whirled around in unison. Their eldest son, James, stood before them. He looked sickly pale and miserable. Ginny let out a low groan and resigned herself to the inevitable disappointment: her son was drunk. Again. The most important thing right now was getting him home and out of here with as little drama as possible. They'd have to think about punishing him tomorrow. Ginny opened her mouth to speak but the words died on her lips the moment she looked at Harry. He was sharing an intense look with James, the same look he usually wore when they were communicating silently. Harry let go of her and stepped toward their son. "What is it?" Ginny would never cease to be amazed at the connection Harry shared with his children. James, whose mood was generally unfalteringly sunny, looked as though someone had thrown his racing broom in front of a moving train. Ginny's heart quickened. Something had happened to her son, and whatever it was, she hadn't been there to stop it. "I have to talk to you," James said stiffly, with an intense look at Harry. "Now." Ginny looked to Harry, who seemed troubled now. "What's going on?" she said, stepping between them. "What's happened?" James stood perfectly still. "Not now, Mum," he said without looking at her. Ginny was caught so off guard she withdrew her hand as though it burned to touch him.

She looked at her husband, suddenly afraid. "What's going on?" she asked desperately, uncaring as to who answered her. "Is someone going to tell me what's" Harry put a soothing hand on her arm. "It's alright," he said levelly. He looked at her, his expression earnest. "Something's not right, Gin," he murmured. "Let me talk to him. Go and wait in the carriage, I'll be right there." ~o~ Harry Potter pulled his son by the elbow into the nearest private section of the house he could find: the coat room. "What's going on?" he said as soon as they shut the door. Although his son had clearly been drinking, it didn't cross his mind once that James was having him on. He knew when his son was full of it and he alsoknew when to take him seriously. Judging by the look on his face, now was one of those moments. James bit his lip, his nostrils flaring with the force of his breathing, and looked away, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. "It's Al, Dad," he said stiffly. Harry's pulse quickened and he tensed, ready to spring into action. "What is it? Where is he? is he alright?" James shook his head. He looked as if he was about to cry, and this, if anything, scared Harry the most. His eldest son was rarely if ever emotional. "I don't know," he answered, his voice quaking. "I...I don't even know how to tell you this, Dad." Harry stepped toward him and grabbed both of his shoulders. "You can tell me anything; you know that. Now speak." James exhaled and looked down at his feet. "He ... I mean, I never even thought to put it all together but now it...it all makes sense." Harry shook him, fear spreading through him like poison. "What does?" he said impatiently. "Tell me, James, I need to know." James's lip trembled. He looked more devastated than Harry had ever seen him. He looked up then, his brown eyes glassy. "You won't believe me." Harry looked down at him intently. "I trust you," he promised him. "And if you believe it, I will too." James sniffed and looked down, wiping his nose with his hand. "It's Louis, Dad," he said, his voice thick with tears. "I...I think he's been touching Al."

Chapter Twelve
Chapter by Ketamine (midnightlily)

1. Albus "Everything is blooming most recklessly; if it were voices instead of colors, there would be an unbelievable shrieking into the heart of the night." - Rainer Maria Rilke Albus sat on the couch in the living room now, his palms flat against his knees. He didn't understand why he'd been pulled from the party like he had. He didn't understand why the four of themhis mother, father, himself and Jameshad spent the entire carriage-ride home in stiff silence, or why no one was making eye contact with anyone else. He didn't understand why his mother was in the kitchen with her face in her hands, crying on his father's shoulder. He did understand that something was gravely wrong, however, and had known as much since he'd last held Scorpius in his arms; felt the stiffness of the other boy's body, the unexplained tears on his skin. He balled his hands into his fists to keep them from shaking. His ears were ringing with panic, and he couldn't swallow or breathe. From the corner of his eye he saw his father watching him from the archway in the kitchen. Albus didn't look up to question him. He kept his eyes on his hands as his father moved closer to him, and refused to look at him even when the man stood before him and dropped to his knees, so that they were eye-level with each other. Harry placed a careful hand on Albus's upper arm, which was quickly slapped away. Harry removed his glasses then and bowed his head, and pinching the bridge of his nose, muttered, "We need to talk, Al." Catatonic and unable to speak, Albus shook his head. Harry put both of his hands on Albus's hips then, his forearms resting on his thighs, and mewling, Albus tried to push the man away by his shoulders. He knew what his father was doingbinding him to the couch so that he couldn't run awaybut he couldn't stand having Harry put his hands on him right now. Something momentous was about to occur, something that had his mother crying, his brother upstairs heaving violently into the toilet bowl, and his father weakened and helpless, all color drained from his face. The running was over; he knew that now; because his conscience acknowledged what his mind did notthat his entire world, the same one he'd constructed so carefully with multiple lies and half-truths, was about to come crashing down around his ears. The silence seemed to stretch for hours. Harry did nothing but watch Albus's face, his eyes burning holes into him, before finally there was a sharp intake of breath as the lamp on the side table began to shake violently, and he said, "You know what this is aboutdon't you?" Albus shook his head, over and over. "No," he said evasively. "No. Let me go, Dad. Please...just let me go."

He could see his mother in the doorway now; she was white as a sheet, her entire frame trembling. "Harry," she begged him, her voice hoarse from crying, "please tell me it isn't true." Harry stayed silent, and she yelled, "Tell me it isn't true!" "Let me go, Dad," said Albus through gritted teeth, his eyes trained on the wall. But the strength of his father's hold on him was too strong for him to escape. Harry said, "I need to hear it from you," and Albus bit down on his tongue and shook his head vehemently. Harry gripped his chin then and forced Albus to look at him. Panicking, Albus cried out and shut his eyes, kicking his legs, his entire body struggling to break free. "I need to hear it, Al!" his father shouted, unperturbed. "Christmas," he began, his hands so tight they were bruising. "You didn't want to come home; you didn't want to see us, your cousins! Why?" Albus didn't know when he'd started screaming to try and drown out the things his father was saying, but now that he'd started it seemed impossible to stop. "You wouldn't see us," Harry went on, holding onto his son for dear life. "Your mother and I, we...we knew you were hiding something but we...we never thought" "No!" Albus screamed, over and over, his entire body aching with the struggle. His mother was crying again now, and he couldn't bear to look at her, didn't want to hear her; and so he screamed, louder and louder. He knew what was comingthat somehow, his parents had discovered their youngest son's most horrific secret. Somehow, they knew what he had tried so hard to keep from them; and now, nothing would ever be the same. They knew all about the bad things he had done, how filthy he was, how "Louis." His father said it, the one word Albus had been praying and praying that he wouldn't say, and now all hope was lost. He couldn't hear the rest of his father's sentence because he was screaming so loud the words were lost on him, but he heard him finish, clear as a bell: "Tell me...the truth...now." Albus was sobbing so hard he was making himself sick. "No!" he screamed, hiccupping, his entire body convulsing. "You don't know what you're talking about! Shut up! Just shut up! Get off me! GET OFF ME!" His father was losing control, shaking him. "Tell me!" he yelled, his face shining with sweat, his eyes bloodshot. "I need to hear you say it!" Albus collapsed against him and went as limp as a ragdoll, every last bit of energy lost. He cried loudly, his wrists caught in his father's hands. "No," he sobbed, taking huge, gulping breaths. "Louis loves me; he'd never hurt me," he lied. "You...you don't know anything, just let me ggo..." His father relaxed his grip on him and Albus collapsed to the carpet, curled up, face down. He felt his father's hand on his back, and it only made him scream louder.

"I love you so much," Harry was saying, his voice breaking, "and I know how much you love him; how...how much you think you need to protect him; but I...I need to know, baby." His father was on the ground with him then, holding him to his chest and stroking his hair, no matter how loudly Albus screamed for him not to. "Just tell me the truth," he said. "Did Louis ever hurt you? Did he ever force you to do something you didn't want to?" Albus screamed and thrashed against him with renewed vigour. How could they have it all so wrong? They seemed to be under the delusion that he was innocent, a victim, and that Louis was some kind of monster. He grabbed fistfuls of his own hair and tried to tear it out, to hurt himself, to dull the horror and panic that now had him firmly in its thrall. His father's hands on his prevented him from doing so, pinning his arms back to his sides, and when he could no longer muster the energy to scream, he laid there limp, fighting for breath. Throughout, his father held onto him, comforted him, as though the man thought he actually deserved it. "I need to know," he whispered. "You're safe now, I promise you, just please," he begged, "tell me the truth." Albus drew in a deep, uneven breath. "Y-You don't need me t-to tell you anything," he sobbed. At that moment he gave up; there was nothing left to lose; no point in torturing them any further. He couldn't do it anymore. He didn't have the strength. "You already kn-know everything, don't you?" Finally, he said, "Louis touched me," and the room was dead silent now. As if to add salt to the wound, he added, "but it never hurt." After that, everything was a blur. The pictures shook in their frames; the lamp toppled to the floor, smashing into a thousand pieces. Grandma Weasley stood in the archway in her travelling cloak, one hand clutching her bag, the other on his little sister's shoulder. Lily stood in front of her in her pajamas, her bright hair tousled, looking confused. "What's happened?" she asked, her eyes flitting anxiously from his mother, to his father, to Albus on the floor. Ginny was sobbing loudly, and Harry was against the wall with his head in his hands. James stood still at the top of the staircase, pale as a corpse. No one answered her. ~o~ He didn't know how long he'd been running, how late it was, or even whether anybody was looking for him, but the more distance he put between himself and that house, the stronger he was able to convince himself that none of it had really happenedthat it was all a dream, a nightmare. His legs were trembling, and he was freezing in the harsh wind, but he kept running, knowing that the faster he ran, the quicker he would find his way back to him. ~o~ II. Scorpius 'Shape your heart to front the hour, but dream not that the hours will last.' - Lord Alfred Tennyson

Scorpius tossed and turned in his sleep, covered in a thin film of cold sweat, the sheets twisted around his body. The images he saw in his dreams were dark and ominous, like a storm brewing on the horizon. He could see Potter now, coming in and out of focus, blurry as though he stood behind a veil; but not close enough to touch, forever out of reach. When he called out for him he disappeared, leaving nothing but the sound of his voice reverberating throughout the vast nothingness that engulfed him, body and soul. He felt hands on his shoulders, and when he turned around Potter was there and looking at him, his eyes like bright jewels. The fear in his heart melted away the second he saw him, and Potter smiled and touched his cheek with the back of a freezing hand. Scorpius caught his wrist then and held on tight, as though Potter was going to run away from him any moment, and dragged him toward him, swooping forward to kiss him with abandon. It was bittersweet and shrouded in uneasiness, almost like the satisfaction of biting down on a broken tooth. He clutched Potter's body close to his, desperate to have every possible part of him pressed against him. Potter drew away and pressed his cheek hard against his, and Scorpius's breath caught in his chest. "You can't change it..." Potter's voice echoed back at him, over and over. Reeling, Scorpius pulled away from, desperate to ask him what he'd meant, but Potter had gone, vanished into the murk. A cold presence surround Scorpius, like all the air had been sucked out of the room, and he lurched forward and tried to feel his way through the darkness. "Albus!" he screamed, panicking. "Please! I'm sorry ... come back! ALBUS!" Freezing hands grabbed him around the throat, and gasping, he fell forward, about to strike the ground when Scorpius awoke with a start, gasping, his head pounding like he'd been hit with a hammer. He kicked off the sheets twisted around his legs and fell back to his pillow, breathing hard, his heart still pounding. He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. His mind was obviously trying to process his guilt, he rationalized. Because he'd made a mistake he could never take back, and already the consequences had been set into motion. Potter had been wrenched away from him by his brother before Scorpius had even had a chance to explain what he'd done, and all because he seemed destined to poison every last good thing that ever came his way. He couldn't bear to think about it. Potter could be at home right now, trying to explain his way out of something he never should have had to, all because Scorpius, blinded by hurt and malice, had gone and gotten drunk and opened his big fat mouth to James Potter, of all people... At that moment he was distracted from his train of thought by the sound of something hitting his window. Startled, he sat up straight. The room was quiet. Uneasy, he told himself it must have been the wind, and

slowly lowered himself back to the mattress when he heard it again, louder this time. Frowning, he rubbed his eyes and hesitantly got out of bed. He pulled the curtains back from the window and squinted into the darkness. Nothing. His uneasiness growing, he drew the curtains back across when a bright light flared into the night, illuminating the bushes just beneath his window. His eyes adjusting to the light, he tried to focus, and slowly trained his eyes on ... Potter? Scorpius blinked twice, convinced he was still dreaming. Potter couldn't really be here, standing beneath his window, could he? The very idea was absurd. He pulled the curtains all the way across, and with a certain amount of difficulty, pushed his window open. He stuck his head out of the window and into the freezing cold air, and squinted into the darkness below. "Albus?" he called. "Potter, is that you?" Potter stepped into the light, his wand raised, and Scorpius gasped. The other boy's clothes were dishevelled and his eyes were red, his skin tearstained. "Oh my god," Scorpius whispered, his heart sinking in his chest. He was the cause of this, he was sure of it, and now Potter was here in the middle of the night, ready to exact his vengeance. Scorpius drew a deep breath and pulled his head inside, eyeing the wand on his nightstand. If they were going to fight over this, to duel, he didn't want to have any part in it. He deserved whatever Potter was going to do with him, after all. He took a deep breath and resolved to leave his wand behind. He was going to go down there, disarmed, and surrender himself. After that, Potter could do anything he wanted to him. It was only fair. Wearing nothing but a pair of black pyjama bottoms and a flimsy t-shirt, Scorpius pushed open the heavy front doors as quietly as possible. The party wasn't quite over yet: his mother and a few of her 'friends' were still up, smoking cigarettes, drinking, laughing and only God knew what else in the drawing room, and if he was caught out of bed at this hour he didn't even want to think about the consequences. He shut the doors gently behind him and stepped out into the freezing cold night, the wind whipping at the skin beneath his clothes. He scanned for Potter, searching the spot where he'd last seen him. "Nox." The dim light coming from somewhere near the rose bushes was suddenly extinguished, and Scorpius sucked in a breath and squinted into darkness. "Potter?" he whispered. "Potter, are you there?" Like the scene in his dream, cold hands caught him from behind, and he stiffened automatically and cried out. But these hands were gentle, not harsh, and when Potter clamped a hand over his mouth and hushed him, soft lips close to his ear, Scorpius relaxed and fell instantly quiet. Gently, Potter removed his hand and steered him around so that they were facing each other. Even in the near-darkness, Scorpius struggled to look at him.

"I'm sorry if I frightened you," Potter said after a while, his tone eerily flat. "It wasn't my intention." Scorpius shook his head and cleared his throat, determined to maintain his composure. "Not at all," he answered. He swallowed hard then, folding his arms across his chest, and said, "What are you doing here?" Potter was silent for a long moment. "I needed to see you." "Oh," said Scorpius. "I-I understand." From his periphery Scorpius saw Potter's hand coming toward him, and convinced he was about to be belted across the face, he flinched back. But the blow never came. Potter's hand came to rest on his forearm instead, squeezing gently. "Is there anywhere we can talk?" the boy asked. "Out of the cold?" Taken aback, Scorpius stuttered, "Uh...s-sure. There's an empty old stable at the back of the house. W-we could go there?" Potter removed his hand and said, "Let's go." They trudged most of the way there in silence. Potter didn't talk and Scorpius didn't offer anything, privately anticipating that this was all just a clever prelude, and that Potter was actually going to push him to the ground and punch him in the face at any given moment. When they finally reached the stables at the back of the property, Scorpius had to tell Potter to stand back so that he could kick down the door. It burst open on the third or fourth try, the top of it having come slightly off the hinges, and Scorpius ushered Potter inside and followed suit, pressing his body weight against the length of the door to close it. It was dark and draughty inside. The stables hadn't been used since his grandparents had been Lord and Lady of the Manor, and it had fallen into disrepair ever since. There were holes in the ceiling and walls, and the floors were dirty with ancient hay, filth and dirt. The gas lamps no longer worked, either, even with a wand, but it was less windy in here than outside, and shut up a good length away from the house, there was little to no chance they would be discovered by either of Scorpius's parents. 'Lumos." The tip of Potter's wand ignited and he threw it carelessly to the ground. It illuminated their surroundings in a dim golden glow, just enough that they could see the outline of each other. Breathing unsteadily, Scorpius looked up to meet Potter's eyes, and he couldn't quite figure out what it was he was seeing thereconfusion? Anger? Sadness? "How did you get here?" he said, and his voice cut through the tension like the crack of a whip. Potter shrugged, pacing, before he slumped against the far wall, his eyes fixed on him. "I ran." Scorpius's eyes widened. "You ran? Godric's Hollow's what, three, four miles from here?"

"Three and a half," Potter clarified tonelessly. After a while Scorpius blurted, "I'm sorry for what I did." Potter said nothing. "I-I don't know why I did it," Scorpius continued desperately. The words poured out unstoppably now, frantic as he was to make Potter understand. "I was so mad at you. I-I didn't know what you were doing with him after you left me and I was...I was jealous." Guilt coursed through him like a tidal wave. He had a terrible, sickening feeling churning in the pit of his stomach. Potter was going to hit him, scream at him, at the very least chuck himand how was he going to get out of this one? How was he going to make Potter understand that he'd never meant to hurt him like this? But Potter looked oddly calm, and clearing his throat, he stepped closer until they their bodies were almost perfectly aligned. "So you told him?" he asked quietly. "You told James?" It wasn't an accusation. Scorpius cringed away from him, bowing his head, and nodded. "It...it just slipped out," he said lamely. "I tried to take it back the second I said it, I swear, but he...he wouldn't let it go. It was almost like he knew already. He wouldn't let me out of the room until I cracked. He said if I didn't tell him it was true he...he was going to find you and ask you himself. I didn't want that." Potter tensed. "What room?" Scorpius felt sickened with himself. Everything was crashing down around him now, and after this revelation he was going to lose him, for good this time. "W-We were drinking together," he confessed, "in my father's study." Potter bowed his head. "Why were you alone with him?" he asked, very quietly. Scorpius looked up then, full of desperation, and glaring at him, said, "Because I wasn't alone with you." Potter was clenching and unclenching his fists now. "Did he touch you?" he asked, setting his jaw. Scorpius shook his head vehemently. "N-No," he said honestly, "but he...he grabbed me." Immediately, Potter reached out and pulled one of Scorpius's wrists toward him, lifting it to examine it in the light. Seeing that it was braceleted with bruises he let out a low growl. "I'm going to fucking kill him," he spat. Scorpius took back his hand, his heart pounding. "It doesn't matter," he said heavily. "I deserved it. I-I've ruined everything." Before he had a chance to move away from him, Potter put both hands on either side of his head and held him there firmly. He stepped closer, so close they

were almost nose-to-nose, and closed his eyes. "No," he told him staunchly. "This is all my fault. None of this would have happened if I hadn't left you to find Louis." Scorpius bit his lip and shook his head. "No. I-I shouldn't have reacted the way I did; I-I should have understood. I'm such a fool. N-now your parents are going to know, and" Potter interrupted him here by saying, "Never mind about that; they were going to find out one day, right? It was inevitable. I've spent months waiting for it; dreading it, but fuck it," he finished carelessly. "Fuck them. It doesn't matter anymore." Sobered, Scorpius inhaled sharply and whispered, "How can you say that?" "Because I've got you," Potter mumbled, "and I love you. You know that. You're the only person in the world I can run to right now." Scorpius shook his head. None of this felt righteven Potter's hands on him felt different, wrong. "Don't say that," he snapped finally, pushing his hands away. "This isn't you." Potter looked slightly taken aback at this. "You love them," he went on. "You...you were terrified about what would happen if your father found out. How can you act like they don't matter? Like you don't care?" Potter looked back at him fiercely. "Who are you to tell me how I feel?" Scorpius felt as though Potter had slapped him. "I know you better than anyone," he countered angrily, "and look at youyou're destroyed!" Potter raised a hand to him then, and very nearly hit him. Scorpius closed his eyes and shrank away, waiting for the inevitable onslaught; but once again, it never came. Potter seemed to think better of it, and when Scorpius opened his eyes he saw him standing there, helpless and pale, his hands balled at his sides. No, Scorpius thought angrily. None of this was right. By now they should have been rolling around on the floor, screaming, crying, trading punches, insults, something! He wanted, more than anything, he realized, for Potter to hurt him like he knew he deserved. He squared his shoulders and stepped forward. "Do it," he said. "Hit me. Come on, you know I deserve it." Potter backed away from him, breathing heavily. "Stop it," he said through gritted teeth. "No." Scorpius stepped toward him. "I told you to hit me," he pressed. "I betrayed you and you hate me for it. Don't stand there and pretend it's any different." He shoved hard at Potter's chest, wanting desperately to provoke him into a fury. The other boy hit the wall, grimacing. "Do it," Scorpius said breathlessly. "Take it out on me, I want you to."

A split second later Potter lunged at him and tackled him to the ground. Scorpius, the wind knocked out of him, let out a dark laugh and grabbed Potter by the shoulders. This, fighting with him, was familiar and safe. "Do it," he urged him, tasting blood in his mouth, "and we'll both feel better." Panting, Potter watched him from above, his eyes burning. He reached up then, and tenderly tucked a stray lock of hair behind Scorpius's ear. He shook his head, said, "I'm not going to hit you," and kissed him gently on the forehead. Scorpius stared at him in disbelief, his mind screaming at him that this was wrong. Why wasn't Potter hurting him, screaming at him, throwing punches? All the other boy did was watch him sadly, and his hands on Scorpius were devastatingly gentle. "I don't care what you think," Potter sighed finally. "I love you, and nothing you say to me is ever going to make me want to hurt you, okay? Not ever." Scorpius turned his head to one side, and felt sicker by the second. The thrill of the fight was draining away, and it left him feeling cold and empty. "What do you want from me then?" he asked angrily. "After everything, why did you come here? If you don't want to hurt me for what I did, what do you want from me?" Potter shifted above him and looped both of his arms beneath him, resting his hands on his shoulder-blades, and pressed the length of his body into his, causing Scorpius to suck in a sharp breath. "Fighting with you is the last thing I want." Scorpius tried very hard not to notice just how good Potter's body felt against his, and closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing. "Everything's turning to shit," Potter whispered, sniffling. Scorpius could have sworn he felt a tear fall on his cheek. "And I'm not blaming you for that, it's just ... I want you to know how I feel about you if it's the last thing I ever do. I want to be with you, Scorpius. In every way." Scorpius drew back and met Potter's eyes. They were close enough that their eyelashes touched, and the fact that Potter was lying on top of him suddenly took on a completely different context. "I thought you didn't want that." Potter touched his cheek, and leaning in, kissed him gently, briefly, before drawing back. "Then I'm a better liar than I thought." As difficult as it was given the proximity, Scorpius looked away from him and said, "It'll ruin everything." And it was true, he was sure of it. How could you possibly want something after you'd already had it? "We can't." Even if it was all he thought he'd ever wanted, he couldn't go through with this. Not tonight. Potter sighed. "It's alright," he said. "Relax." He kissed Scorpius's cheek then, slow and gentle, Scorpius felt a shiver run along his spine. "I'm not going to ask you for it. I know it's not fair to you." Scorpius swallowed hard, and in a small voice, said, "Not if afterwards you don't want me anymore, it isn't."

Potter's body went rigid. "How can you say that?" He sounded genuinely wounded. "Look at me and tell me that's what you think of me." It was painfully awkward but Scorpius did exactly that. Potter was everything he thought he'd ever wanted: endlessly kind and beautiful, even when he was tired and broken. Scorpius knew then that, no matter what he thought, he'd never have it in him to refuse him. "I can't," he decided. "I want to be with you so badly," Potter said, sending a thrill of heat through Scorpius's blood. "And just being this close to you is enough. I won't lay a hand on you, I promise. Not if you don't want me to." Biting his lip, Scorpius closed his eyes and said, "Tell me you love me." "What?" "Tell me you love me," he repeated. "Say it." He felt Potter's lips on his forehead. "I love you. I do." Scorpius exhaled gently. "Then I want you too," he said, resolutely. He touched Potter's cheek with his hand. "I...I want it too." He raised his head, and ever so gently, pressed his lips to Potter'sthey were warm and wet, sending shivers of unbidden desire coursing through him. "I'll do anything you want," he said breathlessly. "I trust you." Potter was shaking uncontrollably; Scorpius could feel it. He said, "You do?", and Scorpius nodded. "Good. I-I just don't want you to think I planned this or anything, because I-I swear I didn't, it's just ..." He bit his lip and shook his head. "I want you so much," he said, his tone unsure. "Do ... do you want me too?" "You know I do." "Have you ... have you thought about this beforeme and you?" Scorpius cleared his throat nervously. "Of course I have. I ... I think about it all the time." "You do?" Scorpius gave a small nod and said, "Every day." Potter lurched forward to kiss him then, and pinned his body to the floor with surprising force. His kisses were urgent, sloppy, and only slightly overzealous, but none of it mattered, Scorpius decided. Not when Potter's mouth against his felt this right. Scorpius put his hands on Potter's shoulders and squeezed hard, unable to tear his lips away from his. "Take off your shirt," he breathed, wholly caught up in the moment. Potter pulled back to stare at him. "Er ... are you sure?" Scorpius groaned, exasperated, and said, "Just take it off." Potter looked vaguely affronted with him, and so he amended with, "Please?"

It was odd watching the other boy take off his clothes, Scorpius decided odder still that he'd never even really seen Potter without his clothes on. He'd thought about it plenty of times, but thinking about it and seeing it firsthand were two very different things. His body trembled in anticipation and his stomach tightened as Potter tossed his coat to the floor first, and then, in one swift motion, pulled his shirt over his head. He looked nervous, uncomfortable, and bit down on his lip. "Okay?" Wordlessly, Scorpius reached out and ran a hand over his chestPotter was skinny, maybe even a little too much, but he was as close to perfect as Scorpius thought it got. He was leaving the boyish softness of childhood behind, and the muscles in his arms and torso were beginning harden. He was sinewy and firm, and his skin was soft and smooth, unblemished. Scorpius smiled at him. "Perfect." Potter looked sheepish, and slowly lowered his body back over Scorpius's. Scorpius, his body trembling at the contact, kissed him hard, feeling the heat throb in his cheeks. Was Potter, he wondered, half as turned on by this as he was? His mind was racing now, telling him in a thousand different ways that this was wrong, that if he loved Potter he couldn't possibly go through with it, that it would surely ruin everything they'd ever sharedbut with Potter groaning like he was, rubbing up against him, his tongue moving against his own in desperationand who'd taught Potter to kiss like thathis hips jerking forward of their own volition, he couldn't help but ignore his common-sense completely. It was dark, they could barely see each other, but all that mattered was now: this moment, Potter's body and his, the ultimate conclusion to months of hell, frustration, and suppressed desire. Potter's cold hands were inside his shirt now, palming his bare skin, navigating the upper reaches of his chest, and he absentmindedly brushed one of his nipples "Oh my God, Albus..." he gasped. Potter withdrew from him immediately. "What is it?" he asked breathlessly, eyes searching his. "Did I do something wrongdid I hurt you?" Scorpius shook his head and brushed the damp, dark hair out of Potter's eyes. "It's alright," he whispered. "You couldn't hurt me if you tried." Potter looked confused. "Then what" Scorpius closed his eyes, humiliated, and mumbled, "It just feels good, that's all." Potter gave a surprised smile and leaned back down to place a gentle kiss on the corner of his mouth. His hand snaked its way back inside his t-shirt, and Scorpius's hips bucked forward involuntarily. Potter laughed softly and murmured against the heated skin of his cheek, "Don't be embarrassed. Not with me." Grudgingly, Scorpius relaxed into his caresses. The blood was pounding through him, flowing to certain areas of his body that, with Potter

pressing up against him like this, were soon going to be very hard to conceal. As if on cue, a second later Potter jerked against him and pulled back, flushing furiously. "I-I'm sorry!" he whispered. Scorpius held him by his upper arms and watched him closely. The other boy was breathing very hard and wouldn't look at him. Scorpius felt humiliated now. it was too late. Potter knew that Scorpius was hard and there was no going back. "It was bound to happen," he pointed out, defensively. "I-I thought this was what you wanted. Y-You can't just start kissing me an-and touching me and then ... go strange when I get turned on. I-I mean, what were you expecting?" he finished lamely. Potter gave a small smile and shook his head. "It's not that," he said. "Believe me, I like it, it's just" He sighed. "I don't know what you want me to do. I'm ... I'm" "Scared?" Potter nodded. "Yeah," he admitted. "I'm scared. I want this to be ... nice." Scorpius raised an eyebrow, and Potter groaned, "You know what I mean. I told you I loved you, and ... I want this to be nice for you. I don't want to go any further if it isn't what you want." Scorpius felt his insides turn to mush. "I do want this," he said, without a trace of sarcasm. Potter rubbed his arm. "Promise?" "Promise." "Good," Potter said with a nervous laugh. "So ... " "So?" Potter kissed him once and said, "Well, what do you ... I mean, what do you ... do you want to ... or do I ... " "You're babbling," Scorpius pointed out. "I know," said Potter, letting out a low breath. "Look ... whatever you want I'll do it, okay?" said Scorpius. "Anything." Potter looked fit to choke at this. "But ... I ... I just need to ... to think" "We could ... do it?" Scorpius suggested, averting his eyes. Potter stiffened when he said this, and when Scorpius looked up at him he saw that the other boy looked horrified. His heart sank. "No," said Potter, shaking his head. "Not that. I won't." "Oh. Okay, fine. We don't have to if you don't feel like it." Potter leaned down, and gently moved his lips over Scorpius's cheek. "I

didn't mean it like that," he murmured. "Come on, you know I didn't." Scorpius shrank away from him. "Then what did you mean?" he grumbled. "I'm sorry, but I didn't realize the idea was so disgusting to you." Potter exhaled against his cheek. "It's not," he groaned. "And of course I want to, Jesus, but I c-can't. We can't. That's moving way too fast, don't you think? We ... we haven't even seen each other naked." Scorpius stared at him defiantly. "Fine. Then let's see each other naked, and if ... if it's gross then we'll ... we'll know." "Know what?" "That it's not supposed to be this way." "No." said Potter, shaking his head and making a face. "There's no way that's going to happen. Not for me." "Fine," said Scorpius, and propped himself up on his elbows. "But if we don't do it then we'll never know, will we?" "I don't need to know," Potter said irritably. "Nothing about you is ever going to gross me out. I'm sorry if you don't feel the same way." Scorpius didn't know what to say to this. It was obvious to anyone but Potter that he was terrified the boy would reject him. Scorpius knew that he loved the other boy, and the idea that Potter should see him naked and be subsequently disgusted was horrifying to him. "Let's just do it," he said finally. "I can't stand this anymore." Not taking his eyes off of him, Potter hauled himself to his feet and said, "Fine." Watching Scorpius with a defiant expression, he unbuckled his belt, pulling it out of the loop, and Scorpius's pulse began to fly as he watched him ... Potter was really going to do it. Almost as soon as he'd thought this the other boy dropped his belt, and it hit the dirty cement with a resonant clatter. His hands moved to his zip, and Scorpius could see that they were shaking violently. "You don't have to do this," Scorpius told him quickly. Potter ignored him, and not a moment later dropped his trousers. He kicked them aside and stood there in his underwear, arms wrapped around himself, his teeth chattering. "Happy?" Scorpius looked away from him, unable to form a coherent sentence. "You wanted to see me naked," Potter said angrily. "The least you could do is bloody look at me." Scorpius could hear the vulnerability in the other boy's tone, beneath the bitterness, and reluctantly looked back to Potter. His heart fluttered. The other boy was all slim hips and beautiful skin, jutting hipbones and burning eyes, trembling limbs and messy dark hair. He knew he'd never be able to match him.

"Grossed out yet?" Scorpius snapped out of the cacophony of his own thoughts, where several filthy fantasies were already brewing, and sat up on his knees, folding his arms across his chest. "I think you look..." Scorpius considered several words: beautiful, perfect, stunning Potter scowled and bent down to pick up his t-shirt. "Just forget it, Scorpius," he snapped, his fingers shaking so violently he could barely close his fingers around the fabric. "You know what? I don't even want to know what you're thinking right now, so spare me the details." Scorpius jumped to his feet then and yanked the shirt from Potter's hands. "Don't even think about it," he said. "What?" Scorpius threw the shirt to the floor, and before he'd really had a chance to think it through, ran his hands up and down Potter's arms, over his chest, his hipbones. Potter breathed in sharply, his eyes darting all over his face. "What are you doing?" Slowly, Scorpius dragged his gaze over the length of Potter's body to meet his eyes. "You know, you should really stop interrupting people mid-sentence." "What?" Potter asked him, his brow furrowed. "You ... you look incredible to me. That's what I was going to say." Potter's cheeks took on a rosy hue. He took a deep breath, so that his ribs were visible beneath his skin, and closed his hand over Scorpius's, where it still rested at the center of his chest. "You don't think I'm ... gross?" Scorpius could feel every nerve ending in his body tingle with anticipation. He was desperately turned on, more so than he'd ever been, and all he wanted to do right now was get Potter completely naked and back on the floor. "Well ... you're not completely naked, are you?" Potter raised an eyebrow at him and managed a weak smile. "It's your turn first. Go on then." Scorpius had been trying to prepare himself for this moment during Potter's entire strip-tease. With shaking hands, he bit his lip and pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it carelessly to the floor. Potter's eyes raked over his body, his expression curious. "Trousers too," he reminded him. Scorpius gave and indignant groan and pushed his pyjama pants over his hips. He wriggled free of them and kicked them aside, standing there mute, waiting for Potter to say something, anything The other boy's mouth was slightly agape, and he looked like he wanted

to say several things at once but couldn't quite decide what should come first. Scorpius scowled and wrapped his arms around himself, suddenly self-conscious of his body. "Say something," he grumbled. Potter reached out and ran his fingertips over Scorpius's collarbone. "You're ... you're so... " "What?" asked Scorpius, frowning. "Beautiful." "N-no," Scorpius stammered, flushing and recoiling from Potter's touch. "I'm not." Potter smiled a little and closed the distance between them. Putting a palm to his cheek, he said, "Come on, you know you're gorgeous." Scorpius shuddered at his touch, his knees trembling. A draught was sneaking its way through the cracks in the wood, and briefly he wondered what he must look like, standing here in the old Malfoy stables, trembling and blue all over, very nearly naked in front of one Albus Potter. He was so overcome with anxiety he barely registered Potter's arms around him, drawing him close. The other boy's skin was warm and dry, and when their stomachs touched it was like a fire coursing through his veins, burning him alive. He'd never known it was possible to feel like this. Potter exhaled heavily against the side of his neck. "Are you okay with this? Talk to me; you're shaking." "I'm fine," Scorpius lied, licking dry lips. He wrapped his arms around Potter's waist and closed his eyes. Emotion overwhelmed him, and a large, unwelcome lump formed at the back of his throat. How was it possible for something that was undoubtedly wrong to feel so right? His dream came back to him in small flashes: Potter leaving him, Potter telling him that he couldn't change it. He swallowed hard and gripped Potter tighter to him. Potter's lips moved against his neck, warm and wet, and Scorpius let his head fall back, biting down on his tongue to keep from making a noise. "Is this okay?" Potter whispered. "Stop asking me that," Scorpius mumbled. "If I don't like it, I'll let you know." Potter murmured something unintelligible against him then, and quite roughly slammed him against the moist, rotting wall. "Ouch!" he yelped. Potter ignored him, and holding him steady by his cheek, kissed him hard on the mouth. He drew back then, breathing hard, and they looked at each other for several moments. Scorpius was the first to breach the silence. "What now?" Potter swallowed hard and watched him intensely, one hand resting over his heart. Scorpius wondered whether he could feel how hard it was

beating. After a while, Potter said, "Get down on the floor." Scorpius's eyes widened a fraction, but after a moment he swallowed and nodded, dropping to his knees. He had promised Potter anything, he thought anxiously, and he supposed anything included this. He slid his fingers beneath the waistband of the other boy's boxers and "What the hell are you doing?" Startled, Scorpius looked up at Potter. "What is it now?" he asked irritably, and suddenly embarrassed of what he was doing, he shoved Potter's body away from him. "What are you doing d-down there?" Scorpius stared up at him in disbelief. "What?" he asked incredulously. "You just told me to get down and" "What? No!" said Potter, looking shocked. He dropped to his knees and put his hands on Scorpius's shoulders. It was ridiculous, but Scorpius suspected the boy was fighting back a smirk. "I didn't mean it like that. II'd never make you do that." Scorpius felt vaguely disappointed, and flushed angrily when he caught himself. Surely he hadn't actually been anticipating that particular act? He gave an inward groan, and Potter tilted his head to one side and brushed a few strands of hair from his eyes. "You alright?" Scorpius pushed his hand away and grumbled, "This isn't going to work. I get the feeling you don't really want this." He looked up at Potter from beneath lowered lashes, trying to affect disappointment, and added, "And that's okay; I understand if you're not ready." Potter looked at him like he'd gone mad. "What? Of course I want this." He put a hand on Scorpius's hip and drew him close. "I want this more than anything." His lips found Scorpius's neck, and Scorpius's head fell back to allow him better access. He bit down on his tongue to keep from crying out, and said, "Th-then why wouldn't you let me?" Potter cleared his throat and looked at him. "Let you? Scorpius, of course I'd let you. I ... I just didn't think you'd want to, that's all." Holding Scorpius at arm's length, he narrowed his eyes and said, "Do you?" Scorpius thought of his father back at the Manor, and his conscience ached. He knew that this was unforgivable, that his father would have him committed were he to ever find out, but somehow it wasn't enough to stop him from perpetrating the ultimate of sins. He leaned forward, andin what he hoped was a seductive manner cupped Potter's cheek and kissed him, languidly running his tongue over the boy's pillowy bottom lip. Potter groaned helplessly against him, and Scorpius kissed each bloodstained cheek, whispering in his ear, "Yes. I want to." The sound Potter made at this sent shivers down his spine. Scorpius took a deep breath and strengthened his resolve; the thought of what he was about to give to Potter had him slightly euphoric. He'd never done

this before, was sure neither of them had, and the idea that this was going to be something only the two of them shared made it all the sweeter. He fancied he could see the lust etched all over Potter's face, and it made his body trembleit was the way the other boy's eyes were half-lidded, watching him lazily; the way his lips were swollen and reddened, his cheeks stained a delicious pink. Potter fell back to the floor amongst a pile of moldy hay, and hooked both of his feet around Scorpius's waist, causing him to topple down over him. "Oi!" Potter smiled mischievously at him and pulled him down by his shoulders. "Just come here." Within seconds they were all over each other again. Potter's hands roamed over his back, squeezing and pulling, while his hips jerked upwards uncontrollably. Scorpius fought the urge to scream, only mildly chagrined that Potter would almost certainly be able to feel how excited he was by now. The shame was somewhat dulled by the fact that he could feel exactly how hard Potter was, and the fact exhilarated him beyond belief. Potter was moaning into his mouth now, his lips wet and clumsy and perfect, and Scorpius steadied his bucking hips with a firm hand, pressing him gently into the floor. He started to rub up against him, gently at first, and Potter was the first to cry out. Scorpius caught his open mouth in a kiss, his hands tangled so hard in his hair that he was probably hurting him, and yet neither of them seemed to mind very much. Scorpius had only ever (with the exception of a few drunken gropes in the Slytherin common room) really had the dull pleasure of touching himself, and this was something so extraordinary that he could hardly breathe. His mind was a sensory blur: Potter's warm body moving beneath him, Potter's soft lips and tongue against his own, Potter's legs wrapped around his waist, the length of his hardness rubbing against his own, and He shuddered, dragged his mouth away from Potter's, and buried his face in the other boy's neck, biting down hard on his lip to keep from screaming. Warmth flooded to his cheeks, and Potter gripped the back of his neck, his free hand sliding down his back, holding him close as he shook and trembled. He lay there limp for a moment, chest heaving, and with the fog of lust finally lifted, reality hit him like a punch in the face before they'd even had the chance to touch each other, he'd gone and come all over himself in the space of a minute; and oh god, what was Potter going to think of him now, what were they going to say to each other Potter's lips brushed his shoulder then. His own breathing was steady now, his limbs lax. "Are you alright?" Scorpius lifted his heavy head, and with much difficulty, rolled off of the other boy and onto his back, his face burning as he stared up at the rotted ceiling. He cleared his throat and wrapped his arms over his chest. "I'm fine. Are ... are you?"

Scorpius cringed and said, "By fine, do you mean" "I mean I came about ten seconds before you did." "Oh." Was it always, he wondered, supposed to be this awkward afterwards? Potter scrambled to find Scorpius's hand, and when he did, he gripped it tightly and said, "I love you, okay?" Scorpius squeezed back and blurted, "I-I'm sorry that I ... that we didn't " He groaned slightly and bit his lip. "I could have gone for longer," he finished, rather feebly. To his surprise, Potter laughed softly and said, "Shut up, I liked it. It was ... perfect." Scorpius turned his head and risked a glance in Potter's direction. The other boy's eyes were closed, his cheeks flushed with exertion, and in that moment he looked so beautiful that Scorpius could scarcely stand it. A smile played on the other boy's lips, and he said, "I've never felt so peaceful in my life." He opened his eyes and, after pausing for a moment, threw one arm over Scorpius's stomach and pulled him against his chest. "I can't believe we waited so long to do that." "I'm glad we did," Scorpius said quietly. "Why?" "Because if we didn't, it wouldn't have been the same between us. We wouldn't have..." Scorpius struggled to find the right words. "Fallen in love?" Potter offered. Scorpius flushed. The words sounded mawkish, and yet he realized for the first time that that was exactly what had happened between them. They'd really fallen in love. He nodded, one hand over Potter's, and said, "Yeah." Potter played absentmindedly with the ring on his finger. Scorpius stilled his hand, slid the ring over his knuckles, and held Potter's hand steady. Without thinking twice about it, he said, "I want you to have this." This, if anything, was a crime his father would never forgive, but it didn't matter. It was the only thing Scorpius owned that held any kind of real value to him, and whatever the consequences, he wanted Potter to have it. Potter tensed behind him. "Scorpius, no," he said firmly. "I know it's a family heirloom, I can't accept it." Ignoring him, Scorpius slid his great-Grandfather's ring over Potter's finger and said, "I want you to have it, and I won't take no for answer. This way, I'll always be with you, see?" Potter dropped his hand and placed it back over Scorpius's stomach. "I don't need this to know that," he mumbled.

Scorpius recalled that cold, empty feeling of abandonment in his dream, and wondered if perhaps this wasn't exactly true. "I know," he said finally, "but I want to be with you all the time. Forever." He felt Potter's lips against his ear and he shivered. Potter said, "I don't know how I've lived this long without you," and Scorpius's eyes fluttered closed. "You have to go, don't you?" Potter sighed. "Yeah. I ... I wish we could go together, but" "Not after what happened tonight." "It's not your fault." Scorpius was ambushed by a sudden wave of guilt, and he said, "Is it bad?" "I can handle it, don't worry about me. I've got you and that's all that matters." Scorpius let those words play over and over again in his mind as he stroked Potter's arm. "You can use the Floo in my room," he said after a while, "whenever you're ready to go." "You know I want to stay." Scorpius nodded, and for what felt like the last time somehow, he turned to kiss him. "I know," he told him, threading a hand through his hair. "I know you do." III. Louis 'For death, Now I know, is that first breath Which our souls draw when we enter Life, which is of all life center.' - Edwin Arnold When Albus tumbled out onto the living room rug, covered in soot and soaked to the bone, he half-expected his mother, father, someone, to be there waiting for him, for someone to grab or scream or shout at him. But ... nothing. The house was eerily silent. He stood and dusted himself off, assuming a defensive stance. If any of them dared to come near him, to ask him where he'd been He heard a thump come from upstairs. He smoothed out his clothes, and not even thinking about showering or changing, began to ascend the staircase. He never wanted to shower or change his clothes, he decided. With Louis he had always been quick to rid himself of the evidence of their encounters, but this ... this was different. He felt comforted by the fact that he could smell Scorpius all over him, not disgusted by it, and he didn't ever want to lose this feeling. He reached the landing and looked left and right. One torch was still

burning in its bracket, casting flickering shadows all over the carpet. "James?" he called uncertainly. "Dad?" Still nothing. He frowned. Perhaps they were out looking for him? Ugh, perhaps they'd actually gone and reported him missing? He pushed open the door to his bedroom when he heard a soft cry coming from the bathroom opposite. His heart started to race. He made his way over to the door and pressed his ear against it. "Hello?" he called irritably. "Who's in there?" The door slowly creaked open against his weight, and squinting to adjust his eyes to the light, he could just make out his sister, Lily, curled up in a ball on the bathroom floor, her long red hair obscuring one side of her face. His heart sank when he saw her. "Lily?" he asked softly. She didn't answer him, only turned her head away from him so that she couldn't see him at all. Her body shook with the force of her sobs. Albus dropped to his knees on the cold tiles and placed a tentative hand on her back. He'd almost forgotten all about Lily, and how the evening's events must have looked to her. "I don't care what you think you heard," he told her, gingerly. "None of it's true, Lily." He smoothed out her hair and swallowed the lump in his throat. "Lily? Look at me. None of it's true. It's ... it's all just a misunderstanding, that's all." Lily twisted her hair in her small fists, and he let out an exasperated sigh. "Look, where are Mum and Dad?" Lily turned to him then, and brushing the hair out of her face, looked up at him from swollen, red eyes. Her lip was trembling. "Wh-where have you been?" she asked in a whisper. "Where did you go?" "It doesn't matter where I was, Lil. I'm here now. Where are Mum and Dad?" Lily broke down again and began to cry in earnest. Albus felt something twist in him. Lily had never cried like this before: she cried often, usually when James was mean to her or she didn't get her way, but this was different somehow. "Lily?" he asked, as fear began to spread through him. "Lily, where are Mum and Dad?" Lily covered her face with her hands and cried louder. "Th-they went to Shell Cottage," she forced out, hiccuping. "Th-they made me stay here in case you came back, but ... they're all gone." He gritted his teeth, and breathing hard, got to his feet. Lily's hand shot out and grabbed his ankle, and when his eyes met hers again they were huge, and full of fear. "Al?" "What is it?" "It's not true, is it?" Lily sobbed. "Louis's not ... he's not" "No, Lil," Albus assured her. "He's not, I promise you." Lily nodded at this and let go of his ankle. "Do you ... do you have to go

too?" "Yes. I have to go and fix this now, but promise me you'll stay here, okay?" "I promise, Al." Albus dropped to his knees and scooped her up in a hug. "I'll be back real soon, okay?" he assured her. Lily clung to the back of his shirt, nodding vigorously. With gentle hands, he released her back to the floor. "Try and get some sleep, yeah?" Lily nodded, her bottom lip trembling, and said, "Everything's going to be okay, isn't it, Al?" Albus stood, his hand on the doorknob, and looked back at his sister. "Yeah," he said with a forced smile. "Everything's going to be fine, I promise." But as he ran down the stairs to the fireplace, his heart in his throat, he knew that he'd never, ever told a worse lie. Dawn was breaking, and the sky over the horizon was blood-red. But Albus couldn't hear any of the sounds he usually associated with the world waking, and covered in a fresh layer of soot, he toppled to the carpet in the living room and coughed up a lungful of ash and smoke. Retching and on all-fours, he looked to the east window, where the sun's first rays shimmered over the ocean and glittered like rubies, and struggled to get to his feet. The first thing he noticed was that the world was screaming. He staggered to the open front door, and the breeze blowing off the ocean chilled him to the bone as he stepped out on to the grass. The scene that met him was one he would never live to forget. All he heard was the screaming. As his eyes adjusted to the light he saw James, sat on the grass, his head between his knees. He recognized Aunt Fleur by the white-blonde of her hairshe was stretched out along the damp grass at the cliff's edge, sobbing, screaming, Ginny standing helplessly behind her. Albus ran to the centre of the lawn, his stomach churning, and scanned his surroundings for either Louis or Harry. But as though he'd become invisible, no one looked at him, spoke to him, or even noticed his presence. He ran to James then and dropped down onto the grass beside him. Taking his brother by the shoulders, he shook him violently and demanded, "What's going on, James? What's happening?" "He's gone," said James, not looking at him. "I'm sorry, Al." With a growl, Albus shoved him viciously and staggered to his feet. "WHAT IS GOING ON?" he shouted to no one. "SOMEONE" Strong hands caught him from behind, and expecting to see Louis, Albus whirled around in a heartbeat, his hands twisting in ... his father's robes. "Dad?" he asked, squinting up at him. His father, unlike

everybody else, was not screaming or crying, but the light behind his eyes was gone. "D-Dad," Albus started slowly. "What's going on? What's happened to everyone?" His father looked down at him with what Albus thought was pity, and he stepped away from the man, suddenly furious, snapping, "Don't look at me like that! And tell me what the hell is going on here!" His father regarded him mildly, and said, "Where were you tonight?" Rage welled up inside Albus and something snapped. He rushed forward, inexplicably furious, and pushed at his father's chest. With a dark laugh, he spat, "I was with my boyfriend, actually," and knowing that it would hurt his father insurmountably, added, "doing things you can't imagine." Harry continued to stare at him but didn't say a word, which made Albus so furious that he could scarcely stand it. "Are you ashamed of me, Dad?" he taunted, unsure why he was doing this, but somehow unable to stop. "Do you hate me now?" Harry put a hand on his shoulder, and disgusted, Albus recoiled from him. Clearing his throat, Harry said tonelessly, "Al, the Ministry'll be here any minute now, I" "What? Why?" Albus demanded. "It's Louis," said Harry, and for the first time he appeared to be close to breaking-point. "What are you talking about?" Albus said, feeling weak. "What about him?" And then it dawned on him. "You're having him arrested, aren't you?" Harry's were glassy, his lips pressed tightly together as though he was trying not to break down. He shook his head slowly, and choked, "No, but they have to come and take him away." Albus's mind was spinning. "What are you talking about? Why?" None of it made any sense. He shook his head in vain and looked up at his father. "Dad," he pleaded, suddenly helpless. "What's going on here? Where is he?" Harry leaned down then so that they were eye-level, and said, "I need for you to listen to me, alright? I need you to be strong right now, for everyone's sake." Albus tried very hard to concentrate on what his father said next. "Louis ... " Harry began, his voice trembling. "He had an accident, alright? He ... he had too much to drink, and..." Albus registered the words 'cliff' and 'fall', and without waiting for the rest, wrenched himself out of his father's grip and ran over to the edge of the cliff. The salty spray hit his face, his lips, and watching the waves churn below, he scanned the rocks for any sign of Louis.

Aunt Fleur's choked sobs stabbed through his mind and he turned to look at her, where she was hunched over some feet away. His insides turned to ice. It wasn't just his mother and Aunt Fleur, he realized with dread. She was leaning over something, something long and dark and Louis. He couldn't feel his legs as he ran, couldn't feel the sharp pain of impact as he fell to his knees on the hard earth beside Louis's body. The sky was growing lighter with each minute, and as if in slow motion, his eyes raked over the mess in front of him. What he saw made him heave. It was Louis ... only it didn't look like Louis. His skin was paler than Albus had ever seen it. One side of his head was concaved, as though the bones inside had been crushed with a giant boot, and his hair was wet and drenched with blood. He wasn't moving at all, and his lips were very blue. Shoving his mother out of the way, Albus grabbed Louis by the front of his robes and shouted, "LOUIS!" He shook his cousin's body with all the force he could muster and said, "Wake up! Come on, Louis, get up, please!" Aunt Fleur let out a strangled cry and fell against Ginny's chest. Albus ignored both of them and repeated, gentler this time, "Louis. Louis, come on. " He wiped bloodied hair out of Louis's pale face, and said, "Louis, come on, you have to get up now." Louis wouldn't move for him. Eyes streaming, Albus turned to look around himself. They were all watching him with pale, horrified expressions, and it made his blood boil. "DO SOMETHING!" he shouted at their stationary forms. "WHY ARE YOU JUST STANDING THERE? SOMEBODY, HELP HIM, PLEASE!" Nobody moved. Albus felt the tears run hotly over his cheeks, and hands still bunched in Louis's clothes, he shot each of them an equally pleading look. "Someone needs to take him to a hospital!" he screamed. "Please," he begged. "Someone, please!" He turned back to Louis and pressed his ear to his chest. It was silent, still, and very cold. He lifted his head and placed both of his hands on Louis's cold face. "Louis," he whispered, certain that his cousin could hear him. "Louis you need to wake up, okay? It's not funny anymore ... Louis? Louis?" Strong arms enveloped him, dragging him away from Louis's body. He kicked and screamed like he'd never done before. "GET OFF ME! LET ME GO!" The arms held him tightly around the chest like a straight-jacket, squeezing, refusing to let him go. Albus cried out and struggled with renewed vigor. "Let me go!" he screamed, sobbing uncontrollably. Why couldn't they see that Louis was hurt? Why wasn't anybody doing anything? All that had happened, it didn't matterLouis didn't deserve to be punished like this. "Help him!" he screamed. "Please! It was my fault, I started it, you don't understand! It wasn't him! Please, just help

him!" Albus felt a cool cheek press against his own, before a voice said, "He's gone, Al." It wasn't his father. It was James. The strong arms that bound him were his brothers, and it was James who wouldn't let him go. Albus thrashed and screamed against him but James only held him tighter. "We tried," James said, rubbing his upper-arm. "I promise you we tried. It was just too late. He was already gone." "NO!" Albus let out a sound he hadn't realized he was capable of making. "Shut up," he screamed, the world pulling in and out of focus. "You're lying! Shut up! All of you, just shut the fuck up!" "Dad!" James was crying, frantically calling out for their father. "Dad, please ... help me! You can't leave him like this, please, do something..." He heard his mother sob, her voice hoarse with crying. "Harry, he's right," she sobbed breathlessly. "Please, he can't deal with this; please ... don't make him deal with this!" "No!" Albus kicked and thrashed, screaming so loudly his throat was on fire. This couldn't be real, and Louis's blood was still wet on his hands; he was lying there, dying, and none of them were "STUPEFY!" A jet of bright red light cut through the early morning light, hitting Albus straight in his heart. His screams died in his throat, and the next thing he knew the world was mute and he was falling backwards, sinking into a darkness blacker than death. Epilogue 'I give the fight up: let there be an end, a privacy, an obscure nook for me. I want to be forgotten even by God.' - Robert Browning 3 weeks later "And what of supervision? I trust the students are kept a close eye upon?" The silver-haired wizard in periwinkle robes gave a large, hearty laugh, and held up both his hands. "Of course, Mr. Potter. Beauxbatons has an excellent record when it comes to student safety, and we will, of course, do everything possible to ensure your son's whereabouts are accounted for at all times." Harry nodded, solemn, and squeezed his wife's limp hand. "Thank you for all your help; we'll see ourselves out." The Headmaster leaped out of his seat, a winning smile on his face, and held his hand out to both of them. "Thank you, Mr. Potter," he said with a bow of his head. "I look forward to seeing you all at the start of term."

~o~ "Al?" James pushed open the door to his brother's room, balancing a dinner tray on his palms. "Al? I brought you some dinner." Albus lay sprawled out on his bed, face down, still wearing his pajamas. He looked like he hadn't moved for days, and he probably hadn't, James reminded himself. He set the tray down on the bedside table and sat down on the edge of the mattress, the springs creaking under his weight. He put a hand on his brother's shoulder and tried to rub soothing circles. "Can I get you anything?" Albus didn't move, only laid there limp as a corpse. James noticed he was clutching a dirty, crumpled photograph in his hand, and he averted his eyes. He didn't want to know what it was. He swallowed the lump in his throat and inched closer. "Who gave you that ring?" he asked conversationally, smoothing Albus's hair back. "I've never seen it before; is it Dad's?" Albus didn't answer him. James sighed and said, "Listen, there's a letter for you downstairs. It's from the Malfoy kid." He felt the muscles in his brother's shoulder tense. "Do you want me to get it for you? I could read it to you, if you like." "No." Albus's voice was thin and barely audible, muffled by the mattress. "I don't ... want ... to know about it." James nodded and withdrew his hand. "Okay. I understand. Can I" "Just leave." James floundered for a few moments before he stood, helpless, and made for the door. He shut it gently behind him and slowly made his way down the hallway. Everywhere he went someone was sobbing. It had been this way for weeks now. He'd tried in vain to force himself to be the strong one, promising himself each day as he got out of bed that he wouldn't cry; but every night it was the same. When he was in his room alone, the door shut and the curtains drawn, he sobbed harder than anyone. He'd loved Louis as much as any of them, had counted on and looked up to him. And now this. He felt dirty and betrayed, and angry that this had poisoned his family to its very core. James threw open his bedroom door, and slamming it shut behind him, collapsed on his bed, his head in his hands. Everything was going to change now, he knew it. His brother was never going to be the person he'd once known; Louis was gone forever and he'd never even had the chance to say goodbye; and his parents ... they had been stripped of any happiness they'd ever known. James wondered whether, after everything about Al and Louis had come to light, he'd ever even get to see his extended family again. Aunt Fleur was a mess: she'd stopped eating and hadn't slept in weeks, and after the funeral she'd collapsed with exhaustion. James wondered whether she hated them now, whether in some way at least, she even blamed Al for this.

He sighed and stared up at the ceiling. The Potters. His family were no longer the darlings of the wizarding world, he realized. No longer the picture perfect family. Although the details of the scandal had mercifully been kept out of the tabloids, he knew as they all did that something momentous had happened, something that would change each and every one of them forever. He'd always been relatively apathetic about the problems of others, because they had never touched his perfect world. But all that was about to change. He was going back to school ... without his little brother. He was a different person after this, and he didn't know how he was ever going to fit in the way he had before. He was no longer Perfect James, Popular James, Smart-Ass James; Quidditch hero with the perfect family. The problem was, if he wasn't any of those things, he didn't know who he was anymore. ~o~ The Great Hall was buzzing with laughter and excited chatter. Scorpius sat at the end of the Slytherin table, just like he'd done the day he met Albus Potter, and watched the enchanted ceiling swirl darkly overhead. "Malfoy?" He lifted his head. Rose Weasley was standing before him, her frizzy red hair wet and tangled all about her face. He gave her a searching look and she sat down, uninvited, beside him. Taking a deep breath, she bit her lip and said, "Can I talk to you?" He turned his gaze back to the ceiling, his hands twisted beneath the table. He swallowed hard and tried to force himself to speak, to say something, but no matter how hard he tried the words wouldn't come. "It'll only take a minute." He nodded slightly, the best he could give to her. Part of him knew what was coming, even if he wasn't sure how, and he didn't know if he could bear to hear it. "It's my cousin," the girl began, her tone careful. "I-I know you two were friends and ... and James, he ... he asked me to tell you." Scorpius cleared his throat, which itched with disuse, and forced out, "Tell me what?" The girl paused. When she spoke again her voice was gentle, pitying. "He's not coming back," she said. "After m-my cousin died, th-they want to send him away from here; somewhere he can get better." Scorpius was silent a long while. Surprisingly, he was so numb to it that this news barely hurt him. With a cold laugh, he said, "What, he couldn't tell me himself?" He knew that this was somewhat selfish, even cruel, in light of what Potter had been through; but knowing how much pain he was in somehow made it all the worse. Potter had once told him that Scorpius was all he had. Why then could he not turn to him, at the time

he needed it most? The girl put a hand on Scorpius's shoulder. She obviously meant the gesture to be comforting, and so he chose not to shrug it away. She was trying to break this to him as gently as she could, and he wasn't sure he deserved her kindness. "He's not doing so well," she told him. "He ... he hasn't spoken to any of us in so long. I don't know what happened to him, but it's like someone just took him and ... and left his body there." Scorpius closed his eyes and nodded. "I know what you mean," he said. "He needs help," the girl went on. "He needs to be away from here ... Right now it's the best thing for him." "Where are they sending him?" Scorpius asked distantly, his eyes fixed on the swirling clouds above. "Beauxbatons. It's a school of magic in Fr" "I know where it is." The girl was silent for a moment. "Of course. I'm sorry." Scorpius didn't speak another word. There was nothing left to say. After a while the girl got up and made to walk away, but not before she paused and said, "Malfoy?" Scorpius looked to her reluctantly. She swallowed and shifted nervously, before saying, "Do you want me to pass on a message for you?" Scorpius cleared his throat and shook his head. "No," he said finally. "I've said everything I need to say to him." He'd written Potter so many letters over the past couple of weeks that they could probably fill a novel. The other boy had responded to none of them, and so eventually Scorpius had given up on trying. The girl left him then, and Scorpius rested his chin in his palm, praying that the numbness he felt would last forever. He never wanted to feel any of this, and resolved then that he would shake every last ounce of silly sentimentality from himself if it was the last thing he did. He was never going to put himself out on the line like this again; because if he did, he was sure he'd never survive it. He drew in a deep breath, closing his eyes, and tried to wipe every last thought of Albus Potter from his mind. He was gone, Scorpius reminded himself, and he was never coming back. He opened his eyes then and looked around himself. The irony that he would finish the year much the same way as he'd started italone, and without Albuswas not lost on him, and he thought then that what his father had taught him, through his actions, and without need for words, all of his life was true: Love and affection were weaknesses, and caused more pain and damage than if you'd never had them at all. Scorpius looked down at his hand, where his family's ring was noticeably absent, and clenched his fist. He would never, he decided, fall in love

again, for as long as he lived. ~Finis~

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