house_illrepute

drgaellon

“I would totally shag your father.” The sentence spilt from Albus’ lips like wine pouring from a chalice. Scorpius sputtered; his hand slipped from the parchment where he had been trying—for hours—to capture the ‘mischievous curvature’ of Albus’ profile.

“You what?” Scorpius said.

“Your father,” Albus replied, staring out into the Great Lake. “I would.”

“You most certainly would not! That’s… that’s foul!” Scorpius practically hissed his condemnation, furtively looking around to make sure no one was within earshot.

This had become their standard escape: skive off studying for OWLs and sit along the rocks lining the Great Lake. They’d talk about Quidditch or magical theory or even the latest celebrity gossip—wizard or otherwise. Lately, Scorpius had taken to drawing Albus on these excursions—often badly so—and Albus took a liking to the attention, though he was embarrassed to admit such things.

“I’m just saying—”

“He’s … my father,” Scorpius said, as if that should be enough to put an end to Albus’ nonsense. “And he’s a he to boot.”

Albus turned his head to face Scorpius. “Oh, don’t tell me you’re that way.”

Scorpius jerked a finger towards the lake. “Stop moving! Merlin, if you’re not the worst model ever.”

Albus rolled his eyes, but acquiesced and assumed his original position: facing the lake with his arms wrapped around his knees, pulling them close to his chest. “Besides… he’s a fit ‘he’, at any rate.”

“I’m not hearing this,” Scorpius said in a sing-song voice as he stared at his friend’s profile, only occasionally looking down at the hand that continued to sketch. Most of the palm of his drawing hand was covered in charcoal; it smeared the drawing as it slid over the parchment.

“Well, you can hear this: You father is well fit and I’d give him one! Phwoar, but I would!”

“What makes you think he’d even have you?”

Albus chuckled under his breath. “Oh, he’d have me.”

Albus made sure his voice had room only for utter certainty and little else. He knew it would be distracting. Scorpius’ hand stopped its long, fluid movements and he stared blankly up at Albus. The sudden stillness did not go unnoticed; Albus gave the blonde a quick, sidelong glance.

“I’m just saying, is all.”

“No, what are you saying?” There was a sharpness about the tone in Scorpius’ voice—his timbre was nearing shrill. “That my father’s a pouf?”

“Don’t say that. It’s a horrible word. Unbefitting a Malfoy.”

Scorpius resumed sketching, looking up less frequently than before, and Albus grew worrisome at the direction the conversation was taking. Even without the luxury of facing his friend, Albus could tell he was pouting. “I can’t believe you—of all people—would be so Victorian about—”

“I can’t believe you would be so gauche—”

“I’m not being gauche, you­—”

“No, you’re being a fucking prick, you are—deliberately trying to wind me up.”

Albus turned to face Scorpius again. “I’m not trying to wind you—”

“Stop! Moving!”

With a huff, Albus turned back toward the lake with as much derision as he could muster, slipping back into his pose. “You’re impossible.”

Silence fell upon them. Only the breeze over the lake and the scratching of charcoal against parchment could be heard. Finally, Albus broke the silence: “You know, we Potters—and Weasleys—are a tad more… worldly about such matters, I suspect.”

Scorpius feigned disinterest. “Oh, really.”

“Well, you know,” Albus sighed, “considering Uncle George and all…”

Albus smiled inwardly and let that last sentence hang about the air like a pall falling over a corpse.

Scorpius tried to swallow as quietly as he could, but he found himself salivating far too much, especially to have such a suddenly-too-dry throat. “U-uncle… George, you say?”

“Oh, yes. You know… he had a twin, right?” Albus looked over his shoulder—Scorpius was staring at a point somewhere over Albus’ head. “Identical twin, at that. Father told me that even Gram could hardly tell them apart.”

“I… identical, they were?”

“Quite.”

“Two ears each, they had?”

Albus faced the lake again, knowing his trap had been sprung. “Oh, yes, this was before the unfortunate ear incident.”

“And—” Scorpius gulped. “What makes you think…er… why do you say the Weasleys would be more… worldly about such matters?”

Albus took this sudden interest as permission to turn to face his inquisitor. Even though they were alone by the lake, he leaned closer to Scorpius, who mirrored the act. “Well… I have it on good authority that the two—” he winked. “You know…?”

It took a moment, but soon Scorpius’ face turned a violent pink and his eyes widened to near-comical proportions. “You’re having me on!”

“I find nothing funny about the pursuit of earthly, wanton pleasures, my friend.” Albus leaned back, propping himself on his elbows. He stretched his legs, which brushed against Scorpius’ knee, still bent cross-legged.

“Your uncle’s a fair catch,” Scorpius admitted, somewhat dreamily. “Well… at least from his good side.”

“Imagine two of them...”

It was the first time Albus heard Scorpius speak about a bloke like that. He had suspicions, of course, but thought it more wishful thinking.

Scorpius’ eyes lit with excitement. “With two good sides…”

“And our fathers may be happily married gentlemen now,” Albus continued, “but I have it on good authority that they may have been more… friendly during their Hogwarts days than they’ve led us to believe.”

“Okay, now you are having a laugh. They hated each other.”

“Yes, yes, yes – they fought and jinxed and hexed and heckled each other… I’ve heard it all before. But Tim told me—”

Scorpius quirked an eyebrow. “Tim?”

“McAllister…”

“The American exchange student?”

“Yes… he told me that in America, boys would sometimes pull on girls’ bunches to be mean… but really they were madly in love with them.”

“But… Tim’s American,” Scorpius said, as if that explained everything. “A–mer–i–can.”

“So…?”

“Americans do stupid things…”

“Boys do stupid things…”

“We’re boys…”

Albus sat up and brushed the dirt from his hands. “Exactly.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It makes perfect sense.”

“To a complete sod,” Scorpius barked. “Or an American.”

Albus rolled his eyes and sighed. “They were completely gagging for it, couldn’t admit it, and instead chose to fight each other at every turn because then—at the very least—while they were rolling about on the floor, at least they were touching each other.”

“That’s… stupid.”

Albus blew the fringe from his eyes. “I know, poor sods… probably couldn’t even get on for a knee trembler in a dark corridor.”

“But… it makes sense, I reckon,” Scorpius said, after a beat. “I mean, Mrs. Zabini told me that Father would always find a reason to chastise your dad.”

“Exactly,” Albus said with a nod. “Same with my father. I bet they couldn’t stand not to be at the centre of the other’s attention… so the insults flew.”

“Wow…”

They sat, hushed. Albus could tell Scorpius was absorbing all this new information. Finally, Scorpius broke the silence, clearing his throat. “That’s really sad.”

“How do you mean?”

“That two people would rather fight than… than stand up and admit their feelings for each other. Imagine how their lives would have been different—how much more joy they might have had—if they just allowed themselves to… to…” Scorpius choked on his words.

Albus finished the sentence. “Be together…?”

“Yeah… I mean, even if it wasn’t forever… I mean, I love your father to death, but I don’t fancy him my mother, no offence.”

“None taken.”

“But, even if it was just a month of happiness… or a year … or two years… that’d … that…”

“Would be worth it?” Albus’ voice was soft now, gentle.

Scorpius realised that his posture had relaxed and Albus’ now-bare feet were on either side of his thighs, lightly rubbing along their length. He swallowed and resumed drawing. Albus leaned back against his elbows again, but didn’t take his gaze off the blonde.

“We should be getting back soon,” Albus said. “Double Transfigurations in ten minutes.”

Scorpius nodded, but didn’t move—neither of them did. Instead, he took a moment to enjoy the calming touch of his best mate and the slow realisation that ‘best mate’ would be woefully inadequate term to describe their relationship after today.

After a moment, Scorpius stopped drawing. “I don’t want that to happen to us.”

Albus smiled. “Nor I…”

“You still want to shag my father, then?”

A pause.

A breath.

“Nah… I suspect I’m rather fond of his son, actually.”