Chapter Text
Albus sat at the table, head bent low over Quidditch diagrams, game statistics surrounding him, sketching out a loose plan for the practices leading up to the first match of the season.
Scorpius watched his friend with a fond smile gracing his thin lips, holding a book to his chest. Albus was so worried, always, that people would judge him against his father, or his brother, or his grandfather even, and yet here he was absorbed completely in this game that could rule his life if he let it.
“I’ll be done in a minute, Scorp.” Albus said, running a tan hand through his unruly dark hair, still focussing on the pages in front of him. “I just need to figure out this move that Finch-Fletchley wants to do. Damn chasers wanting to break their necks trying to imitate seekers every bloody minute.” Scorpius leaned over the pages, trying to discern which move Albus was fretting over. He waved his wand over the diagrams, causing them to come to life on the page. After watching the marks run out the play several times, Scorpius could see Albus’ difficulty.
“Why don’t you have Zabini shift lower before Finch-Fletchley heads left?” He suggested, and watched as Albus’ eyes widened in excitement.
“That’s it! You’re a genius, Scorp! Merlin knows why you never play, you’re the best strategist I know.” Albus raved while correcting the marks on the parchment. Scorpius rolled his eyes.
“We both know that I hate flying, and that I fully put my strategy to use when I kick your arse at chess. Pack up, come on, I have things to do and people to meet.” He ignored Albus’ protests as he flicked his wrist and sent Albus’ papers stacking and flying into his bag. Scorpius grabbed his friend’s wrist and hauled him out of the library.
Albus had a hard time whenever Scorpius ordered him about. Not because he didn’t like it, but because he thought he might like it too much. The way he carelessly threw out wordless spells that helped Albus keep his life in order, while gracefully dictating their duties for the day. That was one of the reasons, Albus surmised, why Scorpius made a brilliant prefect. His friend was so deliberately careful about every aspect of his life, and that he was a part of that made Albus glow a little bit inside. Albus loved when they would get back to their dormitory and Scorpius would place his things away, flick his wand to send Albus’ things where he liked them, and throw himself down onto his bed, finally becoming rumpled. Albus always suppressed a sigh at this, almost feeling the tension drain out of his body as he watched Scorpius relax. After fifth year, he had to stop throwing himself next to his friend, because all he wanted to do was curl into him and he was certain that would not be allowed.
Scorpius had a hard time when Albus was talking. The other boy’s eyes would become green fire, like the Floo, and his hands would go wild. His hair, already a mess, somehow became wilder, and it was times like this when he would look so open, Scorpius felt his breath taken away. It was times like this when Albus would allow for touching, when Albus touched him instead of Scorpius initiating contact, and it was glorious and burning, and he wanted to pull Albus into a kiss that would never end.
Scorpius noticed something in his fifth year, about his best friend. He noticed that no one ever really acknowledged that Albus was brilliant, and that bothered him. Sure, they said he was great on a broom, great form, just like his mother, he was an excellent chaser. But no one ever acknowledged that he was great in Potions, was excellent in Transfiguration, and decent at Charms. Scorpius was just as good, but then he got the recognition he felt he deserved, which was from his father and from Albus, and even his teachers would congratulate him (now that they weren’t certain he was the spawn of Voldemort). Albus was different from his father though, he wasn’t good at Defense, not at all in fact, ever since their experiences in fourth year, he had almost given up on the subject, and people always seemed to pick at that. And Scorpius hated it. He hated to see Albus downcast, with his eyes on the floor and his forehead scrunched up. He hated that Albus’ shoulders drew in at these comments, and all he wanted to do was hex whoever said those things. So he put on his imperialistic airs, waved his wand to pick up their things, and pulled Albus along with him. And when they were alone and no one could see if Albus started to break down, he would wrap his arms around his friend just to make sure Albus knew he was there for him.
Albus hated it when people picked on Scorpius. Not because it ever seemed to effect him in public, but because he would see his friend stiffen, his shoulders sliding back and his chin tilting up, and he became the perfect heir that Albus’ dad used to say Mr. Malfoy had been. Albus knew Scorpius hadn’t even been raised to act like that, so it would hurt even more. And Albus would take on the role of protector that Scorpius fit into so easily, and he hexed the offender with his own rendition of a time-delay, and pulled Scorpius away to comfort him. He couldn’t comfort him in the same way Scorpius did Albus, however. Because Albus was so obvious about needing comfort, and it took a long time to convince Scorpius that he did too. So he would joke, and laugh, and try to touch Scorpius, but after a while the touching hurt his heart too much, so he would transfigure their school things into other things and wait for Scorpius to shed his shell. And when he did, Albus’ heart would break because Scorpius wouldn’t even cry; he would rave, and yell and scream until he was hoarse and his eyes were rimmed with red, and only then would Albus allow himself to pull his best friend into a hug.
Albus noticed something about Scorpius in their sixth year. He noticed that although Scorpius talked a big game about girls, and especially about Rose, he never really followed through. This epiphany happened shortly after Albus found himself checking out the arses of the other boys his age, and appreciating the players in his Quidditch magazines not for their talent, but for the way their uniform trousers and jerseys fit. Albus wondered if his friend was like him.
Scorpius caught Albus looking at him one day, and wondered if Albus knew. He wasn’t exactly secretive with his glances at the other boys their age. He wasn’t even secretive with his glances at Albus. Scorpius wouldn’t be surprised if his silencing charms had failed one night and Albus had heard his breathy gasps of his name. Scorpius didn’t do that often, but he came harder and faster if he imagined Albus was doing those things to him. Scorpius was terrified to say anything because if Albus found out and wasn’t pleased, and decided he didn’t want to be his friend anymore, Scorpius didn’t know what he would do. So he stopped touching Albus as much, and wondered if he knew.