written for c/p's shipping week. prompt: summer. i may be a little late, and this really has nothing to do with summer but oh well. all rights to the characters and hp universe to jk rowling, i dont own them.
(august/september 2023)
Al is the tidiest person in the Potter household. James leaves stuff everywhere, Mrs. Potter and Lily are relatively clean, and Mr. Potter seems to have an organized chaos kind of mess. Al, though, Al keeps his all things under wraps. Locked away in cupboards, tucked into drawers, hidden in containers. Scorpius doesn't mind. It's easier to have him as a dormmate, it's nice.
It's just a surprise when Al leaves his house, an English countryside manor the Malfoys returned to when Scorpius was born, and Scorpius finds his sweater, draped innocuously over the back of his leather desk chair.
Al doesn't pick up his end of the two-sided mirror, so Scorpius writes to him. You forgot your sweater, he says, sending off his owl by the end of the day. Floo-ing seems extreme for this kind of situation.
He gets a response back, keep it, like Scorpius hadn't been wearing his sweater around daily for the past week.
He shows up to catch the Hogwarts Express in it after the end of summer. Seventh year begins with rumours on how Albus Potter and Scorpius Malfoy are either dating or fucking.
Rose Weasley corners him in the library, scowls at him. "Don't hurt him," she says, fierce, like she isn't his friend too. It's okay though. He, of all people, understands family over everything.
Scorpius looks at her calmly. "I'm full of broken hearts," he tells her, putting all the pretentiousness and indifference into it as possible. He pretends that all those broken hearts aren't just pieces of his own.
Later, Al laughs at him. "I'm full of broken hearts," he echoes, snorting. "Somebody did well in English."
"I went to a proper posh school," Scorpius says. Primly, lightly, like he isn't holding back laughter. "This is just me." It's raining outside, so he's wearing the sweater today. It's thick and soft, a sapphire blue that looked great on Al, brought out his eyes. It looks good on Scorpius too. It compliments his fair skin, and hangs off his frame because while their shoulders are equally as broad, Al is thicker, more muscular.
Al shakes his head at him. "Oh my God," he says, smiling. Scorpius smiles back, a little helpless, and curls further into the sweater.
(july 2024)
The summer after they've graduated Hogwarts, they go on a tour around Europe. It's less of a tour, really, and more of them exploring their favourite cities with each other.
It's Scorpius' turn first, and he takes Al to Paris. They stay at the Malfoy estate there, visit his grandmother. Al notices the way Scorpius shies away from the numerous peacocks wandering around the grounds, and teases him about it at least every two hours.
"They're terrifying," Scorpius sniffs, only half-playfully. "They pecked me almost to death as a kid!"
Al smirks, "Too bad they didn't succeed," and is promptly shoved into a wall.
He's been to Paris before, but not with Scorpius. The blond avoids the tourist traps in Muggle Paris and takes him through the magic side. He drags Al through markets, cafes, and museums. They drink coffee and eat pastries, picnic out in a beautiful park with arches of flowers and bushes hosting colonies of tiny pixies. Al brings his Polaroid, his film camera; ignores Scorpius calling him a hipster.
"Like you're any better," Al says, taking a picture of his latte. "You're pretentious. You have peacoats in seven different colours."
Scorpius also teaches Al how to bake, something the former had learned as a child from spending too much time with the House Elves in the kitchen. They make citron au tarte and macaroons. Narcissa Malfoy willingly invests some of both, and pronounces them delicious. Al can't tell if she's lying for the sake of her grandson's heart, but he also agrees with her alleged opinion. He and Scorpius take a long walk by the Seine after their meal, settle on a bench, and talk until the sun dips below the horizon. They're in Paris for ten days.
Next is Al's choice. He takes Scorpius to Budapest. They use Airbnb and find a gorgeous apartment that Scorpius says is incredibly hispter. It's all exposed brick, big windows. They fill a bag with fresh fruit for breakfast. Al knows a little Hungarian, enough to get by, and teaches Scorpius slowly. It's a two-bedroom apartment, but Scorpius stays over the first night and never leaves. It's kind of incredibly domestic. Al steals his t-shirts, stretches out the chest and waist. He also may steal some sweatpant. It's not like Scorpius doesn't have Al's Slytherin Chaser letterman robe.
Scorpius has never been to Budapest, so they don't just stay in the apartment all day. They hit up every landmark available. They walk the Buda Castle, take a dip in the Szechenyi thermal bath. The third day they delve into the Szabo Ervin Library, and go to visit the Garden of Philosophy. They buy Lángos, and eat them while walking.
"Sometimes," Scorpius says, a little fragile, "I think my father is ashamed of me." He takes a morose bite of his food. It's kind of really sad.
Al looks at him, sighs inside. "He isn't," he tells him. He can recall Mr. Malfoy's face clearly the day of their Hogwarts graduation, Scorpius' seventeenth birthday, right before they left for their Portkey to Paris. He had looked so proud, so scared. Full of unconditional paternal love. Fatherhood, his own dad would say, is terrifying. I love you all. I just - I didn't have a good father figure when I was really young. "I think, he's scared of fucking up."
"I know he is," says Scorpius. "Maybe I'm just a fuck-up of a son though. Naturally." Al stares at him for a moment, then reaches over and pinches the underside of his arm as hard as he can. "Ouch, what the fuck?" winces Scorpius, inching away from his best friend.
Al scowls at him. "Don't be a prick," he says. Scorpius raises an eyebrow, a wry expression on his face. "You are not a fuck-up, okay? You will never be a fuck-up. Somebody who cares about his parents, his loved ones, like you do - they can't be a fuck-up. You little shit."
"I'm not the little shit here," Scorpius points out. He charitably does not continue that line of thought, but moves to walk right beside Al again, shoulders brushing.
Their visit to Budapest lasts a little longer - they stay for twelve days. Then, they leave for Berlin.
(august 2024)
Their return to London is uneventful until they try to sleep that night. Scorpius denies it to hell and back that he sleeps in Al's sweater the first night, because he misses him beside him. Al stubbornly struggles, then ends up getting unfitful sleep for two days, then staying up for four.
"Why," Lily asks, exasperated during breakfast as Al downs his third cup of coffee. "You look like shit."
"Part of my charm, I'm going full Jughead Jones," Al informs her, and then walks away before he blacks out at the table. In truth, he misses Scorpius. It's hard to sleep without him. Also, James and his new boyfriend are not subtle with their night sex since their parents are away right now.
It takes another week of unrest for Al to cave. He appears at the Malfoy countryhome at eleven-thirty at night. "Hi Mrs. Malfoy," he says, tired. He's a little dead on his feet. There's a bag slung over his shoulder. "Bye Mrs. Malfoy." He waves as he heads up to Scorpius' room. Mrs. Malfoy calls out a goodnight, sounding incredibly amused.
Scorpius is lying in bed already when Al opens the door. He looks up in surprise, eyebrows lifting almost to his hairline at the sight of his best friend with dangeorusly dark undereye circles, swaying on his feet. "Albus Fucking Potter," he begins. Then stops, because Al is climbing into bed with him, still fully-dressed in jeans and a Holyhead Harpies shirt. Worry creases Scorpius' face, but he doesn't try to speak again. He's also kind of hoping Al doesn't notice that he's wearing Al's sweater from last summer, and not much else.
Luckily, Al appears too tired to notice. He drapes an arm over Scorpius' lap, and presses his face into the blanket close to his hip. "I missed you," he says, voice rough, in the middle of falling asleep.
"You're so extra," Scorpius says, soft, to his sleeping friend. "I missed you too, Potter."
(june 2025)
I love you. The words look so innocent, so sweet. They sit, written in Scorpius' perfect, stupid loopy script, on the paper that came with a bouquet of flowers. A dozen sunflowers - for your cheerful personality, Scorpius had written, dry wit smearing the words. This was after the chocolate cake, the painting of the view outside their Budapest rental, and the Slytherin green knit blanket that Al knew Scorpius had all done himself. But these were only a few of the whole slew of presents that had been coming in to the Potter house, one for each week after his birthday. Al didn't know how much more he could take. It was all he could do to keep the notes away from James's prying eyes.
I love you, he thinks, stuffing the note in his pocket, and Floos back to the apartment. It may be five-fortyfive in the morning, but Scorpius is up already. I rise with the sun, he likes to say, all peach-soft and sleep-gentle. The early morning sunlight makes him even prettier than he usually is.
"You look like a vampire," Al tells him, leaning against the kitchen doorway. Scorpius looks up from where he's making tea, raises an eyebrow in response. "All pale. Like a blond Edward Cullen or some shit." He grins.
Scorpius rolls his eyes. "Know a lot about Twilight, don't you?" he says, all posh, and smiles back.
Al walks further into the kitchen, crowds right up against Scorpius. Is it strange that this normal? he wonders, then dismisses the thought as too late. "Hey," he says. Nonchalent, pretending to be careless. "Lily went through a phase."
"You lie," Scorpius accuses, leaning back into the cage of Al's arms. "Lily's phase was the DC Universe. She and James fought three times a day about MCU versus DCU." He twists a little to smile down at Al. It never fails to amuse him, and irk Al, that Albus is a whole two inches shorter than Scorpius. "It's okay, I won't tell anybody about your vampire phase. Except maybe Maria. I'm sure she'd love to talk Vampire Diaries with you."
"Shut your fuck," Al say. He squeezes Scorpius just this side of too tight, reprimending. "You're scared of peacocks."
"They traumatised me as a child!" Scorpius turns in Al's arms, abandoning the kettle, to look woefully at Al. Al, in return, leans up and kisses him. There's a brief moment of pause where Al is uncertain, Scorpius is uncertain, before the blond kisses him back.
I love you, Al thinks, hands sliding around Scorpius' slim waist, tangling in his soft hair, just a little. Or a lot.