This is a combined birthday and Christmas present for Naomi, because I couldn't keep it short. So I'm going to update this story twice a week until Christmas. I've no idea where it's going yet though, so cross your fingers.
Beta: The amazing Whimsical Catastrophe.
On the corner of Main Street
Just try'na keep it in line
The Killers – Read My Mind
Snow falls from the dark clouds above, coating streets and people in a cold powder. It soon melts, dampening coats and soaking through the clothes of those brave enough to stay outside for too long, and makes all who need to leave the warmth of their homes uncomfortable, if only until they can cast a drying spell.
The inconvenience of the snow is barely even noticed by the students of Hogwarts as they stroll leisurely between Honeydukes and Zonko's; it's a Hogsmeade weekend, and not even a blizzard would keep them shut inside the school and away from the temptations of the wizarding shops. Children push and shove each other in the streets; even older students are not above using their superior height and authority to push through throngs of students clogging up the streets rather wasting the precious few seconds it would take to walk around the large congregations. Another second not spent in warm premises such as the Three Broomsticks is another second in which they are vulnerable to extreme frostbite.
Albus smirks as two enthusiastic third-years dash past him, seeking the shelter of an apothecary shop. His own pace, unlike so many of the students and shoppers around him, is unhurried; he likes the cold. It makes him delightfully numb, a sensation which he thoroughly enjoys for reasons he can't really explain.
Strangely enough, he isn't the only one spending an excess amount of time in the winter weather today. Albus observes a lone figure, standing where the main street branches off into a residential road, shivering and kicking the snow in front of his feet in an idle, if somewhat sulky, manner.
He approaches the boy. "Scorpius?" Albus asks, curious. He's never had much to do with the Ravenclaw boy – their paths had just never crossed. He wonders what on earth the blond is doing out here, standing around in these freezing temperatures on his own.
Scorpius jumps at the sound of his name, startled. "Oh," he says. "Potter. Hi." His voice is flat, unenthusiastic. Albus frowns; he has no reason to expect Scorpius to greet him enthusiastically, but he's starting to get the distinct impression that something's off.
"Are you waiting for someone?" he asks, shoving his hands deeper in his pockets as an icy wind blows through the streets.
"Something like that," Scorpius replies with a shrug.
The ambiguous response doesn't sooth Albus's concern or his curiosity, but he thinks that it would be rude to pursue the matter. "How long will they be?" he asks.
Scorpius just shrugs again.
"Because I thought," Albus continue, not put off by the lack of response, "that if they're going to be a while you could come and have a drink with me in the Three Broomsticks?"
He doesn't know why he's pressing Scorpius so. Maybe it's because he makes such a pitiful figure standing out here alone. Maybe it's because that nagging feeling that something isn't right is refusing to leave him alone. Maybe it's just because he's nosey, and if there's something wrong then he wants to know about it.
Scorpius hesitates. "Go on," Albus says encouragingly. "It's only across the street. If you want we can sit by the window; that way, when your friend arrives, we'll be able to see them."
"Alright then," Scorpius surrenders resignedly. His eyes dart nervously to the door of the Three Broomsticks before his expression seals itself off again. Albus leads the way, checking to make sure Scorpius is following, and together they step out into the slush coating the main street.
The bell above the door rings merrily as Albus and Scorpius walk through the doorway and the warmth hits them like a Bludger as soon as they take their first step inside the pub. The noise is almost deafening; it seems as though everyone's decided to come here to escape the cold. Albus leads them up to the bar and orders them two Butterbeers. Scorpius goes to pull out some money, but Albus touches his wrist lightly to stop him. "It was my idea," he tells him, and pays for both of their drinks before Scorpius can even open his mouth to argue.
"Look, there's even a free seat by the window," Albus says with a pleased grin, as though this was a personal accomplishment of his rather than just a matter of chance. He points to a table next to some rowdy seventh-years who Albus knows by name and face only, even though they're in half of his classes.
Scorpius shifts nervously once more. "It's okay," he says. "It seems noisy there. Let's sit somewhere else."
Albus frowns. "But you won't be able to see whoever you're waiting for," he says. "And I doubt it's going to be that much quieter anywhere else in this pub."
"They're probably not coming," Scorpius says. "Let's sit over there." He points to an empty table in a much quieter corner.
"Alright," Albus relents. "Although it's going to be noisy there too. It's always noisy in the Three Broomsticks."
"Usually I go to the Hog's Head," he says. "It's much more peaceful there."
"But a lot creepier," Albus says. "And my brother swore he caught a disease after drinking a Frewhiskey there. It wouldn't surprise me if he was right; I've seen the state of their glasses."
Scorpius's mouth twitches, the first hint of a smile Albus has seen on his face all day. Maybe ever; he can't remember paying the quiet blond boy much mind prior to five minutes ago.
The conversation smoothly turns to Butterbeer after that, then to Quidditch, then to their dotty Transfiguration teacher. "If it was any other subject," Albus complains, "then I wouldn't mind so much because I could just learn it from books. But Transfiguration is really hard as it is, even if you've got a decent teacher. With Professor Falacrine it's going to be impossible to get a good mark." He pauses and looks around. "Hold on, where's everyone gone?" He'd been so absorbed in their conversation that he hadn't noticed the minutes tick away and the students trickle back out into the cold. Now the pub was almost empty with only a few groups of patrons dotted around.
Scorpius hides a smile in his Butterbeer at his new friend's genuine surprise. Albus sees it, though, and grins back, pleased with his accomplishment. Scorpius looks totally different when he smiles; it transforms his face so much he could almost be mistaken for a different person. "They've gone back to the school, I imagine," he tells Albus. "It's past four."
"No way!" Albus exclaims. He checks his watch and sees that Scorpius is right. "Okay, so maybe it is. I suppose we'd best be heading back."
That nervous expression flicks across Scorpius's face again, but disappears just as quickly as it had before. "I guess so," he agrees, and the pair rise. As they make their way past the bar towards the exit, Albus cheekily tips an imaginary hat to Hannah Longbottom, the pretty barkeep and one of his parent's closest friends. She's also married to their Herbology teacher, and the faces of most of the students are familiar to her. She waves back at the pair with a smile.
They reach the door before anything dramatic happens. The raucous group of boys Scorpius hadn't wanted to sit near earlier were still sitting by the window right next to the door. Albus makes his way past them without event, but as he pauses to pull open the door he is jarred as Scorpius stumbles into his back.
"Watch out, faggot," says one of the boys sitting with the group. Albus glances back at him, brows furrowed. It doesn't take great observational skill to notice that his leg is sticking out from the table, right into the path Scorpius was walking.
Albus turns around fully as Scorpius straightens up and mutters an apology. The boy is beet-red and refuses to meet the eyes of either Albus or the group of boys. Albus lets the door handle slide from his grasp, and the partially opened door makes a jangling noise as it swings shut behind him. Albus takes a small but obvious step towards the smirking boy. Towering over the seated figure, he looks him right in the eye and says, "Apologise."
The smile on the other boy's face fades only slightly as he looks up at Albus confidently. "I ain't apologising," he says. "Make the faggot apologise. He's the one who shoved you."
Albus ignores the word faggot, though it makes him want to punch the other boy in the face. "Not to me," he says. "To him." He jerks his head in Scorpius's direction. "You tripped him. Now apologise."
"Albus," Scorpius mutters (because somehow over the last hour or so he'd become 'Albus' instead of 'Potter'). "It doesn't matter. Just leave it."
"No, I won't just leave it," Albus says, not taking his eyes off the sitting boy, whose grin is no longer visible. His eyes glitter dangerously as he steps forwards once more. He's now standing so close to him that their legs are almost touching. "Apologise," he says again.
"I'm not apologising to a faggot like him," the boy hisses.
Before anyone can blink, the boy is dangling upside down by his ankle, and Albus's wand is in his hand and pointed straight between his eyes. "I won't say it again," Albus murmurs, his voice dangerously low.
"What you gonna do?" the boy hisses, his face rapidly turning red as his blood rushes to the lowest point of his body. "You gonna hex me, here where you're outnumbered and with all these people watching? The faggot ain't gonna help you."
Albus is keenly aware that all eyes in the pub are on him. Most hands are reaching for the wands and from the corner of his eye he can see that Hannah has stepped out from behind the bar, her wand in hand, waiting to intervene if the situation went any further.
"Hexing you would be too kind," Albus says calmly. "Your name is Mulciber, right? Slytherin house. On the Quidditch team. If I remember rightly, you're not a bad chaser." A plan was rapidly forming in his mind.
"What's that got to do with anything?" Mulciber asks. "Gonna give me a detention 'coz you're a prefect?"
"I can do that," Albus says, enjoying the colour that Mulciber's face is turning. "Or I can just get you kicked off the team."
Mulciber's eyes narrowed. "You're bluffing," he says. "You don't have that power."
"You're right," Albus says. "I don't have that power. But my sister does."
He could pinpoint the exact moment that Mulciber realised that Lily Potter was Albus's sister and his Quidditch Captain, because a brief expression of combined fear and rage flitted across his face. "She wouldn't," he says.
Albus raises one eyebrow, a skill he was most proud of. "Wouldn't she?" he asks almost thoughtfully. "Maybe she won't. But do you really want to risk it?" He waits a moment for Mulciber's situation to sink in before his face hardens. "Now apologise," he demands.
Mulciber doesn't look at Scorpius as he mutters, "Sorry."
It's half-hearted and almost too quiet to hear. Albus considers making him do it properly, but one glance at Scorpius tells him that he wants to be anywhere but in this pub with this crowd. Albus flicks his wand and Mulciber crumples to the floor in a heap. "Nice talking to you," he says coolly to the group of boys before pulling open to door for Scorpius. "After you," he says. Scorpius flushes and walks as quickly as he can without breaking into a run in his haste to leave.
As soon as the door clicks shut he turns to Albus. "You shouldn't have done that," he tells him.
Albus is surprised as they begin walking back up to the castle. "Why not?" he asks. "He tripped you."
"It doesn't matter," Scorpius replies, his voice rising. "Tripping me is nothing. Now they'll just do it more! And they'll probably start on you too."
"Let them try," Albus says grimly. Then Scorpius's words sink in. "Wait, they do this often?"
Scorpius doesn't meet his eyes when he answers. "Sometimes," he says. Then he adds, "A few of them are in my house."
"Shit," Albus says. "That must suck." He couldn't imagine what it would be like to share a dorm with such morons.
"It's not so bad," Scorpius says. "I've gotten used to it. And Jesse – he was with them, but he never really joins in. He talks to me when they're not around, and sometimes he apologises for what they do."
"That's just as bad!" Albus exclaims. "And you shouldn't 'get used to it' – it shouldn't be happening at all!"
"Well it does."
"It's not right! You should go teachers!"
Scorpius shakes his head "The teachers won't do anything," he says. "And if they know I've told, they'll just make my life hell. I did it once before, and all that happened was they started picking on me even more."
Albus looks unhappy about this, but he can't come up with an answer. "Why?" he asks as they reach the castle. "Why are they such dicks?"
Scorpius lets out a humourless laugh. "Didn't you hear them?" he asks bitterly as they stop. This is where they part ways to go to their separate dormitories. "I'm a faggot."