Albus always loved winter, but he could never explain why that was. Maybe it was how much more alive everything seemed when the canvas was white, or maybe he just appreciated the purposeful stillness of it all, like a brief pause between words. Regardless of the reason, it seemed that his aimless pondering caused him to fall behind. He abandoned his train of thought and focused on the somewhat lanky figure a few meters ahead of him.
"Scorpius! Wait up you prat." he shouted. The figure turned to show his crooked grin, his white hair whipping past his face, nearly indistinguishable against the backdrop. Scorpius outstretched his hand back towards Albus. There was something so perfect about the angle his hand lay suspended Albus thought, like that famous muggle painting of God reaching towards man. Well, maybe it wasn't quite that dramatic, but no less beautiful.
Albus' pace quickened, his steps spurred by an almost subconscious desire to touch the hand laid out before him. He reached forward and grasped Scorpius by his wrist, tugging him backward. Scorpius chuckled and let himself be pulled back to Albus' side.
"You know, it's a good thing you didn't pick today to stop wearing all black. I might have literally lost you in all this." Albus said, as he tried to match Scorpius' pace. Scorpius smiled and glanced down at his wrist still held in Albus' hand. This look did not go unnoticed by Albus, who quickly adjusted his grip to make it appear as though he was trying to get a better look at the many tattoos on Scorpius' forearm.
"Is this a new one?" Albus said turning Scorpius' forearm.
"Which one? The tree? I got that one months ago."
"Wasn't it covered in little white flowers?"
"Well, it was, in spring." Scorpius leans in to whisper into Albus' ear. "I got it bewitched."
"Why are we whispering?" Albus asked. Scorpius leaned towards Albus again, his lips accidentally grazing Albus' earlobe. A strange feeling made itself known deep in Albus' chest, but he ignored it and listened to Scorpius.
"I've had enough trouble with rumors as is. All I need is people to start whispering about the Malfoy boy's moving arm tattoo. Next thing you know I'm back to being Voldemort's son, and I'll probably end up with another one of these to match." Scorpius points up to the small scar across his eyebrow.
"Point taken. Come on, let's get there before we freeze to death." Albus said. The snowfall was unrelenting. Each footprint found itself nearly filled before they lifted their toes. Their hurried footsteps turned into a steady jog when the Hog's Head Inn appeared on the horizon. It was a rundown and decrepit looking place that even fresh snow and Christmas lights couldn't improve upon, but it was warm, served hot butterbeer, and it had history, especially for Albus' family.
"Find us a seat. I'll get the drinks." Albus handed Scorpius his rucksack and stepped up dusty bar. A particularly ancient looking man hobbled out from a back room.
"Back again, Potter? If I didn't know any better I'd say you've gotten a bit too keen on the old brew. That, or you've just missed me." The man pulled out two mugs that shined more like unwashed hair than clean glass, but that seemed better than no shine at all. He filled them to the brim with butterbeer and slid them across the bar.
"Can't it be both Ab?" Albus said, setting a handful of sickles on the counter.
"Oi, put that away. These are on me." The man took a noticeably long pause. "Happy Holidays, Albus." Albus' name was a mouthful of broken glass on the man's tongue, slicing its way out. Albus smiled at the man, the kind of smile that said more than any words ever could.
"Happy Holidays, Aberforth, and thanks for the beers."
"'Course. Tell that Malfoy boy I said the same to him."
"Scorpius. His name—it's Scorpius."
"Right. Well, tell Scorpius." Aberforth said, as Albus picked up the drinks and stepped away from the bar. The inside of the pub brimmed with all sorts of witches and wizards, many of whom had robes so tattered and filthy, that Albus could hardly tell if he was looking at a person or one of the pub's ratty curtains. Some spoke in hurried whispers and exchanged small packages underneath the pub's tables, and in the darker recesses of the pub, some were alone, lured there by some old mistress, whose touch was debilitating and name was grief. But, all of whom were drunk. It wasn't too hard to find Scorpius in all this; he clearly didn't look like someone who belonged in such an establishment. For starters, he wasn't wearing a robe at all; rather, he wore jeans, boots, a jumper, and an overcoat. All of which appeared to be new and black, of course. If that wasn't enough to make him standout, he also decided to pull back the curtains, allowing the white light from outside to filter through the dirty window next to him, an action that caused ripples of dissent among the denizens of the pub.
As Albus approached, Scorpius rummaged through his rucksack and pulled out a black book with a white orb on the cover and began to flip through it. His brow furrowed, he was clearly already deep in thought when Albus set the mugs down on the tabletop. Albus leaned forward and rustled Scorpius' hair.
"Oh, come on Al." Scorpius said, dragging his hands through hair.
"When did you cut your hair?" Albus asked.
"'Bout a week ago. Rose did it for me; she said it's how all the muggles are doing it now. Do you like it?"
"Yeah, it looks good mate. I'll have to ask Rose to help me with mine once it's a little longer." Albus said, running his hand over his cropped hair. "Anyways, what are you reading?"
"Unfogging the Future." Scorpius flashed the cover at Albus. "Divination."
"Bloody hell Scorpius. Don't you ever take a break?"
"Professor Firenze is testing us over Palmistry, and I haven't practiced since the O.W.L.'S."
"Well, instead of reading that, why don't you actually practice?" Albus laid his hand palm-up on the table. Scorpius grinned.
"Alright, but I was never very good." Scorpius gently picked up Albus' hand and held it in his own. "Okay, let's see." Scorpius lightly caressed a long deep line across Albus' palm. "Well, you're of good health and—successful?" Albus chuckled. Scorpius moved on to a neighboring line. "You are a complex and romantic individual," Scorpius looked up at Albus and smiled. "who is going through an internal conflict? And that conflict is about…your career? No, wait. Love. Your conflict is about who you love." Albus pulled his hand free from Scorpius. "Wait, who do you love?" Scorpius asked. There it was; that feeling from before had made itself known again in Albus' chest. This time louder.
"You were right—you really are awful at that. Maybe you should keep on reading that book mate. You need more than just practice. Come on, finish your drink, so we can get back to the castle before dark."