Disclaimer: Kind of a rewrite based on a short story by esallidos on Deviantart.
17.
It smells like grief and potions.
He climbs into Albus' bed, though Madam Pompfrey have strictly forbidden it. His eyes are closed but he musters enough strength to hold Scorpius tightly, because he says when he can't see Scorpius, it is easier to pretend he never happened to Albus.
15.
He flies amongst the rest of the team, purposely taking sharply turns and braking hard.
"Stop!" Scorpius says giggling, lobbing the quaffle at him.
For a moment Scorpius thinks he simply didn't see him throw the quaffle; it glances off his chest and falls on the field, making a few bounces before coming to a halt. Scorpius doesn't notice how Albus' eyes roll back in his head or the graceful way his body falls towards the grass below them.
The only thing he notice's is the distinct thudding sound as his body falls beside the quaffle, and the screaming that may or may not be his.
Later in the hospital wing he calls for Scorpius and says he wants to apologise for keeping secrets, and his parents launch into a medical explanation of a rare disease.
Their eyes are sad.
13.
There are new shadows under his eyes that Scorpius knows that should not be there, but he avoids Scorpius' questioning assault, folding himself into Scorpius with soft kisses and quiet words.
"I'm worried about you," Scorpius tells him. "I want to help you."
"You already have." Albus pauses. "By Merlin, I love you so much. Will you remember that?"
"What, are you planning on going somewhere?" Scorpius teases lightly.
"Yes."
"Where?"
He doesn't answer, and Scorpius begins to think he has fallen asleep there, his knuckles pressed against the headboard, until Scorpius notices his eyes. Big, open and wet.
"Talk to me," Scorpius begs.
"There's nothing to say," Albus murmurs, and closes his eyes.
11.
After several months of trying, Scorpius finds it is impossible to memorise every second of the indescribable time they have spent together—the choky, throaty laughter, the untidy scrawl that falls from the tip of his long fingers, the typical Weasley freckles high on his cheekbones, the careful way he pronounces his spells , as though Albus is afraid his diction is going to slip right out of his mouth and run away.
Scorpius knows that these details are inconsequential, and that he should just give up trying to remember them all.
He knows he never will.
9.
Scorpius almost doesn't realise it when he holds his hand for the first time, his grip is so soft and questioning.
"I'm not going to break," he tells him, tightening his fingers around his.
Albus grins crookedly and looks into the distance. "I have a lot to learn."
"We have all the time you need," Scorpius replies, and he just laughs.
7.
It is one week, three days later before he learns his new friend's favourite colour, favourite food, and what he wants to be when he grows up.
Grey. Apple pie . Alive.
5.
He doesn't know why he agreed to go on a stroll after midnight with his fellow Slytherin, and a Potter. No, not Potter. Albus. He ceremoniously opened a door for him and followed Scorpius to a beautifully moonlit balcony.
"Where are we?" Scorpius asks him, knowing that somewhere on the stroll trough the castle they have slipped into friendship without conscious realisation.
"Where we should be, I suppose."
3.
It's no coincidence that Potter sits down next to him at the breakfast table two days later and asks to serve him some tea. "With some milk, please," with a charming smile. He whistles an almost-familiar tune and glances at Scorpius out of the corner of his eyes.
"You and I are going to have some sort of future, I should think." he pauses for Scorpius reaction, but he only sighs.
"Look, Potter. I don't think this is a good -."
"Albus. Please, call me Albus."
"Okay."
1.
Scorpius sits next to a tired-looking Potter on the couch at the Slytherin party, feeling alone and slightly drunk. He doesn't know Potter. He glances at Scorpius and closes his eyes slowly, smiling.
Scorpius doesn't know anything, really.
Now Potter curls into himself defiantly, chin to knee, a too-angular sculpture, a mistake. He blindly reaches out from his cavernous self, like an afterthought, and touches Scorpius gently. Scorpius can see his dislocated shoulder blades bursting like half-fledged angel wings, and suddenly they are all he can think about. Albus head slowly lands on Scorpius' shoulder. "Who am I?"
"I don't know you." Scorpius tells him quietly as he intertwines his fingers with Scorpius'.
"I don't know me either," He says, and then smiles, luminous and hopeful. "Maybe you could help?"
Let's try some magic here: Accio Reviews!
I'm also writing a longer OneShot based on this one.