Chapter 2: Quiet

Albus was a quiet person.

It didn't take Scorpius long into their friendship to discern as much. Truly, it would have been more remarkable had he missed such a pronounced aspect of his friend. Al was calm, yes, and that calmness entailed a certain sense of muteness most of the time.

He rarely spoke up in class.

He wouldn't often speak unless spoken to, though Scorpius was pleased to find that over the years he seemed more inclined to do so with Scorpius specifically.

He rarely seemed to feel the need to voice his thoughts just for the sake of it. It made study sessions consistently yet comfortably silent.

It was no surprise, then, that when the time came for the sixth years to start practicing magic wordlessly, Al picked it up the quickest out of anyone in their year. Scorpius didn't think himself arrogant to claim that he was better at school than Al; he did get higher grades than him, after all. It was the simple truth, one that Al acknowledged readily enough and with more grace than Scorpius knew himself capable of.

Yet Al had managed wordless magic on his first day of attempting. Scorpius would always remember the day that old McGonagall had praised him for the speed of his achievement. Al had flushed for one of the few times that Scorpius had ever seen him, ducking his head with shoulders hunching as though discomforted by the praise and attention.

Scorpius knew it was otherwise. He saw that Al's flush was more of pleasure than embarrassment. He saw his friend's eyes shine even as they turned downards, saw him struggle to suppress the smile that threatened to twitch across his lips. It was the first time that Scorpius had realised it: yes, Al might be quiet, he might lack competitiveness and generally let comments pass him by, but…

Al loved to be noticed. He didn't seek it actively, always letting others steal the limelight if it was available, but there it was. Scorpius felt like something of a heartless fool that he'd never noticed it before. He supposed that perhaps he should have done, for no one could live alongside James and Lily Potter, two of the loudest people Scorpius knew, and receive all that much attention for themselves. No child or teenager – no sane one, anyway – wanted absolutely none of that for themselves. Even Al.

Scorpius would have resolved to focus as much of his own upon Al as he could spare at that point if he hadn't already been doing so for years. Since he'd realised he had to break up with Jacinta, in fact.

Scorpius had never noticed because Al never said anything. He never complained, never asked for help or requested attention as Scorpius abruptly realised he silently longed for. Al just let whatever degree of such gifts offered him come in their own time, if and when they would. It annoyed Scorpius just a little that Al wouldn't ask, that he was so grounded in his quietness that he wouldn't speak up.

That wasn't to say that Al couldn't, however. It didn't mean that he was necessarily borderline mute, that his voice itself had not the capacity to be loud. Because Al could be loud. He could be very, very loud when he wanted to be.

The first time Scorpius was confronted with that fact was in the first game of Hogwarts' quidditch tournament he'd ever attended. He and Al were already fast friends, almost exclusive to the rest of their housemates though not from a dismissive or superior perspective. They simply clicked better than they did with anyone else. Than everyone else.

Scorpius had intended to travel down to the pitch early so that he could get a good seat. He was an avid lover of quidditch, a love instilled in him from a young age by his father yet one that had blossomed naturally by itself. It vexed him that he wasn't allowed to try out for the team in his first year. That archaic rule was still in place, even given the precedent Al's father set in his first year.

Double standards had never been so unfair.

They weren't the first into the grandstands, as it turned out. The reason for that lay in that despite trekking down the grounds to the quidditch pitch as soon as they'd finished breakfast, Al paused beside the locker rooms and planted himself firmly and immovably. Scorpius nearly left him behind in his climb up the grandstand steps; naturally, Al hadn't said anything to call him to a stop.

When he did notice, Scorpius hastened back to Al's side with a frown. "What are you doing? What's wrong?"

Al shook his head. "Nothing wrong. I just wanted to wish James good luck."

"Your brother?"

Al nodded. "It's his first game playing on the team. He was practically guaranteed a spot when he got into second year."

Scorpius would have been more disgruntled by that fact – for that too was unfair – had he not been promised the same from the Slytherin team. Not unfairly, he considered; Scorpius knew he was a good quidditch player. A great player even, especially for his age. The current captain of the Slytherin team was a friend of a friend that he'd played upon several instances throughout his childhood. He knew Scorpius' abilities and had made sure to assure him of his future position as soon as he was old enough to assume it.

Scorpius glanced over his shoulder at the shadowed doorway leading to the grandstand steps. They were ridiculously tall, a bit of a climb to reach the top of which afforded a prime view of the pitch. As Scorpius watched, he saw two third years of his own house disappear into the doorway, a trio of second years a moment later. If they didn't make a move soon, they wouldn't be able to get front row seats.

Scorpius turned a frown back to Al. "Do you have to wait? I mean, do you have to talk to him?"

Glancing back towards Scorpius from where he'd turned his scarf-buried chin back up the hill towards the castle, Al raised an eyebrow. "Huh?"

"We won't get good seats if we don't go now."

"Oh. Oh, well, you can go up if you'd like. I just wanted to wish him good luck…"

Scorpius sighed a little exasperatedly. He'd learned over the past few months that though Al didn't openly show it all that often he was genuinely a nice person. He cared for others, for his family, and it was a feature that appeared largely untarnished by cunning and ambition. Not for the first time Scorpius wondered how the hell Al had been sorted into Slytherin. "You know he probably won't even have time to talk to you. You saw the Gryffindor team at breakfast. They were practically going berserk."

Shrugging, Al glanced back up the hill. "I know. Whatever. I just wanted to try anyway."

Scorpius fought with himself briefly. He and Al had been practically joined at the hip in their first months of school and it felt somehow strange to sort of abandon him now. Even so… "I'll save you a seat."

Al spared him a smile. "Thanks."

Scorpius turned and made his way into the dark depths of the base of the grandstand. One of the Slytherin grandstands it was, bedecked in green and silver drapery. When Scorpius spilled out onto the heights, it was to peer gleefully over the edge of the railing – the very, very tall railing that probably had some sort of Barrier Charm placed upon it – and grin down the drop. He'd always had a head for heights. Maybe it was because he'd practically been born onto a broomstick.

There were only two seats left in the front row, a fact that left Scorpius hastening to claim them as he patted himself on the back for his forethought. In the chill morning air, he found himself fighting off more than one fellow housemate who sought to steal the seat he reserved for Al. Scorpius applied to the best of his ability what his mother had always termed the 'famous Malfoy scowl'. It worked a treat, sending many a grumbling upperclassman huffing to find alternative seating.

Al appeared moments before the game was about to begin. Moments, Scorpius knew, because Coach Short was already stepping onto the pitch, the crate of quaffle, bludgers and snitch bobbing in the air behind him. He was a paradox of a name, the Flying teacher was. No one could miss his entrance. Scorpius secretly suspected he had some giant blood in his lineage. Perhaps troll.

"Did you get to see him?" Scorpius asked Al as, puffing slightly from the climb, his friend settled into the seat at his side.

Al nodded, smiling briefly. "Yeah, just for a second. Mum and Dad were there too."

"Your parents are here?" Scorpius said, raising an eyebrow.

Al raised his own right back. "Well yeah. It's his first game. Don't tell me your mum and dad wouldn't come to see you when you play for the first time next year."

That, Scorpius wouldn't deny. At least for his father, quidditch lover that he was too. Scorpius nodded, conceding the truth, even as he bit back a smile at Al's offhanded suggestion. Scorpius might accept it as inevitable, but it was nice to hear that his best friend had as much confidence in his future seat on the team.

The game begun in a flurry, with the blast of Short's whistle and screaming chants of encouragement from the audience. Slytherin versus Gryffindor was always a significant game of the season for more than just the fact that it was the first to be played. The rivalry between Slytherins and Gryffindors was legendary. Scorpius was more than happy to add his own cries to the mix.

His attention jumped, flickering and darting between players and followed their flight as MacInley passed the quaffle to Jossinbelly, as Carter lobbed a bludger at the lead Gryffindor chaser, as captain Hink saved a spectacular goal. Scorpius couldn't draw his gaze away – at least until it was forcibly drawn by Al. In his first involvement of the game, Al's brother James dove in an admittedly admirable swoop and snatched the spinning quaffle from the air. He was shooting back towards Hink at the Slytherin goals in an instant.

Scorpius barely noticed, because Al –

"Go, James! Go, go, go!"

Scorpius wasn't the only Slytherin to snap his attention towards Al with rapid blinks and confusion. Al, who had risen from his seat to lean against the railing as James sped past. His face was slightly flushed, his fringe swept for perhaps the first time from his brow by the wind and one fingerless-gloved hand raised and waving in support of his words.

It was ridiculous, really. A Slytherin, at a Slytherin match, cheering for a Gryffindor. It should have made Scorpius feel indignant, disgruntled, angry even at the thought that Al supported anyone but his own team.

But he wasn't. If anything, the sight of his friend, his usually quiet, calm and reserved friend, calling out his enthusiasm drew a small, surprised smile from Scorpius. Al's excitement would have been muted by anyone else's standards. His smile was only a little wider than usual, and even his waving wasn't all that pronounced. But his voice – his voice was something other. Scorpius would never have suspected that he could be so loud.

He wasn't the only one to stare with incredulity, then bemusement, then even a little affectionate exasperation at Al throughout the rest of the match. Scorpius could understand that; it was something totally detaching from the situation to see Al make himself so pronounced. To stand out rather than keep to the silent, slightly vague back seats. It was like seeing a mermaid out of water.

"Wooo! Go, James!"

"Watch the bludger! Carter'll try knock your head off next time for sure!"

"Don't fall off your broom or Lily will win!"

"Better luck next time! He's really good!"

Al's calls varied, sounded almost as though he thought James could actually hear him. The fact that his contributions were entirely rational – for yes, Carter did nearly try and strike his head from his shoulders, and yes, Hink was a very good keeper – made it seem even less objectionable that he was rooting for the opposite team. It was almost as though he was complimenting the Slytherin team with his encouragement. Scorpius actually found himself adding his own cries to the mix. Not in support of James, of course, but something of a commentary nonetheless.

The Gryffindors won. Only by a hair but they won nonetheless. Al was the only one in the grandstand that cheered, the only voice that uttered anything but a resigned and disheartened groan of defeat. No one seemed to care all that much, though, even if Al did receive a few eye rolls for his applause as the players drifted to the ground. Scorpius doubted he even noticed.

Their descent from the grandstand found Al returned to his usual calm, quiet self. His cheeks were still a little flushed, his overlong dark hair a little windblown, but otherwise he was entirely the same as he always was. Scorpius found himself shaking his head over the transformation a little confusedly.

"He did quite well, though, didn't he?" Al was asking Scorpius when they stepped from the shade of the grandstand and began to make their way back towards the castle amidst their housemates. "For a first game, I thought he did pretty well."

Scorpius shrugged. Al was right, of course; James had played well and though he would have been hesitant to admit it aloud he thought that James would likely be as skilled as Scorpius was himself. It didn't help that they were both chasers, either. "Yeah, I guess."

"I wonder if Lily will keep up her end of the bet," Al pondered aloud, eyes drifting towards where the Gryffindors were crowded across the other side of the pitch, surrounding their teammates. "I don't really care either way, but I guess it's good that she wasn't proved right."

Scorpius raised an eyebrow questioningly. "Is this what you yelled out before? About not letting Lily win or whatever?"

Al nodded, pausing in step with his gaze still turned towards the Gryffindors. Their Slytherin housemates parted around them as Scorpius stopped alongside him. "Yeah, Lily bet he'd fall off his broom the first match. Like Dad did his second year."

"Is this a family tradition or something, then?"

"Not hardly. Mum's never fallen off her broom." Al flashed Scorpius a smile. "Lily just wanted James to look like an idiot."

In that moment, Scorpius almost wished that James had fallen off his broom. He didn't know why, but for some reason, though Al's cheering itself hadn't bothered him so much, the fact that it was James that had been the recipient of that cheering… it irked him for some reason.

Scorpius was distracted from imagining the Gryffindor chaser tumbling from his broom – which a very pretty picture it made indeed – when Al touched his arm briefly. "Hey, sorry, do you mind if I just duck over and congratulate him? I won't be a second or – I guess you could come if you want?"

Scorpius wrinkled his nose at Al's suggestion, shaking his head. "No thanks, I'll leave the congratulations just to you."

Al's smile was knowing and Scorpius thought he probably knew exactly why he didn't want to come. Or at least had an inkling that Scorpius' sentiments towards the Gryffindors for their victory weren't quite as pure and companionable as Al's own. "Sure thing. You can go back up to the castle if you'd like."

Scorpius shook his head once more with a shrug. "No, it's okay. I'll wait."

Al nodded his acceptance before spinning on his heel and trotting across the grounds, his dark robes snapping behind him. Scorpius watched him go with a slightly wistful thought. He watched as Al – his new and best friend Al – hastened to his brother's side, fell into place beside his mother and father who had already arrived there, a black and green smudge against gold and red. Strangely enough, he didn't look as out of place as perhaps he should have done.

Scorpius made a decision after that. He desperately wanted to be on the quidditch team, would be if Hink got his way, but he made a knew commitment after that. Al could cheer his lungs out, would raise his voice louder than he did in any other situation for his brother in an urging towards triumph.

Scorpius vowed in that moment that he'd strive for Al to do the same for him.


The first time Scorpius heard it filled him with nauseous dread. With horror.

He shouldn't have heard it. Not like that. Scorpius had been dreaming of hearing that sound, of hearing Al making such sounds, for years now. It shouldn't have been through a wall, through a door. It shouldn't have been with someone else.

It definitely shouldn't have been with his father.

Al still slept over at Scorpius' house, at Malfoy Manor, every other week. It was something of a tradition, just to make sure that they kept touch even if such a precaution was unnecessary. Scorpius made it unnecessary. Al himself still lived at his own parents' house, though he claimed he was contemplating finding his own place in short order. Scorpius couldn't think of anything better than moving out with his best friend and the object of his unrequited love for years now, but he didn't want to push the subject. Al was seeking independence and newness. He didn't need to be weighted down by Scorpius, even if Scorpius knew Al would never see it as such.

Scorpius woke in the middle of the night, as he was want to do on occasion in the summer months for the intense fucking heat, and clambered from bed barely bothering to open his eyes. It was through a haze of grogginess, of sleep-addled weariness, that he crept quietly from his room and down the corridor. He didn't want to wake Al, who'd been allocated his own room in Malfoy Manor years ago right next to Scorpius'. He was basically an honorary member of the family.

Scorpius could have called for a house elf to serve him. He could have, and probably would have on any other night, except that on the stinking hot nights that he awoke grumbling for the heat he found that the relative coolness of the kitchen was a welcome relief and often chilled his feet on the cold tiles for a few minutes before climbing the stairs back up to his bedroom. Not that the house elves didn't fuss when he stumbled in at somewhere around midnight in nothing but thin pyjamas.

"What is Master Scorpius doing up and about at this hour?!" Nitty squealed, fluttering her bony fingers and flapping her ears in distress as she raced across the kitchen towards him. She wasn't the only house elf awake, and Olly was right behind her, tugging on his own ears and nearly tripping over himself in his haste to speed to Scorpius' side.

Scorpius paused just inside the doorway. He didn't think that the house elves truly claimed the kitchen as their territory – they hadn't such a possessive trait – but at times they seemed to be nothing short of horrified when one of their masters descended to the wide room of white-tiled floors and sparkling clean bench tops. The smell of baking bread already hung in the air; Scorpius had to wonder just how early they started the day's baking sometimes. Or at least he would have had he been more awake.

Rubbing a hand across his forehead, Scorpius sighed. He squinted down at the house elves twitching before him in distress, eyes still straining against the relative brightness of the candlelit kitchen. "I was just coming to get a glass of water," he mumbling.

Both house elves squeaked again in synchrony, Olly immediately scampering in a circle and darting across the room. Nitty shook her head mournfully. "Master Scorpius should be calling for his elves to get him his drinks. Master Scorpius should be abed, not wandering about the manor at night."

"Really, I'm more than capable of getting my own –"

"What is Nitty to be doing if she doesn't get master his drinks when he needs then!" Nitty interrupted wringing her hands. Of all of the Malfoy house elves, she was one of the most neurotic, the most persistent when it came to serving, and all the rest of the elves fell beneath her pervasive, blanketing subservience when she reigned terror upon the kitchens. The others usually simply let Scorpius get his own drink when he said he was going to, even if they did twitch as if it pained them to allow as much.

Sighing, Scorpius rubbed his knuckles across his forehead once more. "If you really want to, fine. Whatever. I'd like a glass of water –"

Olly appeared before him with a glass before Scorpius could even finish his request, condensation already fogging the surface. Biting back another sigh, Scorpius took it from him with a nod. He paused for a moment longer, glanced between the two elves looking up at him expectantly, before taking a sip. The pair seemed to deflate as though relieved the simple glass of water met his standard.

"Alright then. I'm going back to bed," Scorpius said, already turning with a shake of his head and eye roll of his eyes. For whatever reason, Scorpius had never quite taken to house elves and using them as servants as his father suggested they liked to be treated. Perhaps it was simply because half of them had been his only childhood playmates?

"Master Scorpius will be calling Nitty if master is needing more water," the house elf called after him. "Master Scorpius will remember!"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll remember," Scorpius replied without turning. Nitty hadn't been a childhood friend. She'd been a demandingly loving nanny for as long as Scorpius could remember. "Goodnight."

He made his way through the dark walls of the manor, the floorboards creaking beneath his steps just slightly. The house always seemed larger at night, almost ominous, as though it carried the shadows of the past within its very timbers. Maybe it really did. Scorpius wouldn't put it past the ancient house. He shuffled up stairs, sipping from his glass to savour the blessed chill of icy water and ignoring the grumbling portraits of his ancestors that he passed. They were always grumbling. It wasn't anything new.

It was probably because he hadn't been able to linger in the kitchen that Scorpius' feet look him on the longer route back to his own rooms, the route that passed almost every other room in the manor, his father's rooms being one of them. It was as he slipped past the closed door that he heard it.

He heard the moans. He heard the heavy breathing, the grunts, the faint squeak of a bed that protested beneath movement. When he did, Scorpius paused in step. He didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to hear his father fucking anyone – because that was very clearly what he was doing – but more than that he didn't… he didn't want to hear…

Scorpius had seen the way that Al looked at Draco. He saw him stare when he thought no one else was looking, ducking his head when he noticed Scorpius staring at him in turn. What Al probably didn't realise was that Draco stared at him just as much. Not in love or adoration, or even affection, which would have in some ways almost been better. It was with pure desire, with lust that Scorpius saw Draco gaze upon his best friend.

Scorpius didn't know when it had started. Before Al had started working for him? After? Sometime in the six months since? He didn't know, wasn't sure, and was similarly unsure if he wanted to know. All he knew was that for the first time in his life Scorpius truly hated his father.

Draco had the one thing in the world that Scorpius wanted the most.

As Scorpius paused outside of his father's door, he could almost have pretended it was someone else. He'd never heard direct evidence to support his suspicions before. He could overlook reality if he truly forced himself to, even if it was all just a farce. Or he would have been able to had he not heard those two fateful words.

"Mr Malfoy…"

It hurt.

It hurt to hear.

Those words, breathless, barely audible. Scorpius immediately felt himself torn between rage and disgust. What. The fuck? Even when his father was fucking him, he still told Al to refer to him with professional deference? How fucking messed up was that? Scorpius clung to that thought in a vain attempt to shake the echo of the words from his ears, to rid them of the gasp that they were embedded in, the moan that was positively sinful, almost pleading and the grunts that followed.

Scorpius didn't want to think about that.

He didn't want to think.

He didn't want to –

Stop.

Squeezing his glass so tightly he would have been unsurprised had it shattered, Scorpius strode back towards his room. He was biting his lip so fiercely that it would have been painful had he spared it a moments thought. He was very much awake now, awake enough that he could see the hallway in all its detail, see Al's door as he passed it. Al's closed door, where Al was no longer sleeping. Because Al was…

Al was…

Scorpius slammed into his room, swinging the door shut hard enough that his father should have been able to hear it from his room. Should have, and should have known what it meant. Scorpius fucking hoped he knew what it meant, that Draco had paused in the act of fucking his best friend and taken stock of what he was doing. Al was his friend, but more than that, he was the person that Scorpius had been in love with for three whole years now. Probably longer, actually, even if he hadn't realised it.

How could Draco do that? Even if he hadn't known, he shouldn't have done that.

That bastard.

That fucking bastard.

Scorpius slumped against the door, head rocking against the hardwood and jostling as he slid to the ground. He could feel the pain in his lip now, though it felt negligible compared to that which was tearing through his chest. The glass – the empty glass, he noticed detachedly – slipped from his hand and rolled onto the floor. It didn't shatter. That thought seemed somehow so unfair. It should have shattered. Everything was unfair.

Scorpius had suspected. He'd suspected but dearly hoped he'd been wrong. That Al wouldn't do that, wouldn't succumb to Draco's whims and offer himself as the pure outlet for pleasure. Because that's all it was, Scorpius knew. Draco didn't love people, not romantically. Scorpius wondered if he'd ever even truly loved his wife.

Draco certainly didn't love Al, and he'd taken him anyway.

Scorpius squeezed his eyes closed, but it did little to vanquish the image playing out before his minds eye. Of Al sprawled on the bed, naked and gasping and begging for release, of his calm torn from his expression and replaced with one of passion. Of Draco as he leaned over him, grazing his hands along his skin, planting loveless kisses that didn't deserve to touch, pressing atop him and –

Scorpius didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to think about his father – he hated him, hated him – and Al. Worse than that, he didn't want to think about the fact that Al had agreed to it, that he'd said yes when Draco had asked him. Because though Scorpius loathed the man in that moment, he knew Draco wouldn't have taken what wasn't offered. Thief though he was, it was only a theft from Scorpius. A theft of what had never been his.

Even more than all of that, however, Scorpius didn't want to think about how Al had chosen anyone but him. How it was anyone but Scorpius who kissed him, who held him and was held in return. It wasn't right, and he found sobs welling in his throat at the realisation of the truth.

The sound of Al's moans, of his gasped words rippled into Scorpius' ears once more. When Al wanted to be heard, he wasn't so quiet. And sometimes he wasn't all that quiet even when he wanted to be.

At least, Scorpius hoped he hadn't wanted it as much as he'd sounded like he had.