Title: until I feel your touch
Summary: Albus Severus Potter hates all of it. The attention. The whispers. The serpentine crest that sits on his robes and the emerald blocks on his scarf and tie. What he's not expecting though, is to like the one person he's destined to hate: Scorpius Malfoy.
Or, the story that Cursed Child could have been if it was written about a pair of Cursed Children instead. A Scorbus Soulmate-ish AU
Disclaimer: I am not associated with JK Rowling and make no profit from any of what I am posting.
Inspired by: a video and tweet about "reverse fanfiction tropes" that made me think of "the world turns grey when sworn enemies touch each other for the first time" the reverse of "you start seeing in colour after you touch your soulmate". Except, it's a bit more complicated than that. [Linked on my Tumblr and ao3]
until I feel your touch
Chapter 3
The first letter Albus gets from home is a week after the Sorting.
He hasn't written home yet, and Albus suspects the letter took so long because his parents were waiting for Al to write to them first. James must have told them everything. Rose too. Maybe even Dominique, who has joined Al at the Slytherin table more than once since the Sorting first happened.
Mum always used to say that the best part about having a large family was that he'd always be guaranteed company at Hogwarts but, sitting all alone at the Slytherin table, Albus wishes his parents didn't have half a dozen sources they could get news from.
He's not surprised about receiving the letter. And yet, when it falls in front of his cereal, Albus' name written in Mum's messy scrawl, his heart sinks. The uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach is back; his appetite is gone. He pushes his cereal to the side, nauseatingly aware of the people watching him.
Callum and David, who've been talking about Quidditch in hushed whispers all morning, spare him a glance before returning to their conversation.
They stopped pushing him around once it became apparent that Albus wasn't interested in them. At first, it meant Al sitting on the corner instead of between the two boys. Then they stopped dragging him around for meals. Now, he only sits next to them so that he isn't alone — he isn't invited anywhere though. Albus knows that he's ruined the only chance he might have had at making friends, but everything else has felt so overwhelming that he can't bring himself to care.
Whispers of 'looks just like his father' and 'how much do you think he knows' have always followed Albus. Only, this time, it's mingled with mocking whispers of 'do you think he's adopted?' and, the latest in the long list of names Albus is being called, 'Slytherin Squib'.
It's almost as though everything that could have possibly gone wrong has gone wrong.
Dad used to say they were staring at him — that people wanted to get a proper look at the famous Harry Potter — but Al's away from his family for the first time ever, and the staring's not stopped. It's something else Dad lied about, Al thinks bitterly. One more thing to add to his rapidly growing list.
He knows, logically, that the staring rarely lasts. People quickly move on and find more interesting things to talk about, but the lingering fear of being judged never leaves Albus. He knows that people can't talk about his mere existence forever, but he knows that they can talk about his fuck-ups, or all the ways in which he's weird. People notice him because he's his Dad's kid; they keep noticing him because Al is different, and that's the part that scares him.
That's what has gone wrong this time, with him being sorted into Slytherin and with his inability to perform even the most basic spells.
Albus knows what people think. He knows the rumours that his sorting has sparked. He knows, better than anyone, that the whispers wouldn't have followed him if people weren't so obsessed with his family.
That Slytherin Squib isn't a name anyone else would have been titled — but because Albus' family is known for being powerful and from Gryffindor, people are noticing the things that make him stand out. That make him different.
And Al hates it. All of it.
The attention. The whispers. The serpentine crest that sits on his robes and the emerald blocks on his scarf and tie. He hates the way James stares at him from across the corridor, brow wrinkled and looking uncharacteristically thoughtful. Or that Dom still comes and sits at the Slytherin table each day; next to Cecilia but still close enough that Al's always aware of her. On his part, Albus has been making a point of avoiding his family. He's not ready for a lecture, or even reassurance, from any of them. He just wants to be left alone.
That's quickly becoming impossible though. Just as people seemed to recovered from the shock of his Sorting, they started to notice his general lack of talent in spell-casting. Albus can fly, but his broom refuses to move when he calls it in their first Quidditch class, earning hushed laughter from his peers. He can't spell at all either. In Charms, his feather is the only one that remains untouched — everyone else either floats theirs or sets theirs on fire. Al brings with him, not bad magic, but rather, a terrifying lack of it, and people notice.
It's Lydia, one of his housemates, who first comes up with the Slytherin Squib and, by the end of the day, the nickname has been added to the list of mocking whispers that follow Albus.
He doesn't have any safe place now — no place that feels like home. His dorm is a reminder of how he's different to his family. His classes are a reminder of how he's not even good enough to be a Wizard and the Great Hall is where he's constantly the centre of attention.
All Albus wants anymore is to go back home.
Except, the letter, sitting innocently in front of him, feels like a reminder of the fact that home won't be the same either. It's a reminder of who he should be; but, more than anything else, it's a reminder of what he's not.
Albus picks up the envelope, swiftly grabbing his bag from under the table. Without a glance at James or Rose or any of the others sitting at Gryffindor, he marches out of the Great Hall.
Al slows down once he's in the Charms corridor, carefully breaking the seal and pulling out the heavy parchment his parents have sent. He remembers the letter they'd sent James; filled with phrases like happy for you and couldn't be more proud. Both Al and Lily had insisted on adding a letter of their own, filled with questions that James never got round to answering. The envelope they'd sent then had been bulging with the sheets of parchment stuffed into it. His isn't.
There are no cupcakes from Grandma, no gifts from Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione. Even without opening it, Albus is expecting the worst.
He stops, closing his eyes and breathing in heavily. Okay. This is it. Al pulls out the letter and reads it once. Then he reads it again.
Rose has always been the smarter sibling, but Albus isn't a fool either. Every line of excitement is followed by a 'You don't need to be disappointed' and backhanded with an 'It's alright' or 'You're still the same person'. They've listed Snape, Merlin, Slughorn and others that Al doesn't bother to read. It doesn't feel cruel, just like Dom's words and James' conversation hadn't, but the letter stings nonetheless.
It's like they'd expected something different.
Albus squeezes his eyes shut.
The hat listens to you.
Dad hasn't talked about that. He hasn't written about the false sense of comfort he'd let Al slip into, and it makes him feel suddenly stupid and naïve.
Dad wouldn't have lied if it had been okay. They'd have let Lily send a letter and insisted that Grandma Weasley send cupcakes if this was normal. Nobody had reacted strangely when Louis was sorted into Ravenclaw, but the others didn't even clap when Al got into Slytherin. There's something about the letter that makes Al feel like they're trying to comfort themselves just as much as they're trying to comfort him. Like they know, deep down, that Slytherin is just as terrible as Albus says it is and they're trying to make him feel like it's alright.
Or, worse still, convince Al that he's one of the exceptions.
He squeezes his eyes shut, pressing the balls of his fists to his eyes. There's a lump in his throat, tears well in his eyes but Al refuses to cry here. Now. At all. In general. He did enough of that on his first night at Hogwarts.
"It stinks, doesn't it?"
Albus jumps. He hadn't realised he wasn't alone but, sitting in an alcove, a book on his lap, is the only person Al's been avoiding more than his family. Malfoy.
"What?" he snaps.
"Being judged for who your parents were," Malfoy says.
"I'm not being judged for my family," Albus says, and he sits down across the corridor from Malfoy, back pressed against the cool stone wall.
Scorpius' eyebrows shoot up. "Oh?"
"Yeah," Albus says with a shrug.
"Nobody would have cared about where you'd been sorted if it wasn't for your family," Scorpius says steadily. Like it is something he's been thinking about. "Potters and Weasleys though — they have a bit of a reputation."
Albus frowns.
The thought has occurred to him, but he's surprised that Malfoy's realised too. That he's thought about it enough to have reached the same conclusion.
"You wouldn't have minded Slytherin if it wasn't for your family either," Scorpius adds. "I mean, we don't suck."
Albus knows he's not wrong. He doesn't know what he'd been expecting, but there haven't been any weird rituals or attempted murders or anything remotely evil. They're normal. Friendly, even.
Al just doesn't think he belongs.
He wants to be at Gryffindor — sitting amongst his cousins, with Rose for company. Slytherin isn't cruel, but it is lonely and more than that, it doesn't feel like his.
"It doesn't matter," Albus says.
"Oh, come on," Malfoy says. "Don't tell me you've never wanted to be just Albus and not, you know, Albus son of a Potter and a Weasley. People wouldn't whisper about you or talk about you if they didn't care about your parents."
Though he doesn't say it, Albus suspects that Malfoy's talking about himself just as much as he's talking about Al.
If the whispers following him have been bad, the ones about Malfoy have been worse. Callum and David tried to talk to Al — he's the one who pushed them away, but they'd been going on about Scorpius from the start. Though, given the rumours, Al supposes they're justified in that.
"Everyone hates you because you're Voldemort's child."
Scorpius flinches at the accusation. "Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Be like the rest," Scorpius says. "I look exactly like my Dad. I'm not — I can't be."
"You don't sound very convinced."
Malfoy sits straighter, eyes flashing with anger. "At least I'm being judged for something I can't control," he snaps. "Unlike the Slytherin Squib. You've got it all, you know. A large family who loves you, parents who are famous for the right reasons. I saw your cousin come and talk to you after the Sorting. Everyone in our year is practically begging to be your friend — you're an outsider because you choose to be. I don't have a choice."
"Right," Al says. "Like it's easier having to live up to the expectations everyone has for me because my parents were bloody perfect. Have you seen my family? Vic's Head Girl, Dom's Deputy Quidditch Captain. James just manages to be loved. It's barely been a week, but Rose has dozens of friends and I have none. I'm not like the rest of them and it sucks. If I was in Gryffindor, at least I'd fit in."
Malfoy rolls his eyes, turning away from Albus.
"I hate it here," he says quietly; so soft that Al isn't sure he's being spoken to.
"Me too," Albus says. And then: "I guess you're right."
Scorpius looks up, frowning at Albus. "About what?"
"We're weirdly similar. People assume they know us because they know who our families are, and nobody thinks we're our Dad's sons."
Scorpius snorts, his lips twitching.
"I'm not Voldemort's son," he says again. Slowly. Steadily. Like he knows what's coming up and wants to make sure they're on the same page before it happens.
"And I'm my Dad's kid, even if I'm nothing like him," Albus says.
Scorpius smiles fully this time, sliding out of his alcove and coming to a stop in front of Albus.
"Friends?" he asks, sticking out his hand.
"Friends," Al echoes, taking it.
That's when everything goes wrong.
He feels it at once. The jolt of electricity that goes through him the second their fingers touch. The sudden, searing pain in his head — like he's being burnt from the inside out, and then, a blinding flash of light that makes it impossible to see.
It takes a moment for the world to come back into focus, but it's not quite the same anymore.
Scorpius moves first, stumbling back like he can't get away from Albus fast enough. Then he freezes, suddenly realising what's going on.
Al's ears are ringing. He feels a painful ache deep in his abdomen. He tries to breathe, but his lungs feel suddenly constricted; like there's a hand squeezing his lungs and keeping him from breathing fully. And yet, none of that matters. Not compared to what's just happened.
"I'm sorry," Scorpius whispers. He's still on the floor, leaning away from Albus, looking suddenly smaller than he had appeared before.
Albus gulps. He doesn't know what to do.
A shiver runs down his spine and Albus squeezes his eyes shut, willing everything to go back to normal.
But when he opens his eyes again, the world is still grey.
Outside, the bright day's become suddenly dull. It's monochromatic. Colourless. Empty. His hands are trembling. He can't quite breathe. He wants to get up. To run out. To go back home to Mum and Dad.
"I — You — you should go," Scorpius says. Tears pool in Malfoy's eyes, and Al wonders if he should be crying too. He feels terrible. Empty. Cold. Broken. He doesn't cry though. He can't find the strength to.
This isn't happening. It can't be.
"Albus," Scorpius says again, and there's something about his tone that sounds pleading. "I'm sorry. Really."
He leans forward, about to reach for Al again, and the movement somehow snaps the world back into focus.
"Get away from me!" Albus shrieks, kicking at the ground. Towards Malfoy. If he'd been any closer, Al would have got him in the face. The other boy flinches, pale face looking eerily white in greyscale. Albus stands, back still pressed against the wall.
"Albus," Malfoy says again, but he shakes his head, trembling feet barely holding his weight.
And then he runs. Footsteps ringing in his ears as he sprints away from the Charms corridor, trying to get as far away from Malfoy as he can.
Two boys don't attend Charms that day, and though Scorpius arrives at Transfiguration; paler than usual and refusing to look anyone in the eye, Albus remains missing for the rest of the day.
A/N: This is it! The chapter! Originally, I had Scorbus meeting like they did in Cursed Child (on the Hogwarts Express) and realising that they were sworn enemies then, but I figured it would be more tragic to have a week's worth of memories of Hogwarts in colour that they'd have to cling to for the next seven years. It just felt funnier (read: more evil) that way!
I really hope you like this chapter! The next one might get delayed a bit because I've got a lot of coursework to catch up with this week and Chapter 4 needs to go through a lot of editing. Though, comments and kudos might inspire me to rush with studying!
Please please please leave a comment if you're enjoying this! It really helps with motivation! As always, thanks for reading!
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