Wednesday 5th April
It had taken awhile for the response to arrive.
Mr Potter,
I shall be expecting you in my office at six-thirty, if this time suits.
The password is 'reconciliation'.
Regards,
HM McGonagall
Dinner had finished at six, and Albus had just had enough time to nip down to the dungeons—collecting the timetable and letters he'd organised—before speed-walking to McGonagall's office.
His heart felt uncomfortably light in his chest, and he put a reassuring hand against it, before announcing the password.
Taki's words from the night before were ringing in his mind—'they're here to help you, Albus'—as he took the stone staircase at a run, only pausing to rap on McGonagall's office door.
"Come in." he heard faintly, and he pushed the wooden door open, a little more than wary of the room behind it. Because though his name was well recognized within Hogwarts, Albus had flown under the radar for most of his academic career—never managing something brilliant or terrible enough to earn him a trip to the Headmistress' office.
"Take a seat, Mister Potter." She nodded at a chair before her desk, as Albus struggled to take in his surroundings. The most disarming piece in the office was the wall of portraits, and a thousand eyes watched him take his place in the highbacked armchair before McGonagall's desk.
She seemed to find his surprise amusing, if the flicker of a smile she shared with him was anything to go by, "I must say, the last Potter in this office was here on suspicion of charming the Slytherin toilets with a regurgitation spell. Quite the act to follow."
Albus was used to being compared to his brother, who'd left a ridiculously large shadow for Albus to compete with. It was far too old to upset Albus, however, and was so familiar that it relaxed Albus a little.
"I think 'understated' would be the last word used to describe James." He agreed with a shy smile.
They fell into a little silence, as Albus struggled to form his words, "I actually have a proposition, Professor. It's regarding my NEWTs," he stood, fumbling with his papers, "the last thing I'm expecting is a yes, and I'd understand if it wouldn't be allowed but," he wasn't sure what else to say, so he just handed her the papers with an awkward expression, "there's a letter of recommendation there from Nevi—Professor Longbottom, and a map and plan of our proposed research."
McGonagall adjusted her glasses, and skimmed the parchment for a few minutes, leaving Albus sweaty-palmed and hovering awkwardly.
"You want to submit 'equatorial research' as credit towards your Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures NEWTs?" she summed up after a significant pause, looking to Albus for confirmation.
He cleared his throat, "Ideally, yes. I've gone over the curriculum for next year, and both subjects are largely self-led, where we pick our own area to specialise in and research in depth. If my equatorial field trip and research could be credited towards it, ideally I'd earn two NEWTs instead of leaving school with no final qualification."
McGonagall organised the papers into a neat pile before speaking, "I must say, Mister Potter, I was surprised when I heard about your decision to leave school early."
That took the wind out of Albus sails a little, "You've… already heard?"
"I received an interesting letter from your father sometime in February—he was asking, as a personal favour, that I dissuade you from leaving."
"Oh." He sat back in his chair.
"I told him I wouldn't. While I agree that a qualification is essential in the working world, learning is largely self-led. Albus was rather fond of a Muggle quote, and he used it quite often, 'you can lead a horse to water, but you cannot make it drink.'"
The twinge of familiarity at his own name passed quickly, instead his eyes darted to the portrait hung lowest on the wall, only a few inches above McGonagall's head. The portrait felt its eyes of him, and sent him a friendly wink. Albus looked away, strangely embarrassed.
"I appreciate that you've done a fair amount of research, Albus," she continued, "but my approval can only be granted with a few compromises. The first, being the matter of cross-crediting. While I agree that your field research will count towards your NEWTs, it will only be towards the theory aspect of either subject.
"Seeing as both Care of Magical Creatures and Herbology have accompanying practical examinations, you will have to sit these at Hogwarts, next May, while supervised by the authorized instructors. I'm afraid the rules surrounding the practical examinations are very strict, and you could not be granted the qualification otherwise."
He nodded, that was fair. That still meant eleven months with Taki on the trip, and he could head straight out into the field immediately after his exams.
"Also," McGonagall proceeded after Al's nod, "I firmly advise that you do three NEWT subjects, not just two. Three is the bare minimum many employers expect, even if you achieved Outstandings in your other two subjects. Is there another subject you enjoy, or do well in?"
He thought for a moment, "I've always done alright in Astronomy, and that's largely dependent on the end of year exams as well."
"That sounds like a good option. Am I to understand," she skimmed the top letter, "that Arataki Lockridge also has a final school year qualification in Astronomy? Would he consider tutoring you, perhaps after a day of field work?"
Albus nodded, excited now that he could see the solution he'd planned coming to careful fruition, "Taki says he'll fill any forms necessary to be legitimized at a tutor."
McGonagall's lips quirked into a smile again, "I'm sure his experience as an apprentice here will be enough to prove his worth as a tutor. As long as you have the required materials and equipment, Astronomy is reasonably accessible subject, as long as you can see the sky.
"But those, Mister Potter, are the only compromises I'd have you make. The only thing left to do is submit this proposal to the NEWT board, but it's unlikely to be refused with my word behind it."
Albus leapt from his chair, "Thank you, Professor! Thank you so much! I—" he had the strangest urge to hug McGonagall, but he recognized she probably wouldn't appreciate it. A nasty voice told him to maintain professionalism, but the news was like a weight lifted, a weight that had hung over him ominously since his argument with his father.
"You're welcome, Mister Potter. I appreciate that you've taken the initiative to organize this and further your education, when leaving would've been the easier option. I look forward to hearing news of your travels."
"Thank you!" was all he seemed capable of, but he strode to the door with a wave, and far less anxiety than he'd entered the room with. Now that that was off his chest, his next errand was to snog the living daylights out of Taki, with some heavy petting if he was lucky.
"Good luck with your exams, Mister Potter." McGonagall called before the door shut.
She turned in her chair, to face the portrait that sat a few inches above her head.
"Shall I write Harry and tell him to stop sending me letters, now?"
Albus smiled, "I think we'll leave the good news for Albus to share."
Friday 14th April
"Well, fuck."
Scorpius and Rose were huddled close under a stone alcove, gazing across the castle grounds to where the Quidditch pitch stood. Or, at least what they could see of it, as it was largely obscured by the torrential spring downpour that had started roughly thirty seconds before.
"You're taking me to the Quidditch pitch? Neither of us have brooms." Rose looked at her boyfriend in puzzlement, but he waved his hand dismissively.
He'd been particularly secretive of late, especially when he'd told her to meet him outside of Transfiguration before lunch.
"No, it's not—dammit." Scorpius fumbled in his robe pocket, "I'll have to cast a water repellent spell, but—"
Rose recognized the crease in his brow; he was angry that everything wasn't going to the perfect plan he'd likely mapped in his mind. She knew that Scorpius would spend the rest of the day in a foul mood if she didn't do something, because Scorpius could be a right perfectionist sometimes. And knowing him, he'd probably had whatever he'd planned in the works for weeks.
"Last one to the pitch is a rotten egg." She grinned at him, before she took off at a sprint.
The rain was a sudden shock, regardless of the unusually warm air. Fat drops pelted her skin, and found their way down the collar of her blouse, bringing up goosebumps.
The ground beneath her shoes was sludgy, as the hard ground struggled to absorb the sudden downpour, and each stride flicked muddy water up the back of her calves. Though she'd bolted before ensuring Scorpius was following, she could hear his footsteps squishing behind her,
"You don't even know where you're going!" he called, and he was closer than she'd expected, urging her forward.
It was like their Quidditch game all over again—the adrenaline of being chased, and the sting of droplets on her skin, bought an uncontrollable smile to Rose's face as she ran, Scorpius right on her heels. She was five steps from the main entrance when his arm finally clamped around her waist, pulling her up and away from victory.
"Not fair!" she squirmed, feeling him hard against her back, clamped in his grip.
"We're not going onto the pitch." He panted, dragging her instead for the nearest Quidditch stand, the doorway cut cleanly out of its canvas cover.
They ducked inside, catching their breath out of the heavy downpour. The air was so sticky and humid that it made their breath steam, and Rose shivered at the dampness of her skin.
Scorpius was soaked, his hair almost transparent and pasted to his face, and rivulets were still streaming down his neck. Rose quickly became aware of the affect the water had had on his white school shirt, it clung, see-through, to all the ridges and planes she likes about him, but hardly had the opportunity to see.
He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing, and she knew that she was in a similar state.
Rose blushed, and the urge to kiss him turned up a fraction. It was always there, settling somewhere between her heart and ribcage as an ache, something she could ignore most of the time. But it was moments like these, which seemed to beg for his lips on hers, that it was the hardest to set aside.
"Come on," he nodded, slipping his hand into hers. They headed up the staircase, which hugged against the wooden frame of the stand, up and up until Rose was dizzy and out of breath all over again. For all Rose's time on the pitch, she hadn't been in the stands since second-year, as she'd made the team in third.
Scorpius hung back, slipping his hands over Rose's eyes as they approached the final few steps,
"No peeking."
"If I fall and break something, I'll curse you." Rose replied, and she felt his huff of amusement as opposed to hearing it.
But he helped her up the stairs without issue, and his hands dropped,
"Ta da."
It took her a second for her eyes to adjust. But the first thing she saw were the floating candles, haphazardly organized in a circle. On a bench sat a wicker picnic basket, two cushions laid out for them to sink into.
"Scorpius… oh my God." She turned back to him, "You're such a romantic."
He seemed to enjoy her surprise, if the proud curl of his mouth was any indicator. Rose walked ahead, up to the bench, prodding a candle. The rain was still falling heavily, and it pattered against the canvas and filled the silence between them. While the fabric had kept most of the water out, occasionally drops gathered and made it through, big beads falling randomly around them.
Scorpius followed Rose, settling down on one of the cushions. He dug through the basket, producing two small parcels wrapped in wax paper.
"Cheese and pickle for you." He held out the parcel, and Rose took her seat, gentling unpacking the carefully made sandwich. She didn't ask him how he knew her favourite sandwich filling, in the same way she knew his was chicken salad.
She'd so often underestimated how much of their lives they'd spend around each other, even if most of it was disguised in brawls and rows.
It seemed he was thinking along the same lines, and he paused in unwrapping his own sandwich,
"When did you start liking me?" he asked, breaking the silence, and Rose had to swallow before she answered,
"That's a difficult question," she began, "as it took me a while to even realize I did."
He didn't feel pressure to answer, and watched her as she mulled it over,
"I can't really pinpoint it, I suppose. I remember when you used to sleep at the Burrow, and Nana Molly would put us beside each other. I'd wake up on New Year's Day, and feel a little flutter in my stomach at seeing you beside me, before I remembered to actively hate you.
"Or if I saw someone appear around a corner, or I knew someone was behind me, I'd always be relieved when I saw it was you. Or when you would insult me, it would hurt so much more for some reason. Maybe that's why it was far easier to hate you."
Scorpius' face scrunched a little, but he didn't drop eye contact,
"I know I've said it before, but I am sorry. Regardless of my reasons, I shouldn't have treated you as I did."
Rose shrugged, "There's no use pretending you're the only guilty one. I was violent with you—I lost my temper when I shouldn't have. I gave back as good as I got, even if it was physical rather than psychological. I'm sorry too."
Scorpius nodded in acknowledgement, and a comfortable silence fell between them as they ate. Rose liked these moments too, where she and Scorpius would slip into their respective thoughts. She hadn't realized how easy it would be to grow comfortable around him, and being around him was just as natural as being alone.
He let out a strained breath after his finished his sandwich, crushing the wax paper in a too-tight fist, "This is very difficult."
"What is?" she asked, and Scorpius' gaze was fixed stubbornly on the canvas ceiling above them.
"Keeping my gaze above your neck." Scorpius confessed, finally meeting her eyes.
She gazed down, she'd forgotten about her damp shirt in all the fuss. It, like his, had gone see-through, and her pale pink bra was clearly defined through it. She felt a flare of mischievousness at the idea of turning Scorpius on, and she fingered the top button.
"Well, I can take it off, if you'd like." She suggested with false innocence, meeting his eyes again. He made a strangled sound, which did something squirmy to her insides.
Rose didn't know if she could follow through on her threat, the Quidditch stand was very open, even if they were right up on the back benches. But, she conceded, Hogwarts was currently at lunch, and no one would be flying in this weather.
She popped the first button, and Scorpius' inhale was sharp. By the second button, he was white-knuckling the bench he sat on, as though it was taking all his self-control not to leap on her. She liked seeing Scorpius, so poised and arrogant, captivated by something as simple as an open button, and that she had the power to do so. Because his gaze was certainly below her neck now, hungrily watching each inch of skin she bared, held prettily by her favourite bra (which she had chosen completely on purpose.)
"Would you like to do the rest?" she asked, and she hadn't even finished her sentence before he was on his knees before her, as though he'd Apparated by sheer willpower.
One hand slipped across the wet buttons, and his under hand was slipping under the sodden material, mapping the curve of her cleavage and the lace edge of her breath. Her skin was sticky with damp, but it was his touch that left blossoms of goosebumps in its wake.
With him on his knees, breathless before her, she felt revered in all the right ways, his eyes tracking where his fingers had been.
He leant forward, fitting cautiously between her legs, resting his elbows on her thighs. She froze, not daring to move as he almost pressed his lips—so, so carefully—over the fabric covering her skin, so his mouth was one breath from forbidden contact. Neither dared to move, away or towards, carefully walking the line between satisfying the ache and endangering each other.
"If I could…" he whispered against her, and she silently agreed. She pictured it so much it felt like she was remembering it. She'd mapped out all the places she'd kiss him, across his jaw, which he always clenched when they argued. Along the line of his neck, only revealed when he peeled his hair away from his face and fastened it with his leather tie. Across his chest, revelling in the hardness under his skin. Each of his fingers, on the callouses rough from Quidditch practice. Even his cock, she'd pictured how he'd shudder if she kissed him there, taking as much of him as she could—when she was feeling especially wanting.
But mostly his mouth, just to see if his lips were as soft as they looked. She'd kiss them until they were bee-stung and pink, chapped and worn, for hours—just because they could.
She shifted, rolling off the bench and into his lap. It was awkward, between the benches, as he half-lay and half-sat on the damp wood, and she straddled him.
A fat drop of water from the canvas chose that moment to fall, and it landed directly in the middle of Scorpius' forehead. He blinked for a second, disorientated, and Rose laughed at his bewildered expression. But she reached out, sweeping the drop off his forehead with her thumb.
"Can I take this off?" he asked, tugging on her blouse, and while the idea of stripping her top off was intimidating, the way Scorpius looked at her made her feel a little less naked.
Their breaths had grown heavier, from all their wriggling and adjusting—and maybe a little arousal—and she helped him remove it, the drag of wet cloth on her skin made her shiver, which drew a groan from him.
"God, you're fucking gorgeous, Roza." He breathed, and she felt her chest flush in embarrassment—something she'd always considered unattractive. But guessing by the way he watched it spread, his fingers chasing the colour down her sternum and under her bra, he disagreed.
Rose had flicked her skirt up, so only her underwear and his trousers separated them—she could feel him hard against her, rocking in miniscule movements as he chased friction against her. The ache of need had sunk far lower now, simmering somewhere low in her belly, waiting to be sated.
She found herself bearing down, chasing friction as well, gasping as he hit the spot that made her shudder. He watched carefully, doing it again, watching her expression crumple in pleasure.
"Merlin." He muttered, repeating the movement with more vigour, apparently enjoying seeing her cave.
The found a pattern they both enjoyed, grinding against each other until the need low in Rose's belly turned to a tingle, and she found her hands knotted in his shirt as she rode it out, unable to bite back a cry as she shook.
He seemed to watch in awe, before his own needs reclaimed his attention, and continued to rock against her until he didn't need to anymore. Rose liked to watch that part, as his cheeks would flush a specific shade of pink, his mouth pouting in half-pleasure, half-surprise.
She collapsed onto him breathless, resting her head against his chest. He ran his fingers through her hair—or tried to anyway—carefully avoiding the knots.
"I, uhm—" she tried after a comfortably long silence, "I'm ready, you know."
"Ready?" he hummed, still sounding worn.
"For, you know." The conversation she'd rehearsed in her head had been a lot more romantic, "Sex. Actual sex. I'm ready when you are."
She felt Scorpius pause, and she couldn't help holding her breath until he spoke,
"I want to wait until I can kiss you. Then we will."
While it wasn't the answer her libido wanted, she recognized this was Scorpius' way of acknowledging their research, and the potential of finding a cure. It was a reminder that despite his doubts, and the vocal demonstrations of his frustration, he believed in it all.
"Thank you." She nuzzled down into him, and his fingers just kept playing with strands of her hair by way of reply.
A/N: Anyone keen on Albus/Taki smut? Also, sorry this chapter is short. Bit of a filler because the next one is looking big :)