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 4
Al's first instinct is to go outside.
Maybe he's wrong. Maybe there's a straightforward explanation for all of this. Deep down, Albus knows he's clinging to false hope. Not for the first time this week, he wishes this were all a bad dream; or that he could go back to the way things had been yesterday.
He pinches himself, digging his too-short nails into his arm deep enough to leave marks. But Albus doesn't wake up. Nor does the colour come back.
His hand burns where he'd held Scorpius. Not literally, but it burns with the memory of Malfoy's touch — of his hand, soft and warm. Of the tightness of his grip.
Albus is gasping for breath when he comes to a halt in the Entrance Hall. The tapestries that line the walls, the large portraits hung over the staircase, the deep red carpet that leads to the Great Hall: they're all black and white. The colour has drained out of his world, leaving it bland and grey.
He turns right, struggling to breathe. It's like he's had the breath knocked out of him. His head throbs, his legs feel shaky. Al makes it out of the corridor, turns right again, down a narrow passage and then he's out — in the Courtyard.
The contrast hits him like a bucket of cold water. The realisation hurts him physically, and it leaves his arms dotted with goosebumps.
There's no colour. The grass, the bark on the trees, the wilted flowers that have settled on the path — all of it: grey. Where inside had been shrouded in darkness though, the outside is a blinding white. Where inside every shadow had seemed to loom upon Albus, here, he needs to shield his eyes to look.
Albus takes a hesitant step forward, looking left and right for just a glimpse of colour or for something to let him know that he's dreaming.
From somewhere behind him, a student calls out: "Looks like the Squib is lost" and it's followed by a mocking outburst of laughter that, for the first time, doesn't bother Albus.
He'd told himself it couldn't get worse. At every turn, he'd told himself that it could only get better from here — that Hogwarts wasn't supposed to be hell. And yet, with every moment that passes, his stay has only become more unbearable.
A tear rolls down his cheek, and Albus sniffles, brushing it away.
He wants to go home. He wants to undo this. Deep inside, though, Al knows he can't. He's stuck like this forever. The mere thought of it is unbearable.
Albus is eight the first time Harry talks about sworn-enemies.
Lily, at six, has taken to collecting the day's Daily Prophet and folding it into neat origami that she hangs up in her room. A skill Al was taught at school too, though he never took to it the way Lily has.
She comes to breakfast one morning, beaming, and pushes a magazine from last week towards Harry.
"Dad, they've written about you!"
Harry pulls the magazine towards him, and Al, sitting next to Harry at the breakfast table, peers at the article.
"They're talking about Voldemort?"
Harry shrugs. "They do that a lot," he says dismissively, but Lily's clambered onto the stool opposite Harry, her head propped up on her hands and she's staring at Harry eagerly. Albus knows that look; she's expecting a story.
Harry sighs. "You know about the war," he says.
"The article says you were sworn-enemies," Lily replies. She's two years younger than Albus, but every time Lily's around, Al has this strange feeling that she's smarter than him. Or, at the very least, smarter than he was two years ago.
"We were," Harry says matter-of-factly.
"Because he tried to kill your parents?"
"Lily!" Ginny chides, walking into the room. "Be nice."
But Harry doesn't seem bothered. "A sworn-enemy is someone you're destined to hate. It's not just someone you dislike."
"How do you know the difference?"
"Well," Harry says. "If you ever touch your sworn-enemy—" he reaches out, poking Lily on the forehead "—your world will turn black and white."
Lily gasps and even Al gapes at Harry. "So you don't see colour?"
"I do now," Harry says. "It gets reversed when your sworn-enemy dies"
Lily goes quiet. "That's not nice," she says.
"Why?"
"Well," she says, "What if you don't want to kill your sworn-enemy?"
"Then you'll have to live with seeing in black and white," Harry says. "Don't worry about it, Lils. They're incredibly rare and you lot will not be battling any Dark Lords if I can help it."
She doesn't move, though. Lily frowns at the magazine, the same way she does at the TV when they watch movies she doesn't fully understand. She's thinking through it; trying to assemble the pieces in her head. It takes a moment until she's satisfied with the conclusion she's reached, and Al's seen the shift of expression often enough to know when it happens.
"Can I take the paper?" she asks.
Harry glances down, skimming the article. "You know what," he says. "I'll keep this one."
Lily huffs, running upstairs. Al knows she'll not forget the conversation easily; that's unlike her. But, for the first time, something about Harry's story stays with him.
"What was it like?" he asks, pivoting on his stool to face Harry. "Seeing everything in black and white?"
If he's surprised by Al's question, Harry says nothing about it. "Terrifying," he says, and then, reaching forward to tousle Al's hair. "Though really, you don't need to worry about it."
"Potter?"
The drapes around his bed are pulled open and Albus feels the sunlight streaming in through the window. How they get sunlight here, in the dungeons, he's never bothered to ask, but it makes their dormitory brighter than the Slytherin Common Room downstairs. In greyscale, that means it feels less depressing.
"Potter?" Again, more urgent this time. It's Malfoy, Albus realises with an uncomfortable lurch and if he hadn't wanted to talk to anyone before, he certainly doesn't want to talk now.
It's been two days since The Incident. Two days since they shook hands and touched.
He didn't return to class after Charms on Friday. Albus doesn't know if Malfoy did, but Scorpius has been avoiding the dormitory ever since. He's been sneaking off at the crack of dawn and returning only just before curfew.
It had occurred to Al, for a brief spell, that this can't have been any easier for Malfoy than it has been for him. But, even then, it's easier to blame Malfoy than it is to empathise with him. They are, after all, meant to be sworn-enemies.
"Are — are you okay?"
Albus doesn't reply.
He's not okay. How can he be? His cheeks still itch where tears have dried against his skin, his pillow is still damp from a gross combination of snot and tears. Al hasn't even dared to leave his bed since he got into it on Friday. He's been surviving on the last of his snacks — the cookies Mum had packed for him, the sweets he'd bought on the train, the apple Callum got him this morning when it became apparent that Albus hadn't eaten in two days.
Every time he looks up, his heart sinks and his vision blurs with tears. At night, he feels blind — incapable of distinguishing between the shadows that all blend into a single, monotonous dark grey. Days are better. He's stared at his hands, learning the difference between the grey of his palm and the grey of the back of his hand. He's run his thumb over the once emerald collars of his robes that now look dark enough to be black, trying to learn shades and colours.
But it doesn't work like that. The greys aren't ordered like a rainbow — light for violet and dark for red or vice versa. They're not even consistent for the same colour. There's no way for Albus to learn his way out of this — he's stuck.
Forever.
"I'm sorry," Malfoy whispers, and his voice breaks as he says it. Like he's been crying too.
Albus opens his eyes, just a peep. It still catches him off guard — the greyscale. The sheer bleakness of it has been getting to Al, and it's starting to feel oppressive. Overwhelming, even.
"Leave me alone," he mumbles, but Malfoy doesn't move.
"Have you told anyone yet?"
He doesn't reply.
"Potter?"
"I haven't."
Malfoy takes a step forward. Closer to Al's bed and, instinctively, Al scoots further away. He doesn't know what'll happen if they touch again. The thought of it scares him. He's replayed the moment of their touch over and over again, trying to place why it happened. Or, if there was something they could have done to stop it.
They were going to be friends.
And yet, they were destined to be sworn-enemies.
"I wanted to talk."
A dry laugh escapes his lips. Albus sits up, looking at Malfoy head-on for the first time since the incident. It doesn't flood him with the deep, unhinged hatred that Albus was expecting, but it doesn't fill him with anything positive either.
"What do you want?" he snaps.
Malfoy takes in a deep breath, like he needs to build his courage to talk to Albus. Again, Al wonders what the last two days have been like for him, but he daren't ask. He doesn't think he's supposed to care.
"I know what happened to us," he says. "We're — we're sworn-enemies."
"I know."
"Oh," Malfoy says. He's silent for a few seconds but, with another deep breath, he starts again: "Well, I went to the library to figure out what had happened and it took me a while to figure it out but we're not the first ones." He pauses, like he's expecting a reply, but Albus doesn't grace him with one. "I figured there must be a cure. You know, that someone would have figured out. I — They couldn't have lived like this forever, right?"
"Why are you telling me?" Albus asks.
"It would be faster if I had help."
"And why should I help you?" Al asks steadily. "Seeing as we're sworn-enemies and all that."
"Because it's stupid," Scorpius says, voice raised. "We've only ever talked once. I know our Dads hated each other at school, and I know my family's nothing like yours, but that's not reason enough for me to hate you. You'd seemed alright until we — you know — and I don't think it makes sense."
Albus almost understands him. Almost. Malfoy's right. Albus barely knows him, and he definitely doesn't know why he's supposed to hate him. But, the curse can't be all wrong. His Dad was sworn-enemies with Voldemort and surely that means Malfoy has to be at least half as bad, right?
Al hesitates, and maybe Malfoy catches that because something about the way he's looking at Albus feels hopeful. And yet, Albus isn't ready to talk to spend time with Malfoy just yet. It's still too soon. He needs time. Loads of it.
"I'll think about it," Albus says falling back into bed and rolling away from Scorpius. He's not sure how much he means it.
The next time he's woken up, it's nighttime. Something (or someone) is poking him in the elbow and an all too familiar voice hisses his name.
"What—?"
Albus opens his eyes, squinting through the darkness. Leaning over him and his face illuminated by the moonlight streaming in through their window is James. "Get up," he says. For a moment, Al thinks he's back home.
Then he remembers.
He can hear the quiet breathing of his dormmates. His pillow is too fluffy — like it still hasn't been used enough and his bed is smaller than the one at home. He's still at Hogwarts and still in Slytherin. The world, though barely visible in the dark, is still drained of colour. His heart sinks the moment he remembers and Albus has half a mind to ignore James and go back to sleep.
But something else strikes him.
"What are you doing here?" Albus hisses, sitting up. James shouldn't be able to sneak into the Slytherin Common Room in the middle of the night, right?
"I have connections," James says, which makes little sense to Al. "Come on!"
"Where?"
Before James gets to reply, there's a movement on the next bed. "Albus?" Callum asks, pulling open the curtains around his bed.
"He's alright," James shouts, grabbing Al's hand and tugging him out of bed with newfound desperation. Al gives in before he's pulled onto the floor, only barely grabbing his socks and shoes before James has dragged him out of the dormitory.
All of a sudden, Al freezes. It's the first time he's left his dormitory since The Incident, and the sight of the Common Room in black and white catches Al off-guard.
"Hurry," James mutters as Al looks around, trying to take in the dark greys of the room. Where their dormitory had been a bright contrast of dark grey (the furnishing and the decor) and white (the light streaming into the room), the Common Room is overwhelmingly dark.
The mahogany blends into the emerald of the velvet couches, and the entire place feels dreary.
"What's wrong?" James asks and Al squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head. Not now. He'll tell James eventually, just not now. Talking about it will only make it feel more real, and Al's not ready for that just yet.
"They're going to think you kidnapped me," he says instead, sitting down on one of the couches to put on his shoes.
"Maybe I did," James says with a snort. "Your socks are mismatched," he adds.
Albus glances down. He hadn't realised. He squints at the socks. The difference is barely discernible and a part of him wants to ask James what colours they are. He doesn't dare to though.
Albus shrugs it off instead, quickly pulling on his trainers.
"Where are we going?"
"Out," James says. "Rose says you missed Charms on Friday, and Neville cornered me after lunch saying you hadn't turned up for Herbology either."
"Right."
"Lia told Dom that she hadn't seen you all weekend, so, as you can imagine, everyone was in a right state of panic. Anyway, Molly said that you probably just needed a pick-me-up and everyone volunteered."
They've climbed two flights of stairs, out of the dungeons, and James leads Al through an unfamiliar corridor.
"Well," James says, and he glances back at Al, "Almost everyone. Vic's busy and Roxy's back in the Hospital Wing — that happens every second week, by the way. The whole plan was a bit last minute, so Fred's trying to see if he can sneak Louis out. But the rest of us—" he pauses, pushing open a wooden door that leads outside, "—are here."
They're close to the lake. Albus doesn't know how James figured out this route, but it's definitely the faster way out.
"Come on," James says. He breaks into a sprint, running towards the lake where, silhouetted against the moonlight, Albus can make out his cousins.
Fred's already got Louis out. He's sitting with Rose by the birch tree, probably talking about something Al knows he won't be able to keep up with. James and Fred end up chasing each other and, almost instantly, the two boys jump into the Black Lake.
Molly comes to sit next to him.
"Eat," she says, passing Al a single cookie, still warm and wrapped in tissue. "Nicked it from the kitchens on our way down," she says. "Dom said you'd probably be hungry."
"Where is Dom?" Al asks, looking around.
Molly shrugs. "With Lia, probably. We could sneak down and fetch some more — if you want—" she adds when Al inhales the cookie in a matter of seconds.
"Nah. Nah I'm good."
She makes a sound of disbelief and Albus half expects Molly to drag him to the kitchens anyway, but a shout from James and Fred as they leap into the lake draws her attention and Molly turns to look at the pair.
"They do this every time," she mutters. "But they can't be bothered to learn a simple drying spell. I'll be back in two."
Albus feels himself smile as he watches Molly yell at James, only to be knocked into the water by Fred. Louis is up in a matter of seconds, diving into the water and dragging Rose along with him.
Bathed in the moonlight, the greyscale is less prominent. Colour at night has always been duller and because of that, for the first time since The Incident, Albus doesn't feel like he's missing out on something because of his impairment. For the first time, he feels almost okay.
It feels like he's at the Burrow. In the summer, they'd stay up till late each night, chasing down gnomes and bickering amongst themselves. They'd once played an elaborate game of capture the flag that had gone on till the early hours of the morning and had resulted in at least one set of broken bones and multiple injuries. More recently, it had been late nights of Quidditch with teams that comprised an odd mix of his cousins and the parents. Albus hasn't let himself think about home in his week here but right now, more than ever, he misses it.
"Oy!" Fred suddenly shouts. "What are you doing out there?"
And Al's suddenly lifted off the ground and is tossed into the water. He's laughing when he surfaces, reaching out to dunk Fred's face in the water as revenge only to fail dreadfully.
Al doesn't know how long they mess around for. He definitely doesn't know why nobody hears them or spots them. It's the crack of dawn when he climbs out of the water and collapses on the grass, exhausted but feeling light for the first time since he came to Hogwarts.
It's easy to pretend, just for now, that everything is normal.
"Had fun?" James asks, flopping down on the grass next to Al, his head resting on his arm and staring up at the sky.
Albus grins. "Yeah," he says, and it feels good to know that he's not lying. For once, he doesn't need to. "Loads."
"Dom will probably say otherwise, but this was definitely my idea. Just so that you know." He can make out the laughter buried in James' voice — a teasing edge that Al knows he shouldn't take seriously.
"Sure," he scoffs.
For a moment, neither of them talk. Then James sits up, stringing his hand through his damp hair and shaking it out. Albus scrunches his nose at the droplets that land on him, but James being James doesn't stop.
Suddenly, with no warning: "I know you didn't want to be in Slytherin," James says, and the laughter has disappeared from his voice. Albus gulps, suddenly focusing on the blades of grass under his palms. "I know it's probably lonely right now, but we're still here. All of us. And, I mean, you can literally sit with us at Gryffindor if you want to."
"Thanks," Albus says shortly. He doesn't know if he means it, or if he just wants the conversation to end.
But James continues. "Obviously it's different. Louis barely hangs out with us, and it's tough sneaking him out when we have last-minute plans, but it doesn't have to suck. Not unless you make it."
Ahead of them, Rose and Louis are laughing loudly. The sky is no longer pitch black — it's rapidly turning a lighter shade of grey. His surroundings, which had only been shadows at night, are now visibly lacking colour and the reminder of it stings.
"What does that mean?" Albus asks, daring a glance at James.
"You need to open up yourself to the possibility of liking it."
"So you're saying I'm being close-minded?"
"No. Not exactly."
"Oh, So I'm — what was it you said again — oh right, being a baby?" He feels on edge again and his voice betrays it. The familiar irritation of talking to James claws through him. Al doesn't know where it's coming from. If it's James' words or the fact that the greyscale is becoming impossible to ignore again.
"Albus."
"What?" he snaps.
"I'm trying to be nice," James says through gritted teeth.
"Trying?"
"Yes. Well, you don't make it particularly easy."
"You don't even know half of it," Albus snaps. Ask, he thinks. Ask and I'll tell you. For half a second, he imagines a world in which James knows. In which James, who has always been the best at disaster management, helps him out and fixes this. Like that one time he'd put out the fire Albus had started in Dad's study, or when they'd almost destroyed Lily's bedroom because Albus wanted her plants to grow faster. If anyone could help him right now, it would be James. It always has been.
But: "You're in Slytherin," James mutters. "That's all of it. You're literally making it out to be worse than it is."
Something in Al cracks.
"Screw you," he says, pushing himself off the ground.
He almost expects James to respond. To beg him to stay back. But James doesn't even look at him. Albus wants to stay. He wants to revel in last night forever — with his cousins and free from the hell that is his life is becoming. But it's too late now; the moment's already lost.
His head throbs, anger pulsating through him. He's already standing up. It would be embarrassing to sit down again; or to forgive James. There's no going back now.
So Albus does the only thing he can do. He storms away.
And he tries to pretend like it doesn't hurt when nobody shouts for him to come back and stay.
Scorpius wakes up at the crack of dawn. He's always been an early riser. Mum likes to start him off early, with a cup of tea and a walk around the gardens before breakfast and, even at Hogwarts, the habit has stuck. That he gets to avoid all his dormmates until class starts is a bonus.
He's out of Slytherin Common Room by the time the first rays of sunlight stream into the castle. Gilbert, the Head Boy, is always at the Great Hall when Scorpius arrives. The one time Scorpius dares asks him about it, Gilbert blabbers something about a run around the lake and meeting his girlfriend. Aside from that, Gilbert's been good company.
That's probably why he assumes it's Gilbert when Scorpius hears someone walking down the stairs that come from the Entrance Hall. The person Scorpius almost walks into when he turns the corner, though, is definitely not Gilbert.
Eyes wide, and looking just as surprised as Scorpius feels, is Albus.
Potter reacts first, taking a step away from him. He's still in his pyjamas, hair damp and sticking to his forehead and there's a very distinct smell about him that makes Scorpius wrinkle his nose and consider taking a step away too. He doesn't.
The whole greyscale thing hasn't been easy for him. He'd spent the better part of Saturday crying in the library before telling himself to suck up and deal with it. Even now, there are moments when he'll remember home and his Mum's garden and wonder if it would feel the same in black and white. It's definitely weird seeing the castle like this, but the thought of home in greyscale scares Scorpius more. That's why he wants to fix it so badly. That's why he went to Albus asking for help.
"What are you doing here?" Albus says, pulling Scorpius back to the present.
"Breakfast," he blurts.
There had been a moment, right before they'd shaken hands on Friday morning when Scorpius had been so certain that he wouldn't be doomed to spending the next seven years friendless. Any hopes of befriending Potter died out the moment Scorpius found out that they were sworn-enemies. And yet, Scorpius doesn't want Albus to hate him.
"Isn't it too early for that?" Albus asks, and Scorpius is almost surprised that he hasn't left yet. The last time he'd tried to talk to Albus, he'd barely wanted to listen.
"I was going to go to the library after," he says. "To look for a cure."
Albus nods. Slowly. Like he's thinking about something. And then, all at once: "I can help you out. From whenever. Just let me know the next time you go to the library."
All Scorpius can manage is a quick, wide-eyed nod before Albus brushes past him and disappears from view.
The Scorpius POV at the end was completely on a whim. There was too much Albus this chapter and I needed a break. Plus, according to my notes, I might need sections with Scorpius POV in their 4th/5th year and I don't want it to be completely out of the blue so, there might be more Scorpius POV later but there definitely won't be a lot.
I know James and Al are constantly fighting but I really hope James doesn't seem unreasonable. Just a bit blunt at worst, and a bit oblivious.
That being said, there's definitely going on in this chapter and I did consider splitting it into two after it crossed 3k words, but that didn't feel right so hopefully, this works. Though, thoughts and feedback are always appreciated!
Seeing that might be shut down soon (according to rumours) I wanted yall to know that I post on ao3 too under the same username. I'm actually one chapter ahead there so you can read chapter 5 too!
Please bother me on Tumblr: FanfictioningFangirl
As always, thanks for reading!