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 5
The library is empty when they decide to meet up.
It's dinner time for one and with it only being the second week of September, it's still too early in the term for any studying. Which is probably why Madam Pince, the ancient librarian who, rumour has it, has guarded the Hogwarts Library for decades, eyes them with distrust when Albus and Scorpius walk in.
Malfoy had cornered him after Defence earlier that morning, stuttering about eating early and spending dinner time in the library so that they weren't interrupted by anyone. Albus suspects Malfoy wanted to eat with him, but he'd agreed to meet at the library and pocketed two apples during lunch instead. They're working together because they have to and not because they want to.
If by some miracle they do figure out a cure, then Al won't have to tell anyone at home. That way, he won't be labelled as being any weirder than he already is.
"This way," Malfoy says, leading Albus to the back. He runs his thumb over the spines of the books, muttering under his breath, and then stops suddenly, letting out a soft sound of exclamation.
"Here!"
He pulls out book after book, laying them out on the table in front of Albus. Large volumes with yellowing pages that are coated in a thick layer of dust. They look ancient. Ancient enough, Al reckons, that they don't mention his Dad or Voldemort.
It's not common knowledge in the wizarding world, from what Albus knows. The same summer Lily had asked Dad about sworn enemies, Albus had brought it up with Teddy. And the information had taken aback Teddy, who liked to gather facts and seemed to know something about everything. It was news to him too. A week later, when Teddy was visiting again, he told Albus that the Ministry had kept quiet about it.
'They didn't want people freaking out ,' he had said when Albus had asked why and that had felt like answer enough. Now, cursed in the same way his Dad had been, Albus wishes they had some way to read up on what had happened. Or what Dad had done.
"I know they're old," Malfoy says, "but that doesn't mean they're useless."
"Doesn't mean they're useful either. I didn't think there would be so much about —" and his breath catches on the word; at the mere thought of it.
It's stupid, but the same thing that had, at first, kept Albus from telling James what had happened chills him to the bone now. It's like they're finally acknowledging what has happened, and though that changes nothing, it makes it feel more real.
Only a few hours ago, in Potions, Albus had nearly exploded his cauldron because he couldn't make out the dark ringlets of smoke rising from his potion in the dimly lit classroom. He'd received an earful for that. On his way to Defence, Lydia had pointed out his mismatched socks and all Albus could manage was to shrug it off and ignore the peals of laughter that followed him.
Malfoy had been there both times; watching Albus with his eyebrows knit and a look that wasn't curious or pitiful, but understanding. He'd been quick to ask Albus to meet him in the library after that. Though Al had wondered if it had been intentional on Malfoy's part to ask right after Albus had properly suffered from the curse.
He'd quickly said yes, but that had been more out of desperation after a bad day than because of the promise he'd made on Monday morning.
He hasn't talked to James since he stormed off, and Albus is still ignoring Rose in the few common classes they have. He doesn't know why — he doesn't even know if his irritation at James is justified — but the thought of talking to everyone makes him feel uncomfortable. It fills him with a twinge of anger and makes his eyes burn with tears and he can't explain it, but he wants to keep avoiding them. For now.
"Where do you want to start?" Malfoy asks, and Albus scans the books.
When they were younger, Uncle Ron would tell them about their adventures at Hogwarts. Vague stories about how Aunt Hermione would always start in the library and how she was the best at everything she did and that would end, rather suspiciously, with Uncle Ron saving the day. All the cousins knew, right from the beginning, not to take the stories seriously, but the bits about Aunt Hermione had never felt exaggerated. She was frequently in the Daily Prophet. She'd been made Minister three years ago and, to top it all off, in their first Charms class, the moment Professor Flitwick had spotted Rose, he had rambled about teaching Aunt Hermione too and how she was the best student he'd ever had.
And if she couldn't find a cure when Dad lost his ability to see in colour, what are their odds of finding it now? Albus can't even cast the simplest of spells, and though he doesn't know how good Malfoy is at spell-casting, he can't be close to what Aunt Hermione was. They don't really stand a chance. Not really.
And though Albus still feels the same desperation that had first pushed him to join Malfoy in the search for a cure, the impossibility of it hits him too.
"This is a waste of time," he mutters.
Malfoy's eyes widen at the statement. "No," he blurts. "No. These books aren't all about sworn-enemies. There aren't any specifically about them. It's incredibly rare, you know? They're just books that mention it. I thought that would be a good start."
"So there's not much about them?" Albus asks.
"No. Took me ages to find a clear enough explanation about what had happened," Malfoy says and he looks suddenly guilty. "There's nothing much, actually. Just mentions."
"Yuu do see why that's worse right?"
Malfoy doesn't reply.
"So this is definitely a waste of time?" It's back. The annoyance in his tone. The pent up emotion spilling out in irritation and anger. He doesn't take it out on people a lot; people that aren't his family, that is. But it's easy to let it out in front of Malfoy. The boy is literally supposed to hate him.
Where James would always shoot back with an argument though, Malfoy seems to shrink.
"There has to be a way," he says quietly. "Like — like, how did you know we were sworn-enemies? You said you knew, right?"
Albus nods. It had hit him almost at once; the word slipping into his thoughts and sticking there with no need for an explanation or proof.
He'd just known.
Though of course, the bit that Malfoy doesn't know is that Dad had been cursed too. He'd thought about sworn-enemies a lot after Dad had first brought it up. There had been follow-up questions when he would dare to ask, and late-night conversations with Teddy once they'd talked about it. The idea of a sworn-enemy had just always bothered Albus, the same way the kids at his Muggle schools had talked about quicksand and the Bermuda Triangle. It had felt like an imminent threat and yet, at the same time, like an impossible occurrence.
"Were you lying?" Malfoy prompts.
Albus shakes his head. "No." He takes a deep breath, more than aware of Malfoy's unwavering gaze and then, before he can talk himself out of it: "My Dad and Voldemort were sworn-enemies."
Malfoy who, until now, though not optimistic, had at least been hopeful looks stricken. He shakes his head, uttering a soft, barely audible: " No ." Eyes wide, clutching the book like it's his lifeline.
"You're lying," Malfoy says.
"I'm not."
"You have to be."
"Why?" Albus shoots back. "You said you're not his son." His. Voldemort's. Albus hadn't even thought of it until the words left him. But now, suddenly, it's like everything falls into place. Dad had been sworn-enemies with Voldemort. What if — "Are you?"
"I'm not," Malfoy snaps. And then, in the same, almost desperate whisper he'd used the first time they'd discussed it too: "I can't be."
"How are you so sure?"
"Because my parents love each other," Malfoy says. And, where his protests about being Voldemort's son always sound doubtful, for the first time, he sounds confident. Like this is the one thing he's sure about. "And Mum hated Voldemort." His voice drops when he says Voldemort, like uttering the name still scares him.
"Why?"
"She's a good person."
"And your Dad isn't?"
Malfoy frowns. "If you're going to insult my family, I don't think I want to work with you," he says. "There were people who did worse than my Dad. Nobody seems to hate Yaxley, or Flint."
"Their families spent time in Azkaban."
"So you think mine should too?"
He doesn't sound angry. He sounds tired; like this is something he's thought about before, or like this isn't the first time he's had to defend his parents and that sticks out to Albus.
They'd discussed being similar the first time they had talked, but Malfoy had been right about what made them different too. People would always love Albus' family — if they hated him, it was on Albus alone. It's the opposite for Malfoy.
He doesn't know which is worse.
"Look, I dunno," he says. "I just know that my Dad was sworn-enemies with Voldemort and that everyone thinks he's your Dad. It — it could explain all of this."
"Well it's not true."
And Albus could keep at it. He could push Malfoy some more. This is the first thing that has made sense about their curse, and yet, Albus believes Malfoy.
"Okay," he says.
Malfoy looks surprised. "Okay?"
"Yeah. Okay. If you say so."
Scorpius smiles. "Thank you," he whispers. "I don't — I don't think anyone else would believe me. If they knew about this—"
"They'd think that this was proof," Albus realises. "Even if they don't know about Dad and Voldemort."
Malfoy doesn't reply. He sinks deeper into the chair, opening the book nearest to him.
"I guess this means it's real," he says.
"It was for my Dad."
"And he didn't find a cure?"
Albus shakes his head.
"Does he — is it weird for him? Seeing in black and white? For all these years?"
Albus hesitates. Dad can see in colour, now, but that's only because Voldemort was killed. And, somehow, he can't see himself telling that to Malfoy right now. They might be working together to find a cure, but they're sworn enemies and the last thing Albus wants is to be killed in his sleep because Malfoy wants to see in colour.
"No," Albus lies. "Not since he was fourteen."
Scorpius shivers. "Maybe it is pointless," he says. "To look for a cure."
"Maybe," Albus agrees. "But we could still try."
He can't justify it. He doesn't believe they can find a cure, but for the first time since joining Hogwarts, Albus hasn't spent the evening on his own. And he isn't here to make friends with Malfoy, but he wouldn't mind spending his evenings outside the dormitory.
"And what if we don't? What then?" And Albus senses the ' Will you tell everyone?' buried in his questions.
He hasn't thought of that. He had wanted to tell James — a part of him still wants to, if only for it no longer feels like his burden; so that there's someone else who can worry about it and figure it out. But there's not much that James could do either.
Albus w wants to cling to the hope that there is a way out of this, but what if there isn't?
Will it still make a difference if he tells James then? Dad and Voldemort were obviously sworn-enemies, but will they separate him from Scorpius because of what it could mean to have sworn-enemies sleeping in a single room?
Almost irrationally, he wonders if they'd let him sleep in Gryffindor instead, just to keep him away from Malfoy. He wouldn't mind that.
But, if everyone knew, it would just be one more thing to add to the list of reasons Albus doesn't fit in. Something else to make him stand out. Slytherin. Squib. Sworn-Enemy of a classmate. Albus can't give everyone another reason to call him different. He won't.
So, for reasons that are more selfish than he'd dare tell Malfoy, Albus says: "I won't tell anyone."
Scorpius almost seems to smile. "Really?" he asks, voice bubbling with gratitude that Albus doesn't feel deserving of.
"Definitely."
It makes little sense for them to go to the library every day. They don't need to — and Albus definitely isn't expecting anything out of it. And yet, they do. It's the same each day. Malfoy pulls out books, some familiar and others new. They shuffle through the pages for a few minutes before deciding that there's nothing to it.
Then Malfoy will pull out his Charm's essay, and Albus will begrudgingly follow suit and they will pull out a fresh collection of books to help with homework. The more and more it starts to feel like they're hanging out though, the more the thought of it scares Albus.
He goes out of his way to make sure that they're not treading into friendship. They don't walk to class together. They don't eat together. Malfoy must notice Albus' odd tendency to stay back to retie his shoelaces or run back for a book he didn't forget, but he doesn't bring it up.
Except, despite his best efforts, they still talk.
"Do you think you could ask your Dad?" Malfoy asks when, for the first time, they don't pull out any books to read.
"He'd get too suspicious."
"Cousins? Any other adults? They could get us books from the Restricted Section."
Albus shakes his head. "I'm not getting help from them," he says firmly.
Technically, he could ask Teddy, who had written to Albus two days ago, congratulating him for avoiding Gryffindor and insisting that Hufflepuff was still superior. It was the first letter that didn't make Albus feel like crap, and he had almost replied. Except, he is still ignoring his family — all of his family. And that includes Teddy.
"Why?" Scorpius asks.
Albus can't explain why. Part of it is the fact that he's still ignoring James. Everyone has been giving him space this time. They're not constantly pestering Albus or talking to him. Al suspects James asked them to back-off, and he doesn't know whether he appreciates it or hates it.
Rose would have helped. She loves puzzles and mysteries — and she'd have taken this up as a challenge more than research. Vic might actually know something useful; she's weirdly into reading up on ancient magical rituals. But Albus doesn't want to be the one who goes back to them. He couldn't justify it, he just knows it. He knows Malfoy wouldn't understand; Al barely understands himself. But he will not ask. He's certain about that.
"Just no," he says.
Malfoy groans. "Is it the whole Slytherin thing?" he asks.
"The Slytherin thing?"
"You know," Malfoy says. "How you don't want to be in Slytherin because none of them are. Or whatever you said that day."
That day . The day.
"I don't know."
Scorpius frowns at him. "You're weird," he declares, pulling the book towards himself.
And for some reason, it doesn't sting the way it usually does. Like when Scorpius says it, he doesn't mean it to be rude or demeaning.
"I've never wanted to be in Slytherin," he says. If Malfoy's surprised by the attempt at an explanation, he doesn't show it. "James started going on about the Sorting after I got my letter. You know, how Gryffindor's where dwell the brave at heart and how everyone evil ends up in Slytherin. And when Dad disagreed, he listed all these people. Like Voldemort."
He'd joked about disowning Albus if he was sorted into Slytherin and had teased him about it relentlessly. Albus had dreaded the Sorting after that. He'd barely slept the days leading up to Hogwarts and had asked everyone to tell him as much as they could about it. Dad had almost made him feel okay. Until it had happened.
"That's not true," Malfoy says. "We're not all bad."
And maybe that makes it worse. Albus has spent the last few weeks noticing every time a housemate does something good or kind and has to rewire his thoughts to accommodate it. To not be biased against his own house. To be okay with this.
The thing is, Al is confused. He doesn't know if his problem is being sorted into Slytherin or, on the flip side, not being sorted into Gryffindor. Slytherin feels like the root of all his problems. Gryffindor would have been the solution. And he'd give anything to be with his family instead.
"He could have been joking?"
"They didn't clap after my sorting," Albus says.
"That's sad, but you can't hold that against them forever. Especially if they are trying to make things better, right?"
Albus knows that. He knows he's making a huge deal out of nothing. But something about the way everyone reacted to his sorting felt off.
And Malfoy sighs; like there's more he could say but isn't yet ready to say and he pulls his Potions essay closer, the conversation over.
"Clearwater almost killed me in Potions today," Albus says lightly. It's an attempt to keep talking.
Scorpius had been there for it. It's definitely not news to him, but he gives Albus an: "Oh!" of surprise anyway. "I hate that the lights are so dim in the Dungeons. Dad always says a good Potions classroom should be airy to keep out the fumes. He thinks Hogwarts does it wrong."
"And I don't think anyone can see anything down there. Even in colour."
Malfoy laughs at that, and even Albus dares to crack a smile.
They're not friends, Albus reminds himself. They're not friends, but sometimes, they don't feel like sworn-enemies either.
He almost looks forward to meeting Malfoy in the library each day, but Albus tells himself that it's only because he's lonely. They're a couple of weeks into the semester and David and Callum, though still friendly, aren't including Albus anymore.
He's alone in class, alone after class and Malfoy is the only proper company he has. He's the only person Albus ever talks to, the Prefects notwithstanding.
Because both Cecilia and Andrew have talked to Albus multiple times. With Cecilia, Albus had been convinced that Dom had put her to it, but when Andrew stopped to talk to Albus over breakfast two days ago, Albus guessed it was something more.
He suspects they've noticed that he's always alone, and though that hasn't driven him to attempt a friendship with Callum and David or any of their other classmates, it has pushed Albus to always pretend like he is with people. He'll sit down next to his housemates during mealtimes, if only for the sake of looking like he isn't alone.
Or, when nobody's around, he'll simply avoid the Great Hall deciding that it's safer to skip meals all together than it is to risk being accused of being a loner.
The few times he forces himself to eat or sit alone, he feels watched and judged. Like everyone in the Great Hall has noticed him.
Rose's large group of friends certainly doesn't help. Nor does the fact that Dominique continues to spend most meals at the Slytherin table. She hasn't sat down next to him since the first day, but she'll still smile at him, or raise her eyebrows in the usual silent "You okay?" and it takes every ounce of Al's self-control not to burst into tears and tell her he hates Hogwarts and that he wants to go home.
Scorpius is a break from all of it.
He doesn't seem to share Albus' hesitation to become friends, even though he respects Al's apprehension and all the weird things he does to avoid spending too much time together. In fact, Scorpius is just as careful as Albus is about not touching — if only because neither of them knows what will happen if they do. But Malfoy still talks. Offering Al the sweets he'd been sent from home, talking about his Mum's garden or recalling something his Dad had told him.
And the constant chatter helps Albus open up more and more. It makes him want to talk, and it makes him desperate to say something every time they sit in silence.
He almost hates that they don't hang out outside the library too, but Albus isn't ready to change that. Not yet at least.
On Thursday evening, just like every other day, Malfoy leaves early and Albus waits exactly ten minutes before leaving the library too.
"Potter?" a voice asks just as he's leaving, and Cecilia, book tucked under her arm, walks to him. "I thought you'd left with Malfoy a while ago."
"I didn't," he says, and Albus doesn't mean for it to sound rude but it comes off sounding that way anyway.
Cecilia doesn't seem to mind though.
"I'm glad the both of you are friends," she says, falling into step with him. "Merlin knows the two of you needed it. Dom's happy about it too, you know?"
"We're not," Albus says. "We're not friends." He didn't think that people had noticed he sat in the library with Scorpius every day.
Cecilia frowns at him, confused. "Why not?" she asks.
Albus doesn't reply. Dad had been wrong about the Sorting Hat listening to you; he could have been wrong about Malfoy too. And Scorpius has been perfectly nice, if not friendly. It takes a second longer than it should for Al to remember that they are sworn-enemies. That they're not supposed to be friends.
"Well, it's useful having a few friends at Hogwarts, Potter. Even if it is with the most unlikely of people." She shoots Albus a knowing smile. "Pendragon," Cecilia adds, stopping in front of the stone wall that hides the Slytherin Common Room. "You know I picked it — the password — right out of Merlin."
"You get to choose?"
"Well, the seventh years are supposed to, but they let us help. Keeps things interesting. If it's creatures, it's probably Andrew. If it's from Merlin, it's probably me."
"From Merlin?" Albus asks.
Cecilia grins. "Merlin's a Muggle TV show I like to watch. I don't know shit about the real guy." She winks at Albus, coming to a stop in front of the stairs that lead to the girl's dormitories. "Take care, Potter. And make some friends."
Malfoy's already in bed when Albus gets upstairs. Callum and David, sitting on the former's bed, are whispering loudly amongst themselves, but they stop abruptly when Albus walks in. As though they've been talking about him.
Albus feels his ears go warm as he makes his way to bed, suddenly feeling like he's being watched. Are his socks mismatched again? Or did he wear the wrong coloured robes like he had yesterday morning? Or—
"Albus?" Callum asks. He's standing right in front of him.
"I—" he glances back at David, "— We were wondering if you'd be alright swapping beds with me?" Albus doesn't reply. Callum clears his throat, looking incredibly awkward. "We know you and Malfoy hang out." Did everyone know? Cecilia, Dom, and now apparently Callum and David too. "And David and I would like adjacent beds. If that's alright with you?"
Malfoy is watching him from behind Callum. Head peeking out from behind the book he is holding up. Albus can feel the silence of the dormitory as every eye sits on him. If he says no, they'll ask why. If he says yes, he'll be stuck right next to Malfoy for the foreseeable future.
But would that be so bad?
Why had Albus been confused when Cecilia had asked about them only minutes ago? Why had he almost considered friendship?
"Potter?" Callum asks.
"Okay." He squeezes his eyes shut. Breathes. Looks up. "Okay," he says.
And Callum cracks a grin. "Thanks. We could swap over the weekend?"
"Yeah. Yeah. Sure."
Albus gulps, climbing into his bed — his gaze flickering to Malfoy for just a second. He pretends not to notice the smile spread across Scorpius' face. Just like Albus pretends he doesn't need to push back a smile of his own.
A/N: I hope you liked this chapter! I know it's mostly set in Al's head, but I've always imagined that Albus has anxiety and I wanted that to really come across. He's still struggling at Hogwarts and though things will get better soon, he'll always be worried about what people think.
As always, thanks for reading! Thoughts and comments are always welcome!
This fic is being updated faster on ao3, do if you want to read more you should check it out on there too.