Malcolm Macmillan was an excellent Potions partner. He was organized, knowledgeable, at the top of their class on the subject, and pleasant to talk to. He had also been Al's roommate since their sorting. The two had become best friends over the years, and were as thick as thieves. Such a close friendship was why it was impossible for Al to hide his feelings for Scorpius from the guy.

As they worked together on a Dreamless Sleep Draught in class, Mac nudged an elbow into Al's ribs to get his attention. "You're staring at him again." Although they were the only ones at their bench, he was speaking low enough that no one nearby would hear.

Albus lowered his eyes to his cauldron, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks. "Hard not to. You know what his aura does to me. He's just really difficult to ignore."

"Yeah, so you've said repeatedly since first year," Mac murmured.

Al had never grown out of his acute sensitivity towards magic. What had started out as an odd, inexplicable ability to simply know if someone was telling the truth or not – simply by standing close enough to them - had evolved into the ability to actually read their emotional states by the age of eleven.

When he'd confessed in secret to Rose of these strange feelings he was having back then, she'd called him a 'magical empath'. At the time, he hadn't understood what that term meant, and he'd thought his cousin – who was much smarter than anyone their same age, taking after her mum – was making fun of him. He'd pushed her off the swing in her backyard for it, and caused her to knock-out her right, front tooth. He'd gone to bed that night without supper in punishment, even though they'd magicked her tooth back into her mouth at St. Mungo's.

By thirteen, when puberty struck, he'd been able to physically see magical auras as colours, not just sense them – but then, only if the owner was suffering a strong emotional reaction to something at the precise moment that Al was watching them.

The first time he'd seen an aura had been with Scorpius Malfoy. That day they'd been paired in Charms class to practice the Glacius spell, and their wands had accidentally crossed. A spark had travelled the length of the wooden rods, jolting up Al's arm on his side. Malfoy had obviously experienced the same thing, because a second later, his aura had blazed hot with embarrassment, glowing bright specifically about his head, turning his pale hair a sharp crimson shade. He'd quickly stepped away. A moment later, he'd asked the professor if he could go on a loo break and hurried out of the room. When he'd returned near the end of class, his emotions were, as usual, back under tightly held control and there was no colour around him at all – although he did look a bit sweaty.

Al had thought that one instance a one-time anomaly, or a trick of the light, or even that Malfoy was a Metamorphagus and could change his hair colour at will, like Teddy Lupin… until he'd seen a rainbow of colourful coronas encircling other people later that weekend. It didn't take him long to figure out that this extraordinary "halo effect" was just another stage in the growing strength of his weird magical talent – just another example of how different and freakish he was compared to everyone else.

Since that time, he'd been forced to learn on his own how to hone his ability, fine-tuning it to filter the strength of emotions he received. Most days, he could shut almost all of the world's riotous impressions out, and keep them from affecting his own moods. Sometimes, however, the feelings were so powerful – especially around War Memorial Day – that if he was around too many people who were all suffering some sort of strong emotional response, he was unable to close it all out and was subsequently left with a debilitating migraine that could last for a whole day or longer.

The one glaring exception to the blocking rule seemed to be Scorpius Malfoy. For some unfathomable reason, Al was incapable of disengaging from the guy's emotional responses if they were particularly strong. He always sensed them, even from far across a room. Once, he'd even felt them from clear across the castle. That had been fifth year, when Scor had had a really bad row with Euan Nott, his best friend. He attributed being so specially tuned-in to Malfoy because he was in love with him.

Some days, that connection really worked to his favour, as he was able to determine what Malfoy was feeling and to know how to appropriately respond. Other days, it was as if there was no way to dodge the guy or escape one of his cutting remarks. After such confrontations Albus, who was shy by nature, was often left flustered and out of sorts, his aura abilities out of flux and his feelings hurt. He sensed that today was going to be one of the latter experiences; his gut warned him so with a flip and a nauseous wave.

"Here." Mac handed him some valerian root. "Cut this up into thin slices. That'll give you something else to concentrate on." He patted Al on the lower back, his hand lingering just a bit longer than might be considered acceptable. The touch was familiar, affable, but also a bit more intimate than expected. It spoke of a closeness that wasn't quite as casual as 'just friends'.

Casting a sharp sidelong glance at his roommate, Albus was a bit disconcerted to see that Mac appeared completely unaffected by his action. Was the affectionate touch an accident, or did it mean something? He knew Mac was into blokes, too, but they'd never crossed that line in their friendship, and he couldn't discern the truth this time by attempting to read Malcolm's aura. The guy wasn't experiencing any sort of heightened emotion; his aura was as calm as ever.

Either way, the touch felt good. Really, really good.

Bugger, but Al seriously needed a solid wank! It had been two days since his last pull, and clearly his hormones were beginning to kick into overdrive.

Trying to ignore how Mac's persistent contact was making his cock stir to life in his pants, Al grabbed his apothecary knife from his Potions' kit and began carving up the root he'd been given. As he made his first slice, there was a shift in the magical energies in the room. Immediately, Al knew from whom it was emanating: Scorpius was approaching their bench with a quick stride, and from the way his aura lashed out before him, he seemed extremely perturbed.

Probably just irritated with Euan again and needs a break before he strangles him, he thought. Malfoy and Euan Nott were best friends, true, but the two fought like an old married couple sometimes. They could sound downright ridiculous, too, henpecking each other. Their arguments were the only times Al could really say that Scorpius lost his cool on a regular basis. Euan apparently knew all the right buttons to push.

Speaking of pushing… Malfoy's advance was like a brush of fire sweeping before him. With every step closer, the arousing, burning sensation of his powerfully emotive magic stroked against Al's. It suddenly became difficult to breathe. Heart racing, hands trembling, Al fumbled the apothecary knife and accidentally cut himself on its razor-sharp edge.

"Shite!" he hissed at the acute sting, raising the wound to his mouth to suck at it.

His roommate's hand slid away. "Is it bad?" Malcolm asked, putting down his cauldron stirring rod and reaching for his wand on the table. "Let me see. I'll heal it."

Al shook his head as he pulled the finger out to look at it. Crimson blood welled to the surface, making his stomach turn. Shite, but he hated the sight of blood. Swallowing back the queasy feeling in his belly, he inspected his injury. It was a deep cut, but wouldn't need a trip to the Hospital Wing. "Nah, my fault," he told his friend. "I got it."

Sucking his finger again, he reached for his satchel to pull out his wand, even as Mac stepped closer with his own wand raised to help.

Before he could grab his willow wood rod and cast a simple Healing Charm, two things happened in quick succession: Mac reached for his wrist to pull his hand from his mouth, and another lash of Scorpius' anger struck out at him, making him flinch from its intensity.

Malfoy was clearly angry about something and was spoiling for a fight. Usually, Al was too reticent to fight back, but right then, he was definitely being influenced by Scor's emotional outburst, as his own feelings of irritation began stirring through his guts.

He spun about to face his long-time crush, snapping at him contentiously. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

Grey eyes glinted with surprise at being challenged. "Clumsy, Potter," Scorpius chided him with a needling smirk as he reached the bench. "Don't tell me you're going to sissy out again over something so small?"

A flush ran through Al as his pride took the hit. Everyone remembered him fainting in second year Herbology class when a baby Mandrake blew out Geoff Goyle's left ear. That Malfoy was reminding him of his tendency to have a vasovagal episode upon the sight of blood - something Al couldn't control – was not cool. "Up yours," he bit back, irate and humiliated. "It's your fault anyway. If you weren't so busy slithering up on people from behind, maybe I wouldn't have been distracted."

A narrowed, steely stare was leveled on him. "How did you know I was coming up on you if you couldn't see me?"

Shite. He'd said too much. No way could he tell Scor his secret. Very few people knew he had this funky thing for feeling out auras, and he preferred to keep it that way. He didn't want to be considered a freak. It was bad enough that the things he dreamed always came true eventually.

Side-step adversity with diversion, his father might caution him under the circumstances. Deceitful manoeuvering wasn't really his thing, in general – that was more Lily's gig - but in this case, it was probably the better option. Besides, he was feeling moody, out of sorts… belligerent. "What'd you come over here for, anyway? You and Nott fighting over curtain patterns again?" He rolled his eyes his mock disdain. "The two of you should just marry and get it over with."

Abruptly, Malfoy's aura went cold. His handsome face lost its snarky amusement, his gaze went flat and reptilian, and his emotions locked down tight. Obviously, he hadn't like the implication that he was a poof.

With a dismissive turn of his head, Scor gave all his attention over to Al's partner in the next beat. "Impromptu meeting tonight, same time as usual, same place."

Malcolm nodded in acknowledgement but kept his mouth closed, his eyes on the cauldron he'd begun stirring again. Apparently, he didn't want to get in the middle of the fight.

His message delivered, Scorpius turned on his heel and walked back to his bench to work with Euan on their assigned draught. He didn't bother to look at Al again, or to call out a parting shot, as he might normally have done. There was no reading from his aura either. Whatever had previously angered him was apparently no longer a concern.

The Slytherin Prince's odd behavior was perplexing, to say the least. Al tried to wrap his head around the last five minutes, and fuck if he could figure out how his words were worse than Scor's had been to him. Malfoy was always a puzzle, as far as he was concerned.

As he turned back to the cut on his hand, healing it with a simple wave of his wand, he realized that more important than his trip down Wallowing Way was that there was a Skulls meeting tonight! As a pledge, Albus was barred from all member meetings until such a time as he passed the initiation ceremony, so this was the first time he'd actually known when a meeting was going to be held.

If only he'd been considered for membership in his sixth year, as Hugo had so indelicately pointed out!

With an envious glance to the side, Al noted Malcolm's Skull and Serpent member pin decorating his tie. Club and activity pins were the only adornments allowed to the standard-issue uniforms at Hogwarts, granted by the new Headmistress, Professor Sinistra, when she'd taken over the administration during Al's first year. They'd grown in popularity since. There was now a pin for the Head Girl and Boy (to go along with their individual badges), the Prefects, the Wizard's Chess club, the various House Gobstones clubs, the Duelling clubs, the Caretaking of Magical Creatures club, the Hogwarts Choir, the Hogwarts Orchestra, the House Quidditch teams, the Wizard's Card Collecting club, the Magical Law and Debate club, the International Cooking club, the Exploding Snap club, the Colin Creevey Memorial Photography club, the Potions Club, the Quilting, Sewing, and Knitting club, the Shuntbumps club, the Hogwarts Swim Team, and of course, Skull and Serpent – the most mysterious club of them all.

Being at the top of their class, Macmillan had been a member of the Skulls since the society's inception. At that time, Albus could remember that he'd thought the group sounded spiff and wanted in, but hadn't merited an invite because of his grades. Within two years, the Skulls had expanded to become the number one club to join, with students clamouring for its notice. Too shy to even raise his hand in class until fourth year, Al had remained silent, watching enviously as others around him filled the ranks of the Skulls, proudly displaying their pins.

Man, he wished he knew who had backed his application to pledge the Skulls this year! After he'd received his invite, he'd asked around to find out the name of his Sponsor. Like everything surrounding the group, though, the identity of one's Sponsor was a secret; official contact was made strictly through anonymous notes to pledges. After three such inquiries to various members, he was discreetly told not to ask again or risk having his pledge pin pulled. Needless to say, he'd put his curiosity to temporary rest.

For not the first time, he wondered if Mac had vouched for him.

He also wondered if that meant his good friend was a juvvie Death Eater in training. The guy was a pureblood, after all.

X~~~~~X

That night, Albus dreamed of Scorpius Malfoy sitting upon a regal throne, surrounded by sycophants in Muggle zoot-suits and fedora hats.

Malfoy was beautiful, with his hair slicked back in the style he'd preferred for his first three years in school, and he wore the finest suit of all, tailored to fit by some famous Muggle designer. Albus bent over and kissed the Malfoy family insignia ring that Scor always wore on his right hand, swearing fealty to this wizard that he had adored for countless years.

As he stared into his new master's eyes, the dream shifted.

Scorpius' face was covered by a silver and black mask, like the ones Al had seen in the Ministry's War Memorial exhibit when he'd been ten. He wore a dark cowl that covered him from head to toe, leaving only the mask visible. Between the ominous eye slits, Scorpius was staring at him in wide-eyed terror. Unfortunately, there was no mouthpiece cut out of the mask for his screams to be heard, so his protests were effectively silenced.

Albus saw himself from the outside, reaching up to remove the mask, but it firmly held in place. No matter how hard he pulled, it seemed impossible to take off. And all the while, Scorpius writhed underneath in pain…

He awoke in his dormitory bed bathed in sweat, panting, his heart racing a mile minute.

"You okay, mate?" Mac asked in a hushed whisper from the bed next to his. "You were thrashing about and moaning in pain. You also said Malfoy's name a few times aloud."

Forcibly regaining his calm, Albus swallowed several times to wet his dry mouth. "I'm… fine. Bad dream is all." With that, he flopped back down and onto his side, rolling away from Malcolm so the man couldn't see his frustrated tears reflected by the flames in the magically lit heating stove in the center of their room.

It was always this way after a confrontation involving Malfoy, he silently anguished: they'd get into some sort of confrontation during the day, and then that night, he'd suffer a nightmare that would haunt him for days. Each one would be different, its message veiled in the metaphorical language of dreams. And he knew, that just like all of the others that had come before it, this dream contained a hint about the future that awaited them both.

Now, if only he could interpret what it meant…

TO BE CONTINUED...

Author's Notes:

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