Skin

character: Albus Severus Potter

By:

s i l v e r a u r o r a (Ellie - Slytherin)

prompt: skin

pairing: AlbusOCJames

chosen character: Albus Severus Potter

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the symphony of our skin

i recall a long farewell, and a time to

choose; and we part like rivers baby

- Twilight, Thriving Ivory

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She turns his head (and signs his death warrant).

i.

James brings her home one unremarkable day during the Easter holidays. Albus, seventeen, bored, is lounging on the sofa and fighting half-heartedly with Lily over the TV remote.

"Lils, I am not watching your stupid cartoons. That's Teddy's job."

"Whatever," she pouts at him, snatching the remote of him and punching him hard enough in the upper arm to numb it all the way down to his hand. "I'm the girl. You have to give me the remote."

"No, I don't," he replies idly, not really in the mood to make much of an effort, which is a pity because Lily seems to be in one of those dizzying moods where she's so full of energy it's like she'll start bouncing off the walls any second.

"Just because you don't understand girls, Al, isn't an excuse to bully your poor baby sister," she taunts, apparently pretty determined to provoke him into an argument.

"Look, Lily –" he begins, but gets no further because at that precise moment the sitting room door crashes open and James bounds in, sweeping Lily up into his arms and smothering her face in kisses as she squeals and protests and twists to get away.

"It's alright, I'm back, you can stop panicking now!" James announces with a beam, his arms full of his wriggling sister as he gestures grandly around the room at large. Lily bites his shoulder, hard, and he drops her with a yelp and rubs it with a look of hurt as he crosses the room to usher a new someone into the room.

"Al, Lily, this is Chloé, my girlfriend," James proclaims grandly, and Lily snorts for his prattish ways as she clambers to her feet and moves over to greet the absurdly pretty blonde who is regarding the siblings with something akin to… envy, or something.

"Hi," Lily says loudly, seizing the blonde's hand and pumping it enthusiastically. "I'm Lily, the cool member of our family."

She sends a pointed look over her shoulder at Al, but it is entirely wasted.

Because, see, he was lost the moment Chloé walked in the room.

ii.

She stays for the afternoon, taking a seat on the edge of the sofa as James lounges with a careless arm on the back of the couch and Lily expostulates eagerly about some arrangements for the summer that Al pays no attention to.

His eyes are glued to her as she sits shyly, listening politely to Lily's incessant chattering and occasionally sending him curious looks.

His eyes follow the way the sunlight catches her fair hair, the way her curls shift when she moves minutely, the way her blue eyes meet his calmly and interestedly every now and again.

He's sprawled in his armchair in the corner, his black hair flopping into his eyes as he silently watches his two siblings bicker over the spotlight and try to out-loud each other.

Eventually, he finds himself unable to bear the way James' arm is thrown over the back of the sofa, the bare skin of his forearm just barely grazing the pale skin of her shoulder, and he shoves himself out of the chair and stalks from the room with a muttered excuse about the loo or something.

"Al," a voice calls, more confident now, and he whirls halfway down the hall to find her following him out, her face shadowed by the light above them. "I didn't have a chance to say – it's good to see you."

"What are you doing here?" he spits out, full of suspicion as she bows her head sorrowfully. "What the fuck d'you think you're doing here?"

"I really like James," she murmurs, taking a brave step closer and angling her head up to look at him, her eyes startling full of honesty.

"Bullshit," Al replies instantly, too angry to even be sarcastic or make much sense. "You're Slytherin."

"I'd have thought you'd got over that prejudice by now," she retorts, starting to get riled up, her hands planting themselves firmly on her hips. "After all, your own little sister is in Slytherin."

"Yes, but my little sister hasn't sworn to get her revenge on our family, has she?"

Her forehead creases, her brows drawing together ferociously. "You only have your stupid cousins to blame for that. If they could have stopped their dim-witted vendetta against us Slytherins for just a couple of months, it might have been different."

He moves closer suddenly, invading her personal space until his chest is right in her line of vision and she has to lean her head back to meet his icy, stormy gaze.

"You do anything to hurt my brother, right," he warns darkly, his hands fisting in the material of the dress at her hips, "and I will personally hunt you down and make your life a living hell."

"Is that a threat or a promise?" she whispers, her warm breath ghosting over his face and smelling of promises and enticement and forbiddenness.

He doesn't know what he'd have done next, so it is with great relief that he hears the sitting room door crash open and Lily explode into the hallway with a cry of "Teddy!"

"I'm warning you," he mutters to her, his hand tracing up her bare forearm, the slight drag of skin on skin compelling and sexy and exciting. "Don't try anything."

"Tempt me not," she shoots back, and then James is bounding out to claim her and to introduce her to his godbrother, who is battling his way past Ginny's attempted force-feeding and Harry's inquiries, Lily clinging around his neck like a rather adorable redheaded limpet.

iii.

He goes to stay with Scorpius for the rest of the holiday, putting up with Rose's somewhat irritating company for the sake of the grand library at Malfoy Manor and for avoiding her.

It is going swimmingly, until he is disturbed one rather bland Tuesday by a voice saying "hello, stranger" and distracting him from his book.

He glances up with surprise, looking ungainly sprawled on the beanbag with his long legs out at comfortable, but not particularly elegant, angles.

"You," he says mistrustfully, pushing his hair back and scrambling to his feet, regaining some of his usual catlike grace once he is upright. He slides the book back onto its shelf and turns back to face her, his face blank and conceding nothing.

"Not pleased to see me?" she inquires with an impish grin, the cuffs of her cardigan hanging over her hands as she raises them to adjust her scruffy ponytail. "That's a pity, because I was quite looking forward to seeing you."

"What are you doing here, Chloé?" he replies tiredly, taking a step back as she takes one forward, her hair gleaming gold in the torchlight.

"My mum's here staying with Aunt Astoria, and she dragged me along. Told me I could 'play' with Scorpius, can you believe it? I swear she still thinks I'm five."

"All parents do," Al informs her, non-committal, keeping the distance between them regular even as she tries to decrease it. "Can you go away now please? I want to finish my book."

"But you put it away," she points out validly, and Al's hands clench into fists because, fuck, she's too damn irresistible for her own good – and she belongs to James, remember?

"Well I'm going to get it out again, aren't I?" he retorts childishly, reaching up to pluck the book down easily. "So you can really leave me alone now."

"Nah, I think I'll just keep you company," she says with a smile, as though this is a wonderful idea, and Al glowers as she selects a book and settles down on a beanbag opposite his. Warily, he sinks back down and opens up his book.

iv.

The next day, after they've all spent three hours splashing around in the pool and generally being teenagers, Rose and Scorpius disappear somewhere and Al is left with Chloé.

"Oh, c'mon, Al," she complains as he sits tensely on the side of the pool, legs hanging in the water as he tries to broadcast goawaygoawaygoaway vibes to her, "we've been in the same year at school for over six years now. You'd think we could at least hold a civilised conversation."

She pulls herself out of the pool to sit next to him, her body almost blue with the water's reflection, her wet skin sliding irresistibly against his.

"You're sort of difficult to hold a conversation with," he points out as his head swims, wishing she would just place a little distance in between them. "You're too distracting."

"Distracting?" she inquires, her voice taking on a warning note, and he nods and grimaces.

"Yeah. Especially… you know, in a bikini. Can't you find a towel or something?"

She's quiet for a few seconds, and he risks a glance at her, only to find her cheeks stretched out in a glorious, beautiful smile that has his insides turning to mush and his world glowing that bit brighter.

"My, my, my," she says thoughtfully, and suddenly she's pulled up a leg so she's half facing him, one leg tucked up underneath herself. "Who would have thought? Albus Potter actually displaying emotion."

He glares at her even as he's trying to pretend he's not going into mental meltdown at the feel of her leg against his thigh.

"And what emotion would that be, then?" he inquires, his voice admirably steady, and she grins at him as she leans in closer.

"It's a toss-up," she breathes, her breath hot against his mouth, "between irritation… and lust."

And then she's kissing him and any thought of morals flies out of his head at the feel of her lips on his, her hands around his neck and his flying up to her back, the erotic rustle of skin on skin echoing around the cavernous pool-room as he slants his head to deepen the kiss, one strap of her bikini gradually retreating further and further down her arm.

"Tell me to stop any time you like," she pants when he finally breaks away, his hands on her back warm and reassuring and surprisingly natural.

"Shut up," he replies irritably, and then he's pulling her back in and revelling in how good the sin of her bare skin against his feels.

v.

She's gone by the next morning, and he's not sure how he's going to live with himself.

"Well, Al, you dirty boy," Scorpius teases over breakfast, his arm around Rose's waist, "I never would have thought you had it in you."

"Thought he had what in him?" Rose inquires, her red hair wild as she yawns through her Cheerio's, fixing Al with a reproachful, if somewhat sleepy, glare.

"Why, sexing it up with his brother's girlfriend in my swimming pool, of course!" Scorpius exclaims with excitement.

For the first time in his life, Al understands why anybody would want to use the Avada Kedavra curse.

"You bastard, Scorp," he says under his breath as Rose takes in a large lungful of air and rises slowly and dangerously to her feet, leaning threateningly over the table towards her cousin.

"You did what?" she asks slowly and concisely. Al, sliding further and further down in his chair, mumbles something about a mistake and regrets, and expertly ducks the hard slap when it comes his way.

"You arsehole!" she screeches at him, and Al makes a break for it, lunging for the door and sprinting away as she gives chase, his long legs giving him an advantage. He ducks in and out of the maze of rooms and corridors, only stopping when all he can hear is his own harsh breathing.

"Potter Junior," an unfriendly voice says from right next to him, making him jump so much he lets out a yell and leaps about six feet to the side. A blonde man looking remarkably similar to Scorpius is lounging against the wall, a smirk written all over his face.

"Mr Malfoy, sir," he says nervously, trying to reclaim control of his wildly-thudding heart and also trying to pretend that this man, who he has known for about five years now, doesn't still scare the bejeezus out of him.

"Can I inquire as to why you were sprinting through my house as though the Bloody Baron is after you?"

"It's a long story," Al shrugs apologetically, and Mr Malfoy grins and claps him on the shoulder, surprising him yet again.

"I heard Miss Weasley yelling about it as she ran past my other door," he explains, his eyes amused, and he looks much more like Scorpius than Al has ever seen him look before. "Good on you."

"Um… thanks…" Al replies uncertainly, feeling almightily confused as Mr Malfoy smiles once more and shuts his study door in Al's face. Heeding the warning of distant, incensed screams, Al turns and continues jogging further into the depths of Malfoy Manor.

vi.

He floos to her house from an empty room because he has a death wish and encounters her father as he stumbles out of the fireplace, covered in soot.

"Morning, sir," he says diplomatically, regarding Mr Nott warily and brushing down his t-shirt awkwardly. "Is Chloé here?"

No sooner are the words out of his mouth than the girl herself bounds down the stairs, and Al feels his stomach twist unpleasantly.

"Oh, hi," she says casually, dropping into a seat at the kitchen table and starting to butter a piece of toast. "What are you doing here?"

"I was actually hoping we could talk," he replies warily, his gaze darting between her and her father, and she turns her face to her father and pouts slightly.

"Daddy…" she pleads, and Mr Nott sighs and folds up his newspaper.

"I'll be up in my study if anyone needs me."

She blows him a kiss as he goes, and Al takes a seat opposite her and lets his face drop into his hands.

"Why'd you do it?" he asks at length, and glances up from between splayed fingers to see her shrug.

"I dunno," she replies easily, licking some jam off her fingers. "I guess because you're so wonderfully awkward, and besides you've got such pretty eyes."

He sighs and stands, raking a hand through his unruly hair.

"Just don't tell James, alright? He doesn't need to know."

"How Slytherin of you," she comments, reaching out to grab his hand, her skin a sticky reminder against his. "Don't go. I'm sorry."

"Just forget all this ever happened, okay?" he demands, and she stands and faces him, looking impossibly vulnerable in the oversized man's shirt she's wearing.

"But I can't do that, Al," she replies softly, and then she's pulling him outside and he's full of the sound of skin on skin, hot and damp and forbidden and ohsoverypoetic.

"See?" she says, holding up her white hand to press against the pale skin of his bare chest. "We match. We're good together, Al."

"Don't talk," he begs, and as he claims her in a kiss he feels her sticky fingers on his back and revels in the symphony of her skin against his, the only music he's ever wanted to play on repeat for days and days and days.

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