Beautiful Thing: Chapter Eight
Story: Beautiful Thing
Chapter Eight: Day At The Museum
Characters: Albus Severus/Scorpius
Rating: PG-13ish
Word Count: ~1600
Prompts used: All of them :D
Warnings: Boys more-or-less kissing, nostalgia, seagulls
Summary: A day of museums, and magic, and a killer seagull or two.
Notes: Heh, shorter than usual :)
By the time Dr Chang comes round to check on them in the morning, Scorpius is safely hanging around outside the door to Al’s room. He waits impatiently while she examines Albus, sneaking glances through the window, standing sharply upright when Dr Chang beckons him inside.
Al is sitting up, winking at him behind Dr Chang’s back. He looks pale, yes, but so much better than yesterday. Score smiles, moving to sit on Al’s bed beside him.
“Well, boys,” Dr Chang beams, “Good news. Albus is well enough to be discharged this morning.” Score grins, reaching over to subtly take Al’s hand. The doctor opens her wallet, handing him over a card with her contact details, “Just in case.” Scorpius glimpses a photograph inside, of a young girl playing Quidditch, looking very much like...
“Doctor Chang,” he asks, pointing, “Is that you?” She nods, and he can see the nostalgia in her eyes as she bites her lip. “Yes - a long time ago, now. I played for my house Quidditch team at Hogwarts.” He looks closer at the photo she shows them, surprised when he feels Al gasp.
“Wow,” Al asks, “Is that a Cleansweep Five?” The doctor laughs, nodding her head. “They were old even in those days,” she begins, and Scorpius tunes out as they launch into a conversation about classic broomstick design, sniggering along in his head and watching Albus. His friend’s eyes are bright, and the couple of freckles dusting his cheekbones stand out against pale skin, and when Al glances over and smiles at him Scorpius, dizzied, thinks he’s never seen anything more beautiful.
When they’ve finished speaking Dr Chang takes Scorpius outside while Al changes. She gives him a bottle-full of pills for Al and an earful about making him take them on time, warning him that some of them will make him drowsy. Scorpius sighs, still a little worried.
When Al comes outside Scorpius sees the smile on his face, and the way his hair falls across his eyes, and he doesn’t see the piece of paper - a crumpled pencil sketch from the hospital-room floor - that Al has tucked away in his back pocket.
They leave the hospital hand in hand, Al once again wearing his jeans and a T-shirt, and find a café on the seafront. Scorpius buys fruit from a stall on the pavement and bread from inside. He goes to sit by the beach with Albus, dangling their legs over the stone wall.
They watch the waves, eating quietly. Score catches Al shivering and shrugs off his own jacket, putting it around Al’s shoulders. “Score,” Al says, sounding exasperated, “For Merlin’s sake, I’m alright.” Score bites his lip. “I know,” he says carefully, staring down at the laces of his shoes, half-untied. “But you almost weren’t. And I thought - I mean, I -” He breaks off, taking a deep breath. “I couldn’t wake you up, and I thought I lost you.” He can hear his own voice wavering, and forces it flat. “So just - please,” He finishes, “Be careful.”
Al looks at him for a minute, something Score has never seen before in his eyes. Then he nods, silently putting the jacket on. He shuffles down so that he’s sitting closer to Scorpius, leaning into him, resting his head on his chest. Score puts an arm around him, and together they watch the sea.
Once they’ve finished eating, Score pulls out his mobile and calls the old man from the hotel, letting him know that Al is alright. When he asks where they can get a bus back to the hotel the old man protests at once, insisting that he’ll come to get them.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to mind the old place until my grand-daughter arrives,” he says apologetically, “but I should be there in an hour or two.” Scorpius thanks him again and ends the call, struggling against the lump in his throat.
While they’re waiting, Scorpius digs his guide-book out of his rucksack and finds information about an old museum in the town. He reads up on it until the killer seagulls above their heads start swooping ever closer, cawing and chasing them away.
They sprint to the end of the street, laughing and giddy. Scorpius tries to remember the directions - take a left, he thinks, then a right at the end of the road. He starts walking, smiling as Al reaches over to take his hand.
The museum looks ornate and old, even on the outside. Scorpius drags Al inside, enthusiastic, wandering around the exhibits and peering into the glass cases. He’s fascinated by the exhibit on wandwork; the process of making wands, the way that the implements used over the centuries range from what look like a rock and a chisel to old-fashioned wood-stripping tools, right up to modern magical machines. It amazes him. Al rolls his eyes and calls him a nerd, but stands in front of Score while he reads the plaques on the walls and rests his head back on his shoulder.
Even Al is interested in the Wizarding History galleries. They feature accounts of the Witch Hunts, and a framed photo of Gellert Grindelwand, along with a book that apparently-years-back-used-to-belong-to-him. There’s also a case with relics from Godric’s Hollow, and an artist’s impression of the night Voldemort attacked the Potter’s home.
Scorpius frowns when he sees it, swinging his hand easily forward to catch Al’s, knowing all about the way Al’s Mum hates the place but Al’s Dad feels like he has to go back there. He remembers stories Al told him long ago, about rows when Al was a kid and long, cold silences. Most of all he remembers the last anniversary of the attacks on the Potter home, a few years ago, when the fighting was so bad that Al stole his Dad’s cloak and flew to Score’s house and - terrifying Scorpius out of his mind - had clung to him crying for five minutes before he’d been able to speak.
Scorpius wants to say something, try to sooth the frown from Al’s lips and the tension from his shoulders, but he can’t find the words. Instead, sighing, he puts his arms around Al, relieved when he feels him hugging back.
“I just don’t know,” Al mutters, “Why they can’t... I mean... They love each other, don’t they? So why is everything such a battle?” Score bites his lip, rocking Al gently back and forth. “I don’t know,” he says quietly, wishing he had a better answer, one that could make Al feel safe and comforted and loved. There’s isn’t one, though, not really, and Scorpius is sure that Al knows as well as he does that - short of miracles, or time travel, and (Scorpius has always privately thought) marrying people they were actually suited to - there’s nothing anyone can do to stop Al’s parents fighting.
Scorpius kisses the top of Al’s head, smiling when it tickles his nose. “I do know,” he says, quiet but firm, “That none of it is your fault. Just... give it time.” Al sighs against his shoulder, then moves his head a little and kisses the skin above one of Scorpius’ collarbones.
“Thanks, Score,” Al mutters, and Score feels like he hasn’t done a lot to merit thanks from Al - because Al deserves so much more than this, and if anyone deserves parents who don’t have problems being in the same room as each other it’s Albus - but the words come with another kiss, pressed against his throat this time, and Scorpius can feel his heartbeat grow faster, faster, until it’s pounding in his throat, quickening against Al’s lips.
Scorpius moves back a little, staring at Albus. He tries to repeat all the old mantras in his mind; that Al is his best friend, and he’s be mad to risk losing him; that love doesn’t come easily, not like this - no-one is lucky enough to fall in love with their best and closest friend, and have them feel the same; that -
“Score?” Al says, scattering his thoughts, all soft voice and bright eyes and the faintest shadow of stubble across his jaw, and Scorpius is lost. All his good intentions are replaced in his mind by a single sentence from one of the plaques in the Ancient History section, a room or two ago, something about ancient lovers thinking their spirit was carried in their breath, so that a kiss would ‘literally unite their souls.’
He can’t help thinking that he wants that, wants to be even closer to Albus, wants to... Merlin. Al’s tongue darts out to wet his lower lip, and now Scorpius really can’t seem to think of anything but Al’s smile, and his arms around Score’s waist, and his breath ghosting across Score’s lips.
Trembling, he raises a hand to curve around Al’s cheek, feeling the ticklish scrape of stubble against his palm, hearing Al’s breath stutter as he moves his thumb to brush across Al’s lower lip. Scorpius leans towards Al, letting his eyes flutter shut, so close he can feel their breath mingle together, his heartbeat pounding in his ears, and just before their lips touch -
“Mummy, Mummy!” He hears, startling as a child tumbles into the room, “Look!” Al and Scorpius spring apart, and Score - dazed - can feel his hands trembling. “Look,” he hears from behind him, the child’s cry lowered to an exaggerated stage whisper, “Those two boys were kissing!”
Scorpius winces, feeling himself start to blush, and glances over at Al. As he does he sees the child’s mother - a petite blonde woman with pinched features - looking over at them with an expression he can only describe as disgust. Suddenly furious, he reaches for Al’s hand, rejoicing a little when Al’s fingers intertwine comfortably with his own. He turns back again to stare at the woman, lifting his chin, giving her a defiant grin. Score tries desperately to let every bit of his affection and pride and longing - and Merlin, everything else - for the boy beside him show in his gaze.
She looks away first, frowning and ushering her child outside, and Scorpius turns to Albus with a winning smile.
Blushing, his eyes brighter than Score has seen them in ages, Al smiles back.