[Harry Potter] Albus Severus/Scorpius | Yearn
Title: Yearn
Summary: Do you know that if you run fast enough, it feels like flying?
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters/Pairings: Albus Sev/Scorpius, implied Teddy/James II (+ mentions of Lily Luna, Ginny, and Harry)
Genre: Angst, AU-ish
Rating: G
Warnings: N/A
Word Count: 567
Author's Notes: For the 30 days writing challenge. Prompt #10: run. Slightly non-linear.
"Do you know that if you run fast enough, it feels like flying?"
Their shoulders bump together as they walk across the field. The grass shuffles along their trousers, a hushed sound mirrored by the wind. Albus collapses, falling on his back somewhere in between the house and the tree in the centre of the space, dragging Scorpius down with him.
"Shut up. Your legs will still be touching the ground, stupid, so it won't feel like flying at all!"
Scorpius shifts so that they're nose to nose, and suddenly Albus is maybe one inch away from the smile on Scorpius's face. A thumb brushes the tip of his left ear; Scorpius presses the bend of his stomach down; Albus crosses his right leg over Albus's left.
"You have no imagination at all. I wonder why I hang out with you in the first place."
"Why do you think they're mad?" Scorpius asks quietly, his breath tasting of coffee and toast.
Albus shrugs, his shirt dragging along the squashed stalks of grass. "Some old vendetta, maybe."
A puff of air lands in the crook of his neck as Scorpius bends down to curl himself into the shadow of Albus's body. The sun is gradually hidden by a passing cloud. There are no birds in the trees. They can hear raised voices float from the end of the field.
"Because you love me, arsehole. Because I'm fun and handsome and out of your league."
The sky is a Ravenclaw blue, and Albus's eyes follow the thin diagonal of Scorpius's imaginative finger as it traces patterns in the blank canvas. He makes out words like 'war' and 'Shakespeare' and 'star-crossed', and snorts. Scorpius lets out an indignant noise when Albus tugs lazily at his hair.
"Oh yeah? See if I can't catch you, Potter!"
Albus wakes up in the middle of a barren field, the dirt on the ground scratching against his bare back. A rock is digging into the pocket of his jeans, and the clouds above hiss threateningly. His arm feels too light when he drags himself up; there is no pressure from a warm figure, no silky strands of silver-blond hair carding their way through his fingers.
It's cold. The sky is grey.
"Albus!" His mother calls, red hair standing out in the stark white of the house. "Come in quick! The storm's coming."
He looks around and finds nothing besides the tree stump several yards away. A crackle of thunder sounds, and he starts running as the rain begins to fall, harsh droplets soaking his skin. It doesn't feel like flying. He feels like he's drowning.
He steps inside, accepts the towel, and sits down at the table for dinner. Lily shakes her head when he looks at her. No mail. No news from the front. No nothing.
"Eat your peas," his father says, and there's a too-late apology in there somewhere.
The peas remain defiantly on his plate when it's time to wash up. He goes to his room and takes out the shoebox holding the pictures. He supposes he should miss Teddy too, but someone already has a claim to him, so Albus doesn't feel too guilty.
James comes in without knocking, puts his hand on Albus's shoulder, and they sit there on the bed for a long while, until Albus falls asleep and dreams of sunnier days and contrasting heads of hair.
Summary: Do you know that if you run fast enough, it feels like flying?
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters/Pairings: Albus Sev/Scorpius, implied Teddy/James II (+ mentions of Lily Luna, Ginny, and Harry)
Genre: Angst, AU-ish
Rating: G
Warnings: N/A
Word Count: 567
Author's Notes: For the 30 days writing challenge. Prompt #10: run. Slightly non-linear.
"Do you know that if you run fast enough, it feels like flying?"
Their shoulders bump together as they walk across the field. The grass shuffles along their trousers, a hushed sound mirrored by the wind. Albus collapses, falling on his back somewhere in between the house and the tree in the centre of the space, dragging Scorpius down with him.
"Shut up. Your legs will still be touching the ground, stupid, so it won't feel like flying at all!"
Scorpius shifts so that they're nose to nose, and suddenly Albus is maybe one inch away from the smile on Scorpius's face. A thumb brushes the tip of his left ear; Scorpius presses the bend of his stomach down; Albus crosses his right leg over Albus's left.
"You have no imagination at all. I wonder why I hang out with you in the first place."
"Why do you think they're mad?" Scorpius asks quietly, his breath tasting of coffee and toast.
Albus shrugs, his shirt dragging along the squashed stalks of grass. "Some old vendetta, maybe."
A puff of air lands in the crook of his neck as Scorpius bends down to curl himself into the shadow of Albus's body. The sun is gradually hidden by a passing cloud. There are no birds in the trees. They can hear raised voices float from the end of the field.
"Because you love me, arsehole. Because I'm fun and handsome and out of your league."
The sky is a Ravenclaw blue, and Albus's eyes follow the thin diagonal of Scorpius's imaginative finger as it traces patterns in the blank canvas. He makes out words like 'war' and 'Shakespeare' and 'star-crossed', and snorts. Scorpius lets out an indignant noise when Albus tugs lazily at his hair.
"Oh yeah? See if I can't catch you, Potter!"
Albus wakes up in the middle of a barren field, the dirt on the ground scratching against his bare back. A rock is digging into the pocket of his jeans, and the clouds above hiss threateningly. His arm feels too light when he drags himself up; there is no pressure from a warm figure, no silky strands of silver-blond hair carding their way through his fingers.
It's cold. The sky is grey.
"Albus!" His mother calls, red hair standing out in the stark white of the house. "Come in quick! The storm's coming."
He looks around and finds nothing besides the tree stump several yards away. A crackle of thunder sounds, and he starts running as the rain begins to fall, harsh droplets soaking his skin. It doesn't feel like flying. He feels like he's drowning.
He steps inside, accepts the towel, and sits down at the table for dinner. Lily shakes her head when he looks at her. No mail. No news from the front. No nothing.
"Eat your peas," his father says, and there's a too-late apology in there somewhere.
The peas remain defiantly on his plate when it's time to wash up. He goes to his room and takes out the shoebox holding the pictures. He supposes he should miss Teddy too, but someone already has a claim to him, so Albus doesn't feel too guilty.
James comes in without knocking, puts his hand on Albus's shoulder, and they sit there on the bed for a long while, until Albus falls asleep and dreams of sunnier days and contrasting heads of hair.