GIFT EXCHANGE FOR MK_TORTIE: Three-Step Friendship
Title: Three-Step Friendship
Summary: It started with a snowball fight. Sort of.
Characters: Albus Severus Potter, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy
Genre: Gen
Rating/Warnings: G
Word Count: 1290
Notes: Anna, I really liked your prompts, and I hope I did them justice! Happy holidays!
Can the Order post to Tumblr?: Sure.
Nobody knew who threw the first snowball, only that by the time a well-formed ball found the side of Headmistress McGonagall’s face there were about fifty suspects in the vicinity. Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws and Slytherins alike all froze in place, a split-second of shared horror as McGonagall steeled herself, a looming tower of propriety and order amidst the chaos of that wintry Hogsmeade weekend.
"When I count to ten," she said, voice strong and clear as it cut through the chill, "anyone still in the square had better be ready for hours of detention with Mister Filch."
Whether the corner of her lip twitched to smirk or to temper a scowl would be the subject of many common room debates in the months to come, but right then and there nobody could stop to ponder it, because she began to count.
"One," she said, and the first of the shrieks pierced the quiet.
"Two," she said, and the scrambling began.
By the time she reached ten there was not a student in sight.
Al didn't know how long he ran, just that his body burned with the heat of exertion and he seemed, for all intents and purposes, as far away as possible from the headmistress.
James would tell him not to worry about it, that it was his first Hogsmeade and he should just enjoy it, and McGonagall liked his father anyway so he shouldn't even bother trying to stay on McGonagall's good side always, but Al knew that was just James's overconfidence making itself known again. McGonagall didn't care whose child was which-- just last month Lily had gotten detention for wandering about after hours, and McGonagall had only given her more hours after she admitted she'd been trying to look for the Room of Requirement, like the books had said. There'd been a letter to their parents, and a Howler from their mum, and Al had no idea what James did with that knowledge but Al wasn't one to ignore it.
So he ran, and he kept running, until the storefronts and small houses and nearly all of Hogsmeade had disappeared behind him, and he wasn't quite sure where he was. From the distance he could see the crooked smudge that must be the Shrieking Shack's, its usually intimidating, imposing facade softened by the falling snow.
He stopped to catch his breath, his gloved hand resting against the thin trunk of a wrinkled tree. Little puffs of air ghosted before him, his cheeks flush from the exertion of running. He was trying to sort out when it would be a good time to return when he thought he heard an unearthly wailing that sent chills down his spine and the urge to flee tingling all the way to the nerve ends of his entire body.
But the Shrieking Shack wasn't haunted. Rose had told him as much the first time they visited, speaking in the same manner her mother usually did, her voice strengthened by such certainty that Al couldn't take it for anything less than fact. It had only been a hiding place for Teddy's father, and Teddy's father was no longer around, and it wasn't a full moon-- it wasn't even nighttime--
Al was already shoving his shoulder into the heavy front door by the time he realized he'd decided he'd better go look.
Scorpius had not intended to fall. In fact, falling was the last thing on his mind, and honestly the very last thing he was expecting.
But there it was, anyway, one foot stepping forward without hesitation, so when it went right through the rotting wood of the staircase and had him plunging down the shack all he could do was scream.
Later, when he found himself half-buried, half-clinging to splintering wood, one leg dangling and the other in an increasingly awkward, increasingly painful angle, he wondered what his mum might say, what his father might think, how Hogsmeade residents might find him.
"This would, of course, be a ridiculously ungainly manner of demise," he muttered, almost angry at himself for being so foolhardy so as to--
"I wouldn't say you're about to die just yet."
Scorpius would have jumped out of his skin had he had the necessary leverage to do so, for a second the fleeting, terrifying thought 'Could the Shrieking Shack actually be haunted?' running through his mind before he turned to look, catching the familiar jet-black hair and red-gold scarf framing the pale skin of one Albus Potter. "Hullo?"
"Need a hand?" Albus asked, shuffling closer to give his quandary a better look.
"Or five," Scorpius muttered, shoulders tensing as the other boy took another step toward him. "I wouldn't do that if I were you-- the floors here are apparently utter shite."
"Magic, then?"
"If only the one of us who had their hands free were a wizard," Scorpius responded without thinking. He opened his mouth to apologize-- one never knew, what with apparently the decades-long animosity between both their families that could spark another feud for years more to come (or at least that was what the Daily Prophet's society column postulated, their first week of their first year at Hogwarts; they must have been so disappointed when the Potter and Malfoy children simply ignored the other)-- but Albus had already chortled in amusement.
"Guess it's your lucky day," he said, brandishing a wand. He wrinkled his forehead, tongue sticking out as his face scrunched up in a way that honestly did not leave Scorpius very confident with his chances of getting out of this situation alive, or even in one piece. "Was it Win-gardium Levi-o-sa or--"
"I thought you were here to help, not make it worse," Scorpius pointed out, correcting Albus' pronunciation when he got a scowl in return. No use angering his would-be savior, he supposed.
Albus' wandwork definitely needed work. Scorpius was jerked out of the wooden hole and he landed gracelessly on his arse, but the fact of the matter was that he landed in one piece and that was enough for him. He looked up to find Albus' outstretched arm and, without thinking, Scorpius took it, letting Albus help him to his feet.
"Thanks," he said, wondering what the papers would say about that now. (It wasn't like it meant anything, though; Potters probably went around saving things on a daily basis just by breathing, the way the papers carried on about them.)
Albus shrugged. "It's nothing," he said, and then, curiously, "What were you doing here anyway?"
"Nothing, I was just--" Scorpius stuffed both hands in his coat pockets. "The upstairs has a cool view of Hogsmeade, that's all."
"Yeah?" Albus looked interested. "My aunt's told me stories about this shack. She said the upstairs was where my dad and his godfather and his godson's father found out about Pettigrew!"
Scorpius nodded. He'd heard of those stories, though only vaguely. He'd known it more as the werewolf hiding spot that it had been, from the claw marks left behind. He hadn't liked those much, instead choosing to cover the walls up with blankets and a few transfigured bookshelves, just for whenever he got tired of walking around the same old shops in Hogsmeade and just wanted some quiet. There weren't many ways he could get up to the second floor of the shack now, not with its rotted wood and without a broom he could use, but with two of them levitating the other, perhaps-- "It's probably not as cool as it sounds like anymore," he said, "but I could show you?"
Evyclaw//43 points!
Summary: It started with a snowball fight. Sort of.
Characters: Albus Severus Potter, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy
Genre: Gen
Rating/Warnings: G
Word Count: 1290
Notes: Anna, I really liked your prompts, and I hope I did them justice! Happy holidays!
Can the Order post to Tumblr?: Sure.
Nobody knew who threw the first snowball, only that by the time a well-formed ball found the side of Headmistress McGonagall’s face there were about fifty suspects in the vicinity. Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws and Slytherins alike all froze in place, a split-second of shared horror as McGonagall steeled herself, a looming tower of propriety and order amidst the chaos of that wintry Hogsmeade weekend.
"When I count to ten," she said, voice strong and clear as it cut through the chill, "anyone still in the square had better be ready for hours of detention with Mister Filch."
Whether the corner of her lip twitched to smirk or to temper a scowl would be the subject of many common room debates in the months to come, but right then and there nobody could stop to ponder it, because she began to count.
"One," she said, and the first of the shrieks pierced the quiet.
"Two," she said, and the scrambling began.
By the time she reached ten there was not a student in sight.
Al didn't know how long he ran, just that his body burned with the heat of exertion and he seemed, for all intents and purposes, as far away as possible from the headmistress.
James would tell him not to worry about it, that it was his first Hogsmeade and he should just enjoy it, and McGonagall liked his father anyway so he shouldn't even bother trying to stay on McGonagall's good side always, but Al knew that was just James's overconfidence making itself known again. McGonagall didn't care whose child was which-- just last month Lily had gotten detention for wandering about after hours, and McGonagall had only given her more hours after she admitted she'd been trying to look for the Room of Requirement, like the books had said. There'd been a letter to their parents, and a Howler from their mum, and Al had no idea what James did with that knowledge but Al wasn't one to ignore it.
So he ran, and he kept running, until the storefronts and small houses and nearly all of Hogsmeade had disappeared behind him, and he wasn't quite sure where he was. From the distance he could see the crooked smudge that must be the Shrieking Shack's, its usually intimidating, imposing facade softened by the falling snow.
He stopped to catch his breath, his gloved hand resting against the thin trunk of a wrinkled tree. Little puffs of air ghosted before him, his cheeks flush from the exertion of running. He was trying to sort out when it would be a good time to return when he thought he heard an unearthly wailing that sent chills down his spine and the urge to flee tingling all the way to the nerve ends of his entire body.
But the Shrieking Shack wasn't haunted. Rose had told him as much the first time they visited, speaking in the same manner her mother usually did, her voice strengthened by such certainty that Al couldn't take it for anything less than fact. It had only been a hiding place for Teddy's father, and Teddy's father was no longer around, and it wasn't a full moon-- it wasn't even nighttime--
Al was already shoving his shoulder into the heavy front door by the time he realized he'd decided he'd better go look.
Scorpius had not intended to fall. In fact, falling was the last thing on his mind, and honestly the very last thing he was expecting.
But there it was, anyway, one foot stepping forward without hesitation, so when it went right through the rotting wood of the staircase and had him plunging down the shack all he could do was scream.
Later, when he found himself half-buried, half-clinging to splintering wood, one leg dangling and the other in an increasingly awkward, increasingly painful angle, he wondered what his mum might say, what his father might think, how Hogsmeade residents might find him.
"This would, of course, be a ridiculously ungainly manner of demise," he muttered, almost angry at himself for being so foolhardy so as to--
"I wouldn't say you're about to die just yet."
Scorpius would have jumped out of his skin had he had the necessary leverage to do so, for a second the fleeting, terrifying thought 'Could the Shrieking Shack actually be haunted?' running through his mind before he turned to look, catching the familiar jet-black hair and red-gold scarf framing the pale skin of one Albus Potter. "Hullo?"
"Need a hand?" Albus asked, shuffling closer to give his quandary a better look.
"Or five," Scorpius muttered, shoulders tensing as the other boy took another step toward him. "I wouldn't do that if I were you-- the floors here are apparently utter shite."
"Magic, then?"
"If only the one of us who had their hands free were a wizard," Scorpius responded without thinking. He opened his mouth to apologize-- one never knew, what with apparently the decades-long animosity between both their families that could spark another feud for years more to come (or at least that was what the Daily Prophet's society column postulated, their first week of their first year at Hogwarts; they must have been so disappointed when the Potter and Malfoy children simply ignored the other)-- but Albus had already chortled in amusement.
"Guess it's your lucky day," he said, brandishing a wand. He wrinkled his forehead, tongue sticking out as his face scrunched up in a way that honestly did not leave Scorpius very confident with his chances of getting out of this situation alive, or even in one piece. "Was it Win-gardium Levi-o-sa or--"
"I thought you were here to help, not make it worse," Scorpius pointed out, correcting Albus' pronunciation when he got a scowl in return. No use angering his would-be savior, he supposed.
Albus' wandwork definitely needed work. Scorpius was jerked out of the wooden hole and he landed gracelessly on his arse, but the fact of the matter was that he landed in one piece and that was enough for him. He looked up to find Albus' outstretched arm and, without thinking, Scorpius took it, letting Albus help him to his feet.
"Thanks," he said, wondering what the papers would say about that now. (It wasn't like it meant anything, though; Potters probably went around saving things on a daily basis just by breathing, the way the papers carried on about them.)
Albus shrugged. "It's nothing," he said, and then, curiously, "What were you doing here anyway?"
"Nothing, I was just--" Scorpius stuffed both hands in his coat pockets. "The upstairs has a cool view of Hogsmeade, that's all."
"Yeah?" Albus looked interested. "My aunt's told me stories about this shack. She said the upstairs was where my dad and his godfather and his godson's father found out about Pettigrew!"
Scorpius nodded. He'd heard of those stories, though only vaguely. He'd known it more as the werewolf hiding spot that it had been, from the claw marks left behind. He hadn't liked those much, instead choosing to cover the walls up with blankets and a few transfigured bookshelves, just for whenever he got tired of walking around the same old shops in Hogsmeade and just wanted some quiet. There weren't many ways he could get up to the second floor of the shack now, not with its rotted wood and without a broom he could use, but with two of them levitating the other, perhaps-- "It's probably not as cool as it sounds like anymore," he said, "but I could show you?"
Evyclaw//43 points!