From The Sea (Albus Severus/Scorpius, NC-17) (Part 1/9)
Author: wantsunicorns ; Art by crazyparakiss (because she’s awesome and probably secretly rules the world!)
Title: From The Sea
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 78,5K
Pairing(s): Albus Severus Potter/Scorpius Malfoy, *background Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy*
Warnings: Cursing, excessive use of the f-word, explicit sex, substance abuse, violence, fragmented story telling, Possible triggers for *claustrophobia*
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: Scorpius Malfoy has never been one to leave stones unturned in his quest for adventure, and he’s not about to start when it comes to finding a cure for his father’s mysterious illness. Albus Potter has his work cut out for him, making sure Scorpius doesn’t get himself killed or drive Albus around the bend. - A tale of adventure and civilisations long forgotten, where not everything is quite as is seems.
Author Notes: Vaguely inspired by slash prompt #151, but this is so far away from what the prompt asked for that I’d be surprised if you could still recognise it, also inspired by Stargate SG-1 and Iron Man. Credit to some of my lore goes to dysonrules, thanks for letting me play in your sandbox darling! Thank you to my beta kinky_kneazle who has been incredibly supportive and patient with me and without her this endeavour would never have been finished, also, to be quite honest, it wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun as it has been. Thank you, dear! ♥
Special thanks go to:
Executive Producer, Director & Creative Advisor:
kinky_kneazle
Executive Art Director:
crazyparakiss
Creative Director:
curiouslyfic
Assistant Creative Director:
crazyparakiss
Lighting & Camera:
undrsomestairs
Technical Advisor:
teas_me, kitty_fic, lordhellebore, starshore, winterstorrm
I would also like to thank the Academy, the mods for their immeasurable patience with me and my muses, my family and friends. ♥ Thanks for having me. :D
From The Sea
~Prologue~
The Library is shrouded in darkness and the air is dry and old. The walls are lined with shelves, their highest levels cast into impenetrable gloom. Dust covers the lushly carpeted floor, undisturbed for longer than anyone can remember. Along the corridor lie scattered treasures among the books. They are relics of forgotten adventures and far off destinations - twisted roots and shimmering feathers alternating with pressed and framed flowers and the odd piece of bone or shell.
Maps and globes from every century cover what little space there is. Some maps have little notes attached to them by pins. The notes comment on climate, on roads and accessibility. A lot of them are written in the same hand; not all of them are in English. The older maps even come with Latin or Greek annotations, which would baffle most who might venture into the library. Visitors are few and far between and none travel far enough into the library to even reach the maps. Most recent volumes are right beside the entrance; the older, dustier, tomes are all but forgotten.
A suit of tribal armour stands by a window with grime-covered glass; its spear is still sharp. Nobody remembers where it came from-the white piece of cardboard that comes with it is so faded that it has become illegible. Beside the empty suit stands a stuffed sabre toothed tiger and how that came to be part of this collection is anyone’s guess.
Armchairs and desks had to make room for more shelves and relics of times long past. This far back in the library all the sounds are muffled. In here knowledge is a force to be reckoned with. It cannot be merely absorbed, but is absorbing, changing the reader, assimilating them making them a link in a larger chain.
Every square inch of the room is stuffed with sheets upon sheets of history, with the beauty of words and numbers. Some are bound and hidden between strong covers of leather. Some are even bound in human skin. Many of the tomes are so old, their pages have become brittle and a single touch would turn them into dust.
The oldest among them are scrolls, written in languages that haven’t been uttered in thousands of years. They tell of shapes and numbers, of constellations and philosophy. Of great battles lost and won and of societies’ rise and fall. At the end of the day, they are about people, some of them human beings, others, not so much.
If knowledge had a conscience or a sense of premonition, one of the scrolls would be fidgeting. It would covet the light at the end of the wand, the quiet but determined steps leading through the dusty corridors, stirring up air and memories of times long past. The scroll would rejoice at the feeling of the sure grip of a perfectly manicured hand around it, as it was carefully lifted from its spot on the shelves. It would quiver as it was carried over to one of the few reading desks, spread out and its corners weighed down by other ancient but less important tomes. And here is what it would say:
In the beginning there were the sun, and the stars. There were the skies above and the earth below. The days were warm and water covered most of the surface. Life thrived and evolved and everywhere new and exciting species took their first steps. Some of them perished and others flourished as is nature’s course. One day, a large rock fell from the heavens above and almost everything died: the animals, the plants, even the insects. Thousands of years of darkness, cold and ice followed and life wept as she saw her creation destroyed.
Eventually the clouds lifted and the earth settled again. Life took more care this time and the new creatures that covered the land were stronger. More robust. They learnt to build shelters and discovered the power of fire to keep themselves warm in the cold winter months.
Their population grew faster than the earth could provide for. Life did not work that way and sent a terrible plague to ravage their people. They built ships and rafts to escape, but the crew were already suffering from the sickness. Their transport was left adrift on the wide open seas while the passengers wasted away. Only three boats reached a small island, where they decided to outwait the pandemic.
Seasons came and went and the survivors made the island their home. They hadn’t heard anything from the people on the mainland and they thought they were the only ones left. Their island was fertile and nature was generous with fowl, deer and fish.
Their civilisation grew and soon they built a city unlike any that had ever been built before. It became their centre of learning, of government, of everything. Their lives revolved around the city. Over thousands of years, their understanding of the world around them, and of what would much later be called “magic”, grew to heights never again achieved. They noted down what they learnt about the world, and for many centuries their library grew; almost nothing was left unexplained.
The first signs of unrest came in the form of tremors from the earth. Their intensity grew in violence over time. A third of the island fell victim to the raging seas and the island was too small to sustain its still-growing population. The earth shook with ever increasing frequency and more and more of the island vanished into the waves. The Veela had no choice but to begin the search for a new home yet again.
The island was rich in food and water, precious stone and metals, but wood had become rare over time. There wasn’t enough to build ships to take all of the population to the shore. Their brightest and most creative sat down together and before long they had built wings and flying machines.
They took to the skies in their search, growing ever bolder as the search dragged on. Eventually they found land, where they began to build ships. It wasn’t long before the first Veela decided to settle on the mainland for good. Not everyone thought this prudent and some even claimed that the island was sinking into the ocean because of the people who wanted to leave. In the end only the most conservative of their people stayed behind on the island.
After months of rebuilding their civilisation and exploring the surrounding countryside the Veela discovered that they shared the land they had found with others. The Veela welcomed the strangers into their civilisation, sharing knowledge and wisdom, furthering the young culture’s development. It wasn’t long before some of them chose to bind themselves to these humans in kinship.
Their readiness to share what they had learned created discord between the mainland-dwellers and the ones who chose to stay behind. The Veela who chose to take human mates were considered traitors to their culture, and their offspring, abominations.
Contact broke off when the island dwellers captured the vessels that were used to carry news between the island and the mainland. At first the mainland dwelling members of the community attempted to reconcile. They flew over to the island with their mechanical wings. They talked of peace and the furthering of life. Not all of them made it back and the people on the continents decided to stop sending emissaries.
The more conservative elements on the island seized power. Shortly after, war broke out.
The first wave of attacks showed that the people on the continents were not well- prepared and their weapons were inferior. With no access to the library and most of their scientists trapped on the island their numbers quickly began to dwindle. They fell one by one, unwilling to sacrifice their human mates in the struggle.
They were on the brink of defeat, when the humans convinced their allies to let them fight. The Veela travelled far and wide. They spread their knowledge and advanced civilisation all over the world. They built barracks and training facilities, as well as strongholds and weapons stashes. Only those of mixed Veela and human descent would be able to gain access.
The largest Veela cities on the continents were abandoned and moved to places that were more easily defended. Their centre of learning and research was hidden high up in the mountains, in an area that would later be called the Himalayas.
Veela scientists worked tirelessly to give their people an advantage over the island dwellers. All the while the exposure to the magical hotspots where the Veela had chosen to make their new, defendable homes accelerated their own evolution. They had always been blessed with long life and intelligence, but now strength and the ability to communicate without words were added to their talents. Some of those could be passed down through the generations, but others seemed to be talents only pureblood Veela could develop.
The war between the two factions went on for decades. The islanders were sending more and more weapons of destruction and the mainland-dwellers recruited more and more of their human companions, choosing more mates among them. Neither of the sides seemed to be able to win, but neither was willing to surrender.
Through the generations human and Veela offspring possessed many advantages over normal humans. However unforeseen and dangerous complications emerged over time. Both the healing touch and shared use of their combined magical force and life energy could quickly become the bonded pair’s peril, if both of them got injured or one of them took enough of their life or magical force to incapacitate the other.
Their scientists eventually came up with a way to implant their offspring with those parts of their knowledge and talents that hadn’t been passed on before. The means to this were installed in the facilities they had built. The process involved a merging of minds and required both mates to go through it simultaneously. Should the merging succeed they would henceforth be able to communicate telepathically.
Shortly after going through this, there would be a period of change. The knowledge had to take hold and the recipient would lose some of his humanity. He or she didn’t have any control over their form, and would be driven by their most basic urges. Unmated soldiers sought out their intended and during those times a merging was usually initiated and in many cases further offspring were conceived.
The soldiers embraced their gifts and turned the tide of the war. The islanders were beaten back at every battle and finally the mainland-dwellers had no choice but to take the fight to them.
They used their power and wisdom to confine their enemy to the island, never to step foot off the land again. All but a few were captured and defeated in one final battle.
Peace reigned in all the lands and civilisation grew and prospered.
***
One night, the sea rose up and swallowed what was left of the island. The strong enchantment placed on the island’s very foundation kept the people trapped and they all perished.
When the mainland-dwellers realised what they had done, they retreated from their human consorts. They hid away in caves and in far-off places, fading into nothingness through their grief.
Over time, the memory of them became distorted. They were called the culture bringers and in civilisations all over the world were displayed in all shapes and sizes. The only thing they had in common were the wings that carried them.
Humans called them Gods, Valkyrie and even Angels. Their origin is now shrouded in the dark mysteries of time.
The heavy tomes are slowly lifted from the corner of the scroll and it immediately returns to the shape it has retained over the last centuries. The man is quiet and thoughtful. Silence stretches around him. He found out what he came here to, but he doesn’t like what it implies. The scroll is carried back to its resting place, the soft hand that took it rests on it for a short, pensive moment.
“Well, fuck!”
The steps slowly retreat, silence falls in the library and knowledge returns to waiting until it is needed again.
~.o.O.0.O.o.~
He sits slumped over in a chair that was never created for comfort; rather it was designed to conform to a ridiculous expectation of practicality, stackability, or worst of all - interior decoration. The chair is uncomfortable to sit on, because of how it either sucks up to one’s bottom to never let go or - in a fit of unexpected misplaced generosity - suddenly turns smooth, releasing its grip and letting its occupant slide to the floor in a graceless arch. It is the kind of chair not made to be sat on, slept on, or even stood on in terror while asking one’s significant other to kill the mouse, spider, or whatever else the Kneazle has dragged in and then got bored of eating, thus creating a miniature resurrection scene on the living room floor. In the end it is not a design flaw that makes it unusable, it is simply bloody uncomfortable because of where it stands.
There is never just one of these chairs in rooms like these, there are many. Only people who spend time in these kinds of rooms know how many there are. They have spent eternities in there, counting the chairs and flipping through the magazines, which are usually either very current or so out of date that it is impossible to remember who the people being gossiped about even are. They have put them down again, because embarrassing pictures of celebrities can only do so much to distract from the overpowering sense of worry that pervades these rooms like a nasty smell.
Every one of these rooms has some ridiculously jolly painting on the wall that is supposed to cheer their occupants up. The walls themselves are usually painted in colours interior decorators will swear on their mother’s grave to be calming and which every single person looking at will perceive as disquieting and depressing. There is also the ever present corner for children, which looks as if it hasn’t been played in since wooden toys and dolls who cried “Mama” when you pulled the string at their backs were the height of fashion. A sad plant sits in the corner; it hasn't seen actual daylight since its days in the greenhouse with many of its kind, all hoping to end up in someone’s living room or, even better, in a water feature in the entrance hall of some major cooperation with their very own bi-weekly care-taker.
The plant in this room is just watered often enough to constantly be on the brink of death and if plants could commit suicide, this one would have needed to be replaced a long time ago. Albus ponders all this before he slides back up in his chair, as the constant back and forth of “sticky - slippery” reaches one of its extremes again. He is the only person in this room, which in itself is odd, considering what time of day it is and where he is. For the last half hour he has tried to figure out whether the weird shape on the modern painting on the wall in front of him is supposed to be a penguin playing Lacrosse or a giraffe with altogether too many limbs.
Albus hates it all with a passion. He hates the sickly yellow walls, hates the outdated magazines and the sad excuses for chairs. There are twenty-five in this room and he despises every single one of them equally. He hates this room and what it means. Hates everything to do with it. Hates waiting and not knowing. Hates the helplessness of it all. But most of all, he hates one Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy.
Uncertainty is Albus’ very special hell. It worries him, because it is this big terrifying uncontrollable thing he cannot quantify. In every day matters, Albus would sit down and research, plan and plot and come up with a solution to whatever tortured him with uncertainty, but in this case it is out of his hands entirely. It is out of anyone’s hands as far as he can tell. The Healers have done all they can, or so they said; the rest is up to their patient.
The lack of natural light makes it hard to tell how much time has passed. They had taken his wand when he rushed Scorpius in hours earlier and he doesn’t have a watch; despite what that little clockwork contraption around his wrist might suggest, it doesn’t tell the time. It is what brought him to Central America in the first place. Scorpius had been following up one of the leads Albus had uncovered when searching for the cause of Draco Malfoy’s sudden illness, when suddenly the smooth compass-like disk on his wrist had started spinning and changed colour to a dangerous dark red. Albus had Apparated to Scorpius’ last known coordinates, which were just outside a large area that was so contaminated by wild magic that Apparition was not only dangerous but almost impossible. His heart had hammered away at a staccato beat when finally, after a week of fruitless searching and too many poisonous creatures he had found Scorpius, his lifeless form washed up on a river bank, surrounded by debris.
At first Albus had been convinced that Scorpius wasn’t even alive anymore, despite what his wristband had told him. He had screamed in anguish and thrown himself onto Scorpius’ still body, for once dropping the mask of calm and collected Albus Severus Potter, head of Malfoy Industries’ medical research team, that he wore for all the world to see. He had screamed out his sorrow over the loss of his best friend and colleague. In his desperate attempt to hold Scorpius closer, rocking him back and forth as if that would return him back to the living, his hand had skittered over Scorpius’ neck and discovered a weak and erratic pulse. Albus had done the unthinkable: he had thrown caution to the wind and without a second thought Apparated them away.
It is a miracle that he didn’t splinch them or do any more damage than was already done. When he had carried the unconscious Scorpius into St Mungo’s Accident & Emergency, his suit in tatters and shouting for help, people had come rushing up to them and taken Scorpius away. That had been several hours ago, or maybe days, Albus doesn’t know. Several times someone has come in and talked to him; he has nodded and smiled, or forced his face into expressing the appropriate emotions at whatever news or lack thereof he has been offered. Twice there had been coffee, or whatever St Mungo’s chose to call such. Albus had taken one sip and then hidden the offending caffeinated beverage under his seat, desperately wishing he was anywhere but here. Preferably at home with Scorpius, the two of them bickering over whose turn it was to open the door and accept the prepaid take-away that was being delivered at that moment.
Albus feels forlorn without Scorpius. It doesn’t even seem to matter that he is a bit of a twat most of the time. They had been acquainted in school, but not friends; you weren’t friends with Scorpius Malfoy, nobody truly was. Scorpius might have been the person you desperately wanted to be, he might have been the person you secretly despised for how easy things came to him, but he wasn’t your friend. Scorpius didn’t have minions either, he had followers, people who were taken in by his forward personality and his tendency to follow only the rules he found either hilarious or necessary enough to get his way.
Albus had found himself among Scorpius’ acquaintances - never a follower - quite by accident, when he had been persuaded to tutor Scorpius in potions where, unlike his father, he had been completely hopeless.
In the end Scorpius had somehow bullied his way into Albus’ life, taking his presence for granted and never once aware that Albus didn’t actually want him to be a part of his life. At least not at first. The first lesson Albus had learnt where Scorpius was concerned was “resistance is useless”. Scorpius’ father had recruited Albus right out of school for his Potions and Medical Research division; the pay was good and the labs were first class. What had made his own scientist’s heart beat immediately faster was that his own lab was so well equipped that the tools he had had to work with at Hogwarts paled in comparison. Slowly but surely, Albus had risen through the ranks until he headed his very own Research department He was forced to work closely with Scorpius, for while the man was utterly useless with potions and research itself, he was the proverbial wunderkind when it came to charms and gadgets. Their successful partnership in combining potions and enchanted objects, as well as healing and detection spells, had turned Malfoy Industries into the wizarding world’s largest supplier of magical medical instruments. Most of their work was confined to Malfoy Laboratories and Scorpius’ workshop at the Manor and more often than not they both spent the night at work. Going home would have taken up too much time, which is why Scorpius didn’t have too much trouble bullying Albus into moving in with him. They had one enlarged wing of the Manor entirely to themselves, containing two separate flats but a huge shared kitchen, living and dining room.
Albus doesn’t remember how it happened, but little by little he had begun to manage Scorpius’ life on top of his own not inconsiderable work load. He took care that Scorpius took his lunch break, made sure he showered and wore clean clothes. Albus also managed Scorpius’ diary. He doesn’t regret becoming this person; it means he gets to spend more time with Scorpius, because despite what everyone else might think about their relationship, they aren’t actually together. Scorpius is completely and utterly oblivious to the fact that his mere presence sometimes overrides Albus’ entire higher brain functions, leaving only feelings of desire, of the “must have you, right now!” variety. Even now, sitting in this despicable excuse for a chair, Albus is overwhelmed by worry over the possibility of losing his not-lover. Losing him would mean that little spark of hope he has been nurturing despite all the evidence to the contrary, would die.
Both of them tend to bring people home, or so he tells Scorpius. It is not exactly true. Scorpius might bring home people and sleep with them. Albus, on the other hand, just pretends. There is only one person he wants and since Albus can’t have him, he might as well stay celibate. After all, Scorpius always comes back to him, back to their shared flats, and none of the people he brings home ever stay a second night.
Albus is brought out of his reverie first by the realisation that both his arse cheeks have fallen asleep again, as well as by the gadget fixed to his arm chiming softly and changing from a dull and pulsing red, first to a yellow and then into a bright dark green, before going out completely. Scorpius is awake!
Albus has already shrugged into his destroyed suit jacket and is straightening it haphazardly, when the metal-framed frosted glass door to the waiting room finally opens.
“He’s asking to see you, Mr. Potter.”
Albus nods in acknowledgement and follows the woman along the corridor. Her hair is done up in a tight bun at the back of her head and everything about her speaks of quiet efficiency; maybe he was a bit premature in his dismissal of all of St Mungo’s staff as incompetent. The corridor stretching in front of them seems endless, its walls narrow and white and devoid of any decoration, the only indicator that they actually move forward are the small labels beside each door. The numbers they list grow ever larger and the signs hanging beneath constantly change. When they reach Scorpius’ room Albus’ heart is beating fast. He has to hide his hands in his pockets, clenching them into fists and pressing them against his thighs to cover up just how much they are trembling. He doesn’t know what is awaiting him on the other side of that door and that is his very special brand of hell right there.
The nurse holds open the door and beckons him into the room, reminding him to be quiet and not to excite her patient. Albus steps into the room as reluctant as if he was headed to his own execution and doesn’t even turn around when she leaves, closing the door behind her and locking him in with what he both dreads and covets the most.
The blinds are closed, leaving the room in semi-darkness, only small rays of light lighting tiny paths from the window to Scorpius’ sickbed, drawing Albus gaze to follow them. The only other source of illumination is the small round spheres, which hover over Scorpius’ heart, lung and head. They are monitoring spells which they helped invent. The irony of finding one of them at their receiving end is not lost on Albus. He walks over to the bed with reluctant steps, not sure whether he really wants to see Scorpius in this condition.
When he reaches Scorpius’ bedside, Albus looks at his face. Scorpius’ skin is paler in the dim light, than it should be. His lips are in stark contrast and slightly open. They are perfect for a kiss, something Albus has denied himself for a very long time. He leans closer without meaning to, before stopping himself short. That he even allowed himself these thoughts shows just how much of an impact Scorpius’ near death experience has had on him. Albus straightens up and purposefully walks to the chair beside Scorpius’ bed, sitting down and watching him. His eyes are still closed, but Albus is convinced that he is awake. They don’t acknowledge each other’s presence for a long time.
“You’re a complete and utter prat, Scorpius Malfoy. Do you know that?” Albus says, his voice quiet and stern. Albus insults Scorpius like he does everything - with precision. Scorpius doesn’t move a muscle, his rigid form telling Albus all he needs to know: Scorpius is awake and listening.
“You think the entire world revolves around you, don’t you? You never think twice about taking risks and how that might influence other people. I don’t even think there’s another person on this whole fucking planet that’s as selfish and self-centred as you are! And you’re stupid, so fucking stupid and reckless. Why didn’t you carry your locator beacon like you’d promised?” Albus’ voice is rising in volume and he doesn’t even care that it might call back the nurse at any moment.
“A-Albus…” Scorpius voice sounds raw and strange, as he tries to speak.
Albus just glares at him from his seat by the bed. He is too angry at Scorpius to care that he is having trouble opening his eyelids, that he would probably love a sip of water. The glass is right there on the nightstand beside the bed, but Albus doesn’t move a muscle. Any other day, in any other situation, he would be by Scorpius’ side, holding the glass and helping him take a sip, before stroking his hair back fondly and making sure he was alright, but in this moment, he can’t. Serves Scorpius right, he thinks, let him suffer, like he has made me suffer. Scorpius repeats his name, blinking his eyelids and trying to figure out where in the room he is, his face scrunched up in confusion, but Albus stays quiet a little longer.
“You’re such an arsehole!” he finally shouts, throwing himself at the bed.
“Excuse me?” Scorpius croaks, still eloquent even in this state.
Albus is grabbing Scorpius’ shoulders so tightly it must hurt, but right now he couldn’t care less.
“You heard me! You are such a fucking piece of shit, wanker! What were you thinking? How is going into the jungle and straying from the path without a guide or protection a good idea? You didn’t tell anyone where you were going and it took me days to track you down.” Albus takes a breath to calm himself and is less than successful. “Are you aware that I almost didn’t find you in time, you selfish prick?”
“Albus…” Scorpius swallows and then continues, “can we… can we please not do this right now?”
He is probably expecting Albus to back down, but Albus is relentless. He has been worried sick for days, he had to endure the flora and fauna of the rain forest - well, the flora was quite nice, the fauna was another matter - and then spent the last however many hours fearing the worst. Scorpius doesn’t deserve a moment of peace for putting him through this.
“No! We’re talking about this right now! This is the last time, Scorpius, I swear the very fucking last time, that I’m going to come out and save your sorry arse! It’s over, we’re over! I won’t do this anymore!” Albus is shaking with anger now.
“W-what’re you even talking about, Albus? You swear like a bloody fishwife.” Confusion is evident in Scorpius’ voice and Albus isn’t really sure anymore. What he wants to say is that Scorpius almost broke his heart by disappearing like that and that he had bloody well better be careful with it, since wherever he went so did Albus’ heart, but right now might not be the right time for that. There probably never would be a right time for it.
“I’m talking about the fact, that you’re a fucking wanker for scaring the shit out of me like you did!”
“I…” Scorpius has to clear his throat before attempting to speak again and it turns into a coughing fit before he is able to continue and Albus feels a bit guilty for still not offering the glass of water to him. “I’m sorry, Al!”
Scorpius doesn’t do apologies and still Albus is not placated that easily. But he can’t bear seeing Scorpius in pain or discomfort at the best of times, so he leans forward and reaches for the glass, bringing it and a piece of tissue to Scorpius’ mouth and helps him take a few short and slow sips from the cool liquid, which must feel like balm running down Scorpius’ aching throat. Just before Albus puts the glass back and dries Scorpius’ chapped lips he is startled by the intense blue colour of them, not the sickly purplish blue of hypothermia, but the radiant blue of the Mediterranean or a clear sky. It must have been a trick of light, because when he removes the tissue and leans closer to investigate, Scorpius’ lips look just like they should.
“Alright. But you're still a fucking tosser!” Albus says matter-of-factly.
“Language!” Scorpius scolds, smiling slightly.
“You’re not my mother!” Albus grins now and it is contagious. Scorpius smirks up at him and soon they are both laughing out loud until Scorpius’ laugh turns into a painful coughing fit. Albus helps him drink a few more sips before putting the water away again.
“Can we go home soon?” Scorpius asks, sounding small and vulnerable all of a sudden.
“I asked. They said they had to keep you under constant surveillance for at least a week.”
“I want to go home, Al.”
“I’m sorry, that’s not an option. Doctor’s orders.”
“Doctors…” Scorpius spits the word out like it left a bad taste on his tongue and as if it actually meant “imbeciles” and not “healers”.
“Really, Scorpius, you should rest and that’s my professional opinion,” Albus says with a smile in his voice. It is only a gentle rebuke at what is close enough to Albus’ own profession’s insulted honour.
After a long pause, Scorpius concedes defeat and nods.
“I’ll be here, if you need me.”
“You look like shit, Al. You should go home and change.”
“Have you looked in the mirror lately? I’m definitely not the one who looks like shit, Scorpius.”
“Well, at least I don’t smell like they’ve converted the waiting room into a cheetah enclosure.” Scorpius laughs at Albus’ indignant expression.
“See if I take you to the hospital ever again, fucking tosser. I was definitely right about calling you that!” Albus mock sulks for about a minute before breaking out into a grin. The awkward tension completely evaporates and everything seems to be alright again.
Scorpius only smiles. He knows Albus too well. Albus will probably send an owl to have someone bring a change of clothes over to the hospital before getting his wand back from the front desk and then demanding to use the staff shower and changing rooms, but he won’t go home.
***
It’s over a week later when Albus is finally allowed to take Scorpius home. No physical exertion, no caffeine, no alcohol and cigarettes, no sex and plenty of rest as well as a bag of colourful potions are among the pieces of advice and things they take home with them. Scorpius is still fragile and weak. So unlike the normally overconfident version of himself that is constantly looking for a place to stand to use the already created lever to move the entire planet around with.
Seeing him like this scares Albus. They still haven’t returned to how they were before; their conversation has become quieter and more serious and even their bickering isn’t as zesty as it used to be.
Albus has one arm slung around Scorpius’ waist, holding him close as he helps him step into their part of the large Manor house. Scorpius still cannot walk properly by himself and Albus has to half drag and half carry him to their huge sofa. He carefully lowers him to the soft fabric of the cushions, where Scorpius only closes his eyes and inhales deeply several times. There are dark shadows beneath his eyes and it is obvious that even the short trip from the hospital has taken most of his energy. Despite Scorpius’ incessant nagging, Albus is starting to worry that bringing him home had not been a good idea.
It is too late now, either way; they are here and there is nothing to be done about that. Scorpius lets himself fall to his side and Albus helps him to move along the sofa until he is fully stretched out. Albus gets up and fetches a blanket from the foot of the sofa, carefully draping it over Scorpius and tucking him in. When he rises to leave, Scorpius’ hand shoots out and holds him back by his arm. When he speaks his voice is still raw.
“Stay with me. Please.”
Albus merely nods and sits down beside Scorpius, much like he spent most of his time on Scorpius’ hospital bed. This time, however, Scorpius pulls him closer and only stops pulling and pushing when Albus is stretched out beside him, lying on top of the blanket and facing Scorpius. They fall asleep like that, not touching, their arms pressed to their chests. It is awkward as fuck, Albus thinks, but there is nowhere else he would rather be.
***
The room has fallen into twilight when Albus next wakes. Scorpius is breathing steadily. The way he has moved closer to him in his sleep, hiding his face in Albus’ chest, makes him realise that Scorpius is not awake. Albus doesn’t dare move in case he wakes him. Not that waking him would be a bad thing per se, but then they would have to talk and Albus doesn’t know what to say. He knows what he wants to say and what he needs to say. There are two pieces of information constantly at war inside his mind ever since he received the second bit that is essential to Scorpius’ father’s survival but he can’t decide which of the two he should share.
What he longs to tell Scorpius is that he wants him. Wants to be with him. That with every fibre of his being he wants to be more than friends. What he needs to tell him is that in looking through the Malfoy family blood records, which had finally been delivered by the family lawyer shortly after Scorpius had set out for Central America, he has found a probable cause for Mr. Malfoy’s illness and that there was only one solution to it. The revelation of what caused the illness in the first place is something Albus knows Scorpius will find hard to swallow.
Lost in his dilemma, Albus eventually drifts back off to sleep. He wakes in complete darkness and for a moment he doesn’t know where he is. Albus concentrates on what his senses tell him, but it isn’t much. The room is covered in darkness like a shroud. The lack of light isn’t welcoming or protective; it feels cold and wrong and for a moment Albus worries that he might be dead, or worse, that the man beside him has died while Albus has been sleeping. The feeling of warm puffs of breath on his lips reassures him that Scorpius is alright. In fact, he seems to be more than alright, when one takes into account his arms which are currently curled around Albus’ torso holding him close and his hands which are drawing slow and soothing circles all over his back.
Albus stares into the darkness in front of him, trying to make out Scorpius’ face, but all he can see is the reflection of a stray ray of moonlight in Scorpius’ eyes. When his body catches up with what Scorpius is doing and how close he is his heart speeds up.
“W-what are you doing?” Albus forces out, sounding desperate and breathless while inside his wide-awake and terrified brain part of him tries to use all of his non-existent telepathic powers to convince Scorpius to close the distance between their lips.
“Shhhh,” Scorpius chides and then he does the unthinkable. He leans forward and presses his lips gently against Albus’. Just once and too quickly, as if scared of rejection. Albus is too startled to react but must have made a sound of distress when Scorpius pulled away, because before he knows what is happening, he can hear Scorpius’ warm chuckle and Scorpius’ lips are back, pressed more firmly and surely against his own.
Albus opens easily under the onslaught of Scorpius’ tongue; he twines his fingers into Scorpius’ silky soft hair and lets him do as he pleases. The kisses are unhurried and not a means to an end and Albus loves every single one of them. He doesn’t quite know whether he is dreaming or awake, but if finding out the answer to that question means he has to stop kissing Scorpius it is beyond Albus’ abilities. They both take their time to explore each other’s flavour and if Scorpius isn’t the best thing Albus has ever tasted he doesn’t know what is.
Eventually Scorpius does break the kiss, he pulls Albus close and peppers a series of tender kisses all over his face, before pulling him to his chest and pressing one last kiss to the crown of his head. Albus can’t remember ever having felt this sheltered and whole. He revels in Scorpius’ warmth and breathes in his distinct scent, letting himself be lulled back into sleep by the steady beating of Scorpius’ heart, cocooned and protected in the warm circle of his arms.
***
Albus shivers and blinks into the early morning light. The day is cold and too bright and the events from the night before seem like nothing but a hazy dream. Sometime in the night he must have turned over on the blanket, because instead of facing towards Scorpius like he had when they had fallen asleep, he is facing away from him, held close by one of Scorpius’ arms slung possessively around his waist. Albus is cold, but he can’t make himself get up and do anything about it; he is far too comfortable in Scorpius’ embrace to move. Behind him, Scorpius mumbles something and then pulls him closer yet, nuzzling the back of his neck and pressing his groin against Albus’ arse. Albus can feel his entire face heat up as his body reacts in the most inappropriate manner and suddenly it is all too much. What if Scorpius only kissed him because of the potions he was taking? What if he doesn’t actually want him? What if he had thought Albus was someone else?
Albus can feel himself go rigid as his worst fears chase each other around his mind. How could he have been so stupid and given in to Scorpius last night? Not once has Scorpius given any indication that Albus’ affections might be returned. Why should now be different? Nothing has changed between them and - oh God - he still hasn’t told Scorpius about the test results.
Careful not to wake him, Albus frees himself from Scorpius’ embrace and slowly slides off the sofa. He makes his way across their large living room on tiptoes and sneaks up the stairs connecting his flat to Scorpius’. Unlike his usual fastidious self, Albus takes his clothes off one by one as he walks towards his ensuite. The last thing he takes off is his leather wrist band. A cheerful sound comes from the disk, in stark contrast to Albus’ mood. One chime indicating that everything is alright in the world, when so clearly it is not.
The first drops of scorching hot water on Albus’ skin make him shake. The water is too hot to be comfortable, but he doesn’t step away, needs its cleansing powers more than anything. Last night was the biggest mistake of his entire life.
Albus decides the best course of action is to pretend it never happened. He silently mourns the loss of his one and only chance with the man he cannot help but love, hasn’t been able to not love for a very long time. The spray kindly carries away the evidence, salty tears mixing with water but never losing their significance in the greater scheme. When Albus eventually steps out of the shower and meticulously dries himself off, he stares into the mirror, searching for any hint of that bitter turmoil inside, but there is nothing.
~.o.O.0.O.o.~
The conference room appeared busy, even though there were very few people actually present. Paper was being moved around and stacked and shoved into folders which where then stuffed into briefcases. The air was filled with a sense of accomplishment and self-satisfaction such that would imply the signing of important documents. The atmosphere would be impossible to miss for anyone entering the room. Everyone pushing paper had the self-important look on their face that came with the territory, in this case the signing of a contract between Malfoy Industries and the Ministry of Magic.
Scorpius thought it was all rather ridiculous, especially considering that the contract mostly referred to improved office supplies and only a minor part of it had concerned the shipment of the improved Auror body armour that he himself had helped invent. He sighed inwardly; expectations had to be met, which is why the contract had been signed at the Ministry itself.
Scorpius’ father had had one of those special moments that morning, where he decided his son must learn to run the company in case of his absence or - Merlin forbid - his early death. That was how Scorpius found himself in this room, shuffling paper with the best of them and feeling like he was cleaning up after an incontinent toddler. Why did people who had the power to make things happen by writing their name on a piece of paper always think the work ended there? Well, theirs most certainly did, however everyone else’s work was just starting.
Never one to enjoy suffering by himself, Scorpius had brought Albus along - colleague, flatmate, and best friend extraordinaire. There were two reasons to have Albus there. Number one: Albus actually knew what he was doing and, unlike Scorpius, didn’t have to fake interest in the proceedings. Number two: Albus had a spectacular head cold and hadn’t left the flat in days, and Scorpius knew the resulting constant sniffling would drive his father up the wall. Payback was sweet indeed.
It was not that he didn’t love his father - he really did - but sometimes he couldn’t help himself. He had to try and take him down a notch or twenty, especially on days like today, when a contract to provide every desk in the ministry with self sorting, self punching and self stapling file-folders warranted this entire circus.
Paper was still being moved around busily and Scorpius began to wonder whether that wasn’t part of the ritual as well, the staying behind and appreciating that somehow, despite all odds, another stage in the proceedings had been reached, one that promised raises and bonuses and possibly a weekend off. Although, everyone knew the last part was never going to happen given the nature of the contract being signed. Somehow, reaching that important stage would generate more work which then was followed by new contracts etc. etc.
Scorpius looked for Albus who, unlike himself, hadn’t finished stuffing folders into his briefcase. His nose was red and looked raw and part of Scorpius wished they had the kind of relationship where he could just step up to him and kiss him on the nose, wrap that ridiculous scarf more firmly around Albus’ neck and take him home to coddle him and serve him tea under warm blankets. In these occasional daydreams Scorpius would sit there reading some ludicrously romantic novels to Albus who would look at him with genuine affection. Reality always tended to intrude and so it did just then, in this case in the form of a mighty sneeze that shook Albus’ entire frame.
“Fucking hell!” one of the ministry clerks in the room exclaimed. “Let’s get out of here, before he brings the whole building down.”
Scorpius felt like hexing him, but he had learned his lesson at a very young age. Instead of doing something that could so easily be traced back to him, he made a mental note to make sure that the clerk’s next Malfoy Industries delivery would make his life uncomfortable. He felt guilty for bringing Albus with him, but the fact was that, as sick as he was, Scorpius couldn’t bear to leave him alone in case he got worse. Scorpius wordlessly handed Albus a tissue and, when Albus was blowing his nose, pointed his wand and quickly re-heated Albus’ cup of tea. This he would never admit to doing, even under threat of death.
Scorpius fetched both of their coats from the stand in the corner and checked his pocket watch. Merlin, only three hours! He had run out of excuses to keep Albus there with him and this bizarre version of “bring your son to work day” wasn’t even halfway over. He would much rather have been in his workshop, working on the idea he had had that very morning. Still, he knew that it couldn’t be helped. Scorpius brushed his hand over his face tiredly. He was truly and utterly fucked.
The others had already left and Scorpius was wondering what was taking Albus so long. When he looked at him more closely, sitting in his chair and breathing heavily, he saw how pale Albus had got all of a sudden. It only took him two steps to be by Albus’ side and now he saw that Albus’ hands were shaking. Before he could think about it, his hand was pressed against Albus’ forehead checking his temperature in the most old-fashioned way possible.
“You’re burning up! We’ve got to get you home!”
“No, it’s alright,” Albus said, pouring something in his tea then missing the cup the first time he tried to grab it.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Scorpius asked.
“It’s okay, I’ll just take this. You still need me.”
As Albus swallowed the entire contents of his cup in one smooth go, Scorpius was at a loss for words. Why on earth would Albus willingly drink such a large dose of what could only be his own homebrewed Pepper-Up Potion with all the nasty side effects that would show up later?
“Are you out of your mind? Why would you do that?”
“Because we’re not done here. I can go lie down once we get back to the Manor and you can be a good housemate for once and pick up after yourself and leave me alone.”
Scorpius couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Instead of taking care of his own health, Albus had decided to drug himself up to his eyeballs so he could help Scorpius with something that essentially boiled down to carrying around a lot of paper and smiling and nodding when Draco explained something to him. Guilt churned inside of him, but what came out when he spoke was not guilt, but anger.
“For fuck’s sake, just because you’re a medical professional doesn’t mean you should self-medicate.”
“Oh right, now you care? When I’m at home feeling like I’m dying, you insist on dragging me out here to sit in on a meeting and do all your work, but when I’m taking something so I don’t fall over while finishing up, I’m being irresponsible? Sometimes I wonder what strange wonderland you live in, Scorpius. I really do.”
Albus got up, but Scorpius stepped in his way, reaching for the briefcase. There was a short struggle and then Scorpius was holding both of their briefcases.
“Put on your coat. My father can take care of this himself; I’m taking you home!” Scorpius voice brooked no argument. Albus only nodded and not for the first time in his life Scorpius wondered whether he had just been reverse-bullied into something Albus actually wanted him to do.
They were just about to head out when they heard the sound of raised voices drifting in from the corridor.
“Is that…?”
“Yes, it’s my father. And yours,” Albus added after a short pause. The noise grew louder and now there was the distinct sound of shouting. “This can’t be good.”
They burst out into the corridor mere seconds after they came to that conclusion. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy were shouting insults at each other, their faces red and spittle bubbles collecting in the corner of their mouths.
“Piss poor excuse for a human being! Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater! I know you’re up to something, Malfoy! And I’ll stop you, if it’s the last thing I do!”
“You fucking wanker! You still think that because you saved the world once you have the right to lord it over everyone. Well, newsflash Boy Wonder, it ain’t so! You have no right to interfere in my affairs and whatever nefarious scheme your paranoia made you imagine, it’s not happening. Do you honestly think the Minister would sign that contract if I hadn’t been rehabilitated completely? You’re the only one who can’t move on, Potter! You disgust me!” Draco surprised Scorpius by spitting at Potter senior’s feet after he had spoken. A vein began to pulse at Potter’s temple and his face changed to an even darker red. It didn’t bode well.
A small crowd began to gather, clearly drawn in by the shouting match which was increasing in volume. Nobody wanted to miss out on the fun and who knew? Maybe this would end up in The Prophet. Again.
“Oh, really? I’m not the one who cannot control their verbal incontinence! Go cry in a bathroom, Malfoy.” This time it was Draco’s turn to gape and splutter before finding his way to another series of insults.
“Oh, another classic. The Prophet will be happy to hear that one. I’m sure,” Draco said, indicating the crowd around them, “that someone has already informed them. Must be a field day for you, getting all the attention again; the last few years must have been oh so lonely without all those headlines. I wonder what the next one’s going to be? ‘Boy who grew up in a closet, finally comes out of it'? Waste of ink if you ask me. If there were still time turners, I’d go back there and make sure that Muggle family of yours locked you in yours for good.”
The cry that burst forth from Potter senior’s throat should have shaken the walls. It was a garbled mess of rage and insults and pain. When the man threw himself at Scorpius’ father and began hitting every part of him he could reach, Scorpius thought he should have seen it coming. The crowd surrounding them was so perplexed that at first nobody reacted. Potter was pummelling into Draco, who just barely managed to get his arms up; he was always one step behind when it came to physical violence, the downside of growing up an only child in a magical household that discouraged sparring of any kind. Draco barely managed to deflect the savage blows; Potter’s rage gave him the strength of a berserker.
It was only when Potter’s punches began to draw blood which flew in all directions that someone tried to interfere. The first person to approach the fighting men got hit with a lightning bolt of wild magic before he could even get close enough to touch either of them. The man was thrown back into the crowd violently, toppling half of the spectators in the process.
Scorpius and Albus desperately tried to get closer. Both of their fathers were bleeding now, but it was quickly becoming obvious that even Draco’s defensive moves to block Potter’s fists were getting weaker and weaker, while Potter seemed to gain in strength. Another well-placed punch must have knocked Draco unconscious, because any further hits just threw him around like a rag doll. Potter was positively insane with rage; he continued to pummel into the man and when Scorpius tried to reach the two, he ran into an invisible barrier. Somehow a shield had been raised, cutting the two off from the rest of the world. Scorpius could feel his skin prickle from the volatile magic in front of him. Maybe someone Potter didn’t hate could get through, before he killed Scorpius’ father.
“Al, do something! He’s going to kill him!” Scorpius was desperate now, as much as he despised his father lording it over him on certain days, he loved the man dearly.
When Albus tried to enter the barrier it sent him careening back into Scorpius, who caught him easily and shoved him back forward for a second attempt. Not easily beaten, Albus conjured a miniature shield charm around his wand and lower right arm and pushed through the barrier.
“Stupefy!” he shouted, sending his own father toppling over Draco in a limp heap. At once the shield surrounding them collapsed, leaving Albus to stumble forward this time, quickly followed by Scorpius who pushed the elder Potter off his unconscious father.
Continue to Part 2
Title: From The Sea
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 78,5K
Pairing(s): Albus Severus Potter/Scorpius Malfoy, *background Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy*
Warnings: Cursing, excessive use of the f-word, explicit sex, substance abuse, violence, fragmented story telling, Possible triggers for *claustrophobia*
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: Scorpius Malfoy has never been one to leave stones unturned in his quest for adventure, and he’s not about to start when it comes to finding a cure for his father’s mysterious illness. Albus Potter has his work cut out for him, making sure Scorpius doesn’t get himself killed or drive Albus around the bend. - A tale of adventure and civilisations long forgotten, where not everything is quite as is seems.
Author Notes: Vaguely inspired by slash prompt #151, but this is so far away from what the prompt asked for that I’d be surprised if you could still recognise it, also inspired by Stargate SG-1 and Iron Man. Credit to some of my lore goes to dysonrules, thanks for letting me play in your sandbox darling! Thank you to my beta kinky_kneazle who has been incredibly supportive and patient with me and without her this endeavour would never have been finished, also, to be quite honest, it wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun as it has been. Thank you, dear! ♥
Special thanks go to:
Executive Producer, Director & Creative Advisor:
kinky_kneazle
Executive Art Director:
crazyparakiss
Creative Director:
curiouslyfic
Assistant Creative Director:
crazyparakiss
Lighting & Camera:
undrsomestairs
Technical Advisor:
teas_me, kitty_fic, lordhellebore, starshore, winterstorrm
I would also like to thank the Academy, the mods for their immeasurable patience with me and my muses, my family and friends. ♥ Thanks for having me. :D
From The Sea
~Prologue~
The Library is shrouded in darkness and the air is dry and old. The walls are lined with shelves, their highest levels cast into impenetrable gloom. Dust covers the lushly carpeted floor, undisturbed for longer than anyone can remember. Along the corridor lie scattered treasures among the books. They are relics of forgotten adventures and far off destinations - twisted roots and shimmering feathers alternating with pressed and framed flowers and the odd piece of bone or shell.
Maps and globes from every century cover what little space there is. Some maps have little notes attached to them by pins. The notes comment on climate, on roads and accessibility. A lot of them are written in the same hand; not all of them are in English. The older maps even come with Latin or Greek annotations, which would baffle most who might venture into the library. Visitors are few and far between and none travel far enough into the library to even reach the maps. Most recent volumes are right beside the entrance; the older, dustier, tomes are all but forgotten.
A suit of tribal armour stands by a window with grime-covered glass; its spear is still sharp. Nobody remembers where it came from-the white piece of cardboard that comes with it is so faded that it has become illegible. Beside the empty suit stands a stuffed sabre toothed tiger and how that came to be part of this collection is anyone’s guess.
Armchairs and desks had to make room for more shelves and relics of times long past. This far back in the library all the sounds are muffled. In here knowledge is a force to be reckoned with. It cannot be merely absorbed, but is absorbing, changing the reader, assimilating them making them a link in a larger chain.
Every square inch of the room is stuffed with sheets upon sheets of history, with the beauty of words and numbers. Some are bound and hidden between strong covers of leather. Some are even bound in human skin. Many of the tomes are so old, their pages have become brittle and a single touch would turn them into dust.
The oldest among them are scrolls, written in languages that haven’t been uttered in thousands of years. They tell of shapes and numbers, of constellations and philosophy. Of great battles lost and won and of societies’ rise and fall. At the end of the day, they are about people, some of them human beings, others, not so much.
If knowledge had a conscience or a sense of premonition, one of the scrolls would be fidgeting. It would covet the light at the end of the wand, the quiet but determined steps leading through the dusty corridors, stirring up air and memories of times long past. The scroll would rejoice at the feeling of the sure grip of a perfectly manicured hand around it, as it was carefully lifted from its spot on the shelves. It would quiver as it was carried over to one of the few reading desks, spread out and its corners weighed down by other ancient but less important tomes. And here is what it would say:
In the beginning there were the sun, and the stars. There were the skies above and the earth below. The days were warm and water covered most of the surface. Life thrived and evolved and everywhere new and exciting species took their first steps. Some of them perished and others flourished as is nature’s course. One day, a large rock fell from the heavens above and almost everything died: the animals, the plants, even the insects. Thousands of years of darkness, cold and ice followed and life wept as she saw her creation destroyed.
Eventually the clouds lifted and the earth settled again. Life took more care this time and the new creatures that covered the land were stronger. More robust. They learnt to build shelters and discovered the power of fire to keep themselves warm in the cold winter months.
Their population grew faster than the earth could provide for. Life did not work that way and sent a terrible plague to ravage their people. They built ships and rafts to escape, but the crew were already suffering from the sickness. Their transport was left adrift on the wide open seas while the passengers wasted away. Only three boats reached a small island, where they decided to outwait the pandemic.
Seasons came and went and the survivors made the island their home. They hadn’t heard anything from the people on the mainland and they thought they were the only ones left. Their island was fertile and nature was generous with fowl, deer and fish.
Their civilisation grew and soon they built a city unlike any that had ever been built before. It became their centre of learning, of government, of everything. Their lives revolved around the city. Over thousands of years, their understanding of the world around them, and of what would much later be called “magic”, grew to heights never again achieved. They noted down what they learnt about the world, and for many centuries their library grew; almost nothing was left unexplained.
The first signs of unrest came in the form of tremors from the earth. Their intensity grew in violence over time. A third of the island fell victim to the raging seas and the island was too small to sustain its still-growing population. The earth shook with ever increasing frequency and more and more of the island vanished into the waves. The Veela had no choice but to begin the search for a new home yet again.
The island was rich in food and water, precious stone and metals, but wood had become rare over time. There wasn’t enough to build ships to take all of the population to the shore. Their brightest and most creative sat down together and before long they had built wings and flying machines.
They took to the skies in their search, growing ever bolder as the search dragged on. Eventually they found land, where they began to build ships. It wasn’t long before the first Veela decided to settle on the mainland for good. Not everyone thought this prudent and some even claimed that the island was sinking into the ocean because of the people who wanted to leave. In the end only the most conservative of their people stayed behind on the island.
After months of rebuilding their civilisation and exploring the surrounding countryside the Veela discovered that they shared the land they had found with others. The Veela welcomed the strangers into their civilisation, sharing knowledge and wisdom, furthering the young culture’s development. It wasn’t long before some of them chose to bind themselves to these humans in kinship.
Their readiness to share what they had learned created discord between the mainland-dwellers and the ones who chose to stay behind. The Veela who chose to take human mates were considered traitors to their culture, and their offspring, abominations.
Contact broke off when the island dwellers captured the vessels that were used to carry news between the island and the mainland. At first the mainland dwelling members of the community attempted to reconcile. They flew over to the island with their mechanical wings. They talked of peace and the furthering of life. Not all of them made it back and the people on the continents decided to stop sending emissaries.
The more conservative elements on the island seized power. Shortly after, war broke out.
The first wave of attacks showed that the people on the continents were not well- prepared and their weapons were inferior. With no access to the library and most of their scientists trapped on the island their numbers quickly began to dwindle. They fell one by one, unwilling to sacrifice their human mates in the struggle.
They were on the brink of defeat, when the humans convinced their allies to let them fight. The Veela travelled far and wide. They spread their knowledge and advanced civilisation all over the world. They built barracks and training facilities, as well as strongholds and weapons stashes. Only those of mixed Veela and human descent would be able to gain access.
The largest Veela cities on the continents were abandoned and moved to places that were more easily defended. Their centre of learning and research was hidden high up in the mountains, in an area that would later be called the Himalayas.
Veela scientists worked tirelessly to give their people an advantage over the island dwellers. All the while the exposure to the magical hotspots where the Veela had chosen to make their new, defendable homes accelerated their own evolution. They had always been blessed with long life and intelligence, but now strength and the ability to communicate without words were added to their talents. Some of those could be passed down through the generations, but others seemed to be talents only pureblood Veela could develop.
The war between the two factions went on for decades. The islanders were sending more and more weapons of destruction and the mainland-dwellers recruited more and more of their human companions, choosing more mates among them. Neither of the sides seemed to be able to win, but neither was willing to surrender.
Through the generations human and Veela offspring possessed many advantages over normal humans. However unforeseen and dangerous complications emerged over time. Both the healing touch and shared use of their combined magical force and life energy could quickly become the bonded pair’s peril, if both of them got injured or one of them took enough of their life or magical force to incapacitate the other.
Their scientists eventually came up with a way to implant their offspring with those parts of their knowledge and talents that hadn’t been passed on before. The means to this were installed in the facilities they had built. The process involved a merging of minds and required both mates to go through it simultaneously. Should the merging succeed they would henceforth be able to communicate telepathically.
Shortly after going through this, there would be a period of change. The knowledge had to take hold and the recipient would lose some of his humanity. He or she didn’t have any control over their form, and would be driven by their most basic urges. Unmated soldiers sought out their intended and during those times a merging was usually initiated and in many cases further offspring were conceived.
The soldiers embraced their gifts and turned the tide of the war. The islanders were beaten back at every battle and finally the mainland-dwellers had no choice but to take the fight to them.
They used their power and wisdom to confine their enemy to the island, never to step foot off the land again. All but a few were captured and defeated in one final battle.
Peace reigned in all the lands and civilisation grew and prospered.
***
One night, the sea rose up and swallowed what was left of the island. The strong enchantment placed on the island’s very foundation kept the people trapped and they all perished.
When the mainland-dwellers realised what they had done, they retreated from their human consorts. They hid away in caves and in far-off places, fading into nothingness through their grief.
Over time, the memory of them became distorted. They were called the culture bringers and in civilisations all over the world were displayed in all shapes and sizes. The only thing they had in common were the wings that carried them.
Humans called them Gods, Valkyrie and even Angels. Their origin is now shrouded in the dark mysteries of time.
The heavy tomes are slowly lifted from the corner of the scroll and it immediately returns to the shape it has retained over the last centuries. The man is quiet and thoughtful. Silence stretches around him. He found out what he came here to, but he doesn’t like what it implies. The scroll is carried back to its resting place, the soft hand that took it rests on it for a short, pensive moment.
“Well, fuck!”
The steps slowly retreat, silence falls in the library and knowledge returns to waiting until it is needed again.
~.o.O.0.O.o.~
He sits slumped over in a chair that was never created for comfort; rather it was designed to conform to a ridiculous expectation of practicality, stackability, or worst of all - interior decoration. The chair is uncomfortable to sit on, because of how it either sucks up to one’s bottom to never let go or - in a fit of unexpected misplaced generosity - suddenly turns smooth, releasing its grip and letting its occupant slide to the floor in a graceless arch. It is the kind of chair not made to be sat on, slept on, or even stood on in terror while asking one’s significant other to kill the mouse, spider, or whatever else the Kneazle has dragged in and then got bored of eating, thus creating a miniature resurrection scene on the living room floor. In the end it is not a design flaw that makes it unusable, it is simply bloody uncomfortable because of where it stands.
There is never just one of these chairs in rooms like these, there are many. Only people who spend time in these kinds of rooms know how many there are. They have spent eternities in there, counting the chairs and flipping through the magazines, which are usually either very current or so out of date that it is impossible to remember who the people being gossiped about even are. They have put them down again, because embarrassing pictures of celebrities can only do so much to distract from the overpowering sense of worry that pervades these rooms like a nasty smell.
Every one of these rooms has some ridiculously jolly painting on the wall that is supposed to cheer their occupants up. The walls themselves are usually painted in colours interior decorators will swear on their mother’s grave to be calming and which every single person looking at will perceive as disquieting and depressing. There is also the ever present corner for children, which looks as if it hasn’t been played in since wooden toys and dolls who cried “Mama” when you pulled the string at their backs were the height of fashion. A sad plant sits in the corner; it hasn't seen actual daylight since its days in the greenhouse with many of its kind, all hoping to end up in someone’s living room or, even better, in a water feature in the entrance hall of some major cooperation with their very own bi-weekly care-taker.
The plant in this room is just watered often enough to constantly be on the brink of death and if plants could commit suicide, this one would have needed to be replaced a long time ago. Albus ponders all this before he slides back up in his chair, as the constant back and forth of “sticky - slippery” reaches one of its extremes again. He is the only person in this room, which in itself is odd, considering what time of day it is and where he is. For the last half hour he has tried to figure out whether the weird shape on the modern painting on the wall in front of him is supposed to be a penguin playing Lacrosse or a giraffe with altogether too many limbs.
Albus hates it all with a passion. He hates the sickly yellow walls, hates the outdated magazines and the sad excuses for chairs. There are twenty-five in this room and he despises every single one of them equally. He hates this room and what it means. Hates everything to do with it. Hates waiting and not knowing. Hates the helplessness of it all. But most of all, he hates one Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy.
Uncertainty is Albus’ very special hell. It worries him, because it is this big terrifying uncontrollable thing he cannot quantify. In every day matters, Albus would sit down and research, plan and plot and come up with a solution to whatever tortured him with uncertainty, but in this case it is out of his hands entirely. It is out of anyone’s hands as far as he can tell. The Healers have done all they can, or so they said; the rest is up to their patient.
The lack of natural light makes it hard to tell how much time has passed. They had taken his wand when he rushed Scorpius in hours earlier and he doesn’t have a watch; despite what that little clockwork contraption around his wrist might suggest, it doesn’t tell the time. It is what brought him to Central America in the first place. Scorpius had been following up one of the leads Albus had uncovered when searching for the cause of Draco Malfoy’s sudden illness, when suddenly the smooth compass-like disk on his wrist had started spinning and changed colour to a dangerous dark red. Albus had Apparated to Scorpius’ last known coordinates, which were just outside a large area that was so contaminated by wild magic that Apparition was not only dangerous but almost impossible. His heart had hammered away at a staccato beat when finally, after a week of fruitless searching and too many poisonous creatures he had found Scorpius, his lifeless form washed up on a river bank, surrounded by debris.
At first Albus had been convinced that Scorpius wasn’t even alive anymore, despite what his wristband had told him. He had screamed in anguish and thrown himself onto Scorpius’ still body, for once dropping the mask of calm and collected Albus Severus Potter, head of Malfoy Industries’ medical research team, that he wore for all the world to see. He had screamed out his sorrow over the loss of his best friend and colleague. In his desperate attempt to hold Scorpius closer, rocking him back and forth as if that would return him back to the living, his hand had skittered over Scorpius’ neck and discovered a weak and erratic pulse. Albus had done the unthinkable: he had thrown caution to the wind and without a second thought Apparated them away.
It is a miracle that he didn’t splinch them or do any more damage than was already done. When he had carried the unconscious Scorpius into St Mungo’s Accident & Emergency, his suit in tatters and shouting for help, people had come rushing up to them and taken Scorpius away. That had been several hours ago, or maybe days, Albus doesn’t know. Several times someone has come in and talked to him; he has nodded and smiled, or forced his face into expressing the appropriate emotions at whatever news or lack thereof he has been offered. Twice there had been coffee, or whatever St Mungo’s chose to call such. Albus had taken one sip and then hidden the offending caffeinated beverage under his seat, desperately wishing he was anywhere but here. Preferably at home with Scorpius, the two of them bickering over whose turn it was to open the door and accept the prepaid take-away that was being delivered at that moment.
Albus feels forlorn without Scorpius. It doesn’t even seem to matter that he is a bit of a twat most of the time. They had been acquainted in school, but not friends; you weren’t friends with Scorpius Malfoy, nobody truly was. Scorpius might have been the person you desperately wanted to be, he might have been the person you secretly despised for how easy things came to him, but he wasn’t your friend. Scorpius didn’t have minions either, he had followers, people who were taken in by his forward personality and his tendency to follow only the rules he found either hilarious or necessary enough to get his way.
Albus had found himself among Scorpius’ acquaintances - never a follower - quite by accident, when he had been persuaded to tutor Scorpius in potions where, unlike his father, he had been completely hopeless.
In the end Scorpius had somehow bullied his way into Albus’ life, taking his presence for granted and never once aware that Albus didn’t actually want him to be a part of his life. At least not at first. The first lesson Albus had learnt where Scorpius was concerned was “resistance is useless”. Scorpius’ father had recruited Albus right out of school for his Potions and Medical Research division; the pay was good and the labs were first class. What had made his own scientist’s heart beat immediately faster was that his own lab was so well equipped that the tools he had had to work with at Hogwarts paled in comparison. Slowly but surely, Albus had risen through the ranks until he headed his very own Research department He was forced to work closely with Scorpius, for while the man was utterly useless with potions and research itself, he was the proverbial wunderkind when it came to charms and gadgets. Their successful partnership in combining potions and enchanted objects, as well as healing and detection spells, had turned Malfoy Industries into the wizarding world’s largest supplier of magical medical instruments. Most of their work was confined to Malfoy Laboratories and Scorpius’ workshop at the Manor and more often than not they both spent the night at work. Going home would have taken up too much time, which is why Scorpius didn’t have too much trouble bullying Albus into moving in with him. They had one enlarged wing of the Manor entirely to themselves, containing two separate flats but a huge shared kitchen, living and dining room.
Albus doesn’t remember how it happened, but little by little he had begun to manage Scorpius’ life on top of his own not inconsiderable work load. He took care that Scorpius took his lunch break, made sure he showered and wore clean clothes. Albus also managed Scorpius’ diary. He doesn’t regret becoming this person; it means he gets to spend more time with Scorpius, because despite what everyone else might think about their relationship, they aren’t actually together. Scorpius is completely and utterly oblivious to the fact that his mere presence sometimes overrides Albus’ entire higher brain functions, leaving only feelings of desire, of the “must have you, right now!” variety. Even now, sitting in this despicable excuse for a chair, Albus is overwhelmed by worry over the possibility of losing his not-lover. Losing him would mean that little spark of hope he has been nurturing despite all the evidence to the contrary, would die.
Both of them tend to bring people home, or so he tells Scorpius. It is not exactly true. Scorpius might bring home people and sleep with them. Albus, on the other hand, just pretends. There is only one person he wants and since Albus can’t have him, he might as well stay celibate. After all, Scorpius always comes back to him, back to their shared flats, and none of the people he brings home ever stay a second night.
Albus is brought out of his reverie first by the realisation that both his arse cheeks have fallen asleep again, as well as by the gadget fixed to his arm chiming softly and changing from a dull and pulsing red, first to a yellow and then into a bright dark green, before going out completely. Scorpius is awake!
Albus has already shrugged into his destroyed suit jacket and is straightening it haphazardly, when the metal-framed frosted glass door to the waiting room finally opens.
“He’s asking to see you, Mr. Potter.”
Albus nods in acknowledgement and follows the woman along the corridor. Her hair is done up in a tight bun at the back of her head and everything about her speaks of quiet efficiency; maybe he was a bit premature in his dismissal of all of St Mungo’s staff as incompetent. The corridor stretching in front of them seems endless, its walls narrow and white and devoid of any decoration, the only indicator that they actually move forward are the small labels beside each door. The numbers they list grow ever larger and the signs hanging beneath constantly change. When they reach Scorpius’ room Albus’ heart is beating fast. He has to hide his hands in his pockets, clenching them into fists and pressing them against his thighs to cover up just how much they are trembling. He doesn’t know what is awaiting him on the other side of that door and that is his very special brand of hell right there.
The nurse holds open the door and beckons him into the room, reminding him to be quiet and not to excite her patient. Albus steps into the room as reluctant as if he was headed to his own execution and doesn’t even turn around when she leaves, closing the door behind her and locking him in with what he both dreads and covets the most.
The blinds are closed, leaving the room in semi-darkness, only small rays of light lighting tiny paths from the window to Scorpius’ sickbed, drawing Albus gaze to follow them. The only other source of illumination is the small round spheres, which hover over Scorpius’ heart, lung and head. They are monitoring spells which they helped invent. The irony of finding one of them at their receiving end is not lost on Albus. He walks over to the bed with reluctant steps, not sure whether he really wants to see Scorpius in this condition.
When he reaches Scorpius’ bedside, Albus looks at his face. Scorpius’ skin is paler in the dim light, than it should be. His lips are in stark contrast and slightly open. They are perfect for a kiss, something Albus has denied himself for a very long time. He leans closer without meaning to, before stopping himself short. That he even allowed himself these thoughts shows just how much of an impact Scorpius’ near death experience has had on him. Albus straightens up and purposefully walks to the chair beside Scorpius’ bed, sitting down and watching him. His eyes are still closed, but Albus is convinced that he is awake. They don’t acknowledge each other’s presence for a long time.
“You’re a complete and utter prat, Scorpius Malfoy. Do you know that?” Albus says, his voice quiet and stern. Albus insults Scorpius like he does everything - with precision. Scorpius doesn’t move a muscle, his rigid form telling Albus all he needs to know: Scorpius is awake and listening.
“You think the entire world revolves around you, don’t you? You never think twice about taking risks and how that might influence other people. I don’t even think there’s another person on this whole fucking planet that’s as selfish and self-centred as you are! And you’re stupid, so fucking stupid and reckless. Why didn’t you carry your locator beacon like you’d promised?” Albus’ voice is rising in volume and he doesn’t even care that it might call back the nurse at any moment.
“A-Albus…” Scorpius voice sounds raw and strange, as he tries to speak.
Albus just glares at him from his seat by the bed. He is too angry at Scorpius to care that he is having trouble opening his eyelids, that he would probably love a sip of water. The glass is right there on the nightstand beside the bed, but Albus doesn’t move a muscle. Any other day, in any other situation, he would be by Scorpius’ side, holding the glass and helping him take a sip, before stroking his hair back fondly and making sure he was alright, but in this moment, he can’t. Serves Scorpius right, he thinks, let him suffer, like he has made me suffer. Scorpius repeats his name, blinking his eyelids and trying to figure out where in the room he is, his face scrunched up in confusion, but Albus stays quiet a little longer.
“You’re such an arsehole!” he finally shouts, throwing himself at the bed.
“Excuse me?” Scorpius croaks, still eloquent even in this state.
Albus is grabbing Scorpius’ shoulders so tightly it must hurt, but right now he couldn’t care less.
“You heard me! You are such a fucking piece of shit, wanker! What were you thinking? How is going into the jungle and straying from the path without a guide or protection a good idea? You didn’t tell anyone where you were going and it took me days to track you down.” Albus takes a breath to calm himself and is less than successful. “Are you aware that I almost didn’t find you in time, you selfish prick?”
“Albus…” Scorpius swallows and then continues, “can we… can we please not do this right now?”
He is probably expecting Albus to back down, but Albus is relentless. He has been worried sick for days, he had to endure the flora and fauna of the rain forest - well, the flora was quite nice, the fauna was another matter - and then spent the last however many hours fearing the worst. Scorpius doesn’t deserve a moment of peace for putting him through this.
“No! We’re talking about this right now! This is the last time, Scorpius, I swear the very fucking last time, that I’m going to come out and save your sorry arse! It’s over, we’re over! I won’t do this anymore!” Albus is shaking with anger now.
“W-what’re you even talking about, Albus? You swear like a bloody fishwife.” Confusion is evident in Scorpius’ voice and Albus isn’t really sure anymore. What he wants to say is that Scorpius almost broke his heart by disappearing like that and that he had bloody well better be careful with it, since wherever he went so did Albus’ heart, but right now might not be the right time for that. There probably never would be a right time for it.
“I’m talking about the fact, that you’re a fucking wanker for scaring the shit out of me like you did!”
“I…” Scorpius has to clear his throat before attempting to speak again and it turns into a coughing fit before he is able to continue and Albus feels a bit guilty for still not offering the glass of water to him. “I’m sorry, Al!”
Scorpius doesn’t do apologies and still Albus is not placated that easily. But he can’t bear seeing Scorpius in pain or discomfort at the best of times, so he leans forward and reaches for the glass, bringing it and a piece of tissue to Scorpius’ mouth and helps him take a few short and slow sips from the cool liquid, which must feel like balm running down Scorpius’ aching throat. Just before Albus puts the glass back and dries Scorpius’ chapped lips he is startled by the intense blue colour of them, not the sickly purplish blue of hypothermia, but the radiant blue of the Mediterranean or a clear sky. It must have been a trick of light, because when he removes the tissue and leans closer to investigate, Scorpius’ lips look just like they should.
“Alright. But you're still a fucking tosser!” Albus says matter-of-factly.
“Language!” Scorpius scolds, smiling slightly.
“You’re not my mother!” Albus grins now and it is contagious. Scorpius smirks up at him and soon they are both laughing out loud until Scorpius’ laugh turns into a painful coughing fit. Albus helps him drink a few more sips before putting the water away again.
“Can we go home soon?” Scorpius asks, sounding small and vulnerable all of a sudden.
“I asked. They said they had to keep you under constant surveillance for at least a week.”
“I want to go home, Al.”
“I’m sorry, that’s not an option. Doctor’s orders.”
“Doctors…” Scorpius spits the word out like it left a bad taste on his tongue and as if it actually meant “imbeciles” and not “healers”.
“Really, Scorpius, you should rest and that’s my professional opinion,” Albus says with a smile in his voice. It is only a gentle rebuke at what is close enough to Albus’ own profession’s insulted honour.
After a long pause, Scorpius concedes defeat and nods.
“I’ll be here, if you need me.”
“You look like shit, Al. You should go home and change.”
“Have you looked in the mirror lately? I’m definitely not the one who looks like shit, Scorpius.”
“Well, at least I don’t smell like they’ve converted the waiting room into a cheetah enclosure.” Scorpius laughs at Albus’ indignant expression.
“See if I take you to the hospital ever again, fucking tosser. I was definitely right about calling you that!” Albus mock sulks for about a minute before breaking out into a grin. The awkward tension completely evaporates and everything seems to be alright again.
Scorpius only smiles. He knows Albus too well. Albus will probably send an owl to have someone bring a change of clothes over to the hospital before getting his wand back from the front desk and then demanding to use the staff shower and changing rooms, but he won’t go home.
***
It’s over a week later when Albus is finally allowed to take Scorpius home. No physical exertion, no caffeine, no alcohol and cigarettes, no sex and plenty of rest as well as a bag of colourful potions are among the pieces of advice and things they take home with them. Scorpius is still fragile and weak. So unlike the normally overconfident version of himself that is constantly looking for a place to stand to use the already created lever to move the entire planet around with.
Seeing him like this scares Albus. They still haven’t returned to how they were before; their conversation has become quieter and more serious and even their bickering isn’t as zesty as it used to be.
Albus has one arm slung around Scorpius’ waist, holding him close as he helps him step into their part of the large Manor house. Scorpius still cannot walk properly by himself and Albus has to half drag and half carry him to their huge sofa. He carefully lowers him to the soft fabric of the cushions, where Scorpius only closes his eyes and inhales deeply several times. There are dark shadows beneath his eyes and it is obvious that even the short trip from the hospital has taken most of his energy. Despite Scorpius’ incessant nagging, Albus is starting to worry that bringing him home had not been a good idea.
It is too late now, either way; they are here and there is nothing to be done about that. Scorpius lets himself fall to his side and Albus helps him to move along the sofa until he is fully stretched out. Albus gets up and fetches a blanket from the foot of the sofa, carefully draping it over Scorpius and tucking him in. When he rises to leave, Scorpius’ hand shoots out and holds him back by his arm. When he speaks his voice is still raw.
“Stay with me. Please.”
Albus merely nods and sits down beside Scorpius, much like he spent most of his time on Scorpius’ hospital bed. This time, however, Scorpius pulls him closer and only stops pulling and pushing when Albus is stretched out beside him, lying on top of the blanket and facing Scorpius. They fall asleep like that, not touching, their arms pressed to their chests. It is awkward as fuck, Albus thinks, but there is nowhere else he would rather be.
***
The room has fallen into twilight when Albus next wakes. Scorpius is breathing steadily. The way he has moved closer to him in his sleep, hiding his face in Albus’ chest, makes him realise that Scorpius is not awake. Albus doesn’t dare move in case he wakes him. Not that waking him would be a bad thing per se, but then they would have to talk and Albus doesn’t know what to say. He knows what he wants to say and what he needs to say. There are two pieces of information constantly at war inside his mind ever since he received the second bit that is essential to Scorpius’ father’s survival but he can’t decide which of the two he should share.
What he longs to tell Scorpius is that he wants him. Wants to be with him. That with every fibre of his being he wants to be more than friends. What he needs to tell him is that in looking through the Malfoy family blood records, which had finally been delivered by the family lawyer shortly after Scorpius had set out for Central America, he has found a probable cause for Mr. Malfoy’s illness and that there was only one solution to it. The revelation of what caused the illness in the first place is something Albus knows Scorpius will find hard to swallow.
Lost in his dilemma, Albus eventually drifts back off to sleep. He wakes in complete darkness and for a moment he doesn’t know where he is. Albus concentrates on what his senses tell him, but it isn’t much. The room is covered in darkness like a shroud. The lack of light isn’t welcoming or protective; it feels cold and wrong and for a moment Albus worries that he might be dead, or worse, that the man beside him has died while Albus has been sleeping. The feeling of warm puffs of breath on his lips reassures him that Scorpius is alright. In fact, he seems to be more than alright, when one takes into account his arms which are currently curled around Albus’ torso holding him close and his hands which are drawing slow and soothing circles all over his back.
Albus stares into the darkness in front of him, trying to make out Scorpius’ face, but all he can see is the reflection of a stray ray of moonlight in Scorpius’ eyes. When his body catches up with what Scorpius is doing and how close he is his heart speeds up.
“W-what are you doing?” Albus forces out, sounding desperate and breathless while inside his wide-awake and terrified brain part of him tries to use all of his non-existent telepathic powers to convince Scorpius to close the distance between their lips.
“Shhhh,” Scorpius chides and then he does the unthinkable. He leans forward and presses his lips gently against Albus’. Just once and too quickly, as if scared of rejection. Albus is too startled to react but must have made a sound of distress when Scorpius pulled away, because before he knows what is happening, he can hear Scorpius’ warm chuckle and Scorpius’ lips are back, pressed more firmly and surely against his own.
Albus opens easily under the onslaught of Scorpius’ tongue; he twines his fingers into Scorpius’ silky soft hair and lets him do as he pleases. The kisses are unhurried and not a means to an end and Albus loves every single one of them. He doesn’t quite know whether he is dreaming or awake, but if finding out the answer to that question means he has to stop kissing Scorpius it is beyond Albus’ abilities. They both take their time to explore each other’s flavour and if Scorpius isn’t the best thing Albus has ever tasted he doesn’t know what is.
Eventually Scorpius does break the kiss, he pulls Albus close and peppers a series of tender kisses all over his face, before pulling him to his chest and pressing one last kiss to the crown of his head. Albus can’t remember ever having felt this sheltered and whole. He revels in Scorpius’ warmth and breathes in his distinct scent, letting himself be lulled back into sleep by the steady beating of Scorpius’ heart, cocooned and protected in the warm circle of his arms.
***
Albus shivers and blinks into the early morning light. The day is cold and too bright and the events from the night before seem like nothing but a hazy dream. Sometime in the night he must have turned over on the blanket, because instead of facing towards Scorpius like he had when they had fallen asleep, he is facing away from him, held close by one of Scorpius’ arms slung possessively around his waist. Albus is cold, but he can’t make himself get up and do anything about it; he is far too comfortable in Scorpius’ embrace to move. Behind him, Scorpius mumbles something and then pulls him closer yet, nuzzling the back of his neck and pressing his groin against Albus’ arse. Albus can feel his entire face heat up as his body reacts in the most inappropriate manner and suddenly it is all too much. What if Scorpius only kissed him because of the potions he was taking? What if he doesn’t actually want him? What if he had thought Albus was someone else?
Albus can feel himself go rigid as his worst fears chase each other around his mind. How could he have been so stupid and given in to Scorpius last night? Not once has Scorpius given any indication that Albus’ affections might be returned. Why should now be different? Nothing has changed between them and - oh God - he still hasn’t told Scorpius about the test results.
Careful not to wake him, Albus frees himself from Scorpius’ embrace and slowly slides off the sofa. He makes his way across their large living room on tiptoes and sneaks up the stairs connecting his flat to Scorpius’. Unlike his usual fastidious self, Albus takes his clothes off one by one as he walks towards his ensuite. The last thing he takes off is his leather wrist band. A cheerful sound comes from the disk, in stark contrast to Albus’ mood. One chime indicating that everything is alright in the world, when so clearly it is not.
The first drops of scorching hot water on Albus’ skin make him shake. The water is too hot to be comfortable, but he doesn’t step away, needs its cleansing powers more than anything. Last night was the biggest mistake of his entire life.
Albus decides the best course of action is to pretend it never happened. He silently mourns the loss of his one and only chance with the man he cannot help but love, hasn’t been able to not love for a very long time. The spray kindly carries away the evidence, salty tears mixing with water but never losing their significance in the greater scheme. When Albus eventually steps out of the shower and meticulously dries himself off, he stares into the mirror, searching for any hint of that bitter turmoil inside, but there is nothing.
~.o.O.0.O.o.~
The conference room appeared busy, even though there were very few people actually present. Paper was being moved around and stacked and shoved into folders which where then stuffed into briefcases. The air was filled with a sense of accomplishment and self-satisfaction such that would imply the signing of important documents. The atmosphere would be impossible to miss for anyone entering the room. Everyone pushing paper had the self-important look on their face that came with the territory, in this case the signing of a contract between Malfoy Industries and the Ministry of Magic.
Scorpius thought it was all rather ridiculous, especially considering that the contract mostly referred to improved office supplies and only a minor part of it had concerned the shipment of the improved Auror body armour that he himself had helped invent. He sighed inwardly; expectations had to be met, which is why the contract had been signed at the Ministry itself.
Scorpius’ father had had one of those special moments that morning, where he decided his son must learn to run the company in case of his absence or - Merlin forbid - his early death. That was how Scorpius found himself in this room, shuffling paper with the best of them and feeling like he was cleaning up after an incontinent toddler. Why did people who had the power to make things happen by writing their name on a piece of paper always think the work ended there? Well, theirs most certainly did, however everyone else’s work was just starting.
Never one to enjoy suffering by himself, Scorpius had brought Albus along - colleague, flatmate, and best friend extraordinaire. There were two reasons to have Albus there. Number one: Albus actually knew what he was doing and, unlike Scorpius, didn’t have to fake interest in the proceedings. Number two: Albus had a spectacular head cold and hadn’t left the flat in days, and Scorpius knew the resulting constant sniffling would drive his father up the wall. Payback was sweet indeed.
It was not that he didn’t love his father - he really did - but sometimes he couldn’t help himself. He had to try and take him down a notch or twenty, especially on days like today, when a contract to provide every desk in the ministry with self sorting, self punching and self stapling file-folders warranted this entire circus.
Paper was still being moved around busily and Scorpius began to wonder whether that wasn’t part of the ritual as well, the staying behind and appreciating that somehow, despite all odds, another stage in the proceedings had been reached, one that promised raises and bonuses and possibly a weekend off. Although, everyone knew the last part was never going to happen given the nature of the contract being signed. Somehow, reaching that important stage would generate more work which then was followed by new contracts etc. etc.
Scorpius looked for Albus who, unlike himself, hadn’t finished stuffing folders into his briefcase. His nose was red and looked raw and part of Scorpius wished they had the kind of relationship where he could just step up to him and kiss him on the nose, wrap that ridiculous scarf more firmly around Albus’ neck and take him home to coddle him and serve him tea under warm blankets. In these occasional daydreams Scorpius would sit there reading some ludicrously romantic novels to Albus who would look at him with genuine affection. Reality always tended to intrude and so it did just then, in this case in the form of a mighty sneeze that shook Albus’ entire frame.
“Fucking hell!” one of the ministry clerks in the room exclaimed. “Let’s get out of here, before he brings the whole building down.”
Scorpius felt like hexing him, but he had learned his lesson at a very young age. Instead of doing something that could so easily be traced back to him, he made a mental note to make sure that the clerk’s next Malfoy Industries delivery would make his life uncomfortable. He felt guilty for bringing Albus with him, but the fact was that, as sick as he was, Scorpius couldn’t bear to leave him alone in case he got worse. Scorpius wordlessly handed Albus a tissue and, when Albus was blowing his nose, pointed his wand and quickly re-heated Albus’ cup of tea. This he would never admit to doing, even under threat of death.
Scorpius fetched both of their coats from the stand in the corner and checked his pocket watch. Merlin, only three hours! He had run out of excuses to keep Albus there with him and this bizarre version of “bring your son to work day” wasn’t even halfway over. He would much rather have been in his workshop, working on the idea he had had that very morning. Still, he knew that it couldn’t be helped. Scorpius brushed his hand over his face tiredly. He was truly and utterly fucked.
The others had already left and Scorpius was wondering what was taking Albus so long. When he looked at him more closely, sitting in his chair and breathing heavily, he saw how pale Albus had got all of a sudden. It only took him two steps to be by Albus’ side and now he saw that Albus’ hands were shaking. Before he could think about it, his hand was pressed against Albus’ forehead checking his temperature in the most old-fashioned way possible.
“You’re burning up! We’ve got to get you home!”
“No, it’s alright,” Albus said, pouring something in his tea then missing the cup the first time he tried to grab it.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Scorpius asked.
“It’s okay, I’ll just take this. You still need me.”
As Albus swallowed the entire contents of his cup in one smooth go, Scorpius was at a loss for words. Why on earth would Albus willingly drink such a large dose of what could only be his own homebrewed Pepper-Up Potion with all the nasty side effects that would show up later?
“Are you out of your mind? Why would you do that?”
“Because we’re not done here. I can go lie down once we get back to the Manor and you can be a good housemate for once and pick up after yourself and leave me alone.”
Scorpius couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Instead of taking care of his own health, Albus had decided to drug himself up to his eyeballs so he could help Scorpius with something that essentially boiled down to carrying around a lot of paper and smiling and nodding when Draco explained something to him. Guilt churned inside of him, but what came out when he spoke was not guilt, but anger.
“For fuck’s sake, just because you’re a medical professional doesn’t mean you should self-medicate.”
“Oh right, now you care? When I’m at home feeling like I’m dying, you insist on dragging me out here to sit in on a meeting and do all your work, but when I’m taking something so I don’t fall over while finishing up, I’m being irresponsible? Sometimes I wonder what strange wonderland you live in, Scorpius. I really do.”
Albus got up, but Scorpius stepped in his way, reaching for the briefcase. There was a short struggle and then Scorpius was holding both of their briefcases.
“Put on your coat. My father can take care of this himself; I’m taking you home!” Scorpius voice brooked no argument. Albus only nodded and not for the first time in his life Scorpius wondered whether he had just been reverse-bullied into something Albus actually wanted him to do.
They were just about to head out when they heard the sound of raised voices drifting in from the corridor.
“Is that…?”
“Yes, it’s my father. And yours,” Albus added after a short pause. The noise grew louder and now there was the distinct sound of shouting. “This can’t be good.”
They burst out into the corridor mere seconds after they came to that conclusion. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy were shouting insults at each other, their faces red and spittle bubbles collecting in the corner of their mouths.
“Piss poor excuse for a human being! Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater! I know you’re up to something, Malfoy! And I’ll stop you, if it’s the last thing I do!”
“You fucking wanker! You still think that because you saved the world once you have the right to lord it over everyone. Well, newsflash Boy Wonder, it ain’t so! You have no right to interfere in my affairs and whatever nefarious scheme your paranoia made you imagine, it’s not happening. Do you honestly think the Minister would sign that contract if I hadn’t been rehabilitated completely? You’re the only one who can’t move on, Potter! You disgust me!” Draco surprised Scorpius by spitting at Potter senior’s feet after he had spoken. A vein began to pulse at Potter’s temple and his face changed to an even darker red. It didn’t bode well.
A small crowd began to gather, clearly drawn in by the shouting match which was increasing in volume. Nobody wanted to miss out on the fun and who knew? Maybe this would end up in The Prophet. Again.
“Oh, really? I’m not the one who cannot control their verbal incontinence! Go cry in a bathroom, Malfoy.” This time it was Draco’s turn to gape and splutter before finding his way to another series of insults.
“Oh, another classic. The Prophet will be happy to hear that one. I’m sure,” Draco said, indicating the crowd around them, “that someone has already informed them. Must be a field day for you, getting all the attention again; the last few years must have been oh so lonely without all those headlines. I wonder what the next one’s going to be? ‘Boy who grew up in a closet, finally comes out of it'? Waste of ink if you ask me. If there were still time turners, I’d go back there and make sure that Muggle family of yours locked you in yours for good.”
The cry that burst forth from Potter senior’s throat should have shaken the walls. It was a garbled mess of rage and insults and pain. When the man threw himself at Scorpius’ father and began hitting every part of him he could reach, Scorpius thought he should have seen it coming. The crowd surrounding them was so perplexed that at first nobody reacted. Potter was pummelling into Draco, who just barely managed to get his arms up; he was always one step behind when it came to physical violence, the downside of growing up an only child in a magical household that discouraged sparring of any kind. Draco barely managed to deflect the savage blows; Potter’s rage gave him the strength of a berserker.
It was only when Potter’s punches began to draw blood which flew in all directions that someone tried to interfere. The first person to approach the fighting men got hit with a lightning bolt of wild magic before he could even get close enough to touch either of them. The man was thrown back into the crowd violently, toppling half of the spectators in the process.
Scorpius and Albus desperately tried to get closer. Both of their fathers were bleeding now, but it was quickly becoming obvious that even Draco’s defensive moves to block Potter’s fists were getting weaker and weaker, while Potter seemed to gain in strength. Another well-placed punch must have knocked Draco unconscious, because any further hits just threw him around like a rag doll. Potter was positively insane with rage; he continued to pummel into the man and when Scorpius tried to reach the two, he ran into an invisible barrier. Somehow a shield had been raised, cutting the two off from the rest of the world. Scorpius could feel his skin prickle from the volatile magic in front of him. Maybe someone Potter didn’t hate could get through, before he killed Scorpius’ father.
“Al, do something! He’s going to kill him!” Scorpius was desperate now, as much as he despised his father lording it over him on certain days, he loved the man dearly.
When Albus tried to enter the barrier it sent him careening back into Scorpius, who caught him easily and shoved him back forward for a second attempt. Not easily beaten, Albus conjured a miniature shield charm around his wand and lower right arm and pushed through the barrier.
“Stupefy!” he shouted, sending his own father toppling over Draco in a limp heap. At once the shield surrounding them collapsed, leaving Albus to stumble forward this time, quickly followed by Scorpius who pushed the elder Potter off his unconscious father.
Continue to Part 2