fashionably late to the party
Happy Birthday, bryoneybrynn!! Here is this crazy camping fic thing; I hope it is still the 27th where you are, and that you're having an awesome day! :)
Title: Marshmallows and Rain (And Other Things That Don't Mix Well)
Author: hollycomb
Pairing: Albus/Scorpius
Rating: R
Notes: Written for bryoneybrynn, with her prompt, "Just shut up and eat it."
Two days after his seventeenth birthday, Albus is sitting in a car, which itself is enough of a novelty, but the other passengers and the circumstances in general make it far more extraordinary. His father is at the wheel, cursing with progressively insincere apology as he tries to get the front left wheel unstuck. It's spinning in a pile of mud, getting nowhere. Draco Malfoy is leaning between the two front seats, telling him he's doing it wrong, and his son, Scorpius, is sitting in silence in the back, hands folded in his lap.
"Forget it, Potter, I'll get out and fix this," Draco says, throwing open his door. Scorpius watches him warily, his mouth hanging open. Albus turns to meet his eyes for a moment and then jerks back around to his father, who is already pushing his way out of the car, trying to stop Draco from using his wand.
Albus really hates Muggle Day.
"You agreed!" Harry shouts at Draco. "You agreed! Oh, I knew it, I knew you would try --"
"I don't think it's really in the spirit of the holiday to sit in a Jeep until we starve or get eaten by bears rather than resort to wands," Draco spits back. "Honestly, if you're not the most competitive bloody arse on the face of the --"
"Watch your mouth!" Harry shouts, though he must know that Albus and Scorpius are old enough to hear such things without becoming emotionally scarred, and in fact was saying much worse himself moments ago, struggling with the wheel.
Albus groans inwardly, can't believe how poorly what once seemed like a brilliant plan has backfired. Every year, the family tries to get out of celebrating Muggle Day, which was made a national holiday after a campaign by his Aunt Hermione, in order to spread awareness of Muggle life challenges and repair relations following Voldemort and all that mess. It is celebrated by spending 24 hours without magic, and while most wizards eschew the idea and go on as if the holiday doesn't exist, Muggle-borns tend to take a certain pride in getting through the day without their wands.
Albus' father is particularly enamored of the holiday, as it gives him a chance to live out the muggle life he missed during his miserable childhood. He always wants to spend the day with his children, treating them as he would have liked to be treated as a boy, before he knew about magic or that he had any chance of escaping suburban hell. James has gotten around Muggle Day for the past two years by faking sick, and Lily has abandoned the annual camping trip this summer as well, claiming that she simply cannot get out of visiting a friend from school in Cardiff. Albus' mother feigned regret at having to stay home and care for the "ailing" James, and Albus was left to suffer his father's well-intentioned 24 hour insanity alone.
When his father asked him if he'd like to bring a friend along in lieu of his siblings, Albus came up with a genius plan. He'd invite Scorpius Malfoy, a fellow Ravenclaw. He assumed that his father hated Scorpius' father enough to not want to have anything to do with his son, either. Albus knew he wouldn't refuse to bring Scorpius along outright, but hoped he would invent some reason to call off the trip when faced with Malfoy accompaniment, releasing everyone involved from the Muggle Day bondage.
Instead, his father only smiled at the name and told Albus to invite away. This left Albus in the awkward position of actually having to do it. He and Scorpius are not friends, though they have been partnered in Potions class several times, where Albus has appreciated the far greater mixing talents of his classmate. They've always been civil, but Scorpius is quiet and a bit strange, even loopy. Albus was shocked and almost disappointed when he agreed to come along on this trip. He was even more mortified when Draco insisted on accompanying him, lest Harry Potter attempt to kidnap and/or brainwash his son, "unsupervised in some forest," as Draco put it. Albus is surprised that he's allowed Scorpius to come along at all, but Scorpius is an only child, and probably spoiled.
"Dad!" Scorpius protests when Draco draws his wand from his jacket -- no robes allowed, even, in Harry's traditional observance of Muggle Day -- and points it at the tire of the car.
"Don't!" Scorpius says, crawling over to stick his head out the left back window. "You'll spoil it! It's only ten o'clock in the morning, and we've never had a proper Muggle Day!"
"That's the spirit!" Harry says, and Albus wants to smack his forehead, embarrassed by his father though there is no one here whose opinion he particularly cares about.
"I don't see how getting us unstuck and back on the road would ruin anything," Draco says. He puts his wand in his pocket anyway, clearly a sucker for his son's wishes. "But I never did understand the point of this ridiculous holiday to begin with."
"We can do it without magic," Harry says. "It will just take a little patience." He shoots Draco a look.
Harry corrals Draco into going behind the car to push, and tells Albus to sit in the driver's seat and give the car gas, which actually is a little thrilling. His mother has never allowed him to drive, having seen one too many brushes with death involving her family and automobiles. Scorpius leans forward to watch Albus turn the key in the ignition.
"You should put your seatbelt on," he says. Albus turns back to give him a look, annoyed.
"I think I'll be alright."
It only takes five minutes to unstick the car, Harry shouting instructions and Albus punching the gas to the floorboards. When the car finally lurches forward, he gasps in surprise, and his face burns when he thinks he hears Scorpius snort with laughter, chucked into the back by the yank of his seatbelt.
Harry resumes control of the car, and they drive mostly in silence until they reach the campsite. Harry and Draco are both splattered with mud.
"You're crazy if you think I'm not cleaning this off with my wand," Draco says as he's climbing out, slapping the knees of his trousers to brush pieces of pine straw away.
"Dad!" Scorpius says. Albus can't believe his whining. What is he, ten years old? Who still cares about Muggle Day at seventeen?
"There's a creek right over there," Harry says, pointing. "We can wash our clothes the Muggle way. It'll be an experience for you, Draco," he says with a grin, doing a bad job of pretending not to enjoy Draco's sulking.
"Why don't you boys build a fire while we're gone?" Harry calls back over his shoulder as he's leading Draco toward the creek. "Albus, you remember how?"
"Yeah," Albus shouts, fully planning on using his wand.
"I've never built one without magic," Scorpius says, sitting on a nearby tree stump as if preparing to be duly entertained. "You'll show me?"
"Fine," Albus moans. "We need to get firewood first. I'll break up some branches, you can gather twigs."
Scorpius laughs, seems to be waiting for the punchline.
"For the kindling," Albus says, feeling as if he's missed something.
They get the fire going and wait for their fathers to return, sitting close. It's summer, but they took a Portkey to Sweden for the trip, their last act of magic before Muggle Day, and it's chilly up here in the Central Alps, though they're not far up enough to have any snow.
"What the hell's taking them?" Albus mutters, holding his hands out toward the flames when the wind blows around them.
"Maybe they killed each other." Scorpius grins when Albus looks at him with alarm. Albus forces a laugh. He's actually kind of worried that they might have.
"Not likely, since my Dad's so bloody determined not to use his wand."
"You don't like this, do you?" Scorpius asks.
"What? This? Muggle Day? No."
"Why'd you ask me along?"
"What do you mean?" Albus puts his head in his hands. His stomach is growling.
"Well, you don't seem to like me, either, so . . ."
"Yes, I do!" Albus says, though he's not sure this is true. He feels guilty, realizes he's being kind of a shit. "I'm just not in the best mood right now, is all. I'm starving."
"I was surprised when you asked," Scorpius says. "At school -- it seems like you're only interested in being around people who play Quidditch. I've never even been to a game."
"You haven't?"
"No. What have they done with the food?" Scorpius' cheeks are bright, and Albus feels his burning, too. This is awkward. He knew that it would be.
"It's here, I think," Albus says, going to his father's pack, which is lying near the supplies they'll use to pitch the tent. He rummages through it and finds two packs of jerky, hands one to Scorpius. He frowns at it.
"Um. What is this?"
"Jerky. Muggles eat it on camping trips. I thought you were excited about the true Muggle experience."
"I'm mostly just trying to torture my father." Scorpius tears the jerky package open with his teeth, spits out the plastic.
"Torture him? What, you hate him or something?"
"No, I just don't like how he's so -- against everything. It's all frivolity and nonsense to him, not just this, every holiday. I wish he could relax and just do something stupid every once in awhile. It's not going to kill him."
"You're sure about that?" Albus looks toward the place in the woods that his father and Draco disappeared into. "Maybe one of us should go after them."
"I don't think we should split up."
"Well, somebody's got to watch the stuff."
"Let's just wait for a second. I bet they'll be back soon."
They eat their jerky without talking, sitting on the felled tree trunk that they built the fire beside. Albus is beginning to truly grow worried about his father when they hear twigs snapping, someone approaching the campsite. He goes for his wand.
"Calm down," Scorpius says, holding Albus' arm in place. "It's just them."
Harry and Draco aren't arguing when they appear, though they both look a bit ragged, as if there may have been a fist fight. Their clothes are still dirty, only now they're wet in spots as well.
"Good, you've got the fire started," Harry says, sitting heavily beside Albus. He's shaking, and Albus goes to the pack to get him a blanket. Draco stands on the edge of the campsite with his hands in his pockets, staring at the fire as if it's hypnotized him.
"Um, want some lunch?" Albus asks. He glances at Scorpius, who also seems to have sensed that something is wrong. They hold each other's gaze for a moment and then look back to their fathers.
"Yes, lunch, that would be good," Harry stammers. He shrugs the blanket off and goes to his pack for a small saucepan and a can of beans. Everyone watches him heat them up, staring as if the cooking of the beans is a tense and fascinating procedure.
"I don't eat beans," Draco says suddenly, his tone very grave, and Albus has to bite his lip hard to keep from bursting into nervous laughter.
"Yes, you do!" Scorpius says. "Mum's minestrone has beans in it."
"This is hardly minestrone," Draco says.
"Just shut up and eat it," Harry says, thrusting a bowl in Draco's direction. Draco takes it with a sniff. Albus has never seen his father so -- what? Weird?
After lunch, Harry takes Albus and Scorpius down to the creek for some fishing. Draco refuses to join them, insists on staying behind to set up the tent. Albus watches his father open his mouth to make a joke about the hopelessness of Draco pitching a tent without magic, but then he seems to remember Scorpius, and says nothing.
"Well, it's a beautiful day!" Harry blurts when they reach the creek. Albus looks up from showing Scorpius how to bait his line.
"Dad," he says. "What the hell?"
"What the hell?" Harry repeats. "What do you mean, 'what the hell?' It's a beautiful day, that's all I said."
Albus rolls his eyes and casts his line into the water. His father has always been strange, but Albus figures he's earned the right. He sees Scorpius watching him carefully, trying to mimic his movements. Albus has the sudden inclination to step closer to him, and he does. Why not? Scorpius grins at the creek.
"This is kind of boring," he whispers.
"No kidding. Just be glad you don't have to do it every year."
They spend about an hour at the creek, catching nothing. Albus finds a spot of sun and nearly falls asleep as he lounges in it, his line bobbing in the water. Scorpius sits beside him, goosebumps along his bare arms. He'll get sunburned, Albus thinks. His skin is so fair.
"I'll be right back," Harry says suddenly, and by the time Albus has looked up, his father is already up on the shore. He gives Albus and Scorpius a wave. "Just going to check something. I'll be right back," he says again, and jogs off.
"What the hell?" Albus says. Scorpius shrugs.
"Maybe he suspects my father of doing magic. To set up the tent."
Albus groans. "Muggle Day."
"Indeed. Listen -- have you usually caught any fish by now?"
"God, no. We never catch anything."
Scorpius laughs hard enough to get his eyes pinched up, and Albus didn't think it was really that funny, but he grins big, puts his fishing pole down on the rocks.
"Why did you invite me?" Scorpius asks, setting his own pole aside. "Be honest."
"Potters are always honest," Albus says with fake pomposity. Scorpius punches his shoulder, and Albus bites his lip.
"You're so insecure that you can't believe I just wanted you along?" he asks, hoping Scorpius will hit him again.
"But you don't know me. Why not Richard or Colin or one of those others from the team?"
"Maybe I get tired of talking Quidditch strategy all the time. I get enough of it from my dad and my brother."
"It's not like you and I are discussing art and politics here."
Albus laughs. His face is hot, and he wishes his father would come back, but then again, he doesn't really.
"You know I'm social poison at school, at least in your circles," Scorpius says. "I'm sure you won't be pulling up a seat next to me in the Great Hall next year."
"Whatever," Albus mutters. He picks up a rock and throws it into the creek. "I'm not like that."
"Oh, really? Then how come you've never looked at me twice?"
"I have!"
"Well, how come you're not looking at me now, for God's sake?"
Albus scowls, picks at his nails. Scorpius grabs his face and turns his chin, makes him look. His eyes are a soft gray-blue, and Albus thinks deliriously of his favorite corduroy trousers, which are roughly the same color.
"You're as mental as your father," Scorpius says. He lets go of Albus, gets up and walks off.
"Wait!" Albus says, springing up. "You -- you don't know how to get back! Come to it -- neither do I."
Scorpius curses, pulls a hand through his hair. It's short, fluffy in a dorky sort of way, gold like fading sunlight. Albus can see the beginnings of his sunburn across his nose. He feels dizzy. Maybe it was his father's cooking.
"Come back," he says, feeling like an idiot. Scorpius stands and stares at him, either surprised or annoyed, maybe both. He returns to the rock where they'd been sitting, sinks to the ground and puts his back against it it.
"Your father had better not be gone until nightfall," he mutters. Albus sits down beside him, too close. He feels afraid of some nameless thing; something in these woods is not right. He's glad they've all got their wands, despite Muggle Day.
A cloud passes over the sun, and then another. The goosebumps on Scorpius' arms seem to sharpen, and he puts his hands over his elbows. Albus looks around for the sweater Scorpius was wearing earlier, and realizes he left it back at the camp.
"We could build a fire," he suggests. Scorpius shrugs miserably, hugs his arms in tighter. Albus pulls his wand from his trousers. He opens his mouth, and Scorpius reaches up to clap his hand over it.
"What are you doing?" Albus asks, his heart thundering hard as he pulls Scorpius' hand away.
"You weren't about to say something stupid like 'Accio firewood,' were you?" Scorpius asks.
"Will you get off the Muggle Day crap?" Albus says. "You're the one who's shaking like a leaf, I'm just trying to do this in a hurry."
"Muggle Day! It's got nothing to do with that! Do you seriously not see why it might not be a good idea to cast 'Accio firewood' in the middle of a bloody forest?"
Albus laughs before he can think better of it, then bites it down. "Like, what, one tiny spell from me is going to take down every tree within a fifty mile radius? It doesn't work that way."
"Are you sure?" Scorpius asks. "It might. It might at least bring about ten felled tree trunks right on top of you. You're a Potter, Albus," he says, snottily. "Your magic is strong."
"How do you know?" Albus decides to be angry rather than flattered.
"I've seen you in class," Scorpius says. He hugs himself again, looks up as a darker, heavier-looking cloud blows in to block the sun. "Let's just hurry up and get some firewood, Muggle-style. Just in case."
Starting the fire is still much easier with the help of a spell to ignite it, and no fooling around with matches and kindling. Albus and Scorpius huddle close to the flames as the sky grows darker still. A soft rumble begins, still far off.
"Oh, God," Scorpius says. "It's going to rain. Bugger this whole thing. I shouldn't have come."
"Where the hell is my father?" Albus growls, looking back over his shoulder.
"I don't know, but I'm starting to like him about as much as my father does," Scorpius says. Albus shoves him. Scorpius glowers. Albus wants him to hit back, so badly that he shoves him again, pretending to be more offended by the comment about his father than he really was.
"Quit it!" Scorpius says, catching Albus' hand. "What's wrong with you? Why'd you ask me on this trip if you can't stand me?"
"Because I thought my dad would call it off if I tried to bring you!"
Albus didn't mean to say that, but he doesn't really regret it when Scorpius comes at him full force, knocking him backward.
"You're such a shit, Potter!" he spits, his thumbs on Albus' throat, fingers tight on the back of his neck. "I should have known, I should have fucking known."
"Yeah, you should have!" Albus wants to fight, which is unusual for him, but it feels good, like something he needs to get out of his system, and he likes the weight of Scorpius on top of him, the sky blackening over his shoulders as the thunder rolls closer, a storm coming in fast.
Scorpius' eyes are red-rimmed, and he lets Albus up, starts to run away. Not wanting to be left here alone in the rain, or responsible for Scorpius getting lost in the woods, Albus reaches out frantically, and manages to grab the cuff of Scorpius' trouser leg. Scorpius trips and falls, hard, onto the rocks that line the bank of the creek. He yelps in surprise, then moans a feeble little sound that makes Albus want to die, horrified with himself.
"Oh, God, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" He rushes to Scorpius, who is crawling up onto his knees, holding his face and hissing in pain. "I didn't mean to -- I'm sorry -- are you hurt?"
Scorpius turns away roughly, but Albus won't let him, pulls him back. Scorpius has his hand over his jaw, his eyes completely wet now. Albus sees blood dripping down onto his shirt. Thunder cracks overhead, but Albus doesn't take his eyes off of Scorpius, who is trembling, trying not to cry.
"God, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Albus chants, a thousand times. "Let me see that cut."
"Fuck off, it's nothing." Scorpius tries to stand up, but Albus holds him in place, both of them on their knees.
"Let me see it, and I'll fix it up with my wand."
"You're not doing surgery on me!"
"It's hardly surgery! I can at least put a disinfectant spell on it."
"I've seen your charm work, thanks. Your spells might be strong, but they're hardly accurate."
"Please, just let me see."
Scorpius finally allows Albus to pull his hand away, and the cut on his jaw is small but deep, gushing blood like the rock he landed against opened an artery. Albus tries not to panic, thinks he remembers something about facial wounds bleeding profusely. It's totally normal -- right? Lightening flashes around them like a portent.
"Fuck, I'm stupid," Scorpius says. He finally gives in to crying, his voice a pathetic tremble. "I thought -- when you asked me -- I thought --"
"Hush up," Albus says, yanking off his sweater. He puts its sleeve against Scorpius' cut, presses firmly. When Scorpius won't meet his eyes, Albus grabs his hand, squeezes. Scorpius loses it completely, and Albus catches him when he crumbles.
"Stop that, goddamn you," Albus mutters softly, holding Scorpius against him, the sweater pressed between his face and Albus' shoulder. "We've got to find cover." The fire has already been blown out by the wind, and Albus can smell the approaching rain.
They get up and start walking away from the creek, Albus on the lookout for a convenient cave that they can duck into. In stories about wizards lost in the woods, there always seems to be a cave, though what's inside it is not usually too welcoming. He can't even find a forbidding-looking one now, as the rain starts to fall, almost immediately quite heavy.
"Al!"
He looks up in great relief to see his father and Draco running toward them, and realizes when he does that he's been holding Scorpius' hand all this time. He drops it, and puts a hand on his back as he leads him toward their fathers, preparing for the wrath of Draco. He'll leave immediately once he's learned that Albus injured his son. Albus is strangely disappointed, wants Scorpius at least to stay.
"Where were you?" he asks his father, shouting over the sound of the rain falling all around them.
"I'm sorry -- Albus, what happened?" He's looking at Albus' sweater pressed against Scorpius' cut, the sleeve soaked with blood.
"Nothing, I tripped," Scorpius says before Albus can explain. "Can we just get back to the camp? I hope you've set up the tent."
"Bugger the tent," Draco says, grabbing his son's arm. "You're hurt. We're leaving."
"No!" Scorpius says. "I'm fine, really, it's just a scratch."
"Are you sure?" Harry asks as they hurry back to the camp, soaked already, the ground quickly turning to mud.
"Yes, really. I was clumsy, it's nothing."
"At least let me heal it with magic," Draco says. "Enough of this Muggle nonsense."
"A bandage will suffice," Scorpius says. "What's this?" he asks when they reach the camp. There are two tents set up -- the large one that Harry and Albus brought, and another even bigger, more elaborate-looking contraption.
"I brought my own," Draco says.
"It's magicked, isn't it?"
"Possibly," Draco says, groaning. "What's the difference -- get into it, you're drenched."
"Albus and I will stay in this one," Scorpius says, grabbing Albus' wrist. Albus is still lost as to why he lied about how he got hurt, doesn't even half know what to make of this. "You and Harry can stay in the other."
"Scorpius!"
"I came on this trip to spend time with my friend!" Scorpius is already pulling Albus into the larger tent.
"It's fine, Draco," Harry says, in a timid sort of way Albus finds unrecognizable and slightly disturbing. "Let's all just hurry and get out of the rain. We'll rest for a bit, and hopefully this will let up before dinner."
A gigantic crack of thunder overhead accompanies a splinter of lightening, and Albus doubts very much that this will let up by even tomorrow, but as he climbs into the Malfoys' tent with Scorpius, he doesn't much care. It is indeed magicked, spacious despite its outward appearance, with soaring ceilings and a fire pit roaring in the center, pillowy sofas and two large beds.
"So much for Muggle Day," Albus says, tearing off his wet shirt. "I don't suppose this thing comes with a change of clothes?"
Scorpius blinks at him. "Change of clothes? How quickly we forget that I have a gaping wound on my face."
"You just said it was nothing!"
"Yes, to my father." Scorpius goes toward the back of the tent, where curtains hang in front of a large, circular bathtub that is bubbling like a jacuzzi. There is a closet that Albus assumes contains a working toilet, and a vanity with a supply of ointments and tonics.
Albus doesn't even know which question to begin with, so he walks forward and helps Scorpius with the wound-sealing potion he's chosen, dabs some of it on a cotton swab while Scorpius continues to hold Albus' sweater against his jaw. Scorpius winces when he pulls the knitted material away from his cut, and Albus is quick to apply the potion, which works fast. He follows this with an application of pain-killing potion.
"There," Scorpius says, letting out his breath. Albus pulls his already wet handkerchief from his trouser pocket and brushes it along Scorpius' neck and jaw, cleaning away the drying blood. Scorpius is staring at him in a way that makes him sorry he took his shirt off.
"Aren't you still mad at me?" Albus asks, the heat from the steam of the bath suddenly reaching him, now that things have calmed a bit. He wants badly to get into it, but Scorpius should of course have the first go.
"Yeah," Scorpius says. He turns from Albus and, without ceremony, yanks off his own shirt, then pulls down his trousers and shorts.
"Whoa, whoa there!" Albus says, whirling around. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Getting in the bath," Scorpius says, and Albus can hear him stepping into it. "What's the big deal? We're both boys."
"Yeah!" Albus chuffs. "That doesn't mean -- well -- I don't know -- it's still --"
"You must see this every day after Quidditch practice."
"See what? I didn't see anything."
Scorpius laughs, and Albus turns to glare at him. It's safe to now, with only Scorpius' shoulders showing above the water that is churning with bubbles like a fully engaged cauldron. He's smirking in a wicked way that seems to convey everything James warned Albus that the Malfoys are capable of.
"This is rather posh," Albus says, hoping Scorpius won't notice the color of his cheeks. "I'd thought -- I'm, I mean --"
"You thought the Malfoys were dead broke? Common misconception. You can get in if you want. It's big enough so that you won't have to sit in my lap." He laughs at Albus' clear discomfort.
"That's alright," Albus mumbles. "I'll get in after you're done."
"Don't be stupid, you're freezing."
"I can do a warming spell. I can dry my clothes. I can sit by the fire."
"You can do all of those things after you've washed. Honestly, it's not a big deal."
"Quit telling everybody what to do!" Albus says. He's already unbuttoning his trousers, but only because he wants nothing else than to get into that water, and knows Scorpius will stay in all night if he thinks Albus is waiting for him to vacate. "It's really beginning to get on my nerves. And don't look, for God's sake."
Scorpius makes a dramatic gesture of covering his eyes. Albus undresses, feels his entire body flush pink. He hurries into the water, which feels incredibly good on his damp, cold skin, and gets himself situated before telling Scorpius he can look.
"Bugger Muggle Day right to hell," he says, tipping his head back onto the rim of the tub and letting his muscles relax, shoulders sink down. "This is the only way to camp."
"Well, the whole point of Muggle Day is to make you appreciate your alternative lifestyle," Scorpius says, determined to be contrary.
"I thought it was to give us an appreciation for the -- something to do with Muggles."
"Make us pity them, more like." Scorpius grins, and Albus tries not to smile back, fails. The rain has taken the fluff out of Scorpius' hair, and it doesn't look half bad, wet and messy and -- um. Albus looks at the ceiling.
"I wonder what our fathers are doing?" he asks.
"Sitting cold and miserable in a tent," Scorpius says. "As they deserve, for deserting us this afternoon."
"Yeah. What do you think they were doing?"
"Arguing? I don't know."
"I'm surprised your dad came along," Albus says. "Really surprised."
"Me too, actually."
They stare at each other for a moment, and Albus' stomach pinches up. If he wasn't sitting in a hot bath and listening to rain patter the roof of the tent, he would be quite disconcerted about the events of today. As it is, he's too comfortable to be bothered.
"It won't leave a mark, will it?" Albus asks, pointing at his own jaw to indicate Scorpius' cut.
Scorpius shrugs. "That wound-sealing solution is usually pretty good. But if it does leave a scar, that's okay. It'll improve my cred at school."
"Your cred?" Albus laughs, and Scorpius does, too. Albus' stomach twists up again, but differently now. It's a good sort of twist.
"I'm so sorry," Albus says as their laughter winds down. "I really didn't mean to--"
"I know, it's fine." Scorpius sinks further into the water, until it's touching his chin.
"It's not fine. I was being a real arse. I shouldn't have said--"
"It's fine."
Scorpius puts his head entirely under the water, and Albus sighs, feels guilty now for bringing it up. He thinks of what Scorpius said about the unlikelihood of Albus pulling up a chair beside his in the Great Hall next year. But why shouldn't he? It's their seventh year, all of that popularity nonsense is behind them, and he's never had anything against Scorpius. In fact, he kind of likes him. Really likes him. So much that it's beginning to worry him that Scorpius still hasn't surfaced after almost a minute underwater.
"Hey," he calls, though he knows Scorpius won't be able to hear him under the water, with the bubbles churning around his ears. He waits, doesn't want to feel embarrassed when Scorpius pops up laughing at his concern, a joke he deserves to have played on him. Seconds tick by, and Albus' heart rate races to match the frenzy of the bathtub's bubbling. He considers the potions he used on Scorpius' cut -- could they have reacted in some unpredictable way, combined and then exposed to hot water?
"Scorpius!" he says desperately, crossing the tub and reaching for him. He finds him easily, the lanky, pale shape of him floating just beneath the water, and yanks him up. Scorpius lets out his breath and braces himself by grabbing Albus' arms. It occurs to Albus suddenly that they are both naked. He should let go and get back, but keeps hold, waits for an explanation.
"What are you doing?" Scorpius huffs.
"What am I doing? What the hell are you doing, mate? You might want to give me some warning before you try and break world records for holding your breath underwater. I thought you were drowning!"
Scorpius smiles slowly, pushes his fingers harder into the soft skin around Albus' elbows.
"What the hell are you grinning about?" Albus mutters. He lets himself be propelled forward by the momentum of the water, closing the gap between their bodies. Thunder claps outside, and what feels like the lightening to match it flickers from Albus' chest down to his feet.
"You called me mate," Scorpius says, and he kisses Albus for it. Albus falls onto him fully, hadn't realized he was waiting for this, but would he really have gotten into a bathtub with another boy if he wasn't? He laughs into Scorpius' mouth with relief, his cock straightening under the water, and he doesn't even remotely know what he's doing, but Scorpius is grabbing at him like he wants more of it, so he supposes it's okay.
He hears a doorbell ring and writes it off as a hallucinatory side-effect of the hottest moment of his life, both figuratively and literally -- he's going to pass out from heat exhaustion if they don't get out of the tub soon -- but Scorpius baulks at the sound, and pulls back with his eyes snapped open.
"What?" Albus breathes, leaning onto him again and mouthing his neck, where he can feel a panicked heartbeat pounding.
"The door, someone's at the door!"
"What door? We're in a tent."
"Yes, but this one has a bell, you see --"
"Scorpius?" Draco calls through the tent. The water seems to go to ice around Albus' waist, and he actually yelps a bit in terror. Scorpius is already scrambling out of the tub, going for a fluffy robe that is hanging on a hook near the vanity. He tosses Albus one that is monogrammed with the initials D.M., and Albus wraps it around himself hastily, dripping all over the floor. He's still hard, but the robe is big enough to mostly conceal this.
"Stay in here!" Scorpius whispers. Albus nods, and watches him slip through the curtains, returning to the main part of the tent.
"What are you doing?" Draco asks Scorpius.
"Nothing. Cleaning up."
"Where's Potter's son?"
"Albus, you mean? He's back there, having his turn."
"His turn?"
"In the bath!"
Draco says nothing for a moment, and Albus is certain they've been caught. He hears his father stumbling in through the tent's door and whistling at the impressive size of the interior.
"Having second thoughts about roughing it for Muggle Day?" Draco asks.
"No," Harry says. "Well. Yes."
Draco laughs, and Albus is stunned by the carefree lilt of it, was expecting Draco to take Scorpius home straight away under suspicion of questionable bathing activities. He does a quick drying spell on the clothes he left on the bathroom floor and dresses in them, missing the soft robe, the bath, Scorpius' slick skin under his mouth, and, most of all, the absence of their fathers.
"There you are," Harry says when Albus walks out. "I thought we might just step in here for dinner."
"What would Muggles do, though?" Scorpius asks. "If it was raining and they couldn't light a fire to cook with?"
"They'd go to bed hungry, I suppose," Draco says. "What a noble race they are. I am truly in awe of them after this experience."
"They have their own -- resourcefulness," Harry says, frowning at Draco's sarcasm. "They might string up a tarp and make a fire under that."
"With what?" Draco asks. "All the available wood is soaking wet."
Harry struggles to come up with a response, and Albus saves him by walking over to a trunk near the fire pit in the center of the magicked tent. He pops it open and marvels at the piles of gourmet food inside, reaches for a mound of Dark Chocolate Frogs.
"Albus," Harry says. "Before you stuff yourself, you should know that I brought the one thing you do enjoy about Muggle Day."
Albus opens his mouth to ask what he's talking about, then realizes what his father is saying. He knows Albus hates Muggle Day, or most aspects of it, anyway. He's really got to give his father more credit once in awhile. He did save the world.
"I'll be back," Harry says. He steps out of the tent, and for some reason Albus expects Draco to follow. He doesn't, only looks to Scorpius, who is still standing in his robe, looking disoriented and rather guilty.
"Don't you want to get dressed?" Draco asks him. Scorpius blinks at his father, and looks down at himself.
"Oh -- right." He stumbles off to the bathroom. Albus is sorry to be left alone with Draco, who gives him a disapproving appraisal.
"What has your father gone to fetch?" Draco asks. "Some other delightful Muggle game that involves fish guts?"
"I don't know," Albus says, though he's guessed by now. Sure enough, his father reappears with a soggy bag of marshmallows, a box of graham crackers, and a few bars of fancy Muggle chocolate.
"Time for s'mores!" he announces idiotically, and the tent disappears.
Albus hardly has time to wonder what's happened before he gets doused with rain. Scorpius shrieks in surprise, and Albus turns to find him only half-dressed, gets an eyeful of his bum that twangs hard against his lap despite the circumstances.
"What the hell?" Harry shouts, hugging the s'more supplies to his chest. Draco is looking around the clearing they're now standing in frantically, as if the posh tent has simply moved somewhere to the left or the right of him.
"Dad!" Scorpius shouts, still struggling into his trousers. "Did you pay the bill?"
"I -- I --" Draco stammers, still looking all around the clearing, now as if he's hoping for a Portkey out of here. "I was under the impression that there was a free thirty day trial!"
"Draco, you're joking!" Harry laughs. "Those are just a scam to get you to sign a contract -- did you read the fine print?"
"Oh, what does it matter now, the payment's overdue and they've taken it back!" Scorpius says. "Someone conjure some umbrellas, for the love of--"
"Conjure them out of what?" Harry is still laughing, a bit manically now.
"Is it such an unreasonable request to pull umbrellas out of thin air?" Draco shouts. "You are the Harry Potter."
Albus stands in the rain, watching this unfold with his mouth hanging open. Mud is rapidly rising around his ankles. He just made out with a boy in a hot tub. Now the hot tub has been reclaimed by its leasing office, and he's standing in the middle of the forest, in the middle of a downpour, in the middle of an argument between his father and Draco Malfoy.
He really hates Muggle Day. Except for the making out bit; that was rather good.
"Come on!" his father says, dragging him toward the other tent. Scorpius and Draco follow, and soon they're all inside, a mess of muddy boots and chattering teeth, everyone sloshing water onto a pair of sleeping bags that look as if they've already been slept in, or actually more like a pair of wild boars has been wrestling on them.
Albus falls to his knees, shocked silent, and Scorpius crawls over to sit beside him. They watch their fathers cursing each other and zipping up the door of the tent, Harry still clutching the now-squished marshmallows, the crackers and chocolate having slipped out of his grip at some point. Albus tries to avoid looking at Scorpius, can't. Scorpius turns to him and grins, makes a sympathetic face that tears Albus in half. He's never really ached for someone like this, had no preparation, no warning, and will have no chance to do anything about it with their fathers in such close proximity.
"Well," Harry says, standing in the middle of the tent, dripping wet. "That was exciting. Who's for marshmallows?"
"God, Potter, could you be any more smug?" Draco says, suddenly furious. "Don't pretend you're not thrilled to learn that I can't even afford proper camping equipment."
"Draco, that tent was nicer than my house. I don't think I could have afforded it, either."
"Oh, take the humble tack, that's a new one on you." Draco is sneering, and Albus is confused. He looks again at Scorpius, but he's staring at his father now.
"Please," Harry says tightly. He glances at Albus and Scorpius. "Don't."
Draco looks at them now, and turns from Harry, scoffing. Harry forces a laugh, tears open the bag of marshmallows. They go flying everywhere, and he curses.
"That wouldn't have happened if you'd used a spell to open it," Draco says, and for a moment Albus is sure his father is going to attack him with plain old physical force, in the true spirit of Muggle Day. He restrains himself and sits heavily beside Albus.
"Well," he says. "We might as well go home."
"No!" Scorpius and Albus say in unison. They look at each other with panic, and then quickly up at their fathers, who are both frowning.
"I, uh--" Albus says.
"It's just--" Scorpius stutters.
"We can still make a proper tent of this impostor with a little bit of magic," Draco says, and everyone looks up at him with surprise. "If it wouldn't gall you all quite too much to spoil Muggle Day."
"To hell with Muggle Day," Harry says, and he points his wand at one of the marshmallows. He says a spell Albus doesn't recognize, and the marshmallow turns into a fluffy white pillow. Draco works on enlarging the tent while Albus and Scorpius perform drying spells on each other, grinning at the sharp breeze of warmth that washes over them as they do.
In less than an hour, they have a fairly decent imitation of the first tent conjured, sans the bathroom and the chest full of snacks. There is a fire roaring in the middle, pillows that still smell faintly of sugar stacked all around it, and high windows that show the rain still coming down hard outside.
"Now the only trouble is dinner," Draco says.
"We're got plenty of beans," Harry says, and Albus laughs so hard he has a momentary excuse to fall onto Scorpius' shoulder.
After eating, Albus worries that his father will embarrass him by trying to break out his traditional Muggle ghost stories, but fortunately he gets preoccupied by drinking firewhiskey with Draco. They're arguing in slurs about subjects that neither of them really knows anything about, such as dragon taming and brewing antidotes to vampire bites.
"Have you ever seen a vampire?" Scorpius asks Albus. They've moved to their sleeping bags, pretending to be exhausted, and are gazing at each other with their heads on their marshmallow pillows, sneaking occasional peeks at their fathers to make sure they haven't noticed.
"A vampire? Of course not. They don't exist anymore, they've all been killed. Or double-killed, however it works with them."
"Not so!" Scorpius says.
"What, you've seen one?"
"That's right! My cousin Marbury had an affair with one."
"Liar." Albus grins and hits his shoulder, wants to leave his hand there but draws it back.
"I'm not lying!" Scorpius dares a look back at their fathers, and takes Albus' hand when he's satisfied that they aren't paying any attention.
"Don't," Albus whispers, his face heating, though he doesn't know what Scorpius will do, and actually would very much like to find out.
"I'm not," Scorpius says under his breath, drawing Albus' hand up to his mouth. He licks his way up Albus' pinky finger, pitching a deep shudder through him. Albus glances over his shoulder at their fathers. Harry is busy using the firewhiskey bottle to demonstrate some principal of potion-making.
Albus allows himself to watch Scorpius for a moment, swallows hard when his finger disappears into Scorpius' mouth. Scorpius sucks his finger until Albus is squirming to keep down a shout, then licks between the webs of his fingers. Albus scurries to get inside his sleeping bag, hard as stone, and who'd have thought a tongue between his fingers would feel so good.
"You're mad," Albus mouths, and Scorpius grins, kisses his palm and lets him take his hand back. "Now I've got a fucking stiffy," Albus whispers, and Scorpius laughs.
"So do something about it," he says.
"Oh, right! With them there?"
"They're drunk, they won't know."
"Fine, but I doubt I'm going to get off while my father's over there talking about -- God, whatever the hell he's talking about, doesn't matter."
"Point taken." Scorpius puts his tongue between his teeth, seems thoughtful. Albus summons every ounce of willpower in his body to keep himself from rolling against him and pushing his own tongue through his lips. Where did this come from? He doesn't even care. Maybe there were other reasons he invited Scorpius along on this trip.
"I think I have a plan," Scorpius says, and Albus grins, reaches inside his sleeping bag to half-heartedly give his prick a stroke.
"Goody."
Their fathers fall asleep near the fire. Albus has never seen his father like this, and though it is not without its distressing qualities, he does seem happy in a dumb sort of way that he perhaps hasn't been in a long time. When they've conked out, Albus sits up on his elbow, and pushes Scorpius' shoulder. His eyes flick open easily; he was only pretending to sleep.
"So what's the big plan?" Albus asks, his heart thudding harder already.
Scorpius rolls onto his back, smiles with his eyes half-lidded. He pulls his wand from his trouser pocket and points it at Albus.
"Impervius," he says, and Albus grins.
"Why didn't I think of that?" he asks.
"Because you're a Potter, and Hermione Granger wasn't around to come up with it?" Scorpius asks, and Albus punches his arm.
"Oh, come on," Scorpius says, laughing so loud that Albus wiggles onto him to put his hand over his mouth. "You walked right into that one, can't blame me," he says from behind Albus' fingers, still snickering. Albus retrieves his own wand and performs the waterproofing spell on Scorpius.
They sneak out of the tent, which is not difficult, with Harry's snoring fueled by firewhiskey and Draco curled up at his feet, his hands tucked to his chest. Outside, it's still raining, and the droplets of water feel amazing when they don't stick.
"I can't believe I've never done this before," Albus says when they're far enough from the campsite to speak at a normal volume. He holds out his arms to feel the rain ticking against his skin.
"I bet I can make you say that again, about something else entirely."
Albus rolls his eyes at the clumsy pass, grabs Scorpius and pulls him close.
"What am I doing?" he asks when Scorpius' nose is touching his.
"Falling prey to my scheme."
"What scheme?"
"The scheme to seduce the jock that any self-respecting arse-bandit would devise upon being mysteriously invited to go camping with said jock."
"Don't call yourself a arse-bandit."
"Why not? Cause that means you're one, too?"
"No -- it's just -- I don't know --"
"If you'd shut up for a second, you might realize I was actually just offering to suck you off."
Albus lets out his breath. He's had this described to him by his friends, and has once or twice even pretended that he's received it from vague, unnamed summer flings. His fingers flex wantingly as he watches Scorpius drop to his knees and undo his trousers. When he pulls them down, Albus is afraid he'll come just from the anticipation coupled with the feeling of raindrops pinging off his cock, bouncing away and leaving him still dry.
"Wait," he gushes before Scorpius can get the tip of his tongue quite to the point of touching him.
"Are you okay?" Scorpius asks, breaking out of his his fearless arse-bandit impersonation to look terrified for a moment.
"Yeah -- just. I -- I like you."
Scorpius grins, licks the head of his cock just slightly. Albus moans, and slaps his hand over his mouth when he remembers that they're in public, sort of.
"No kidding," Scorpius says, drawing two fingers up the length of him, as if to remark that the state of his prick is evidence enough.
"Really," Albus says. "I mean it. And I'm really, really sorry about your jaw."
"Apologizing in advance?"
"No, I mean about earlier, when you, when I--"
"I know what you mean," Scorpius says in a kind of whine. "I was kidding. Would you please shut up and let me suck your cock? I'm actually kind of looking forward to it, believe it or not."
Albus laughs hugely, which feels like a kind of release in itself, and his laughter morphs into general a sort of happy exclamation of wonderment when Scorpius has his lips around him, the heat of his mouth extraordinary in the faint chill of the rain shower that the waterproofing charms are still protecting them from. He resists the urge to rock back and forth, not sure what the etiquette is, though he can't imagine anyone getting this and not wanting to do just that. Instead he drags his fingers through Scorpius' hair. It's fluffy again, and really he likes it that way, he likes everything right now, even Muggle day.
He comes like he's been storing it up for ages, which, maybe he has, because it's summer and he hasn't pulled a good wank in awhile. He doesn't really expect Scorpius to swallow -- none of the girls in his mates' stories about this did -- but maybe it's a favor one can only expect from another bloke. Albus falls down to kiss him, knocks him back onto a pile of wet leaves and hums against his neck with contentment, laughing in the back of his throat.
"Let me do you," he says, leaning up to fumble with Scorpius' trousers. Scorpius grins, pushes Albus' mussed hair off of his forehead.
"Typical Potter," he says. "Always having to -- ah -- upstage -- the, uh -- oh -- generosity of -- fuck, yeah, like that."
They lie on their backs afterward, gasping up at the sky in shared disbelief and laughing as they try to keep their eyes open against the rain that is coming down only lightly now.
"Fuck, that was mad," Albus says. "We might have been struck by lightening."
"Weren't we?" Scorpius asks, and Albus rolls onto him, hiccups a laugh right into his ear, then licks it for good measure. His eyes travel down to Scorpius' jaw, and he strokes the place where it struck the rock earlier, just a faint line of reddened skin now.
"If you apologize again, I'll swear off blowing you forever," Scorpius says. Albus grins, but wishes he wouldn't joke. He still feels horrible, more about what he said to send Scorpius running off than what happened afterward.
"I'll sit by you at school," he says. "I'll kiss you in the hall if you want me to."
"You really shouldn't make promises just after your first blow job. They'll come back to haunt you."
"Quit joking, I mean it."
"Yes." Scorpius sighs, pulls Albus down to tuck his head against his shoulder. "I know. Potters are always sincere."
"Damn right we are." Albus squirms closer, throws a leg over Scorpius to keep him firmly in place.
"Should we go back to the tent?" Scorpius asks.
"I guess so," Albus says. "Do you think our fathers have made peace enough to allow us visits for the rest of summer?"
"I don't know," Scorpius says. "They seem to have made something."
Albus sits up suddenly, checking Scorpius' face to see if he's really just dared to make the joke he thinks he has. Scorpius bursts into laughter at the sight of Albus' stunned expression, and Albus collapses onto him, laughing until his stomach cramps up. His father and Draco Malfoy. That'll be the bloody day.
*
Title: Marshmallows and Rain (And Other Things That Don't Mix Well)
Author: hollycomb
Pairing: Albus/Scorpius
Rating: R
Notes: Written for bryoneybrynn, with her prompt, "Just shut up and eat it."
Two days after his seventeenth birthday, Albus is sitting in a car, which itself is enough of a novelty, but the other passengers and the circumstances in general make it far more extraordinary. His father is at the wheel, cursing with progressively insincere apology as he tries to get the front left wheel unstuck. It's spinning in a pile of mud, getting nowhere. Draco Malfoy is leaning between the two front seats, telling him he's doing it wrong, and his son, Scorpius, is sitting in silence in the back, hands folded in his lap.
"Forget it, Potter, I'll get out and fix this," Draco says, throwing open his door. Scorpius watches him warily, his mouth hanging open. Albus turns to meet his eyes for a moment and then jerks back around to his father, who is already pushing his way out of the car, trying to stop Draco from using his wand.
Albus really hates Muggle Day.
"You agreed!" Harry shouts at Draco. "You agreed! Oh, I knew it, I knew you would try --"
"I don't think it's really in the spirit of the holiday to sit in a Jeep until we starve or get eaten by bears rather than resort to wands," Draco spits back. "Honestly, if you're not the most competitive bloody arse on the face of the --"
"Watch your mouth!" Harry shouts, though he must know that Albus and Scorpius are old enough to hear such things without becoming emotionally scarred, and in fact was saying much worse himself moments ago, struggling with the wheel.
Albus groans inwardly, can't believe how poorly what once seemed like a brilliant plan has backfired. Every year, the family tries to get out of celebrating Muggle Day, which was made a national holiday after a campaign by his Aunt Hermione, in order to spread awareness of Muggle life challenges and repair relations following Voldemort and all that mess. It is celebrated by spending 24 hours without magic, and while most wizards eschew the idea and go on as if the holiday doesn't exist, Muggle-borns tend to take a certain pride in getting through the day without their wands.
Albus' father is particularly enamored of the holiday, as it gives him a chance to live out the muggle life he missed during his miserable childhood. He always wants to spend the day with his children, treating them as he would have liked to be treated as a boy, before he knew about magic or that he had any chance of escaping suburban hell. James has gotten around Muggle Day for the past two years by faking sick, and Lily has abandoned the annual camping trip this summer as well, claiming that she simply cannot get out of visiting a friend from school in Cardiff. Albus' mother feigned regret at having to stay home and care for the "ailing" James, and Albus was left to suffer his father's well-intentioned 24 hour insanity alone.
When his father asked him if he'd like to bring a friend along in lieu of his siblings, Albus came up with a genius plan. He'd invite Scorpius Malfoy, a fellow Ravenclaw. He assumed that his father hated Scorpius' father enough to not want to have anything to do with his son, either. Albus knew he wouldn't refuse to bring Scorpius along outright, but hoped he would invent some reason to call off the trip when faced with Malfoy accompaniment, releasing everyone involved from the Muggle Day bondage.
Instead, his father only smiled at the name and told Albus to invite away. This left Albus in the awkward position of actually having to do it. He and Scorpius are not friends, though they have been partnered in Potions class several times, where Albus has appreciated the far greater mixing talents of his classmate. They've always been civil, but Scorpius is quiet and a bit strange, even loopy. Albus was shocked and almost disappointed when he agreed to come along on this trip. He was even more mortified when Draco insisted on accompanying him, lest Harry Potter attempt to kidnap and/or brainwash his son, "unsupervised in some forest," as Draco put it. Albus is surprised that he's allowed Scorpius to come along at all, but Scorpius is an only child, and probably spoiled.
"Dad!" Scorpius protests when Draco draws his wand from his jacket -- no robes allowed, even, in Harry's traditional observance of Muggle Day -- and points it at the tire of the car.
"Don't!" Scorpius says, crawling over to stick his head out the left back window. "You'll spoil it! It's only ten o'clock in the morning, and we've never had a proper Muggle Day!"
"That's the spirit!" Harry says, and Albus wants to smack his forehead, embarrassed by his father though there is no one here whose opinion he particularly cares about.
"I don't see how getting us unstuck and back on the road would ruin anything," Draco says. He puts his wand in his pocket anyway, clearly a sucker for his son's wishes. "But I never did understand the point of this ridiculous holiday to begin with."
"We can do it without magic," Harry says. "It will just take a little patience." He shoots Draco a look.
Harry corrals Draco into going behind the car to push, and tells Albus to sit in the driver's seat and give the car gas, which actually is a little thrilling. His mother has never allowed him to drive, having seen one too many brushes with death involving her family and automobiles. Scorpius leans forward to watch Albus turn the key in the ignition.
"You should put your seatbelt on," he says. Albus turns back to give him a look, annoyed.
"I think I'll be alright."
It only takes five minutes to unstick the car, Harry shouting instructions and Albus punching the gas to the floorboards. When the car finally lurches forward, he gasps in surprise, and his face burns when he thinks he hears Scorpius snort with laughter, chucked into the back by the yank of his seatbelt.
Harry resumes control of the car, and they drive mostly in silence until they reach the campsite. Harry and Draco are both splattered with mud.
"You're crazy if you think I'm not cleaning this off with my wand," Draco says as he's climbing out, slapping the knees of his trousers to brush pieces of pine straw away.
"Dad!" Scorpius says. Albus can't believe his whining. What is he, ten years old? Who still cares about Muggle Day at seventeen?
"There's a creek right over there," Harry says, pointing. "We can wash our clothes the Muggle way. It'll be an experience for you, Draco," he says with a grin, doing a bad job of pretending not to enjoy Draco's sulking.
"Why don't you boys build a fire while we're gone?" Harry calls back over his shoulder as he's leading Draco toward the creek. "Albus, you remember how?"
"Yeah," Albus shouts, fully planning on using his wand.
"I've never built one without magic," Scorpius says, sitting on a nearby tree stump as if preparing to be duly entertained. "You'll show me?"
"Fine," Albus moans. "We need to get firewood first. I'll break up some branches, you can gather twigs."
Scorpius laughs, seems to be waiting for the punchline.
"For the kindling," Albus says, feeling as if he's missed something.
They get the fire going and wait for their fathers to return, sitting close. It's summer, but they took a Portkey to Sweden for the trip, their last act of magic before Muggle Day, and it's chilly up here in the Central Alps, though they're not far up enough to have any snow.
"What the hell's taking them?" Albus mutters, holding his hands out toward the flames when the wind blows around them.
"Maybe they killed each other." Scorpius grins when Albus looks at him with alarm. Albus forces a laugh. He's actually kind of worried that they might have.
"Not likely, since my Dad's so bloody determined not to use his wand."
"You don't like this, do you?" Scorpius asks.
"What? This? Muggle Day? No."
"Why'd you ask me along?"
"What do you mean?" Albus puts his head in his hands. His stomach is growling.
"Well, you don't seem to like me, either, so . . ."
"Yes, I do!" Albus says, though he's not sure this is true. He feels guilty, realizes he's being kind of a shit. "I'm just not in the best mood right now, is all. I'm starving."
"I was surprised when you asked," Scorpius says. "At school -- it seems like you're only interested in being around people who play Quidditch. I've never even been to a game."
"You haven't?"
"No. What have they done with the food?" Scorpius' cheeks are bright, and Albus feels his burning, too. This is awkward. He knew that it would be.
"It's here, I think," Albus says, going to his father's pack, which is lying near the supplies they'll use to pitch the tent. He rummages through it and finds two packs of jerky, hands one to Scorpius. He frowns at it.
"Um. What is this?"
"Jerky. Muggles eat it on camping trips. I thought you were excited about the true Muggle experience."
"I'm mostly just trying to torture my father." Scorpius tears the jerky package open with his teeth, spits out the plastic.
"Torture him? What, you hate him or something?"
"No, I just don't like how he's so -- against everything. It's all frivolity and nonsense to him, not just this, every holiday. I wish he could relax and just do something stupid every once in awhile. It's not going to kill him."
"You're sure about that?" Albus looks toward the place in the woods that his father and Draco disappeared into. "Maybe one of us should go after them."
"I don't think we should split up."
"Well, somebody's got to watch the stuff."
"Let's just wait for a second. I bet they'll be back soon."
They eat their jerky without talking, sitting on the felled tree trunk that they built the fire beside. Albus is beginning to truly grow worried about his father when they hear twigs snapping, someone approaching the campsite. He goes for his wand.
"Calm down," Scorpius says, holding Albus' arm in place. "It's just them."
Harry and Draco aren't arguing when they appear, though they both look a bit ragged, as if there may have been a fist fight. Their clothes are still dirty, only now they're wet in spots as well.
"Good, you've got the fire started," Harry says, sitting heavily beside Albus. He's shaking, and Albus goes to the pack to get him a blanket. Draco stands on the edge of the campsite with his hands in his pockets, staring at the fire as if it's hypnotized him.
"Um, want some lunch?" Albus asks. He glances at Scorpius, who also seems to have sensed that something is wrong. They hold each other's gaze for a moment and then look back to their fathers.
"Yes, lunch, that would be good," Harry stammers. He shrugs the blanket off and goes to his pack for a small saucepan and a can of beans. Everyone watches him heat them up, staring as if the cooking of the beans is a tense and fascinating procedure.
"I don't eat beans," Draco says suddenly, his tone very grave, and Albus has to bite his lip hard to keep from bursting into nervous laughter.
"Yes, you do!" Scorpius says. "Mum's minestrone has beans in it."
"This is hardly minestrone," Draco says.
"Just shut up and eat it," Harry says, thrusting a bowl in Draco's direction. Draco takes it with a sniff. Albus has never seen his father so -- what? Weird?
After lunch, Harry takes Albus and Scorpius down to the creek for some fishing. Draco refuses to join them, insists on staying behind to set up the tent. Albus watches his father open his mouth to make a joke about the hopelessness of Draco pitching a tent without magic, but then he seems to remember Scorpius, and says nothing.
"Well, it's a beautiful day!" Harry blurts when they reach the creek. Albus looks up from showing Scorpius how to bait his line.
"Dad," he says. "What the hell?"
"What the hell?" Harry repeats. "What do you mean, 'what the hell?' It's a beautiful day, that's all I said."
Albus rolls his eyes and casts his line into the water. His father has always been strange, but Albus figures he's earned the right. He sees Scorpius watching him carefully, trying to mimic his movements. Albus has the sudden inclination to step closer to him, and he does. Why not? Scorpius grins at the creek.
"This is kind of boring," he whispers.
"No kidding. Just be glad you don't have to do it every year."
They spend about an hour at the creek, catching nothing. Albus finds a spot of sun and nearly falls asleep as he lounges in it, his line bobbing in the water. Scorpius sits beside him, goosebumps along his bare arms. He'll get sunburned, Albus thinks. His skin is so fair.
"I'll be right back," Harry says suddenly, and by the time Albus has looked up, his father is already up on the shore. He gives Albus and Scorpius a wave. "Just going to check something. I'll be right back," he says again, and jogs off.
"What the hell?" Albus says. Scorpius shrugs.
"Maybe he suspects my father of doing magic. To set up the tent."
Albus groans. "Muggle Day."
"Indeed. Listen -- have you usually caught any fish by now?"
"God, no. We never catch anything."
Scorpius laughs hard enough to get his eyes pinched up, and Albus didn't think it was really that funny, but he grins big, puts his fishing pole down on the rocks.
"Why did you invite me?" Scorpius asks, setting his own pole aside. "Be honest."
"Potters are always honest," Albus says with fake pomposity. Scorpius punches his shoulder, and Albus bites his lip.
"You're so insecure that you can't believe I just wanted you along?" he asks, hoping Scorpius will hit him again.
"But you don't know me. Why not Richard or Colin or one of those others from the team?"
"Maybe I get tired of talking Quidditch strategy all the time. I get enough of it from my dad and my brother."
"It's not like you and I are discussing art and politics here."
Albus laughs. His face is hot, and he wishes his father would come back, but then again, he doesn't really.
"You know I'm social poison at school, at least in your circles," Scorpius says. "I'm sure you won't be pulling up a seat next to me in the Great Hall next year."
"Whatever," Albus mutters. He picks up a rock and throws it into the creek. "I'm not like that."
"Oh, really? Then how come you've never looked at me twice?"
"I have!"
"Well, how come you're not looking at me now, for God's sake?"
Albus scowls, picks at his nails. Scorpius grabs his face and turns his chin, makes him look. His eyes are a soft gray-blue, and Albus thinks deliriously of his favorite corduroy trousers, which are roughly the same color.
"You're as mental as your father," Scorpius says. He lets go of Albus, gets up and walks off.
"Wait!" Albus says, springing up. "You -- you don't know how to get back! Come to it -- neither do I."
Scorpius curses, pulls a hand through his hair. It's short, fluffy in a dorky sort of way, gold like fading sunlight. Albus can see the beginnings of his sunburn across his nose. He feels dizzy. Maybe it was his father's cooking.
"Come back," he says, feeling like an idiot. Scorpius stands and stares at him, either surprised or annoyed, maybe both. He returns to the rock where they'd been sitting, sinks to the ground and puts his back against it it.
"Your father had better not be gone until nightfall," he mutters. Albus sits down beside him, too close. He feels afraid of some nameless thing; something in these woods is not right. He's glad they've all got their wands, despite Muggle Day.
A cloud passes over the sun, and then another. The goosebumps on Scorpius' arms seem to sharpen, and he puts his hands over his elbows. Albus looks around for the sweater Scorpius was wearing earlier, and realizes he left it back at the camp.
"We could build a fire," he suggests. Scorpius shrugs miserably, hugs his arms in tighter. Albus pulls his wand from his trousers. He opens his mouth, and Scorpius reaches up to clap his hand over it.
"What are you doing?" Albus asks, his heart thundering hard as he pulls Scorpius' hand away.
"You weren't about to say something stupid like 'Accio firewood,' were you?" Scorpius asks.
"Will you get off the Muggle Day crap?" Albus says. "You're the one who's shaking like a leaf, I'm just trying to do this in a hurry."
"Muggle Day! It's got nothing to do with that! Do you seriously not see why it might not be a good idea to cast 'Accio firewood' in the middle of a bloody forest?"
Albus laughs before he can think better of it, then bites it down. "Like, what, one tiny spell from me is going to take down every tree within a fifty mile radius? It doesn't work that way."
"Are you sure?" Scorpius asks. "It might. It might at least bring about ten felled tree trunks right on top of you. You're a Potter, Albus," he says, snottily. "Your magic is strong."
"How do you know?" Albus decides to be angry rather than flattered.
"I've seen you in class," Scorpius says. He hugs himself again, looks up as a darker, heavier-looking cloud blows in to block the sun. "Let's just hurry up and get some firewood, Muggle-style. Just in case."
Starting the fire is still much easier with the help of a spell to ignite it, and no fooling around with matches and kindling. Albus and Scorpius huddle close to the flames as the sky grows darker still. A soft rumble begins, still far off.
"Oh, God," Scorpius says. "It's going to rain. Bugger this whole thing. I shouldn't have come."
"Where the hell is my father?" Albus growls, looking back over his shoulder.
"I don't know, but I'm starting to like him about as much as my father does," Scorpius says. Albus shoves him. Scorpius glowers. Albus wants him to hit back, so badly that he shoves him again, pretending to be more offended by the comment about his father than he really was.
"Quit it!" Scorpius says, catching Albus' hand. "What's wrong with you? Why'd you ask me on this trip if you can't stand me?"
"Because I thought my dad would call it off if I tried to bring you!"
Albus didn't mean to say that, but he doesn't really regret it when Scorpius comes at him full force, knocking him backward.
"You're such a shit, Potter!" he spits, his thumbs on Albus' throat, fingers tight on the back of his neck. "I should have known, I should have fucking known."
"Yeah, you should have!" Albus wants to fight, which is unusual for him, but it feels good, like something he needs to get out of his system, and he likes the weight of Scorpius on top of him, the sky blackening over his shoulders as the thunder rolls closer, a storm coming in fast.
Scorpius' eyes are red-rimmed, and he lets Albus up, starts to run away. Not wanting to be left here alone in the rain, or responsible for Scorpius getting lost in the woods, Albus reaches out frantically, and manages to grab the cuff of Scorpius' trouser leg. Scorpius trips and falls, hard, onto the rocks that line the bank of the creek. He yelps in surprise, then moans a feeble little sound that makes Albus want to die, horrified with himself.
"Oh, God, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" He rushes to Scorpius, who is crawling up onto his knees, holding his face and hissing in pain. "I didn't mean to -- I'm sorry -- are you hurt?"
Scorpius turns away roughly, but Albus won't let him, pulls him back. Scorpius has his hand over his jaw, his eyes completely wet now. Albus sees blood dripping down onto his shirt. Thunder cracks overhead, but Albus doesn't take his eyes off of Scorpius, who is trembling, trying not to cry.
"God, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Albus chants, a thousand times. "Let me see that cut."
"Fuck off, it's nothing." Scorpius tries to stand up, but Albus holds him in place, both of them on their knees.
"Let me see it, and I'll fix it up with my wand."
"You're not doing surgery on me!"
"It's hardly surgery! I can at least put a disinfectant spell on it."
"I've seen your charm work, thanks. Your spells might be strong, but they're hardly accurate."
"Please, just let me see."
Scorpius finally allows Albus to pull his hand away, and the cut on his jaw is small but deep, gushing blood like the rock he landed against opened an artery. Albus tries not to panic, thinks he remembers something about facial wounds bleeding profusely. It's totally normal -- right? Lightening flashes around them like a portent.
"Fuck, I'm stupid," Scorpius says. He finally gives in to crying, his voice a pathetic tremble. "I thought -- when you asked me -- I thought --"
"Hush up," Albus says, yanking off his sweater. He puts its sleeve against Scorpius' cut, presses firmly. When Scorpius won't meet his eyes, Albus grabs his hand, squeezes. Scorpius loses it completely, and Albus catches him when he crumbles.
"Stop that, goddamn you," Albus mutters softly, holding Scorpius against him, the sweater pressed between his face and Albus' shoulder. "We've got to find cover." The fire has already been blown out by the wind, and Albus can smell the approaching rain.
They get up and start walking away from the creek, Albus on the lookout for a convenient cave that they can duck into. In stories about wizards lost in the woods, there always seems to be a cave, though what's inside it is not usually too welcoming. He can't even find a forbidding-looking one now, as the rain starts to fall, almost immediately quite heavy.
"Al!"
He looks up in great relief to see his father and Draco running toward them, and realizes when he does that he's been holding Scorpius' hand all this time. He drops it, and puts a hand on his back as he leads him toward their fathers, preparing for the wrath of Draco. He'll leave immediately once he's learned that Albus injured his son. Albus is strangely disappointed, wants Scorpius at least to stay.
"Where were you?" he asks his father, shouting over the sound of the rain falling all around them.
"I'm sorry -- Albus, what happened?" He's looking at Albus' sweater pressed against Scorpius' cut, the sleeve soaked with blood.
"Nothing, I tripped," Scorpius says before Albus can explain. "Can we just get back to the camp? I hope you've set up the tent."
"Bugger the tent," Draco says, grabbing his son's arm. "You're hurt. We're leaving."
"No!" Scorpius says. "I'm fine, really, it's just a scratch."
"Are you sure?" Harry asks as they hurry back to the camp, soaked already, the ground quickly turning to mud.
"Yes, really. I was clumsy, it's nothing."
"At least let me heal it with magic," Draco says. "Enough of this Muggle nonsense."
"A bandage will suffice," Scorpius says. "What's this?" he asks when they reach the camp. There are two tents set up -- the large one that Harry and Albus brought, and another even bigger, more elaborate-looking contraption.
"I brought my own," Draco says.
"It's magicked, isn't it?"
"Possibly," Draco says, groaning. "What's the difference -- get into it, you're drenched."
"Albus and I will stay in this one," Scorpius says, grabbing Albus' wrist. Albus is still lost as to why he lied about how he got hurt, doesn't even half know what to make of this. "You and Harry can stay in the other."
"Scorpius!"
"I came on this trip to spend time with my friend!" Scorpius is already pulling Albus into the larger tent.
"It's fine, Draco," Harry says, in a timid sort of way Albus finds unrecognizable and slightly disturbing. "Let's all just hurry and get out of the rain. We'll rest for a bit, and hopefully this will let up before dinner."
A gigantic crack of thunder overhead accompanies a splinter of lightening, and Albus doubts very much that this will let up by even tomorrow, but as he climbs into the Malfoys' tent with Scorpius, he doesn't much care. It is indeed magicked, spacious despite its outward appearance, with soaring ceilings and a fire pit roaring in the center, pillowy sofas and two large beds.
"So much for Muggle Day," Albus says, tearing off his wet shirt. "I don't suppose this thing comes with a change of clothes?"
Scorpius blinks at him. "Change of clothes? How quickly we forget that I have a gaping wound on my face."
"You just said it was nothing!"
"Yes, to my father." Scorpius goes toward the back of the tent, where curtains hang in front of a large, circular bathtub that is bubbling like a jacuzzi. There is a closet that Albus assumes contains a working toilet, and a vanity with a supply of ointments and tonics.
Albus doesn't even know which question to begin with, so he walks forward and helps Scorpius with the wound-sealing potion he's chosen, dabs some of it on a cotton swab while Scorpius continues to hold Albus' sweater against his jaw. Scorpius winces when he pulls the knitted material away from his cut, and Albus is quick to apply the potion, which works fast. He follows this with an application of pain-killing potion.
"There," Scorpius says, letting out his breath. Albus pulls his already wet handkerchief from his trouser pocket and brushes it along Scorpius' neck and jaw, cleaning away the drying blood. Scorpius is staring at him in a way that makes him sorry he took his shirt off.
"Aren't you still mad at me?" Albus asks, the heat from the steam of the bath suddenly reaching him, now that things have calmed a bit. He wants badly to get into it, but Scorpius should of course have the first go.
"Yeah," Scorpius says. He turns from Albus and, without ceremony, yanks off his own shirt, then pulls down his trousers and shorts.
"Whoa, whoa there!" Albus says, whirling around. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Getting in the bath," Scorpius says, and Albus can hear him stepping into it. "What's the big deal? We're both boys."
"Yeah!" Albus chuffs. "That doesn't mean -- well -- I don't know -- it's still --"
"You must see this every day after Quidditch practice."
"See what? I didn't see anything."
Scorpius laughs, and Albus turns to glare at him. It's safe to now, with only Scorpius' shoulders showing above the water that is churning with bubbles like a fully engaged cauldron. He's smirking in a wicked way that seems to convey everything James warned Albus that the Malfoys are capable of.
"This is rather posh," Albus says, hoping Scorpius won't notice the color of his cheeks. "I'd thought -- I'm, I mean --"
"You thought the Malfoys were dead broke? Common misconception. You can get in if you want. It's big enough so that you won't have to sit in my lap." He laughs at Albus' clear discomfort.
"That's alright," Albus mumbles. "I'll get in after you're done."
"Don't be stupid, you're freezing."
"I can do a warming spell. I can dry my clothes. I can sit by the fire."
"You can do all of those things after you've washed. Honestly, it's not a big deal."
"Quit telling everybody what to do!" Albus says. He's already unbuttoning his trousers, but only because he wants nothing else than to get into that water, and knows Scorpius will stay in all night if he thinks Albus is waiting for him to vacate. "It's really beginning to get on my nerves. And don't look, for God's sake."
Scorpius makes a dramatic gesture of covering his eyes. Albus undresses, feels his entire body flush pink. He hurries into the water, which feels incredibly good on his damp, cold skin, and gets himself situated before telling Scorpius he can look.
"Bugger Muggle Day right to hell," he says, tipping his head back onto the rim of the tub and letting his muscles relax, shoulders sink down. "This is the only way to camp."
"Well, the whole point of Muggle Day is to make you appreciate your alternative lifestyle," Scorpius says, determined to be contrary.
"I thought it was to give us an appreciation for the -- something to do with Muggles."
"Make us pity them, more like." Scorpius grins, and Albus tries not to smile back, fails. The rain has taken the fluff out of Scorpius' hair, and it doesn't look half bad, wet and messy and -- um. Albus looks at the ceiling.
"I wonder what our fathers are doing?" he asks.
"Sitting cold and miserable in a tent," Scorpius says. "As they deserve, for deserting us this afternoon."
"Yeah. What do you think they were doing?"
"Arguing? I don't know."
"I'm surprised your dad came along," Albus says. "Really surprised."
"Me too, actually."
They stare at each other for a moment, and Albus' stomach pinches up. If he wasn't sitting in a hot bath and listening to rain patter the roof of the tent, he would be quite disconcerted about the events of today. As it is, he's too comfortable to be bothered.
"It won't leave a mark, will it?" Albus asks, pointing at his own jaw to indicate Scorpius' cut.
Scorpius shrugs. "That wound-sealing solution is usually pretty good. But if it does leave a scar, that's okay. It'll improve my cred at school."
"Your cred?" Albus laughs, and Scorpius does, too. Albus' stomach twists up again, but differently now. It's a good sort of twist.
"I'm so sorry," Albus says as their laughter winds down. "I really didn't mean to--"
"I know, it's fine." Scorpius sinks further into the water, until it's touching his chin.
"It's not fine. I was being a real arse. I shouldn't have said--"
"It's fine."
Scorpius puts his head entirely under the water, and Albus sighs, feels guilty now for bringing it up. He thinks of what Scorpius said about the unlikelihood of Albus pulling up a chair beside his in the Great Hall next year. But why shouldn't he? It's their seventh year, all of that popularity nonsense is behind them, and he's never had anything against Scorpius. In fact, he kind of likes him. Really likes him. So much that it's beginning to worry him that Scorpius still hasn't surfaced after almost a minute underwater.
"Hey," he calls, though he knows Scorpius won't be able to hear him under the water, with the bubbles churning around his ears. He waits, doesn't want to feel embarrassed when Scorpius pops up laughing at his concern, a joke he deserves to have played on him. Seconds tick by, and Albus' heart rate races to match the frenzy of the bathtub's bubbling. He considers the potions he used on Scorpius' cut -- could they have reacted in some unpredictable way, combined and then exposed to hot water?
"Scorpius!" he says desperately, crossing the tub and reaching for him. He finds him easily, the lanky, pale shape of him floating just beneath the water, and yanks him up. Scorpius lets out his breath and braces himself by grabbing Albus' arms. It occurs to Albus suddenly that they are both naked. He should let go and get back, but keeps hold, waits for an explanation.
"What are you doing?" Scorpius huffs.
"What am I doing? What the hell are you doing, mate? You might want to give me some warning before you try and break world records for holding your breath underwater. I thought you were drowning!"
Scorpius smiles slowly, pushes his fingers harder into the soft skin around Albus' elbows.
"What the hell are you grinning about?" Albus mutters. He lets himself be propelled forward by the momentum of the water, closing the gap between their bodies. Thunder claps outside, and what feels like the lightening to match it flickers from Albus' chest down to his feet.
"You called me mate," Scorpius says, and he kisses Albus for it. Albus falls onto him fully, hadn't realized he was waiting for this, but would he really have gotten into a bathtub with another boy if he wasn't? He laughs into Scorpius' mouth with relief, his cock straightening under the water, and he doesn't even remotely know what he's doing, but Scorpius is grabbing at him like he wants more of it, so he supposes it's okay.
He hears a doorbell ring and writes it off as a hallucinatory side-effect of the hottest moment of his life, both figuratively and literally -- he's going to pass out from heat exhaustion if they don't get out of the tub soon -- but Scorpius baulks at the sound, and pulls back with his eyes snapped open.
"What?" Albus breathes, leaning onto him again and mouthing his neck, where he can feel a panicked heartbeat pounding.
"The door, someone's at the door!"
"What door? We're in a tent."
"Yes, but this one has a bell, you see --"
"Scorpius?" Draco calls through the tent. The water seems to go to ice around Albus' waist, and he actually yelps a bit in terror. Scorpius is already scrambling out of the tub, going for a fluffy robe that is hanging on a hook near the vanity. He tosses Albus one that is monogrammed with the initials D.M., and Albus wraps it around himself hastily, dripping all over the floor. He's still hard, but the robe is big enough to mostly conceal this.
"Stay in here!" Scorpius whispers. Albus nods, and watches him slip through the curtains, returning to the main part of the tent.
"What are you doing?" Draco asks Scorpius.
"Nothing. Cleaning up."
"Where's Potter's son?"
"Albus, you mean? He's back there, having his turn."
"His turn?"
"In the bath!"
Draco says nothing for a moment, and Albus is certain they've been caught. He hears his father stumbling in through the tent's door and whistling at the impressive size of the interior.
"Having second thoughts about roughing it for Muggle Day?" Draco asks.
"No," Harry says. "Well. Yes."
Draco laughs, and Albus is stunned by the carefree lilt of it, was expecting Draco to take Scorpius home straight away under suspicion of questionable bathing activities. He does a quick drying spell on the clothes he left on the bathroom floor and dresses in them, missing the soft robe, the bath, Scorpius' slick skin under his mouth, and, most of all, the absence of their fathers.
"There you are," Harry says when Albus walks out. "I thought we might just step in here for dinner."
"What would Muggles do, though?" Scorpius asks. "If it was raining and they couldn't light a fire to cook with?"
"They'd go to bed hungry, I suppose," Draco says. "What a noble race they are. I am truly in awe of them after this experience."
"They have their own -- resourcefulness," Harry says, frowning at Draco's sarcasm. "They might string up a tarp and make a fire under that."
"With what?" Draco asks. "All the available wood is soaking wet."
Harry struggles to come up with a response, and Albus saves him by walking over to a trunk near the fire pit in the center of the magicked tent. He pops it open and marvels at the piles of gourmet food inside, reaches for a mound of Dark Chocolate Frogs.
"Albus," Harry says. "Before you stuff yourself, you should know that I brought the one thing you do enjoy about Muggle Day."
Albus opens his mouth to ask what he's talking about, then realizes what his father is saying. He knows Albus hates Muggle Day, or most aspects of it, anyway. He's really got to give his father more credit once in awhile. He did save the world.
"I'll be back," Harry says. He steps out of the tent, and for some reason Albus expects Draco to follow. He doesn't, only looks to Scorpius, who is still standing in his robe, looking disoriented and rather guilty.
"Don't you want to get dressed?" Draco asks him. Scorpius blinks at his father, and looks down at himself.
"Oh -- right." He stumbles off to the bathroom. Albus is sorry to be left alone with Draco, who gives him a disapproving appraisal.
"What has your father gone to fetch?" Draco asks. "Some other delightful Muggle game that involves fish guts?"
"I don't know," Albus says, though he's guessed by now. Sure enough, his father reappears with a soggy bag of marshmallows, a box of graham crackers, and a few bars of fancy Muggle chocolate.
"Time for s'mores!" he announces idiotically, and the tent disappears.
Albus hardly has time to wonder what's happened before he gets doused with rain. Scorpius shrieks in surprise, and Albus turns to find him only half-dressed, gets an eyeful of his bum that twangs hard against his lap despite the circumstances.
"What the hell?" Harry shouts, hugging the s'more supplies to his chest. Draco is looking around the clearing they're now standing in frantically, as if the posh tent has simply moved somewhere to the left or the right of him.
"Dad!" Scorpius shouts, still struggling into his trousers. "Did you pay the bill?"
"I -- I --" Draco stammers, still looking all around the clearing, now as if he's hoping for a Portkey out of here. "I was under the impression that there was a free thirty day trial!"
"Draco, you're joking!" Harry laughs. "Those are just a scam to get you to sign a contract -- did you read the fine print?"
"Oh, what does it matter now, the payment's overdue and they've taken it back!" Scorpius says. "Someone conjure some umbrellas, for the love of--"
"Conjure them out of what?" Harry is still laughing, a bit manically now.
"Is it such an unreasonable request to pull umbrellas out of thin air?" Draco shouts. "You are the Harry Potter."
Albus stands in the rain, watching this unfold with his mouth hanging open. Mud is rapidly rising around his ankles. He just made out with a boy in a hot tub. Now the hot tub has been reclaimed by its leasing office, and he's standing in the middle of the forest, in the middle of a downpour, in the middle of an argument between his father and Draco Malfoy.
He really hates Muggle Day. Except for the making out bit; that was rather good.
"Come on!" his father says, dragging him toward the other tent. Scorpius and Draco follow, and soon they're all inside, a mess of muddy boots and chattering teeth, everyone sloshing water onto a pair of sleeping bags that look as if they've already been slept in, or actually more like a pair of wild boars has been wrestling on them.
Albus falls to his knees, shocked silent, and Scorpius crawls over to sit beside him. They watch their fathers cursing each other and zipping up the door of the tent, Harry still clutching the now-squished marshmallows, the crackers and chocolate having slipped out of his grip at some point. Albus tries to avoid looking at Scorpius, can't. Scorpius turns to him and grins, makes a sympathetic face that tears Albus in half. He's never really ached for someone like this, had no preparation, no warning, and will have no chance to do anything about it with their fathers in such close proximity.
"Well," Harry says, standing in the middle of the tent, dripping wet. "That was exciting. Who's for marshmallows?"
"God, Potter, could you be any more smug?" Draco says, suddenly furious. "Don't pretend you're not thrilled to learn that I can't even afford proper camping equipment."
"Draco, that tent was nicer than my house. I don't think I could have afforded it, either."
"Oh, take the humble tack, that's a new one on you." Draco is sneering, and Albus is confused. He looks again at Scorpius, but he's staring at his father now.
"Please," Harry says tightly. He glances at Albus and Scorpius. "Don't."
Draco looks at them now, and turns from Harry, scoffing. Harry forces a laugh, tears open the bag of marshmallows. They go flying everywhere, and he curses.
"That wouldn't have happened if you'd used a spell to open it," Draco says, and for a moment Albus is sure his father is going to attack him with plain old physical force, in the true spirit of Muggle Day. He restrains himself and sits heavily beside Albus.
"Well," he says. "We might as well go home."
"No!" Scorpius and Albus say in unison. They look at each other with panic, and then quickly up at their fathers, who are both frowning.
"I, uh--" Albus says.
"It's just--" Scorpius stutters.
"We can still make a proper tent of this impostor with a little bit of magic," Draco says, and everyone looks up at him with surprise. "If it wouldn't gall you all quite too much to spoil Muggle Day."
"To hell with Muggle Day," Harry says, and he points his wand at one of the marshmallows. He says a spell Albus doesn't recognize, and the marshmallow turns into a fluffy white pillow. Draco works on enlarging the tent while Albus and Scorpius perform drying spells on each other, grinning at the sharp breeze of warmth that washes over them as they do.
In less than an hour, they have a fairly decent imitation of the first tent conjured, sans the bathroom and the chest full of snacks. There is a fire roaring in the middle, pillows that still smell faintly of sugar stacked all around it, and high windows that show the rain still coming down hard outside.
"Now the only trouble is dinner," Draco says.
"We're got plenty of beans," Harry says, and Albus laughs so hard he has a momentary excuse to fall onto Scorpius' shoulder.
After eating, Albus worries that his father will embarrass him by trying to break out his traditional Muggle ghost stories, but fortunately he gets preoccupied by drinking firewhiskey with Draco. They're arguing in slurs about subjects that neither of them really knows anything about, such as dragon taming and brewing antidotes to vampire bites.
"Have you ever seen a vampire?" Scorpius asks Albus. They've moved to their sleeping bags, pretending to be exhausted, and are gazing at each other with their heads on their marshmallow pillows, sneaking occasional peeks at their fathers to make sure they haven't noticed.
"A vampire? Of course not. They don't exist anymore, they've all been killed. Or double-killed, however it works with them."
"Not so!" Scorpius says.
"What, you've seen one?"
"That's right! My cousin Marbury had an affair with one."
"Liar." Albus grins and hits his shoulder, wants to leave his hand there but draws it back.
"I'm not lying!" Scorpius dares a look back at their fathers, and takes Albus' hand when he's satisfied that they aren't paying any attention.
"Don't," Albus whispers, his face heating, though he doesn't know what Scorpius will do, and actually would very much like to find out.
"I'm not," Scorpius says under his breath, drawing Albus' hand up to his mouth. He licks his way up Albus' pinky finger, pitching a deep shudder through him. Albus glances over his shoulder at their fathers. Harry is busy using the firewhiskey bottle to demonstrate some principal of potion-making.
Albus allows himself to watch Scorpius for a moment, swallows hard when his finger disappears into Scorpius' mouth. Scorpius sucks his finger until Albus is squirming to keep down a shout, then licks between the webs of his fingers. Albus scurries to get inside his sleeping bag, hard as stone, and who'd have thought a tongue between his fingers would feel so good.
"You're mad," Albus mouths, and Scorpius grins, kisses his palm and lets him take his hand back. "Now I've got a fucking stiffy," Albus whispers, and Scorpius laughs.
"So do something about it," he says.
"Oh, right! With them there?"
"They're drunk, they won't know."
"Fine, but I doubt I'm going to get off while my father's over there talking about -- God, whatever the hell he's talking about, doesn't matter."
"Point taken." Scorpius puts his tongue between his teeth, seems thoughtful. Albus summons every ounce of willpower in his body to keep himself from rolling against him and pushing his own tongue through his lips. Where did this come from? He doesn't even care. Maybe there were other reasons he invited Scorpius along on this trip.
"I think I have a plan," Scorpius says, and Albus grins, reaches inside his sleeping bag to half-heartedly give his prick a stroke.
"Goody."
Their fathers fall asleep near the fire. Albus has never seen his father like this, and though it is not without its distressing qualities, he does seem happy in a dumb sort of way that he perhaps hasn't been in a long time. When they've conked out, Albus sits up on his elbow, and pushes Scorpius' shoulder. His eyes flick open easily; he was only pretending to sleep.
"So what's the big plan?" Albus asks, his heart thudding harder already.
Scorpius rolls onto his back, smiles with his eyes half-lidded. He pulls his wand from his trouser pocket and points it at Albus.
"Impervius," he says, and Albus grins.
"Why didn't I think of that?" he asks.
"Because you're a Potter, and Hermione Granger wasn't around to come up with it?" Scorpius asks, and Albus punches his arm.
"Oh, come on," Scorpius says, laughing so loud that Albus wiggles onto him to put his hand over his mouth. "You walked right into that one, can't blame me," he says from behind Albus' fingers, still snickering. Albus retrieves his own wand and performs the waterproofing spell on Scorpius.
They sneak out of the tent, which is not difficult, with Harry's snoring fueled by firewhiskey and Draco curled up at his feet, his hands tucked to his chest. Outside, it's still raining, and the droplets of water feel amazing when they don't stick.
"I can't believe I've never done this before," Albus says when they're far enough from the campsite to speak at a normal volume. He holds out his arms to feel the rain ticking against his skin.
"I bet I can make you say that again, about something else entirely."
Albus rolls his eyes at the clumsy pass, grabs Scorpius and pulls him close.
"What am I doing?" he asks when Scorpius' nose is touching his.
"Falling prey to my scheme."
"What scheme?"
"The scheme to seduce the jock that any self-respecting arse-bandit would devise upon being mysteriously invited to go camping with said jock."
"Don't call yourself a arse-bandit."
"Why not? Cause that means you're one, too?"
"No -- it's just -- I don't know --"
"If you'd shut up for a second, you might realize I was actually just offering to suck you off."
Albus lets out his breath. He's had this described to him by his friends, and has once or twice even pretended that he's received it from vague, unnamed summer flings. His fingers flex wantingly as he watches Scorpius drop to his knees and undo his trousers. When he pulls them down, Albus is afraid he'll come just from the anticipation coupled with the feeling of raindrops pinging off his cock, bouncing away and leaving him still dry.
"Wait," he gushes before Scorpius can get the tip of his tongue quite to the point of touching him.
"Are you okay?" Scorpius asks, breaking out of his his fearless arse-bandit impersonation to look terrified for a moment.
"Yeah -- just. I -- I like you."
Scorpius grins, licks the head of his cock just slightly. Albus moans, and slaps his hand over his mouth when he remembers that they're in public, sort of.
"No kidding," Scorpius says, drawing two fingers up the length of him, as if to remark that the state of his prick is evidence enough.
"Really," Albus says. "I mean it. And I'm really, really sorry about your jaw."
"Apologizing in advance?"
"No, I mean about earlier, when you, when I--"
"I know what you mean," Scorpius says in a kind of whine. "I was kidding. Would you please shut up and let me suck your cock? I'm actually kind of looking forward to it, believe it or not."
Albus laughs hugely, which feels like a kind of release in itself, and his laughter morphs into general a sort of happy exclamation of wonderment when Scorpius has his lips around him, the heat of his mouth extraordinary in the faint chill of the rain shower that the waterproofing charms are still protecting them from. He resists the urge to rock back and forth, not sure what the etiquette is, though he can't imagine anyone getting this and not wanting to do just that. Instead he drags his fingers through Scorpius' hair. It's fluffy again, and really he likes it that way, he likes everything right now, even Muggle day.
He comes like he's been storing it up for ages, which, maybe he has, because it's summer and he hasn't pulled a good wank in awhile. He doesn't really expect Scorpius to swallow -- none of the girls in his mates' stories about this did -- but maybe it's a favor one can only expect from another bloke. Albus falls down to kiss him, knocks him back onto a pile of wet leaves and hums against his neck with contentment, laughing in the back of his throat.
"Let me do you," he says, leaning up to fumble with Scorpius' trousers. Scorpius grins, pushes Albus' mussed hair off of his forehead.
"Typical Potter," he says. "Always having to -- ah -- upstage -- the, uh -- oh -- generosity of -- fuck, yeah, like that."
They lie on their backs afterward, gasping up at the sky in shared disbelief and laughing as they try to keep their eyes open against the rain that is coming down only lightly now.
"Fuck, that was mad," Albus says. "We might have been struck by lightening."
"Weren't we?" Scorpius asks, and Albus rolls onto him, hiccups a laugh right into his ear, then licks it for good measure. His eyes travel down to Scorpius' jaw, and he strokes the place where it struck the rock earlier, just a faint line of reddened skin now.
"If you apologize again, I'll swear off blowing you forever," Scorpius says. Albus grins, but wishes he wouldn't joke. He still feels horrible, more about what he said to send Scorpius running off than what happened afterward.
"I'll sit by you at school," he says. "I'll kiss you in the hall if you want me to."
"You really shouldn't make promises just after your first blow job. They'll come back to haunt you."
"Quit joking, I mean it."
"Yes." Scorpius sighs, pulls Albus down to tuck his head against his shoulder. "I know. Potters are always sincere."
"Damn right we are." Albus squirms closer, throws a leg over Scorpius to keep him firmly in place.
"Should we go back to the tent?" Scorpius asks.
"I guess so," Albus says. "Do you think our fathers have made peace enough to allow us visits for the rest of summer?"
"I don't know," Scorpius says. "They seem to have made something."
Albus sits up suddenly, checking Scorpius' face to see if he's really just dared to make the joke he thinks he has. Scorpius bursts into laughter at the sight of Albus' stunned expression, and Albus collapses onto him, laughing until his stomach cramps up. His father and Draco Malfoy. That'll be the bloody day.
*