Holiday Ficlet for mrtibblesff!
Title: A Brief History of the Famous Disappearance
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Albus/Scorpius
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Albus and Scorpius both get unwanted attention at Hogwarts because of their family histories. In their fourth year, they decide they've had enough of their classmates' staring and taunting, and they run away together.
Notes: This is for mrtibblesff, who requested an AS/S fic that involved good music. The plot was inspired by the Sufjan Stevens song "Chicago," which always makes me think of two runaway teenagers. I hope you like it! A million thanks to my indispensable beta, chlorate, as ever. :)
It's History class that finally does it. Albus is half asleep as usual, sitting beside Scorpius in the back. Scorpius is tense, listening to Binns deviate from the true subject of the lecture and begin recounting stories involving his grandparents' deeds during the first reign of Voldemort. Their names aren't mentioned specifically, but every time the words 'Death Eaters' leaves Binns' translucent lips, Albus feels Scorpius flinch. A couple of their classmates have already turned around. Gryffindor is taking History with Ravenclaw this year, and it's especially bad, since Ravenclaws go above and beyond in their research and know every intimate detail about both the Potter and Malfoy dynasties.
"Hey," Rupert Sibley whispers as Professor Binns describes the particulars of being a Death Eater under Voldemort. "Have you got one of those tattoos?"
He's talking to Scorpius, of course. Albus moans and sits up straighter, rubbing at his eyes.
"No," Scorpius says to Rupert. "Have you got a tattoo of your mum's name on your arse?"
"Quiet in the back, please," Binns says irritably. He always seems to be nearly asleep until someone dares to interrupt his droning. Rupert snarls at Scorpius and turns around.
"Now of course this was all put to rest by The Boy Who Lived," Binns says. He's fond of changing subjects this way; he could cut directly to Harry Potter from almost any other historical discussion. Everyone in class turns to look at Albus as if it's a muscle twitch they all share. They don't even look particularly interested, as if they're just checking to make sure he's still there, suffering another lecture about his father, god among wizards. Never mind that he's cheated on Albus' mother and has been thrown out of the house. Albus is always waiting for Binns to include that bit of history in one of his talks, but he's got the impression that Binns hasn't heard the news yet, though it happened three years ago and was the biggest story since the defeat of Voldemort.
Remembering the hell he went through in his first year at Hogwarts, dealing with his parents' very public divorce, Albus stands from his desk as if class has been dismissed. He doesn't gather his books and parchment, and ignores Binns when he asks him where he's going.
"The Potters think they can do whatever they want," he hears one of the Ravenclaw girls say as he leaves, and he throws the classroom door open before hurrying into the hall.
"Albus!" Scorpius shouts down the hall once he's caught up to him, panting. Albus would taunt him about being out of shape if he weren't too furious to speak. He met Scorpius shortly after he arrived at school. Boys were throwing rolls at him during the Sorting Ceremony, and Scorpius was trying very hard not to cry. Albus pitched a turkey leg right at Hugo Weasley, his idiot cousin and one of Scorpius' most enthusiastic attackers. When Albus was sorted in Gryffindor along with Scorpius, he thought that school might not be such a nightmare after all. He was wrong about that, but Scorpius' friendship has been a source of great comfort.
"What are you doing?" Scorpius asks, stumbling alongside him breathlessly. "You just walked out of class."
"I know what I did."
"He'll take points from Gryffindor."
Albus stops walking and turns to look at Scorpius. His cheeks are red from the exertion of running, and his eyes are wide with fear. He's got his books clutched to his chest and his robes are nearly falling off at his left shoulder. Albus forgets what he was going to say for a moment, overcome with love for his friend, who sometimes seems like the only person in the world who has ever truly been on his side. This has been happening to him a lot recently.
"Do you really give a shit about Gryffindor's points?" Albus asks. He can hear his dead Gryffindor ancestors gasping in horror at the sentiment, but Scorpius beams brightly, and to hell with the family legacy.
"No," Scorpius admits, and they begin walking again.
It's not that they don't want to care about school. They're both eager students, and Albus is a decent Quidditch player, Scorpius an avid fan of their house's team. If people would just leave them alone, stop calling Scorpius 'Eater' (a double-edged dig, it also serves as an ironic jab about his skinniness) and asking Albus if his father has been caught shagging any more assistants at the Ministry, they would be perfectly happy at Hogwarts. Albus has tried to ignore the constant scrutiny and jealous taunting for three and a half years now, and it isn't working. It doesn't help that he has to watch Scorpius take ten times the abuse he receives.
They walk out onto the grounds and all the way to the far side of the lake, which is their favorite hiding place. There is a collection of boulders that provide good cover, the grass that grows around them soft and sweet-smelling. Albus sits down and leans against the largest and roundest boulder, and Scorpius sits beside him. He pulls his knees up to his chest and looks at Albus, waiting for his usual tantrum about the moronic population of Hogwarts.
"What if we left?" Albus says instead.
"Left where?" Scorpius asks.
"Hogwarts, Scorpius. What if we left school right now, walked away? Well, flew away, I should say, because we'd have to use brooms."
"They'd come after us," Scorpius says, frowning as if he doesn't like this train of thought very much. "Our parents, the teachers, the Ministry. As soon as we used magic they'd know right where we were."
"What if we didn't use magic?"
Scorpius laughs and elbows him. Albus watches his face sink as he realizes Albus is serious.
"Albus," Scorpius says softly. He leans onto Albus' arm, which always calms Albus down. Albus isn't sure he likes the fact that Scorpius knows this about him. He smells like the toffee they ate after lunch, and Albus loses his train of thought again.
"It'll be better soon," Scorpius says. "People will find someone else to pick on."
"It's not just that. I'm never going to escape being Harry Potter's son," Albus says. He knows he sounds like a whiny infant, but Scorpius always humors him. "And you know exactly what I mean."
"Yes." Scorpius sighs and picks at the grass. "My father considered leaving wizarding society altogether, you know, when I was very young. We tried for a few weeks, but life is depressing without magic."
"Well, sure, when you're stuck in a cottage with your parents," Albus says. "But we'd have fun, don't you think?"
"My parents would worry," Scorpius says. He loves them very much; Albus envies him this, and hates him for it sometimes. His own mother has gone wild to match his father. Like Albus, she loved him with pathetic enthusiasm before he destroyed everything.
"You could write to them," Albus says. "Through regular post."
"How, Albus? I don't even know how to use regular post."
"Well, okay, fine, me either. So you leave them a note here at Hogwarts. Or anyway we could learn to use regular post. Scorpius, please." Albus grabs Scorpius' knee for emphasis. Scorpius stares at Albus' hand, then puts his own hand over it. He looks up shyly, and Albus almost wants to apologize for frightening him. He's so protective of Scorpius that he has lost a record one thousand points for Gryffindor in three and a half years of defending him in the library and the Great Hall.
"If you go, I will," Scorpius says, and Albus smiles.
*
They leave by broomstick under cover of night, Albus carrying the single bag that they packed together in their dormitory room. It contains some sandwiches swiped from the Great Hall, several changes of clothes and a few essential toiletries, plus their wands, which are to be used in emergencies only. They have no idea where they're going or what they will do when they get there, but when Albus turns back to make sure Scorpius is safely following, they both grin widely, as if everything is going to be alright from now on.
When they get hungry they stop on a hillside in the country and unpack the sandwiches. The temperature is sinking fast, and Scorpius begins to shiver, his hands shaking around his sandwich. Albus scoots against him so he'll warm up.
"Where will we sleep?" Scorpius asks. He seems to feel guilty about finally bringing up practical matters, and Albus is ashamed of himself for dragging his friend away from school without a plan of any kind. Still, he feels a kind of giddy, terrified freedom enveloping both of them, and he refuses to believe that this might go badly.
"I don't know," Albus says. "But we can't stay here long. We've technically used magic outside of school now." He gives one of the brooms a tap with his foot.
"You mean we have to walk the rest of the way?" Scorpius asks, as if they've got a particular destination in mind, warm beds waiting for them at the end of this journey.
"I guess." Albus hadn't really thought about that. He looks around the hillside at the surrounding woods, which are dark and buzzing with insect noises. Far in the distance he can see the glow of a small Muggle town, but he knows there will be nothing for them there.
"Listen," Scorpius says. "My parents have friends who keep a summer house down in the Channel Islands. They're in Italy until July, and I think I could get into the house without using magic. We could go on broomstick until we reach the Channel, then we can take a Muggle ferry so we won't be traceable. It's a little risky, but it's better than sleeping in the woods."
"You're so smart," Albus says, and when he leans forward to kiss Scorpius on the lips it feels like the most natural thing he's ever done. It's only afterward, when he sees the look on Scorpius' face, that it occurs to him that he's gone temporarily insane. He springs up and grabs his broom as if nothing happened.
"Lead the way, then," he says, his voice squeaking with nerves. He's fiddling with their bag, stuffing the garbage from their sandwiches into it because he doesn't know what else to do with his hands. Scorpius grabs his shoulder and spins him around.
"Albus," he says. Albus steps away from him, embarrassed.
"We'd better get a move on," he says. "We haven't got much time."
He kicks off the ground on his broom, hoping that Scorpius will still follow him after what he just pulled. He hears the whoosh of Scorpius' robes as he lifts up into the air behind him, and the relief that blooms through him is like a sunrise. He doesn't know what's happening to him, only that it's exciting, probably dangerous, and that it will be okay, because Scorpius is close by, not deterred by his kiss.
*
The house in the Channel Islands is small but impressively decorated, and they're able to crawl inside through an unlocked back window. It's in a Muggle neighborhood; Scorpius explains that these friends of his parents were 'well, you know' during the war, and they feel more comfortable among Muggles. The house is outfitted with clean Muggle things like a gas stove and a spotless, empty refrigerator, but there are telltale signs that it is not a normal Muggle household, such as the absence of a television and a wooden box over the mantle containing Floo powder. Albus goes poking about in the pantry, already hungry again, and comes up with a package of Cauldron Cakes.
"Can I eat these?" he asks Scorpius, who is sitting primly on the couch as if he's waiting for an interview. He nods, and Albus rips into the package with delight. This whole running away scenario is turning out to be much more posh than he expected, though he should have known that Scorpius would arrange something brilliant in an eye blink. As he's stuffing his face with sweets he remembers the kiss and goes hot along his chest. Scorpius looks rather downcast, and Albus wonders if he wants to discuss it. He wouldn't even know where to begin.
"How many bedrooms?" Albus asks, and this causes the heat to spread from his chest to his neck and up to his cheeks.
"Three, actually," Scorpius says. "You can have the master if you like."
"Why would you give me the master?"
Scorpius sighs as if this is a childish question. "I don't know, Albus." He leans back on the sofa and puts his feet up on the coffee table, then quickly removes them. "I suppose because you're my guest. Sort of."
"Guest!" Albus says. "This is our house, isn't it? At least for a time. Until we figure out what we're going to do."
Scorpius looks at him glumly, as if the chance of that ever happening is slim indeed. Albus is beginning to feel rather doomed himself, but he refuses to let any creeping reintroduction of reality spoil his good spirits. He accepts the master bedroom and takes a hot bath, stroking himself aimlessly under the plentiful bubbles that he was able to create without magic, something that probably shouldn't make him feel so proud. For the first time since he taught himself the art of wanking, he allows himself to think of Scorpius, but the subject of his best friend and all that is happening to them is too weighty to get him anywhere, so he goes back to his usual fantasy of Teresa Zabini unzipping him in the middle of Divination and sucking him off in secret under his work station with that hot, invisible mouth.
Before bed, he puts on a robe and wanders out to the sitting room to see if Scorpius is hanging about and wanting company, but the door to the bedroom he chose is shut. They haven't put any lights on for fear of being discovered, so the fact that Scorpius' lamps are off is no indication that he's gone to sleep. Albus puts his ear to the door and listens. He hears a drawer open and shut, water running, the soft scrape of what might be a hairbrush. Scorpius seems like the type who would brush his hair before bed, and Albus is so touched by the image that he wants to throw open the door and fling himself at Scorpius like the clumsy barbarian that he apparently is, but he only walks back to the master bedroom and dumps the robe onto the floor. He sleeps in his t-shirt and shorts, with the door open.
The next few days are quiet and a bit tense. They're both waiting for Ministry officials to come pounding on the door and arrest them, as if they've kidnapped each other and are equally culpable. They try to use the stove but can only achieve an irritating clicking sound when they turn the knobs. Scorpius finds fishing equipment in the garage, but their attempts to catch their dinner are even more hopeless. If they did catch something they would have to eat it raw or roast it on a spit over a fire, and damned if either of them knows the first thing about starting a fire without magic. They subsist on pantry snacks and water from the tap, and both of them are constantly hungry. Albus has frustrating dreams about his grandmother's pies; no matter how many he stuffs into his mouth his stomach still aches with hunger.
"Do you think they've written about us in the Prophet?" Albus asks Scorpius one afternoon when they're bored and poking around in the cottage's study, looking longingly at books about magic but not daring to even touch them. "About how we're missing?"
"Possibly," Scorpius says. He sounds miserable, and Albus knows that he wants badly to get in touch with his parents. They tried using the Muggle mail box, but there must be some trick to it that they don't understand, because the Muggle mail carrier passes it by every morning, and Scorpius' letter to his parents remains inside.
The first real row of their friendship comes later that afternoon. Scorpius is trying to get a tin of biscuits off a high shelf in the pantry, and he slips, banging his chin hard on another shelf on the way down. Albus flies to his side when he hears his crash landing, and finds him holding his jaw and wincing in pain, his knee badly scraped as well.
"We've got to use wands!" Albus bellows. He's been waiting for an excuse.
"No," Scorpius says, standing with some difficulty. Albus tries to help him, but Scorpius pulls away as if what's happened is his fault. "It's fine," he says. He hisses and falls against the kitchen counter. Albus fumbles in his trouser pocket for his wand, not sure how to do any proper healing spells but ready to cast lumos just as a cry for help. The sight of Scorpius suffering has always torn him in two. Even before he really knew him, that day in the Great Hall, he simply couldn't watch another roll bounce off of Scorpius' head without violent retaliation.
"Don't," Scorpius says, eying Albus' wand. "It's just a couple of cuts, I can bandage them and they'll heal."
"Scorpius," Albus whines. He walks forward and tries to place his hands on Scorpius' shoulders, which are trembling from the pain of his injuries. Scorpius flings him away this time, so forcefully that Albus goes sliding across the kitchen floor in his stockinged feet.
"Hey, mate --" he starts to say.
"Just leave me be!" Scorpius shouts. "You don't -- you're not -- this whole thing was a dumb idea!"
"So why don't you go back?" Albus says, heartbroken. He tries to make his face mean and isn't sure if he manages. "Nobody's stopping you."
"Oh, aren't they? You think I could survive at that school without you? The only reason they haven't hung me from the rafters is that they're all afraid Potter the maniac vigilante will burn the school down if they do. And you act like school is such hell for you. Please! As if I had a choice to come here with you. You're all I have."
The anger sinks out of his voice as he comes to the end of his rant, and his eyes get soft and wet. Albus stands stock still in the middle of the kitchen. Blood is running from Scorpius' chin down to his neck, and Albus wishes he could clean him up, tuck him into bed and kiss him until he's better. Unfortunately and at last, that is what he really wants.
"You don't give yourself enough credit," Albus says. He hears his father's diplomatic restraint in his voice, feels himself crawling into the sick safety of keeping away, holding himself back.
"Fucking hell, Albus," Scorpius says, wiping at his face. "All I mean to say is that I'll go wherever you do, and I hate you for it sometimes, I truly do."
Albus wants to rush forward and hold him, but he's lost the ability to move. He looks down at his socks, which need to be washed again. Doing the washing is so horribly time consuming without magic. His eyes fill up, and he can't believe how foolish he's been. This was never about saving Scorpius or even himself from school. He just wanted to be alone with him, but now he doesn't know what to do.
"Fine," Scorpius says, his voice hoarse with surprise. "I'll go."
"No, you won't," Albus says gruffly.
"Don't tell me what to do!" Scorpius shouts, but he stays in place. Albus moves forward cautiously, wondering why this doesn't feel as easy as it did when they were sitting together on the hillside, when that kiss popped out of him like it was something he did all the time. By the time he finally reaches Scorpius they're both breathing hard and wiping tears from the corners of their eyes.
"I'm afraid," Albus admits, all of his diplomacy leaving him. It feels good to let it go. He'd rather be a weeping puddle than a diplomat, but he feels like he's learned enough from both of his parents to keep himself from becoming either.
"Why?" Scorpius asks. He takes Albus' hand. Scorpius' is crusted with dried blood, and Albus twines their fingers together, presses his palm against Scorpius' before looking up to meet his eyes.
"I don't know," he mumbles, and when Scorpius kisses him, warm and soft on his lips, it's the kind of kiss he'd been hoping for, easy and perfect like a puzzle piece that locks them together. Albus holds Scorpius' bruised face carefully and kisses him back, licking into his mouth and over his teeth, into every hot corner he can reach. Scorpius moans and touches his jaw.
"Sorry," he says, wincing. "It actually hurts pretty bad."
"We'll go back," Albus says. "Right now."
Scorpius sighs. "Fine," he says. "But the whole point of this was -- well, I mean -- I'd been looking forward to maybe sleeping with you. Not -- not like that!" Scorpius says when Albus jerks backward in surprise. "But just, you know, sleeping. With your hand on my side, maybe. And your face on the back of my neck. You know, I -- I've thought about it."
Albus kisses him again, forgetting everything, until Scorpius groans in pain and rubs his jaw. Albus apologizes profusely and kisses his forehead with delicate pecks.
"I'll sneak into your bed at the dorm," Albus promises, his heartbeat wild with the thought of the risk.
"Albus," Scorpius says, as if this is ridiculous.
"We ran away from school together," Albus reminds him. "What's a little snuggling up against that?"
"Oh, I don't know." Scorpius leans in to rest his head on Albus' shoulder. Albus tucks him in close, smoothes his hair. "I think it would be a pretty big deal. More than running from school, maybe."
"Epic snuggling," Albus says, and Scorpius laughs.
"Yes," he says. "It will go down in history."
They fly back to Hogwarts on a single broom, because Albus doesn't want Scorpius exerting any energy while he's injured. Albus sits behind Scorpius on the broom, and he loves the warm weight of Scorpius' body against his chest, the quiet of the landscape below and the sharp sting of the wind on his cheeks, as if they're traveling the kind of uncertain route his father had to face when he was their age, the darkening and unknowable world all around them as the sun sinks away.
"Check out the sunset," Albus says, feeling girly for mentioning it but unable to let it pass without comment. He's surprised that Scorpius hasn't remarked on it, given his fondness for marveling at the moon and the shape of the clouds and all sorts of celestial things, and then he realizes that Scorpius is dozing, his face pressed against Albus' neck, eyes shut and breath steady. Albus almost wants to wake him up to tell him he's done it, he's fallen asleep in Albus' arms, but maybe he already knows.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Albus/Scorpius
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Albus and Scorpius both get unwanted attention at Hogwarts because of their family histories. In their fourth year, they decide they've had enough of their classmates' staring and taunting, and they run away together.
Notes: This is for mrtibblesff, who requested an AS/S fic that involved good music. The plot was inspired by the Sufjan Stevens song "Chicago," which always makes me think of two runaway teenagers. I hope you like it! A million thanks to my indispensable beta, chlorate, as ever. :)
It's History class that finally does it. Albus is half asleep as usual, sitting beside Scorpius in the back. Scorpius is tense, listening to Binns deviate from the true subject of the lecture and begin recounting stories involving his grandparents' deeds during the first reign of Voldemort. Their names aren't mentioned specifically, but every time the words 'Death Eaters' leaves Binns' translucent lips, Albus feels Scorpius flinch. A couple of their classmates have already turned around. Gryffindor is taking History with Ravenclaw this year, and it's especially bad, since Ravenclaws go above and beyond in their research and know every intimate detail about both the Potter and Malfoy dynasties.
"Hey," Rupert Sibley whispers as Professor Binns describes the particulars of being a Death Eater under Voldemort. "Have you got one of those tattoos?"
He's talking to Scorpius, of course. Albus moans and sits up straighter, rubbing at his eyes.
"No," Scorpius says to Rupert. "Have you got a tattoo of your mum's name on your arse?"
"Quiet in the back, please," Binns says irritably. He always seems to be nearly asleep until someone dares to interrupt his droning. Rupert snarls at Scorpius and turns around.
"Now of course this was all put to rest by The Boy Who Lived," Binns says. He's fond of changing subjects this way; he could cut directly to Harry Potter from almost any other historical discussion. Everyone in class turns to look at Albus as if it's a muscle twitch they all share. They don't even look particularly interested, as if they're just checking to make sure he's still there, suffering another lecture about his father, god among wizards. Never mind that he's cheated on Albus' mother and has been thrown out of the house. Albus is always waiting for Binns to include that bit of history in one of his talks, but he's got the impression that Binns hasn't heard the news yet, though it happened three years ago and was the biggest story since the defeat of Voldemort.
Remembering the hell he went through in his first year at Hogwarts, dealing with his parents' very public divorce, Albus stands from his desk as if class has been dismissed. He doesn't gather his books and parchment, and ignores Binns when he asks him where he's going.
"The Potters think they can do whatever they want," he hears one of the Ravenclaw girls say as he leaves, and he throws the classroom door open before hurrying into the hall.
"Albus!" Scorpius shouts down the hall once he's caught up to him, panting. Albus would taunt him about being out of shape if he weren't too furious to speak. He met Scorpius shortly after he arrived at school. Boys were throwing rolls at him during the Sorting Ceremony, and Scorpius was trying very hard not to cry. Albus pitched a turkey leg right at Hugo Weasley, his idiot cousin and one of Scorpius' most enthusiastic attackers. When Albus was sorted in Gryffindor along with Scorpius, he thought that school might not be such a nightmare after all. He was wrong about that, but Scorpius' friendship has been a source of great comfort.
"What are you doing?" Scorpius asks, stumbling alongside him breathlessly. "You just walked out of class."
"I know what I did."
"He'll take points from Gryffindor."
Albus stops walking and turns to look at Scorpius. His cheeks are red from the exertion of running, and his eyes are wide with fear. He's got his books clutched to his chest and his robes are nearly falling off at his left shoulder. Albus forgets what he was going to say for a moment, overcome with love for his friend, who sometimes seems like the only person in the world who has ever truly been on his side. This has been happening to him a lot recently.
"Do you really give a shit about Gryffindor's points?" Albus asks. He can hear his dead Gryffindor ancestors gasping in horror at the sentiment, but Scorpius beams brightly, and to hell with the family legacy.
"No," Scorpius admits, and they begin walking again.
It's not that they don't want to care about school. They're both eager students, and Albus is a decent Quidditch player, Scorpius an avid fan of their house's team. If people would just leave them alone, stop calling Scorpius 'Eater' (a double-edged dig, it also serves as an ironic jab about his skinniness) and asking Albus if his father has been caught shagging any more assistants at the Ministry, they would be perfectly happy at Hogwarts. Albus has tried to ignore the constant scrutiny and jealous taunting for three and a half years now, and it isn't working. It doesn't help that he has to watch Scorpius take ten times the abuse he receives.
They walk out onto the grounds and all the way to the far side of the lake, which is their favorite hiding place. There is a collection of boulders that provide good cover, the grass that grows around them soft and sweet-smelling. Albus sits down and leans against the largest and roundest boulder, and Scorpius sits beside him. He pulls his knees up to his chest and looks at Albus, waiting for his usual tantrum about the moronic population of Hogwarts.
"What if we left?" Albus says instead.
"Left where?" Scorpius asks.
"Hogwarts, Scorpius. What if we left school right now, walked away? Well, flew away, I should say, because we'd have to use brooms."
"They'd come after us," Scorpius says, frowning as if he doesn't like this train of thought very much. "Our parents, the teachers, the Ministry. As soon as we used magic they'd know right where we were."
"What if we didn't use magic?"
Scorpius laughs and elbows him. Albus watches his face sink as he realizes Albus is serious.
"Albus," Scorpius says softly. He leans onto Albus' arm, which always calms Albus down. Albus isn't sure he likes the fact that Scorpius knows this about him. He smells like the toffee they ate after lunch, and Albus loses his train of thought again.
"It'll be better soon," Scorpius says. "People will find someone else to pick on."
"It's not just that. I'm never going to escape being Harry Potter's son," Albus says. He knows he sounds like a whiny infant, but Scorpius always humors him. "And you know exactly what I mean."
"Yes." Scorpius sighs and picks at the grass. "My father considered leaving wizarding society altogether, you know, when I was very young. We tried for a few weeks, but life is depressing without magic."
"Well, sure, when you're stuck in a cottage with your parents," Albus says. "But we'd have fun, don't you think?"
"My parents would worry," Scorpius says. He loves them very much; Albus envies him this, and hates him for it sometimes. His own mother has gone wild to match his father. Like Albus, she loved him with pathetic enthusiasm before he destroyed everything.
"You could write to them," Albus says. "Through regular post."
"How, Albus? I don't even know how to use regular post."
"Well, okay, fine, me either. So you leave them a note here at Hogwarts. Or anyway we could learn to use regular post. Scorpius, please." Albus grabs Scorpius' knee for emphasis. Scorpius stares at Albus' hand, then puts his own hand over it. He looks up shyly, and Albus almost wants to apologize for frightening him. He's so protective of Scorpius that he has lost a record one thousand points for Gryffindor in three and a half years of defending him in the library and the Great Hall.
"If you go, I will," Scorpius says, and Albus smiles.
*
They leave by broomstick under cover of night, Albus carrying the single bag that they packed together in their dormitory room. It contains some sandwiches swiped from the Great Hall, several changes of clothes and a few essential toiletries, plus their wands, which are to be used in emergencies only. They have no idea where they're going or what they will do when they get there, but when Albus turns back to make sure Scorpius is safely following, they both grin widely, as if everything is going to be alright from now on.
When they get hungry they stop on a hillside in the country and unpack the sandwiches. The temperature is sinking fast, and Scorpius begins to shiver, his hands shaking around his sandwich. Albus scoots against him so he'll warm up.
"Where will we sleep?" Scorpius asks. He seems to feel guilty about finally bringing up practical matters, and Albus is ashamed of himself for dragging his friend away from school without a plan of any kind. Still, he feels a kind of giddy, terrified freedom enveloping both of them, and he refuses to believe that this might go badly.
"I don't know," Albus says. "But we can't stay here long. We've technically used magic outside of school now." He gives one of the brooms a tap with his foot.
"You mean we have to walk the rest of the way?" Scorpius asks, as if they've got a particular destination in mind, warm beds waiting for them at the end of this journey.
"I guess." Albus hadn't really thought about that. He looks around the hillside at the surrounding woods, which are dark and buzzing with insect noises. Far in the distance he can see the glow of a small Muggle town, but he knows there will be nothing for them there.
"Listen," Scorpius says. "My parents have friends who keep a summer house down in the Channel Islands. They're in Italy until July, and I think I could get into the house without using magic. We could go on broomstick until we reach the Channel, then we can take a Muggle ferry so we won't be traceable. It's a little risky, but it's better than sleeping in the woods."
"You're so smart," Albus says, and when he leans forward to kiss Scorpius on the lips it feels like the most natural thing he's ever done. It's only afterward, when he sees the look on Scorpius' face, that it occurs to him that he's gone temporarily insane. He springs up and grabs his broom as if nothing happened.
"Lead the way, then," he says, his voice squeaking with nerves. He's fiddling with their bag, stuffing the garbage from their sandwiches into it because he doesn't know what else to do with his hands. Scorpius grabs his shoulder and spins him around.
"Albus," he says. Albus steps away from him, embarrassed.
"We'd better get a move on," he says. "We haven't got much time."
He kicks off the ground on his broom, hoping that Scorpius will still follow him after what he just pulled. He hears the whoosh of Scorpius' robes as he lifts up into the air behind him, and the relief that blooms through him is like a sunrise. He doesn't know what's happening to him, only that it's exciting, probably dangerous, and that it will be okay, because Scorpius is close by, not deterred by his kiss.
*
The house in the Channel Islands is small but impressively decorated, and they're able to crawl inside through an unlocked back window. It's in a Muggle neighborhood; Scorpius explains that these friends of his parents were 'well, you know' during the war, and they feel more comfortable among Muggles. The house is outfitted with clean Muggle things like a gas stove and a spotless, empty refrigerator, but there are telltale signs that it is not a normal Muggle household, such as the absence of a television and a wooden box over the mantle containing Floo powder. Albus goes poking about in the pantry, already hungry again, and comes up with a package of Cauldron Cakes.
"Can I eat these?" he asks Scorpius, who is sitting primly on the couch as if he's waiting for an interview. He nods, and Albus rips into the package with delight. This whole running away scenario is turning out to be much more posh than he expected, though he should have known that Scorpius would arrange something brilliant in an eye blink. As he's stuffing his face with sweets he remembers the kiss and goes hot along his chest. Scorpius looks rather downcast, and Albus wonders if he wants to discuss it. He wouldn't even know where to begin.
"How many bedrooms?" Albus asks, and this causes the heat to spread from his chest to his neck and up to his cheeks.
"Three, actually," Scorpius says. "You can have the master if you like."
"Why would you give me the master?"
Scorpius sighs as if this is a childish question. "I don't know, Albus." He leans back on the sofa and puts his feet up on the coffee table, then quickly removes them. "I suppose because you're my guest. Sort of."
"Guest!" Albus says. "This is our house, isn't it? At least for a time. Until we figure out what we're going to do."
Scorpius looks at him glumly, as if the chance of that ever happening is slim indeed. Albus is beginning to feel rather doomed himself, but he refuses to let any creeping reintroduction of reality spoil his good spirits. He accepts the master bedroom and takes a hot bath, stroking himself aimlessly under the plentiful bubbles that he was able to create without magic, something that probably shouldn't make him feel so proud. For the first time since he taught himself the art of wanking, he allows himself to think of Scorpius, but the subject of his best friend and all that is happening to them is too weighty to get him anywhere, so he goes back to his usual fantasy of Teresa Zabini unzipping him in the middle of Divination and sucking him off in secret under his work station with that hot, invisible mouth.
Before bed, he puts on a robe and wanders out to the sitting room to see if Scorpius is hanging about and wanting company, but the door to the bedroom he chose is shut. They haven't put any lights on for fear of being discovered, so the fact that Scorpius' lamps are off is no indication that he's gone to sleep. Albus puts his ear to the door and listens. He hears a drawer open and shut, water running, the soft scrape of what might be a hairbrush. Scorpius seems like the type who would brush his hair before bed, and Albus is so touched by the image that he wants to throw open the door and fling himself at Scorpius like the clumsy barbarian that he apparently is, but he only walks back to the master bedroom and dumps the robe onto the floor. He sleeps in his t-shirt and shorts, with the door open.
The next few days are quiet and a bit tense. They're both waiting for Ministry officials to come pounding on the door and arrest them, as if they've kidnapped each other and are equally culpable. They try to use the stove but can only achieve an irritating clicking sound when they turn the knobs. Scorpius finds fishing equipment in the garage, but their attempts to catch their dinner are even more hopeless. If they did catch something they would have to eat it raw or roast it on a spit over a fire, and damned if either of them knows the first thing about starting a fire without magic. They subsist on pantry snacks and water from the tap, and both of them are constantly hungry. Albus has frustrating dreams about his grandmother's pies; no matter how many he stuffs into his mouth his stomach still aches with hunger.
"Do you think they've written about us in the Prophet?" Albus asks Scorpius one afternoon when they're bored and poking around in the cottage's study, looking longingly at books about magic but not daring to even touch them. "About how we're missing?"
"Possibly," Scorpius says. He sounds miserable, and Albus knows that he wants badly to get in touch with his parents. They tried using the Muggle mail box, but there must be some trick to it that they don't understand, because the Muggle mail carrier passes it by every morning, and Scorpius' letter to his parents remains inside.
The first real row of their friendship comes later that afternoon. Scorpius is trying to get a tin of biscuits off a high shelf in the pantry, and he slips, banging his chin hard on another shelf on the way down. Albus flies to his side when he hears his crash landing, and finds him holding his jaw and wincing in pain, his knee badly scraped as well.
"We've got to use wands!" Albus bellows. He's been waiting for an excuse.
"No," Scorpius says, standing with some difficulty. Albus tries to help him, but Scorpius pulls away as if what's happened is his fault. "It's fine," he says. He hisses and falls against the kitchen counter. Albus fumbles in his trouser pocket for his wand, not sure how to do any proper healing spells but ready to cast lumos just as a cry for help. The sight of Scorpius suffering has always torn him in two. Even before he really knew him, that day in the Great Hall, he simply couldn't watch another roll bounce off of Scorpius' head without violent retaliation.
"Don't," Scorpius says, eying Albus' wand. "It's just a couple of cuts, I can bandage them and they'll heal."
"Scorpius," Albus whines. He walks forward and tries to place his hands on Scorpius' shoulders, which are trembling from the pain of his injuries. Scorpius flings him away this time, so forcefully that Albus goes sliding across the kitchen floor in his stockinged feet.
"Hey, mate --" he starts to say.
"Just leave me be!" Scorpius shouts. "You don't -- you're not -- this whole thing was a dumb idea!"
"So why don't you go back?" Albus says, heartbroken. He tries to make his face mean and isn't sure if he manages. "Nobody's stopping you."
"Oh, aren't they? You think I could survive at that school without you? The only reason they haven't hung me from the rafters is that they're all afraid Potter the maniac vigilante will burn the school down if they do. And you act like school is such hell for you. Please! As if I had a choice to come here with you. You're all I have."
The anger sinks out of his voice as he comes to the end of his rant, and his eyes get soft and wet. Albus stands stock still in the middle of the kitchen. Blood is running from Scorpius' chin down to his neck, and Albus wishes he could clean him up, tuck him into bed and kiss him until he's better. Unfortunately and at last, that is what he really wants.
"You don't give yourself enough credit," Albus says. He hears his father's diplomatic restraint in his voice, feels himself crawling into the sick safety of keeping away, holding himself back.
"Fucking hell, Albus," Scorpius says, wiping at his face. "All I mean to say is that I'll go wherever you do, and I hate you for it sometimes, I truly do."
Albus wants to rush forward and hold him, but he's lost the ability to move. He looks down at his socks, which need to be washed again. Doing the washing is so horribly time consuming without magic. His eyes fill up, and he can't believe how foolish he's been. This was never about saving Scorpius or even himself from school. He just wanted to be alone with him, but now he doesn't know what to do.
"Fine," Scorpius says, his voice hoarse with surprise. "I'll go."
"No, you won't," Albus says gruffly.
"Don't tell me what to do!" Scorpius shouts, but he stays in place. Albus moves forward cautiously, wondering why this doesn't feel as easy as it did when they were sitting together on the hillside, when that kiss popped out of him like it was something he did all the time. By the time he finally reaches Scorpius they're both breathing hard and wiping tears from the corners of their eyes.
"I'm afraid," Albus admits, all of his diplomacy leaving him. It feels good to let it go. He'd rather be a weeping puddle than a diplomat, but he feels like he's learned enough from both of his parents to keep himself from becoming either.
"Why?" Scorpius asks. He takes Albus' hand. Scorpius' is crusted with dried blood, and Albus twines their fingers together, presses his palm against Scorpius' before looking up to meet his eyes.
"I don't know," he mumbles, and when Scorpius kisses him, warm and soft on his lips, it's the kind of kiss he'd been hoping for, easy and perfect like a puzzle piece that locks them together. Albus holds Scorpius' bruised face carefully and kisses him back, licking into his mouth and over his teeth, into every hot corner he can reach. Scorpius moans and touches his jaw.
"Sorry," he says, wincing. "It actually hurts pretty bad."
"We'll go back," Albus says. "Right now."
Scorpius sighs. "Fine," he says. "But the whole point of this was -- well, I mean -- I'd been looking forward to maybe sleeping with you. Not -- not like that!" Scorpius says when Albus jerks backward in surprise. "But just, you know, sleeping. With your hand on my side, maybe. And your face on the back of my neck. You know, I -- I've thought about it."
Albus kisses him again, forgetting everything, until Scorpius groans in pain and rubs his jaw. Albus apologizes profusely and kisses his forehead with delicate pecks.
"I'll sneak into your bed at the dorm," Albus promises, his heartbeat wild with the thought of the risk.
"Albus," Scorpius says, as if this is ridiculous.
"We ran away from school together," Albus reminds him. "What's a little snuggling up against that?"
"Oh, I don't know." Scorpius leans in to rest his head on Albus' shoulder. Albus tucks him in close, smoothes his hair. "I think it would be a pretty big deal. More than running from school, maybe."
"Epic snuggling," Albus says, and Scorpius laughs.
"Yes," he says. "It will go down in history."
They fly back to Hogwarts on a single broom, because Albus doesn't want Scorpius exerting any energy while he's injured. Albus sits behind Scorpius on the broom, and he loves the warm weight of Scorpius' body against his chest, the quiet of the landscape below and the sharp sting of the wind on his cheeks, as if they're traveling the kind of uncertain route his father had to face when he was their age, the darkening and unknowable world all around them as the sun sinks away.
"Check out the sunset," Albus says, feeling girly for mentioning it but unable to let it pass without comment. He's surprised that Scorpius hasn't remarked on it, given his fondness for marveling at the moon and the shape of the clouds and all sorts of celestial things, and then he realizes that Scorpius is dozing, his face pressed against Albus' neck, eyes shut and breath steady. Albus almost wants to wake him up to tell him he's done it, he's fallen asleep in Albus' arms, but maybe he already knows.