Holiday Ficlet for featherofeeling!

[hollycomb]

Title: Perspective
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Albus/Scorpius
Rating: R
Summary: Scorpius is writing a book on the relationship between war heroes Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape, and he pesters their shared namesake to get his perspective on the matter.
Notes: This holiday ficlet is for featherofeeling -- I hope you'll enjoy it! Thanks for the awesome prompt. A million thanks to chlorate for beta reading.



Albus is brewing a fever-reducing potion when he gets an unexpected knock on the door of his flat. It's a little after two o'clock in the afternoon, and he rarely has callers, particularly at such a dull, quiet time of day. He sniffles in confusion and wipes his nose on his sleeve as he makes his way to the door. Perhaps Mum or Lily has actually set aside half a second to come and care for him on his deathbed. He's been sick for two weeks and there's no end in sight.

When he answers the door, he blinks his puffy eyes at the gentleman standing out in the hall, not recognizing him, though there is something familiar about his smugly cheerful expression. He's tall and thin with pale hair and massive, unfashionable spectacles. He's wearing purple robes over a green jumper and he looks like the type who goes door to door selling subscriptions to the Quibbler.

"No, thank you," Albus says, already shutting the door.

"Mr. Potter?" the man says, leaning against it to wedge it back open. "Albus Severus Potter?"

Albus bristles at the uses of his full name and shoves the door shut harder, but the man is persistent, fumbling desperately against his efforts.

"Wait, please!" he begs. "It's me, Scorpius Malfoy! We went to Hogwarts together!"

As if this is information that will persuade Albus to allow someone into his home. He had a horrible time at Hogwarts, leading a ghostly existence between the blinding lights of his older brother's and younger sister's talents. James is an Auror who rose quickly through the ranks and now fights alongside their father, and Lily is a professional Quidditch player whose matches turn their mother into a red-faced, screaming lunatic. Albus was decent in Arithmancy and little else. He's a finance clerk at St. Mungo's, and he's always coming home with a cold or a flu or a bad case of scrofungulus picked up in the hospital cafeteria. His only consolation is the excuse to miss work, which he hates.

"I'm not interested in the reunion," Albus huffs as he tries to shut the door on Scorpius. He remembers him now, a fussy little Ravenclaw, top marks and Head Boy and all that rubbish. He was a subject of ridicule for a number of reasons -- his wardrobe, Albus recalls now -- but won a small circle of Hufflepuff friends who went to him for help with revision.

"I'm not here about a reunion," Scorpius says. He's surprisingly strong for someone so slight. "I'm here on research, you see. I'm writing a book."

Albus flings the door open and Scorpius trembles in midair for a moment before sprawling fantastically into Albus' foyer. He scrambles up quickly and brushes dirt from his robes as if he's not embarrassed in the least.

"A book about me and my family?" Albus says, preparing to set into him. "As if that market hasn't been flooded already by every opportunistic liar who knows how to hold a quill?"

"No, no!" Scorpius says, laughing. "Nothing about your family. It's about the War, you know, our parents' War, about Dumbledore and Severus Snape and that famous and oft misunderstood partnership."

Albus scoffs in embarrassment at the word partnership. Almost as profligate as the books about his father and his family in general, the Dumbledore biographies all proclaim proudly that he was a closeted gay man for his entire life. Albus wouldn't give a toss either way, except that he has that in common with his namesake, and he always feels like he's being outed along with him.

"Well, speaking of Hogwarts, I barely passed History there," Albus says. "So I wouldn't be much help to your research. Good day."

He motions for Scorpius to leave, but he only stands there in the foyer, smiling obliviously.

"Are you ill?" Scorpius asks. "Is this a bad time?"

"Yes and yes. Please go."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Scorpius says. "It's just that, well, this may sound silly but you're named for both of these men whom I've been researching for the past three years, and I'm really trying to get at every possible angle, you know? So I thought perhaps we could have a chat about them and I might slip some of your quotes into the introduction or conclusion of my book, because you are sort of a famous person yourself, on account of your father --"

"Are you deaf?" Albus asks, his cheeks heating at the mention of being famous on account of his father. If ever anyone should understand that he doesn't like being reminded of that, it's this hopeless dolt, but apparently not. "I told you I'm ill, please leave me alone."

"So when would be a better time?" Scorpius asks, whipping out an Auto-Scheduling Parchment and a worn-looking quill with a once-white feather that has gone gray and dirty. "Tomorrow, perhaps? I have some InstaCure doses in my bag here if you --"

"As if I haven't tried those already!" Albus roars. "Never would be a better time, Mr. Malfoy, so jot that down on your calendar and get off of my property!"

Scorpius stares at him for a moment, and Albus waits for him to dare and try dodging that. At school, Scorpius was always very good at pretending people had not insulted him. Once it had made Albus feel sorry for him, but now the habit has quite lost its charm.

"I'll just go then," Scorpius says, folding up his Parchment. Albus actually begins to feel a bit guilty as he tucks his sad old quill into the pocket of his ridiculous robes. It's not Scorpius' fault that Albus hates being reminded of his namesakes, one a glorious pouf and the other a nasty former Death Eater. He's afraid they've cursed him; he got none of Dumbledore's glory, only his tremendous secret, and none of Snape's cleverness, only his misanthropic temperament.

"Wait," he calls before Scorpius can reach the stairs at the end of the hall. "Listen, I'm sorry. It's just that I'm not feeling well."

"I understand," Scorpius says, brightening already. "Sorry to intrude, I should have sent an owl first, I just got so excited when I found your address, I thought I'd come directly, seeing as we're old school chums --"

"Alright," Albus says sharply, silencing him. He's trying to imagine how on earth Scorpius got the impression they were chums during school, but maybe he's the type who considers anyone he meets twice a close friend. "Let me just clean up a bit -- can you come back around tea time?"

"Absolutely!" Scorpius says, his face clearing of any indication that Albus just took the piss out of him and booted him out of the flat.

When he's gone, Albus goes back inside with a sigh, already regretting his kindness. He takes a shower, tries to tidy up a bit, and puts together a pathetic tea of stale ginger biscuits and jalapeño cheese. By the time Scorpius returns he feels more presentable, though he knows he needn't have bothered; Scorpius was never one to fuss over personal appearance. Scorpius presents him with a greasy bag full of pasties when he allows him inside.

"Those are from downstairs, they're lovely," Scorpius says. "I thought I ought to contribute to tea, seeing as how I'm intruding on you. Oh, look at this lovely china! Is it a Potter family heirloom?"

"It's from Bertha's Bargain Basement in Diagon Alley," Albus says. "Please, sit."

"Thank you again for relenting," Scorpius says, digging a notebook from his bag, and that same weather-beaten quill. "I'm nearly done with the first draft, but I felt a certain perspective was missing, and this is as near as I can come to determining the final piece of the puzzle."

"What made you want to write about those two anyway?" Albus asks.

"Oh, I'm just fascinated by them, like anyone. And I suppose I'm a bit more fixated on the War than most, seeing as how my father and grandparents refuse to speak of it. I'm sure it's the complete opposite in your parents' household, yes?"

"Actually, no," Albus says. "Mum will natter on about the glory days if you let her, but my father cringes at any discussion of himself or his accomplishments. Almost to an embarrassing degree, really."

"Fascinating!" Scorpius says. "I'm sorry, I must admit I'm one of those tiresome fools who sees your family as sort of, well, wizarding royalty. My father would take my head off if he knew! But I imagine he feels the same way, deep down, in the sense that he enjoys any misfortune the Potter family suffers the way gossip mongers do when public figures --"

"So about Dumbledore, then?" Albus says tightly, hating this strain of conversation very much. "And Snape?"

"Ah, yes! Silly me, I'm sorry. Let me look at my notes." Scorpius hums as he glances over his notebook, his eyes darting about busily behind his giant glasses. They are the exact same glasses that he wore at Hogwarts, but otherwise he does look quite different. He's not as sickly pale and has at least cut his hair short enough that it could almost pass for stylish.

"Well, I'll begin with this question," Scorpius says, looking up, his quill poised over his notebook. "What stories about Albus Dumbledore did your father pass down? Any to you specifically, or just to the children in general, or --"

"Apparently Dumbledore was fond of lemon drops," Albus says. "As my father likes to remind us every time we're in a candy shop."

"Mmm-hmm, mmm-hmm," Scorpius says, nodding and scribbling as if this is very interesting indeed. "Anything else?"

Albus struggles to come up with something, but most of what he knows about Dumbledore comes from the jokes that were told about him at Hogwarts. Albus was in his third year when the first in a long series of what might be called the 'gay Dumbledore books' was released. Naturally, Albus suffered along with his namesake for this revelation. He was just beginning to realize that he was gay himself, and the timing could have been better.

"Oh, he had that bird, didn't he?" Albus says, feeling stupid. "Though I'm not sure it was my father who told me that."

"How about Snape?" Scorpius says, narrowing his eyes as if they've come to the real meat of the subject. "Your father must have quite mixed feelings about his memories of him now, yes?"

"He's actually very wistful and melancholy about Snape," Albus says. "He admires him very much. Doesn't really talk about the bad memories."

"So there are bad memories?" Scorpius asks, leaning forward. Albus chews back a smile. Normally he would be infuriated by such prying, but there is something undeniably hilarious about Scorpius. It may just be the glasses that engulf half of his face.

"Are those the same specs you wore at school?" Albus asks. Scorpius starts to write this down and then realizes what he's heard. He adjusts his glasses self-consciously.

"Yes, they are," he says. "They were my mum's. She only wore them for reading, but after she died I had them fitted with lenses for me. I know it's stupid." He laughs and looks at the floor.

"It's not stupid," Albus says, horribly embarrassed for asking. He had forgotten that Scorpius' mother was dead. "I'm so sorry about your mum. I don't think I ever got a chance to tell you -- then."

"Yes, well, it was very long ago," Scorpius says. He's scribbling absently in his notebook now. "I think that's why I still wear these things. To keep her memory close as the years go by."

"It was during second year, wasn't it?" Albus knows he shouldn't be pressing the subject, but it's coming back to him now. Scorpius was pulled out of school for three weeks. He came back as cheerful as ever, but Albus only saw him from afar.

"Yes," Scorpius says. "This was her quill, too, actually. Oh, I'm sorry, listen to me, talking about myself --"

"I don't mind," Albus says, and suddenly it occurs to him that Scorpius is the first visitor he's had since he moved into this flat almost a year ago. All of his social life is spent at his parents' house and the hospital cafeteria. He has a few friends at work, but nobody he actually wants to see on the weekends. He hasn't had a boyfriend since a disastrous affair with an American Muggle during his gap year, and it would be a stretch, perhaps, to have called him a boyfriend.

"Anyway," Scorpius says, looking up from his notebook. "How did it feel to, um, to carry the legacy of your names through the halls of Hogwarts?"

"Potter was the name that gave me the most trouble."

Scorpius smiles. "I might have guessed," he says. "Or I suppose I knew that. Say, have you ever seen the portrait of Dumbledore?"

"I've tried to avoid it. To be honest, I'm a bit intimidated by the whole -- by those names. Dumbledore's in particular."

"Oh, I bet," Scorpius says, writing furiously. "He's basically my hero, he was so amazing. And me being gay, you know. He was closeted, but he's still an idol."

Albus takes a moment to digest this, and feels his cheeks prickle with heat. He's not surprised to learn this about Scorpius, but it's strange to hear someone say so out loud, without fear.

"I'm actually gay myself," Albus says without stopping to think. "But don't put that in the book."

"I won't," Scorpius says, and he smiles as if he's not surprised, either. "It's hard," he says, and for some reason Albus feels those two words shoot through his cock. It's hard. Scorpius wouldn't be bad looking without the glasses. He remembers having that thought back at Hogwarts, actually, sometime during third year.

"Hard?" Albus says. He shifts in his seat.

"Oh, you know. Wizarding society's so damn old-fashioned about it. Everyone is expected to marry someone of the opposite sex after gap year and have lots of babies, and anyone who doesn't isn't exactly run out of town with pitchforks but is always looked at askance, you know what I mean? You'll laugh, but I actually dated a Muggle man once, mostly because he was the only person I'd ever met who was actually out. It was a complete disaster, of course."

"I dated a Muggle, too!" Albus blurts. He can't believe he's talking about this and that the world isn't ending. He's never even considered breathing a word of it to anyone before, and his heart is racing, but not uncomfortably. "It was horrible. Just another way to be in the closet."

"Exactly!" Scorpius says, practically springing up from his seat with empathy. "Gosh, Albus," he says, sinking back down. "It's a shame we weren't friends at Hogwarts. I didn't have anyone there whom I could really, you know. Talk to."

"Me either," Albus says, and for some reason his eyes sting a bit, but he's able to blink it away. They stare at each other for awhile like they've suddenly remembered something that they both forgot to do, then they look away, Albus scratching the back of his neck and Scorpius writing something down, though they've come a long way from the subject of Dumbledore and Snape.

"Sometimes I think my parents should have sent me to another school," Scorpius says. "Where I'd have been less infamous. But Hogwarts had the best educational opportunities."

"At least you made use of them," Albus says.

"Well." Scorpius presses his lips together. "Maybe. It's a bit of a risk, all the time I've put into researching and writing this book, and there's no guarantee it will sell. In the meantime I'm living on an allowance from my father, which is so humiliating. He's growing weary of my literary ambitions, actually. He wanted me to be somebody big at the Ministry, you know, as revenge, or proof that the Malfoys can function in polite society, or what have you."

"Tell me about it," Albus says bitterly. "My parents never put any pressure on any of us, beyond, you know, existing, but my brother and sister went ahead and exceeded expectations anyway. And I don't feel like I've really done that bad for myself, honestly -- my cousin Fred got expelled from Hogwarts for using magic outside of school and now he sells newspapers at King's Cross -- but I'm not them, you know? You're so lucky you're an only child."

"Not so! Particularly after Mum died, it was so lonely. But I'll admit it would be horrible to have some spectacular siblings I felt I had to live up to."

"Oh, rubbish, what would you care, you're already spectacular yourself," Albus hears himself say, and suddenly he begins to wonder if he accidentally dropped a truth serum into his fever-reducing potion. He's never felt like this before, like he can say what he wants and it won't come back to haunt him. "I mean," he stammers. "You know, at school, you were always winning awards --"

"Academic prizes!" Scorpius says. "Let me tell you what they're good for after school: sitting mournfully in your father's study and wearing thin from all his wistful polishing. I was offered positions after school, of course, but it was nothing I wanted. The Ministry culture was never for me."

"Me either," Albus says, trying not to grin too widely or bounce in his seat like a dog who's excited to suddenly have company. "I saw what it did to my parents' marriage, with my father always away, and now I'm seeing my brother go through the same strain with his wife."

"Oh, I can imagine! My grandfather was heavily involved with the Ministry, you know, during the bad years, and after the War my grandparents barely knew each other. I think they were a bit disappointed to be left alone together rather than face a more traditional incarceration for their crimes."

"God, it does seem glamorous, to have former felons for relatives," Albus says before he can stop himself, and Scorpius laughs.

"Yes, that's rather the whole family, isn't it? Mum and I were the only non-felons, now it's just me among the wolves. Oh, but it isn't that way at all, not glamorous at least, there's just this heavy cloud of shame hanging over all of us. I could say something naive about how it must be fabulous being raised by famous heroes, but I'm sure you'll correct me."

Albus does correct him, and they go on talking until the sun is long gone and their stomachs are rumbling with hunger. They lament their famous families, tell stories about old classmates at Hogwarts, and laugh with delight at the fate of the sadistic DADA professor who taught while they were at school. Apparently he was arrested for having an affair with a student just a few years back. The fact that this student was male is funny only because of the pointed harassment their professor would level at Scorpius and certain other boys when their wrist flicks were too "dainty."

"Dainty still gets the job done," Scorpius says, and Albus, who moved over to join him on the sofa during a much more serious discussion of the loss of their virginities -- slightly traumatic for both of them -- nearly falls onto him with laughter.

"We should probably eat something," Albus says, wiping at his eyes. His cheeks hurt from all the laughing and smiling he's done in the past three hours. "I would cook something for you but all I've got is some pasta and coffee creamer."

"I actually might be able to do something with that," Scorpius says, stretching his long arms over his head. Albus allows his eyes to wander a bit, down to the skin that peeks out from under Scorpius' sweater. "Let's see -- have you got any cheese beyond the spicy stuff we ate with tea?"

"No, I haven't," Albus says, feeling dreadfully regretful about this. He doesn't want Scorpius to leave, and doesn't want to be presumptuous enough to invite himself out to eat with him. "But there's that little shop downstairs."

"Ah, yes! They did look like they had some nice cheeses and things. Are they still open?"

Albus prays that they are. He and Scorpius walk downstairs, and as they do he notices that his flu or cold or whatever the hell's been bothering him hasn't really interfered for the last few hours. His eyes still feel a bit sore and his throat could do with a hot toddy or two, but generally he feels a lot better.

In the shop downstairs Scorpius finds a hard, crusty-looking cheese that he deems acceptable for the recipe he has in mind, and he picks up some other goodies as well, including a bottle of wine and some fancy chocolates. Albus never treats himself to anything from this little shop, and he wonders why as he watches Scorpius snatch up delicious-looking items. He hasn't really treated himself to much of anything in the past few years, come to think of it.

"This is a very basic recipe," Scorpius says when they're back in Albus' flat. Scorpius is chopping garlic and Albus is drinking wine, watching him work. When Scorpius' glasses slip down his nose Albus reaches over to gently push them up for him.

"Thank you!" Scorpius says each time, as if he can't believe he's been extended this kindness.

Dinner is surprisingly good, given Albus' limited kitchen supplies. It's some type of creamy pasta, and Scorpius even managed to work in a bag of frozen peas he found in Albus' icebox, previously used only as a cold compress for his headaches. After eating they retire to the couch with the remainder of the wine, and Albus flips through Scorpius' notes on Dumbledore and Snape while Scorpius watches with sleepy interest.

"I feel like I haven't told you much," Albus says. He's actually searching through the notebook for the notes Scorpius took down on him, hoping he wrote something like, Nice eyes, just as I remember them, or perhaps he's written Mr. Scorpius Potter in cursive script along the margins.

"Well, have you got anything more to tell?" Scorpius asks. He sets his wine glass on Albus' dented coffee table and settles back on the sofa. Albus wonders what time it is. It's got to be getting close to midnight, but he doesn't want Scorpius to go.

"I think about what it was like, sometimes," Albus says, tracing a finger over Scorpius' handwriting in the notebook. It's very small but full of sharp edges, not dainty at all. "You know, for Snape to offer himself as Dumbledore's spy. It must have been very humbling to come to him like that. I wonder what he really thought of the old man. Did he resent him? Obviously he appreciated his trust, it saved him from Azkaban, but apparently he was in love with my grandmother all along, so I wonder what his true feelings on Dumbledore even were. Did he just see him as this sort of obstacle, a wizened old reminder of the mistakes he'd made, a kind of judge who tolerated him out of necessity? Or did he find him lovable and gracious like everybody else?"

Albus realizes he's been talking for quite awhile, and glances over at Scorpius. As he shifts on the sofa cushions, Scorpius' head slides down to rest on his shoulder. He's asleep, his glasses crooked and his mouth slightly open. His hair smells wonderful, and Albus turns until he can feel the soft fluff of it under his nose.

"Hey," Albus whispers after he's enjoyed this posture for a few minutes, Scorpius sinking onto him further as he attempts to get comfortable, still asleep. Albus doesn't want to wake him, but his glasses are digging into Albus' shoulder, so he carefully tries to extract them. Scorpius moans in his sleep, and Albus' cock takes notice, the sound digging into him the way the warm weight of Scorpius' body has, pulling some long unused part of him open.

"Oh," Scorpius says softly. He sits up and adjusts his glasses, blinks behind them. "I'm sorry." He glances at Albus nervously. "I shouldn't have wine, it always makes me nod off like an old woman."

"I don't mind," Albus says, curling his hands into fists so they'll stop shaking. Scorpius takes his glasses off and rubs at his eyes, and Albus wants to weep when he puts them back on. He wants the glasses removed along with everything else, and he can't remember ever feeling this way before, desperate to undress someone. Usually nakedness is just an awkward component of getting things done, but he's fascinated by Scorpius, wants to see every hidden corner of him.

"I suppose I should go," Scorpius says, yawning. "I've already invited myself for dinner."

"Don't be ridiculous. You cooked for me, I loved it." Albus can't seem to stop being honest. He doesn't really want to, actually.

"Oh." Scorpius smiles. He leans back onto the sofa and folds his hands over his stomach. "Thank you. I'm glad."

Albus falls on him then, before he can lose his nerve. He cups Scorpius' face and kisses him on the lips, then pulls back to check and make sure he's done the right thing. Scorpius is still smiling, still sleepy and warm and pressed against him.

"I liked you," Scorpius says, reaching around Albus' back to pull him closer. "In school. It was kind of a load of bollocks, me coming here to talk to you about the book."

"And I shouted at you," Albus says, stroking Scorpius' cheek. "I'm horrible."

"No," Scorpius says. "You're just like me, only you're more honest."

"Cynical, I think, is the word," Albus says. He kisses the bridge of Scorpius' nose, just over his glasses. He wants to kiss him everywhere, and perhaps Scorpius will actually allow it. It should feel more miraculous, he thinks, more impossible, but it's like something he's always known would happen, the thing he's been waiting for.

"I'd hoped you were -- like me in another way, too," Scorpius says. "I remember you sneaking looks at Matthew Downy during Divination class, like you wanted his face to appear in your crystal ball."

"Saw that, did you?" Albus snickers at the memory. He can hardly recall Matthew's face now, but he does remember the day when he gave Albus a piece of chewing gum, an artifact Albus treasured for months.

"Of course I did." Scorpius scoots closer, until he's practically in Albus' lap. "You were my crush. I was devastated by every long look you gave to somebody else."

Albus wants to ask why on earth Scorpius would fixate on him of all people; even if he's got a bit of a Potter fascination, James is far more dashing and widely considered to be better looking. But he thinks that line of questioning would spoil the moment, and anyway he's gone long enough without kissing Scorpius, so he does, mouth open, breath hot, hands in his hair, and Scorpius straddles his lap as if he knew they would fit together like button snaps.

From then on there's a lot of scrambling and panting and flinging away of clothes, and Albus was planning on savoring his first glimpses of Scorpius' chest and thighs and bare back, but it's been a very long time since he's touched someone like this, and Scorpius is a streak of nervous energy in his hands, licking his ears and grinding against him, never sitting still long enough to be properly admired. It isn't until Albus is inside Scorpius, leaning over him and trying desperately to make himself last so he can stay just where he is for as long as can, in grateful disbelief at this sudden turn his life has taken, when he really has a chance to take him in. Scorpius' face is flushed, his glasses surrendered to the coffee table, his eyelids heavy and his mouth wet from Albus' kisses.

When Albus gives in and moves into him with what he knows will be the final thrust, his orgasm already teetering at the aching brink, Scorpius says his name in a happy sigh, and after twenty-seven years of resenting it, ducking it, and generally feeling disconnected from it, Albus is so glad that name belongs to him.