FIC: On the Beach [PG-13]
Author: chantefable
Title: On the Beach
Pairing(s): Albus Potter/Scorpius Malfoy
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: none
Word Count: ~2900
Summary: A Curse-Breaker and an Unspeakable go to the beach...
Prompt: #15 (Submitted by silenceberry)
Notes: This is my first attempt at something approaching a domestic fic. And look, I even wrote dialogue. I must be under a spell. Many thanks to my brilliant beta, bethbethbeth!
On the Beach
"I hate children."
Albus flips the pages of Transfiguration Today with a little bit more force than is strictly necessarily, especially considering the fact that the newspaper is alone and unarmed. With mild fascination, Scorpius watches its yellow pages quiver and attempt to shrink in Albus' ink-stained hands.
"I really do," Albus says, huffing and smoothing out the pages with vehemence.
Transfiguration Today is so doomed. Scorpius can swear it rustles at him reproachfully, but he ignores the paper's plight and busies himself with the picnic basket.
"Really," he says, poking his wand at the salmon sandwiches and waiting for them to unwrap themselves. "And why, pray tell me, is that?"
"They make noise," Albus grits out, staring at a little girl in an oversized Appleby Arrows jersey over the edge of his newspaper.
Scorpius cocks his head. The girl is about five years old. For the past twenty minutes or so, she has been building what Scorpius assumes is meant to be an Art Nouveau sandcastle. Apparently, this task requires unique diligence and concentration, for the girl is performing ritual manipulations with her red plastic shovel in absolute silence. (Wise choice, Scorpius thinks, considering that she is chewing on something like three inches of her own pigtail.)
"She has not said a word."
Albus puts down the paper and looks at him like Scorpius has just said that Bugbears fly. "She shovels."
Scorpius rolls his eyes and holds out his hand. The sandwich Levitates and smacks heavily into his palm. "She's fifty feet away."
"She's a barbarian."
Scorpius closes his eyes and bites into his sandwich, although at this point, he would much rather bite into Albus' throat. Having to magic chunks of his own artery back into place would at least give the grumpy bugger something to do. And Scorpius would be able to enjoy at least fifteen minutes of his holiday.
Albus mutters something about transubstantial performance of coalescing magical subparticles and Scorpius sighs.
Make it seven minutes. Albus is too good at what he does.
Scorpius eyes the delicately yellow expanse of the beach, peppered with low, vibrantly green bushes here and there. The sea is smooth and muted blue, sighing softly when the cream-crusted waves lick the shore.
It's a bloody beautiful place.
And Albus is acting like Scorpius has dragged him to the Malfoy family tomb for an ambient tea party.
When Scorpius suggested they go on holiday together, he honestly had no idea that it would go like that. Sure, he knew that Albus got grouchy whenever he was more than one direct Apparition away from the office, but they both knew that the Unspeakable service was not, in fact, going to collapse and destroy the world in the process if Albus stepped away from his precious super secret cauldrons and other crap.
Albus is good - oh, fine, he is bloody brilliant - but not brilliant enough to be irreplaceable. They can do without him at the Ministry for two weeks.
Scorpius chews sullenly, the taste of pepper and parsley exploding on his tongue. It's not like he forced Albus to come, either. They are not attached at the hip, for Merlin's sake. They have their own friends (Lysander Scamander is a nice enough fellow, but his Magizoology babble puts Scorpius to sleep), they have their own interests (Scorpius has been long resigned to the fact that Albus is indifferent to the sublime art of Muggle lock-picking).
But no, Albus bloody insisted they go together, and now he is doing everything to make Scorpius' life miserable: fussing over stupid details, making scathing comments about everything and everyone, bemoaning the state of his suspended projects and the incompetence of his colleagues, and radiating so much discontent every second of the day that Scorpius finds himself morbidly expecting Albus' head to explode from all those negative thoughts.
Sometimes Scorpius almost believes that Albus is just trying to be the sole focus of Scorpius' attention - with all the elegance and strategic subtlety of a thirteen year old imp worried that their beau might carry someone else's books to class. That look Albus gave the waitress who leaned in to put the scrambled eggs in front of Scorpius? Incinerating was the only word for it.
But really, all the emotionally constipated Potter upbringing aside, Scorpius cannot in good conscience believe that a grown, gorgeous man would be reduced to pulling Scorpius' pigtails over imaginary threats.
When has Scorpius ever given him a reason to be so tense?
It's not like it would kill Albus to relax and actually be happy about it for a moment, but no, he is acting like sitting on the beach on a warm, sunny, windless summer day is a chore comparable to cleaning chamber pots at the Hog's Head.
'Well,' Scorpius thinks swallowing the last of his sandwich, 'I need a holiday. Which is why I took one, and I'm going to enjoy it, and if someone insists on being an unspeakable prick about it, they can damn well entertain themselves.'
Having made this laudable resolution, Scorpius jumps to his feet and stretches (Albus grumbles something about Scorpius blocking out the sun). In one quick motion, Scorpius peels off his threadbare t-shirt and jogs down to the water.
Scorpius chooses the jagged stretch of firm, moist sand as his track and runs. He nods at the mother of the little sand architect, a short dark-haired witch in glittering sunglasses and a blue-and-silver tankini. She gives Scorpius a wave and arches back into her yoga pose.
It's a nice run; the exercise makes Scorpius' muscles sing with coiled energy and the air is sweet and soothing on his exposed skin. There aren't many people on the beach; Scorpius sees roughly one family every five minutes. Just enough company to feel pleasantly alone, not lost and lonely. No one minds him, anyway, and it suits Scorpius just fine.
Soon Scorpius' skin begins to glisten with sweat. There's a hint of a tickling sensation in his shoulders and forearms. Scorpius mumbles a wandless Sun-blocking spell. He doesn't need his grandmother's fashion advice to figure out that red, peeling off skin does not go very well with large tattoos.
Running always makes Scorpius feel better: more focused, more alert. Ready to deal with whatever nonsense life throws at him. So it is just a coincidence that at this moment, running gets him physically away from Albus and his seething. Scorpius is definitely not running away. He is not a coward; one does not manage the likes of Scorpius' yearly income in the curse-breaking business by being a shrinking violet.
The waves get stronger and creep further onto the shore. Now, instead of a dull thud, Scorpius' feet make a squelching noise when they hit the sand. Scorpius keeps up his speed, enjoying the warmth that is spreading through his body.
Not that Scorpius was counting on enjoying this particular kind of warmth when they booked the bloody Portkey. No, he had actually managed to delude himself with notions of a proper romantic holiday. Walks and talks and maybe some dancing. (He had even been willing to suffer through some Celestina Warbeck's ballads for Albus' sake.)
But clearly, Disappointment was Scorpius personal curse, the one that was impossible to break. Yes, disappointment plagued him every step of the way. When Scorpius was eleven years old, he dreamed he would be Sorted into Slytherin and then he would show the world how smart and brilliant and resourceful his family's house was.
The moronic hat put him in Hufflepuff.
Disappointment.
Then Scorpius applied himself to studying Ancient Runes, Astronomy, and History of Magic, determined to make a career in Magical Law.
He failed his Divination OWL and had to say good-bye to Law. Who knew that reading bloody tea-leaves was so essential to wizarding justice?
Disappointment.
Scorpius got over himself and considered his options. The Auror programme began to look tempting, so he sat his NEWTs in Potions and Transfiguration and Defense and whatnot, and he passed with flying colours, and he got into the Auror programme, and his year was mentored by Harry Potter personally, and Scorpius was top of the class -
- and he bloody hated every second of it. Being an Auror sucked Thestral's balls.
Major. Fucking. Disappointment.
Naturally, Scorpius wasn't going to brood and drown himself in his own snot over the fact that he slaved through Hogwarts and got 'Outstanding' in all of his NEWT subjects only to discover that the gnomes were just as bitchy on the other side of the garden fence. So he wasn't made for Magical Law Enforcement. Big deal.
Scorpius was smart and good with his hands, and when he set himself a goal, he was persistent. That's the Hufflepuff way. Scorpius convinced Mr William Weasley of Delacour & Weasley Curse-Breaking to take him on as an apprentice, learned the ropes, got stuck in enchanted carnivorous caves a couple times, got his eyebrows singed by malevolent heirloom teakettles, and ended up a certified Curse-Breaker. One venom-spitting vanity table after another, Scorpius worked his way to a well-paid job, a reputation, and a cosy house in Sturminster Newton.
Scorpius likes to think that he is not, in fact, a dreadful dreamer and idealist, but deep down he has to admit that he is a tad disappointed that these days, curse-breaking does not entail more glamorous dragon-wrestling and damsels in distress swooning at his feet.
And Scorpius certainly is very much disappointed that his own boyfriend does not find him dashing or interesting enough not to stick his nose into blueprints or other such rot when they are left alone for longer than five minutes.
Well, when compared to international Veritaserum smuggling conspiracies and attempts to defy the Second Principal Exception to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration, Scorpius probably doesn't measure up.
Crack!
Startled, Scorpius comes to a halt, inhaling deeply. Albus is standing not two feet away from him, just where the sound of Apparition warned he would be. (And what is that even supposed to mean, Albus always Apparates and Disapparates soundlessly. He can't be ill now, can he?) But of course, Albus offers no explanation, just shoves his hands into his pockets sullenly and frowns at Scorpius.
"You have been gone forever."
Oh, honestly, it's just so Albus. "Where on earth would I go?" Scorpius asks, pointing at the nearly empty beach with one swooping gesture.
"You could have been eaten by a Kraken."
"A Kraken."
Albus nods.
"Albus, we're in Llanbedrog. There are no Krakens here."
"It's an experimental Kraken. I hear it has just been released in these waters." Albus is completely deadpan, as always, but there's a telltale glitter in his eyes and Scorpius can feel the corners of his own mouth twitching.
"I see." Scorpius rests his hands on his hips and takes a deep breath. "Well, it was very thoughtful of you to warn me. I do hope you won't have any problems at the Ministry for giving away the secrets of your inbred monsters to random strangers."
Albus huffs. "Oh, dammit, you are such a twit." Albus pulls a piece of lint out of his pocket and Transfigures it into a button-down with a flourish. "Cover up."
Scorpius stares at the crisp white button-down for a moment - it's marvelous work, and Albus always makes it look so easy - and apparently, it's one moment too long because Albus grits his teeth and the shirt gets rumpled in his fist before Scorpius can reach out.
"Oh, for Merlin's sake, you're worse than a pregnant Hippogriff mare." Scorpius tugs the shirt out of Albus' hands and pulls it on. He can see Albus' shoulders relaxing the tiniest bit once he gets his arms in the sleeves. "You didn't have to come, you know."
"No, you really took your time and, well, sending a Patronus seemed a bit pretentious in the circumstances."
"I mean here." Albus frowns and Scorpius ploughs on, buttoning his shirt in the process. "On holiday. I mean, you obviously hate it, and I just wanted to say that you didn't have to take a holiday just because I was taking one. I just thought it would be nice, but you could have mentioned it if the idea was so loathsome to you. It's not like we're bound to be together all the time-"
Scorpius does up the last button and looks up, only to find Albus glaring at him, stiff and obviously livid.
"I am not punching you just because I happen to like your face. But I want you to know that I'm very, very tempted."
"Well, that's just the problem. You aren't," Scorpius says under his breath.
"I beg your pardon?"
Scorpius crosses his arms over his chest. In for a Knut, in for a Galleon. "You're not tempted. By me. Hell, you're obviously bored with me, and as much as it pains me to admit it, if my company is so dull you prefer an issue of Transfiguration Today from last March, I wonder why you even bothered coming."
Albus blinks and, when Scorpius does not continue, pinches the bridge of his nose. "Are we done exploring your inner Hufflepuff for today? Any time you decide to switch your brain on would be lovely."
Slytherin git. Scorpius refuses to rise to the bait. "I'd like to know why you were so adamant about coming with me if you cannot enjoy yourself for five seconds. And by 'enjoyment' I don't mean making waitresses cry because your pumpkin juice supposedly has mango in it."
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe I wanted to go on holiday with you because I hardly ever see you anymore, and I mean that literally, because someone likes to fuck in the dark when they actually deign to stop by-"
"Oh, is that what this is all about?"
"No, that's not what this is about; you bloody know what this is about!" Albus gestures desperately.
Scorpius resists the urge to roll his eyes. Bloody Slytherins and their endless emotional retardation. Oh, and let's not forget the infamous Potteresque verbosity and openness. Really, why is Scorpius surprised that this relationship is going to the Grims?
They spend a moment looking at each other, Scorpius noting the rising flush in Albus' cheeks and the way he is nibbling nervously on his lower lip, Albus staring at - probably at Scorpius' mouth, but one cannot be sure.
"If you are implying that I am not happy with the state of our relationship, then you are correct," Albus says at last. "In the sense that I am not happy that we see so little of each other. We both have to work, and it's important for both of us, but when I say that we are together, I actually mean that we are together and not that this is a convenient arrangement to assure my mother that I am not a moping confirmed bachelor and get fantastic sex on a fairly regular basis. And I am certainly not happy that despite the fact that we are together, we spend most of our time apart, and while I am stuck underground with dried Augurey brains to keep me company, you are out there somewhere being you and saving people from their demonic brooms and belly-slashing kitchenware. You present, quite objectively, a nearly irresistible temptation, and people are only human, after all, and you and I, as I've mentioned, hardly ever see each other anymore, and I really think it should be bloody obvious what this is about, how am I supposed to deal with this? Oh my God, listen to me, you have turned me into a complete and utter Hufflepuff. Someone should have warned me it's an STD."
Scorpius blinks. It's really quite adorable when Albus is blushing. Especially when he is pretending that he's not.
"So basically, what you're saying is you only trust me as far as you can throw me, and you thought that if left to my own devices I would put every effort into procuring a splendid gift of antlers for you."
"No," Albus says petulantly. "Of course I trust you. I don't trust all those other people swooning at your feet."
Scorpius arches an eyebrow. "Somehow I don't see any people swooning at my feet."
"That's because you are a Hufflepuff," Albus says flatly.
"Ah."
"A blind, oblivious Hufflepuff."
"I understand oblivious, but blind?"
"Well, since I know for a fact that you are not an idiot, you are obviously unable to see yourself in a mirror. Otherwise you would have been able to draw some valuable conclusions."
Scorpius brightens up a little. "It's the serpent tattoo, isn't it? I knew you thought it was hot."
Albus chuckles. "I take it back, you are an idiot. I am doomed for life." He grins and jerks his head in the direction of the path that leads off the beach.
Scorpius rather enjoys the warm feeling that settles in his stomach. "Well, what is it then?"
"It's the man with the serpent tattoo, now stop fishing for compliments or-"
"Let me guess, you will call the Kraken."
"We have not yet walked that far away from the water and I'll have you know I'm a very skilled Legilimens."
"Duly noted."
They amble down the path in silence for a while, their shoulders brushing, until Albus suddenly stops and turns to face Scorpius, so close that the tips of their noses are touching.
"There really was mango in my pumpkin juice this morning."
"Oh, do shut up."
They kiss.
Title: On the Beach
Pairing(s): Albus Potter/Scorpius Malfoy
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: none
Word Count: ~2900
Summary: A Curse-Breaker and an Unspeakable go to the beach...
Prompt: #15 (Submitted by silenceberry)
Notes: This is my first attempt at something approaching a domestic fic. And look, I even wrote dialogue. I must be under a spell. Many thanks to my brilliant beta, bethbethbeth!
On the Beach
"I hate children."
Albus flips the pages of Transfiguration Today with a little bit more force than is strictly necessarily, especially considering the fact that the newspaper is alone and unarmed. With mild fascination, Scorpius watches its yellow pages quiver and attempt to shrink in Albus' ink-stained hands.
"I really do," Albus says, huffing and smoothing out the pages with vehemence.
Transfiguration Today is so doomed. Scorpius can swear it rustles at him reproachfully, but he ignores the paper's plight and busies himself with the picnic basket.
"Really," he says, poking his wand at the salmon sandwiches and waiting for them to unwrap themselves. "And why, pray tell me, is that?"
"They make noise," Albus grits out, staring at a little girl in an oversized Appleby Arrows jersey over the edge of his newspaper.
Scorpius cocks his head. The girl is about five years old. For the past twenty minutes or so, she has been building what Scorpius assumes is meant to be an Art Nouveau sandcastle. Apparently, this task requires unique diligence and concentration, for the girl is performing ritual manipulations with her red plastic shovel in absolute silence. (Wise choice, Scorpius thinks, considering that she is chewing on something like three inches of her own pigtail.)
"She has not said a word."
Albus puts down the paper and looks at him like Scorpius has just said that Bugbears fly. "She shovels."
Scorpius rolls his eyes and holds out his hand. The sandwich Levitates and smacks heavily into his palm. "She's fifty feet away."
"She's a barbarian."
Scorpius closes his eyes and bites into his sandwich, although at this point, he would much rather bite into Albus' throat. Having to magic chunks of his own artery back into place would at least give the grumpy bugger something to do. And Scorpius would be able to enjoy at least fifteen minutes of his holiday.
Albus mutters something about transubstantial performance of coalescing magical subparticles and Scorpius sighs.
Make it seven minutes. Albus is too good at what he does.
Scorpius eyes the delicately yellow expanse of the beach, peppered with low, vibrantly green bushes here and there. The sea is smooth and muted blue, sighing softly when the cream-crusted waves lick the shore.
It's a bloody beautiful place.
And Albus is acting like Scorpius has dragged him to the Malfoy family tomb for an ambient tea party.
When Scorpius suggested they go on holiday together, he honestly had no idea that it would go like that. Sure, he knew that Albus got grouchy whenever he was more than one direct Apparition away from the office, but they both knew that the Unspeakable service was not, in fact, going to collapse and destroy the world in the process if Albus stepped away from his precious super secret cauldrons and other crap.
Albus is good - oh, fine, he is bloody brilliant - but not brilliant enough to be irreplaceable. They can do without him at the Ministry for two weeks.
Scorpius chews sullenly, the taste of pepper and parsley exploding on his tongue. It's not like he forced Albus to come, either. They are not attached at the hip, for Merlin's sake. They have their own friends (Lysander Scamander is a nice enough fellow, but his Magizoology babble puts Scorpius to sleep), they have their own interests (Scorpius has been long resigned to the fact that Albus is indifferent to the sublime art of Muggle lock-picking).
But no, Albus bloody insisted they go together, and now he is doing everything to make Scorpius' life miserable: fussing over stupid details, making scathing comments about everything and everyone, bemoaning the state of his suspended projects and the incompetence of his colleagues, and radiating so much discontent every second of the day that Scorpius finds himself morbidly expecting Albus' head to explode from all those negative thoughts.
Sometimes Scorpius almost believes that Albus is just trying to be the sole focus of Scorpius' attention - with all the elegance and strategic subtlety of a thirteen year old imp worried that their beau might carry someone else's books to class. That look Albus gave the waitress who leaned in to put the scrambled eggs in front of Scorpius? Incinerating was the only word for it.
But really, all the emotionally constipated Potter upbringing aside, Scorpius cannot in good conscience believe that a grown, gorgeous man would be reduced to pulling Scorpius' pigtails over imaginary threats.
When has Scorpius ever given him a reason to be so tense?
It's not like it would kill Albus to relax and actually be happy about it for a moment, but no, he is acting like sitting on the beach on a warm, sunny, windless summer day is a chore comparable to cleaning chamber pots at the Hog's Head.
'Well,' Scorpius thinks swallowing the last of his sandwich, 'I need a holiday. Which is why I took one, and I'm going to enjoy it, and if someone insists on being an unspeakable prick about it, they can damn well entertain themselves.'
Having made this laudable resolution, Scorpius jumps to his feet and stretches (Albus grumbles something about Scorpius blocking out the sun). In one quick motion, Scorpius peels off his threadbare t-shirt and jogs down to the water.
Scorpius chooses the jagged stretch of firm, moist sand as his track and runs. He nods at the mother of the little sand architect, a short dark-haired witch in glittering sunglasses and a blue-and-silver tankini. She gives Scorpius a wave and arches back into her yoga pose.
It's a nice run; the exercise makes Scorpius' muscles sing with coiled energy and the air is sweet and soothing on his exposed skin. There aren't many people on the beach; Scorpius sees roughly one family every five minutes. Just enough company to feel pleasantly alone, not lost and lonely. No one minds him, anyway, and it suits Scorpius just fine.
Soon Scorpius' skin begins to glisten with sweat. There's a hint of a tickling sensation in his shoulders and forearms. Scorpius mumbles a wandless Sun-blocking spell. He doesn't need his grandmother's fashion advice to figure out that red, peeling off skin does not go very well with large tattoos.
Running always makes Scorpius feel better: more focused, more alert. Ready to deal with whatever nonsense life throws at him. So it is just a coincidence that at this moment, running gets him physically away from Albus and his seething. Scorpius is definitely not running away. He is not a coward; one does not manage the likes of Scorpius' yearly income in the curse-breaking business by being a shrinking violet.
The waves get stronger and creep further onto the shore. Now, instead of a dull thud, Scorpius' feet make a squelching noise when they hit the sand. Scorpius keeps up his speed, enjoying the warmth that is spreading through his body.
Not that Scorpius was counting on enjoying this particular kind of warmth when they booked the bloody Portkey. No, he had actually managed to delude himself with notions of a proper romantic holiday. Walks and talks and maybe some dancing. (He had even been willing to suffer through some Celestina Warbeck's ballads for Albus' sake.)
But clearly, Disappointment was Scorpius personal curse, the one that was impossible to break. Yes, disappointment plagued him every step of the way. When Scorpius was eleven years old, he dreamed he would be Sorted into Slytherin and then he would show the world how smart and brilliant and resourceful his family's house was.
The moronic hat put him in Hufflepuff.
Disappointment.
Then Scorpius applied himself to studying Ancient Runes, Astronomy, and History of Magic, determined to make a career in Magical Law.
He failed his Divination OWL and had to say good-bye to Law. Who knew that reading bloody tea-leaves was so essential to wizarding justice?
Disappointment.
Scorpius got over himself and considered his options. The Auror programme began to look tempting, so he sat his NEWTs in Potions and Transfiguration and Defense and whatnot, and he passed with flying colours, and he got into the Auror programme, and his year was mentored by Harry Potter personally, and Scorpius was top of the class -
- and he bloody hated every second of it. Being an Auror sucked Thestral's balls.
Major. Fucking. Disappointment.
Naturally, Scorpius wasn't going to brood and drown himself in his own snot over the fact that he slaved through Hogwarts and got 'Outstanding' in all of his NEWT subjects only to discover that the gnomes were just as bitchy on the other side of the garden fence. So he wasn't made for Magical Law Enforcement. Big deal.
Scorpius was smart and good with his hands, and when he set himself a goal, he was persistent. That's the Hufflepuff way. Scorpius convinced Mr William Weasley of Delacour & Weasley Curse-Breaking to take him on as an apprentice, learned the ropes, got stuck in enchanted carnivorous caves a couple times, got his eyebrows singed by malevolent heirloom teakettles, and ended up a certified Curse-Breaker. One venom-spitting vanity table after another, Scorpius worked his way to a well-paid job, a reputation, and a cosy house in Sturminster Newton.
Scorpius likes to think that he is not, in fact, a dreadful dreamer and idealist, but deep down he has to admit that he is a tad disappointed that these days, curse-breaking does not entail more glamorous dragon-wrestling and damsels in distress swooning at his feet.
And Scorpius certainly is very much disappointed that his own boyfriend does not find him dashing or interesting enough not to stick his nose into blueprints or other such rot when they are left alone for longer than five minutes.
Well, when compared to international Veritaserum smuggling conspiracies and attempts to defy the Second Principal Exception to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration, Scorpius probably doesn't measure up.
Crack!
Startled, Scorpius comes to a halt, inhaling deeply. Albus is standing not two feet away from him, just where the sound of Apparition warned he would be. (And what is that even supposed to mean, Albus always Apparates and Disapparates soundlessly. He can't be ill now, can he?) But of course, Albus offers no explanation, just shoves his hands into his pockets sullenly and frowns at Scorpius.
"You have been gone forever."
Oh, honestly, it's just so Albus. "Where on earth would I go?" Scorpius asks, pointing at the nearly empty beach with one swooping gesture.
"You could have been eaten by a Kraken."
"A Kraken."
Albus nods.
"Albus, we're in Llanbedrog. There are no Krakens here."
"It's an experimental Kraken. I hear it has just been released in these waters." Albus is completely deadpan, as always, but there's a telltale glitter in his eyes and Scorpius can feel the corners of his own mouth twitching.
"I see." Scorpius rests his hands on his hips and takes a deep breath. "Well, it was very thoughtful of you to warn me. I do hope you won't have any problems at the Ministry for giving away the secrets of your inbred monsters to random strangers."
Albus huffs. "Oh, dammit, you are such a twit." Albus pulls a piece of lint out of his pocket and Transfigures it into a button-down with a flourish. "Cover up."
Scorpius stares at the crisp white button-down for a moment - it's marvelous work, and Albus always makes it look so easy - and apparently, it's one moment too long because Albus grits his teeth and the shirt gets rumpled in his fist before Scorpius can reach out.
"Oh, for Merlin's sake, you're worse than a pregnant Hippogriff mare." Scorpius tugs the shirt out of Albus' hands and pulls it on. He can see Albus' shoulders relaxing the tiniest bit once he gets his arms in the sleeves. "You didn't have to come, you know."
"No, you really took your time and, well, sending a Patronus seemed a bit pretentious in the circumstances."
"I mean here." Albus frowns and Scorpius ploughs on, buttoning his shirt in the process. "On holiday. I mean, you obviously hate it, and I just wanted to say that you didn't have to take a holiday just because I was taking one. I just thought it would be nice, but you could have mentioned it if the idea was so loathsome to you. It's not like we're bound to be together all the time-"
Scorpius does up the last button and looks up, only to find Albus glaring at him, stiff and obviously livid.
"I am not punching you just because I happen to like your face. But I want you to know that I'm very, very tempted."
"Well, that's just the problem. You aren't," Scorpius says under his breath.
"I beg your pardon?"
Scorpius crosses his arms over his chest. In for a Knut, in for a Galleon. "You're not tempted. By me. Hell, you're obviously bored with me, and as much as it pains me to admit it, if my company is so dull you prefer an issue of Transfiguration Today from last March, I wonder why you even bothered coming."
Albus blinks and, when Scorpius does not continue, pinches the bridge of his nose. "Are we done exploring your inner Hufflepuff for today? Any time you decide to switch your brain on would be lovely."
Slytherin git. Scorpius refuses to rise to the bait. "I'd like to know why you were so adamant about coming with me if you cannot enjoy yourself for five seconds. And by 'enjoyment' I don't mean making waitresses cry because your pumpkin juice supposedly has mango in it."
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe I wanted to go on holiday with you because I hardly ever see you anymore, and I mean that literally, because someone likes to fuck in the dark when they actually deign to stop by-"
"Oh, is that what this is all about?"
"No, that's not what this is about; you bloody know what this is about!" Albus gestures desperately.
Scorpius resists the urge to roll his eyes. Bloody Slytherins and their endless emotional retardation. Oh, and let's not forget the infamous Potteresque verbosity and openness. Really, why is Scorpius surprised that this relationship is going to the Grims?
They spend a moment looking at each other, Scorpius noting the rising flush in Albus' cheeks and the way he is nibbling nervously on his lower lip, Albus staring at - probably at Scorpius' mouth, but one cannot be sure.
"If you are implying that I am not happy with the state of our relationship, then you are correct," Albus says at last. "In the sense that I am not happy that we see so little of each other. We both have to work, and it's important for both of us, but when I say that we are together, I actually mean that we are together and not that this is a convenient arrangement to assure my mother that I am not a moping confirmed bachelor and get fantastic sex on a fairly regular basis. And I am certainly not happy that despite the fact that we are together, we spend most of our time apart, and while I am stuck underground with dried Augurey brains to keep me company, you are out there somewhere being you and saving people from their demonic brooms and belly-slashing kitchenware. You present, quite objectively, a nearly irresistible temptation, and people are only human, after all, and you and I, as I've mentioned, hardly ever see each other anymore, and I really think it should be bloody obvious what this is about, how am I supposed to deal with this? Oh my God, listen to me, you have turned me into a complete and utter Hufflepuff. Someone should have warned me it's an STD."
Scorpius blinks. It's really quite adorable when Albus is blushing. Especially when he is pretending that he's not.
"So basically, what you're saying is you only trust me as far as you can throw me, and you thought that if left to my own devices I would put every effort into procuring a splendid gift of antlers for you."
"No," Albus says petulantly. "Of course I trust you. I don't trust all those other people swooning at your feet."
Scorpius arches an eyebrow. "Somehow I don't see any people swooning at my feet."
"That's because you are a Hufflepuff," Albus says flatly.
"Ah."
"A blind, oblivious Hufflepuff."
"I understand oblivious, but blind?"
"Well, since I know for a fact that you are not an idiot, you are obviously unable to see yourself in a mirror. Otherwise you would have been able to draw some valuable conclusions."
Scorpius brightens up a little. "It's the serpent tattoo, isn't it? I knew you thought it was hot."
Albus chuckles. "I take it back, you are an idiot. I am doomed for life." He grins and jerks his head in the direction of the path that leads off the beach.
Scorpius rather enjoys the warm feeling that settles in his stomach. "Well, what is it then?"
"It's the man with the serpent tattoo, now stop fishing for compliments or-"
"Let me guess, you will call the Kraken."
"We have not yet walked that far away from the water and I'll have you know I'm a very skilled Legilimens."
"Duly noted."
They amble down the path in silence for a while, their shoulders brushing, until Albus suddenly stops and turns to face Scorpius, so close that the tips of their noses are touching.
"There really was mango in my pumpkin juice this morning."
"Oh, do shut up."
They kiss.