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Garbled Parsletongue	By : WillGirl Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Albus Severus/Scorpius Views: 2903 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I make no claims to Harry Potter, either books or movies, and all rights belong to JKR. No money or other recompense is being made from this story.

Chapter List
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This is a continuation of the events detailed in “The Dangers of Quidditch Captaincy,” and "What They Say About Potioneers," although those pieces by no means need to be read first for this one to be understood.

The Problems with Ill-Fitting Trousers

Albus had to admit, there were definitely both advantages and disadvantages to living in a dormitory. For one thing, all four of his Fifth Year Slytherin housemates were moderately attractive—at least to a horny sixteen-year-old—and two of them were downright hot. However, much as Albus enjoyed watching the other boys change, he dreaded it as well; he was certain that one day, he was going to get caught ogling someone, and he consequently did his best to avoid drinking in the sight of the naked teenage males he was surrounded with. This was annoying, as it was a sight he very much would have liked to spend a great deal of focus on.

He couldn’t even stare at his boyfriend most of them time, for fear of being spotted doing so by one of the others. That was especially difficult, as Scorpius Malfoy was absolutely drop-dead gorgeous.

Scorpius’s hair was always immaculately combed which Albus, with his own ramshackle mop of dark locks, envied intensely. Scor’s hair was pale as moonlight and as fine as cobwebs and Albus loved the feel of running the silky strands between his fingers. He liked running his fingers over every part of Scorpius, actually; every inch of him was pale and perfect and silkenly smooth, from the pale hair on his arms to the slightly darker patch between his legs.

Albus knew that there was absolutely no truth behind any blood-purity nonsense, but he had to admit that he was a fan of the result of the Malfoys’ elegant breeding. It had culminated in Scorpius, and to Albus’s eyes, Scorpius was perfection itself.

He was lean, and pale, and gracefully proportioned with just the right amount of definition to his muscles: sculpted and firm from Quidditch playing, but still sensuously soft and gropeable. Scorpius was fine-boned and delicate as a bird, but with a haughty aristocracy that gave the pointed plains of his pale face a stern strength beneath that dainty illusion of fragility.

His eyes were likewise deceptive: they were a faint gray that should have been colorless and empty, but rather than vague and cloudy they instead glittered as sharply and as brightly as any knife. Scorpius’s eyes were a blade: all icy disdain and scorn, but when they looked at Albus they turned somehow warm. Albus could have wrapped himself up in those icy clouds and stayed there forever, safe within knives that sliced anyone else who glanced their way.

Scorpius had a tendency towards arrogance, and a propensity for sneering, that Albus figured he should probably find deplorable, but he loved it. Scorpius’s prideful nature delighted Albus, who was too self-conscious himself to ever dream of retorting or retaliating to slights the way that Scorpius did—at least not unless his best friend was at his side to encourage and assist.

Of course, Albus liked having Scorpius at his side for any reason...

That was another thing that was both a plus and a minus to sharing a dormitory the way they did: Albus got to sleep with his boyfriend every night, but there were three other boys in the same room. It could be agony, having Scorpius so nearby and yet being unable to do anything about it. It was also nice, to know that Scor was always so close. They had surreptitiously nudged their beds closer, so that they could just reach one another’s fingers if they stretched out in the middle of the night.

Albus didn’t ever really have nightmares any more.

He smiled at Scorpius, then outright grinned. He couldn’t help it, he snickered. Scorpius shot him a dirty look that made Albus laugh harder.

Scorpius had always been a little short for his age, at least when compared to Albus and his weedy Weasley cousins. He had spent probably his whole school career vowing that a growth spurt was coming, that some day he would be as tall as his father and his grandfather. Albus had, in turn, spent those same years teasing Scorpius that he was going to inherit his mother’s less imposing height instead.

It looked like Scorpius might have been right at last, because he had suddenly sprouted, practically overnight. He still wasn’t as tall as Albus, who grew constantly with the steady inevitability of a weed, or a Weasley, but Scorpius was finally inching towards the height that had always eluded him.

Unfortunately, he was doing it without collusion from his clothing. His always impeccably-tailored trousers now hung nearly two inches too short, exposing the graceful turn of his ankles and the tightly-laced, old-fashioned boots that sheathed them. His pale wrists protruded past the edge of his cuff-linked sleeves, although not as far as his legs did. At least he was still as skinny as ever, so he didn’t have to worry about anything being too tight; just too short.

It annoyed Scorpius to no end, which meant that it quite amused Albus. Scor always dressed with absolute deliberation, in the finest styles that were always tailored to fit him to perfection. He was as fussy about his clothing as any girl—well, fussier than most of the girls Albus knew, but then again High Fashion was rarely a Weasley trait. Uncle Bill’s children were the only ones who really cared about fashion over function, and they at least were always impressed by Scorpius’s garb, absurdly old-fashioned though it tended to be.

Old-fashioned, but stylish. The pure-blood community—even if much of it, these days, wasn’t really pure-blooded, and didn't much care if they were, everyone still called them that—they were good at mixing modern style with traditional wizarding garb, and the Malfoys tended to lead that trend. Scorpius was no exception, and now to be caught with ill-fitting clothing left him very disgruntled, just when he should have been elated to have hit his growth spurt at last.

There were less than two weeks until break, when Scorpius could go home and have his parents replace everything he had grown out of with the well-tailored, unnecessarily expensive clothing he was accustomed to, but that was two weeks longer than Scorpius was used to having to wait for something that he wanted. So while everyone else was worrying about their upcoming O.W.L.s and assignments, Scorpius was busy grumbling over his apparel.

He crossed one leg over his knee so that he could try and pull the cloth down over his ankle. It did not, of course, work. The cloth was far too well made to stretch, even when its owner wanted it to. He swore quietly.

Chambray Zabini sneered a rude comment about Scorpius’s unfashionable garb, then trooped out with the others, leaving Albus alone to watch Scor tug unsuccessfully on the hem of his trousers.

“You could just Transfigure them,” Albus offered, not for the first time. “It’s what everyone else does when they grow out mid-year—well, if they notice.”

Scorpius sniffed. “These aren’t Muggle denims,” he drawled disdainfully, “I’m not about to transfigure my clothing like some common slob, thank you very much.”

Albus shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said, trying not to grin. Scor standing on his pride was hilarious, especially when he was trying to look dignified in too-short trousers.

Scorpius abandoned dignity for insult, and stuck his tongue out. Albus snickered, then boldly took advantage of their now-empty dormitory to capture Scor’s tongue for a kiss.

Scorpius immediately stopped fussing with his clothing and dropped his legs so he could arch forward into the embrace. Albus leaned down, bracing his arms on either side of Scor’s waist, and enjoyed the sweet taste of Scorpius on his tongue. He dimly became aware of cool fingers cupping his face, and then of a hand sliding its way up the back of his shirt.

Albus groaned and leaned further into the kiss, then overbalanced and they flopped together onto the bed. The two boys squirmed backwards awkwardly, not wanting to separate even though they were halfway off the edge. They made it eventually, with much laughter and rutching around.

Distantly it occurred to Albus that making out first thing in the morning, in their shared dormitory, with the door unlocked, knowing that at any moment one of their housemates might trot back up from breakfast for something he had forgotten, was the epitome of a bad idea.

But then Scorpius’s leg curved up against his thigh, and he stopped thinking at all.

Much more important was kissing or licking every inch of Scorpius’s face and neck, and nibbling his way down to his collar. Albus tugged Scorpius’s tightly-knotted tie loose so that he could reach down further, nuzzling at his pale collarbone to make Scor groan. Frantic hands fumbled at Albus’s own necktie, although even in this state Scorpius’s fingers were deft enough to get Albus’s collar unbuttoned with almost indecent speed.

Albus tangled his fingers in Scorpius’s silken hair and pressed forward, grinding them both into the plush bedcovers. Scorpius gasped and eased both of his hands under Albus’s shirt, delicately teasing his fingers across the sensitive skin beneath. Albus moaned and all but devoured Scor’s face, snogging him so hard that neither boy could breathe. Now it was Albus's trousers that felt too small.

Over the quiet, panting sounds of desire, they suddenly became aware of thundering footsteps. The boys froze, practically petrified in each other’s arms. The footsteps went past, their owner apparently a Seventh Year student judging from the dormitory that he went into. They heard the sounds of a door banging open, and then a trunk being quickly ransacked; the door slammed shut again, and the footsteps trooped past and away, and they started breathing again.

Albus went limp with relief and rolled off of his friend to lie trembling on the bed next to him. After a few grateful minutes they forced themselves to sit up and begin the disappointing task of neatening-up after their aborted snogging.

Scorpius smoothed his hair back into place—Albus didn’t even bother tending to his own—and re-tied his tie, although a rosy blush lingered on his pale cheeks. Albus grumpily re-tucked his shirt and struggled with his own tie before finally giving up on salvaging the knot, and took it off to start all over again.

Having fidgeted his own clothing back to impeccable neatness—albeit with nothing to be done about the disappointing length of legs and sleeves—Scorpius slid over next to Albus and started fussing with his hair. Albus let him, because Scorpius refused to be convinced that it was a lost cause.

(Secretly, he just liked the excuse it gave him for touching Albus’s hair, but he guised that under the pretense of tidiness.)

“We probably should be more careful,” Albus muttered. His face felt very flushed.

Scorpius nodded. “I certainly won’t disagree with that,” he said, smiling wryly. “I imagine it might be rather awkward to explain, were we to be observed unintentionally.”

Albus snorted. “You think?”

“Well, maybe not so much.” Scorpius shrugged and smirked. “After all, there really aren’t a lot of other explanations for what we were doing. I should think, actually, it would be a pretty brief and self-explanatory conversation.”

Albus had to laugh, despite the feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach at the idea of being thus discovered by one of their dorm-mates—or worse, by a professor. Imagine if Uncle Neville had caught us snogging behind the Greenhouse last week, he though, and shuddered.

“Not like the upcoming ones with our parents,” Scorpius continued, grimacing.

“Wait—what?” Albus wrenched himself away from pleasant recollections of plants, and goggled at his friend.

“The imminent conversations with our parents,” Scorpius elaborated. “After we get home for break? You know, when we tell them about the two of us?”

Albus just stared.
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Garbled Parsletongue