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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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It was very late when Scorpius trudged back into the Slytherin common room. It was deserted, save for one lone seventh year who had fallen asleep over her N.E.W.T.s studies in the corner. Scorpius crept up the stairs to his dormitory, cringing at every creak and whisper that announced his presence to any who cared to be listening for him.

No one made any note of his arrival, though. Padraig Sulls stirred raspily in his sleep, and Scorpius held his breath, but the other boy just rolled over and settled back into a faintly-wheezing slumber. Scorpius sighed in relief and sneaked on tiptoes over to his bed, and then to the one next to it: Albus’s.

He stayed for several minutes just standing there, chewing on his lip, watching the heavy green curtains as if they might, at any moment, entangle him in their folds and smother him to death. Nothing stirred, though, until Scorpius finally mustered what courage he had and reached out to twitch the drapes aside.

Albus slept undisturbed on the other side of the heavy fabric, but to Scorpius’s eyes, his slumber looked somewhat sad. Scorpius wondered if that was just his own mind, his own emotional state, playing tricks.

He took a deep breath and was annoyed to note that, when he reached out, his hand trembled slightly. Scorpius scowled, and steeled himself, and shook Albus gently awake.

“Huh—wha?” Albus mumbled, but six years of subterfuge, of making his Marauder grandfather proud, kept the noise to a bare whisper, and he quickly fell silent while he blinked himself to wakefulness.

“Scor?” he breathed. His voice trembled, possibly because he was not yet awake, but possibly—

Scorpius hoped.

He tried a smile that he was certain was weak and probably watery. “Hi,” he whispered. “Can we talk?”

Albus nodded immediately, flinging himself from the bed so quickly that Scorpius nearly stumbled over the flapping curtains thus disturbed. Albus didn’t bother with slippers or robe, but followed Scorpius immediately down the stairs to the all-but-deserted common room.

“I’m sorry,” Albus said, as Scorpius opened his mouth to speak.

Scorpius fell silent, blinking.

“Whatever I did—I’m sorry. Forgive me?”

Albus looked so forlorn, standing there in his pale pajamas and Muggle T-shirt, pouting contritely, his green eyes wide and hopeful, that Scorpius had to fight the urge to enfold him in a hug that would never let go.

Instead he shook his head. “No,” Scorpius said, “I’m sorry. It was my fault, and I took it out on you. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Albus raised an eyebrow. “Bet I did,” he said drily.

Scorpius frowned. “What makes you say that?” he asked.

“Rose pointed out that I kind of have a tendency to talk without, you know, thinking,” Albus explained, shrugging sheepishly.

Scorpius smiled, just a little bit. “You do, yeah,” he agreed, “but I’m used to that.”

“Oh.” Albus blinked. “So you...you weren’t mad because of something I said?”

Scorpius shook his head, then paused. “Well, yes...but it was my fault I got upset, not yours.”

“Okay,” said Albus, “now I’m confused.”

Scorpius laughed tiredly and led the way to the long, plush couch in front of the fireplace. Bright embers still smoldered there, casting a cozy glow over the room, despite the late hour and warm weather. Down in the dungeons, the fireplace was usually lit, no matter the season.

Albus followed, the boys sitting awkwardly next to one another, near enough to touch but without doing so. It was strange, because they always touched, always sat close; even before, when they had been only friends, and there had been no snogging, they had never flinched away from contact, the way gruffer blokes tended to. Despite Scorpius’s chill reserve and Albus’s moody shyness, they had always been physically demonstrative—with each other, at least. There had been hugs, and arms enfolded, and shoulders leaned against, slumbering heads rested upon one another, legs tangled on crowded couches... Now, to sit deliberately apart, was very strange.

Scorpius sighed. “I am sorry,” he said. Albus’s hand moved as if he had thought about reaching out to grasp Scor’s, but it never made it off the cushion. “I think I got carried away,” Scorpius explained. “I think I—well, to be perfectly honest, I think I fell in love with you.”

Albus smiled shyly. “Well, that’s okay,” he said, “I love you too.”

“No you don’t,” said Scorpius. He hurried to continue before Albus could protest: “Not the way I love you, I mean. I know you love me, I just...I fell in love with you. Like...like the sappy, head-over-heels kind,” he admitted grudgingly, feeling his cheeks grow hot as he spoke. He couldn’t look at Albus while he said that, but he also couldn’t keep from glancing sideways, just for a moment, to see how his friend would react to his pathetic admission.

Surprisingly, Albus was grinning. “Well...brilliant,” he said. It might have just been the light from the fire, but his face looked rather pink. “Because, you know, that’s what happened to me, too.”

“You don’t have to lie to me,” Scorpius said harshly, and Albus’s smile vanished. “I’m not some—some tragic wilting flower who’s going to pitch myself off the Astronomy Tower out of heartbreak, or something,” he snarled.

“I—I’m not, I...I wasn’t...”

“It’s fine,” Scorpius interrupted, fighting hard to keep his voice steady. It sounded, to his ears, a little more shrill than usual, but at least it did not waver. “I’m all right, Albus, really. I understand. I’m the one that got carried away with things. I get it: you like me well enough, and that should have been good enough, and I had no call to go and make you feel badly because you don’t share my—”

“But I do!” Albus cut in. He glanced around hurriedly and dropped his voice back to a low murmur to avoid detection. The girl in the corner didn’t move, though, and no one else came in. Albus still whispered, or nearly, just to be safe: “I really, really do. Scor, I love you.”

Scorpius looked into the bright, green eyes staring back at him. They were warm and open and guileless, and Albus had never been able to lie to him anyway, not that he ever really tried, and...

“I don’t understand,” Scorpius said softly, feeling burgeoning tears choke his throat and muffle his words. “If you...if you do...” He couldn’t let himself believe it, not yet. He cleared his throat, or tried to, but it didn’t seem to help. “If you do feel...feel the same way I do, then...then why...”

This time Albus did squeeze his hand. “Why what?” he asked gently.

“Why don’t you want to tell anyone?” The words burst from Scorpius’s lips as a plaintive wail. “Why are you—why are you so...ashamed of me?” he asked miserably.

“What?” Albus gaped, then launched himself at Scorpius in a tight hug. “No,” he said, “no, no, no. That isn’t—not at all. You have it all wrong, Scor, I’m not ashamed of you!” He gave a sharp, bitter laugh. “I love you, you stupid moron, how could I ever be ashamed of that?”

Scorpius sniffled into Albus’s shoulder, trying very hard not to cry. It was difficult, with Albus’s arms so firm and comforting around him; it would be easy to just let it go, pour the strain of today out through aching sobs, but Scorpius fought the urge, and swallowed his tears. “But...but I thought...”

Albus sat back, just a little, so that he could speak properly, but he did not take his arms from his friend’s thin shoulders. “Scor, I don’t want to tell my parents because I’m scared. And I’m not worried they won’t approve of you, I’m worried they won’t approve of me.”

“Oh,” said Scorpius. He felt, suddenly, very stupid. “Oh,” he said again, quietly. “Well, it’s...that’s not very likely, is it?” he asked. “I mean...the odds are far more likely it will be me they object to, don’t you think? I mean...considering who I am...” He stretched an arm out in a vague and miserable gesture that seemed to encompass forty years and two wars.

“No,” Albus said, “no, you’re brilliant. What could they object to?”

Scorpius glanced up at Albus with a very cool, almost pitying look in his grey eyes. “Really?” he asked drily. “You can think of nothing?”

Albus flushed slightly. “Well, that...that’s stupid,” he protested. “That was a billion years ago and, anyway, you’re not your dad, or his dad, and...and...” He finished with a shrug. “And I love you,” he said firmly.

Scorpius pulled the other boy down for a long, lingering kiss. “And I love you,” he said softly when they broke apart at last. “But still...”

“Besides,” Albus cut him off, apparently not wanting to let them dwell on that subject, “I’m at least as objectionable to your parents as you are to mine.”

“And how on earth do you figure that?”

“Well—I’m a half-blood and a Potter and a Weasley,” Albus pointed out, “so even aside from being a bloke, I can’t imagine that I’m exactly what they would have picked out for you, either.”

Scorpius worried at his lip, and thought about arguing the point, but gave up with a small sigh. “No,” he said, “no, I don’t think you are,” he admitted sadly.

“Well...that’s why I was scared, is all,” Albus said. “I was afraid of what my parents would say, and do, and think, and of yours. So...I didn’t want to tell them.”

Scorpius burrowed further into Albus’s arms, suddenly feeling cold. “I don’t either, really,” he confessed, “but I know we have to. I mean...if we want this to be something more than just, like, the occasional bit of after-class tomfoolery...”

“I want it to be more,” Albus said quietly. His voice was very husky, and his green eyes bright. Scorpius kissed him again.

“Me too,” he said.

They spent several minutes snogging, until their faces were flushed and their hair mussed and their breath came in heavy, panting gasps. They drew back, just a bit, and rested there in one another’s arms.

“Okay,” Albus said tiredly, “I guess you’re right, then. We have to tell them.”
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Garbled Parsletongue