The moment Albus Potter stepped into the Seventh Year Slytherin dormitory I could smell the Firewhiskey on his breath.
“Scorpius!” he slurred, leaning heavily against the doorway. “Looking as gorgeous as ever, I see.”
I arched an eyebrow. “You’re pissed.”
“‘M not,” he slurred, sliding down an inch.
I scoffed dismissively, grabbing his arm tightly as I pulled him into the room. I flicked my wand and the door slammed shut behind us, as I dragged him to his bed. “How did you get it this time? James buy the bottle for you? Bloody idiot brother of yours, I wouldn’t put it passed him.”
“Aw, come on, Scorp.” He grinned lazily, but I refused to let it affect me. He wasn’t about to get out of this that easily. “It was only two beers.”
“Or eight; it’s not like you and that tosser of a brother of yours ever bother to keep count.”
Al frowned, pulling away from me unsteadily. “I wasn’ with James.”
I laughed mirthlessly, dropping his arm in defeat. “You really are sloshed, aren’t you? Al, James brought you down to the dungeons. Don’t try that rubbish with me.”
Al shook his head, loosing his balance slightly. Bloody liar. “No—”
“Merlin, Al, give it up, alright? I don’t want to hear it!”
“Go to bed, Al. You’ll thank me in the morning.”
“No, I need—”
I sighed, giving him a halfhearted shove towards the bed; he stumbled but didn’t fall. Bollocks. “Go to bed.”
“I was with my father!”
I froze. Al’s father was a touchy subject between us—the fact that Albus had not told him about us not withstanding, Harry seemed to have taken a completely personal dislike towards me.
Which was worse, I wasn’t sure.
We avoided the subject of one Harry Potter meticulously, usually—Al usually stayed at my house, what with my parents being away often. The fact that I had actually told my parents about my sexuality helped a little too—they’d accepted it as well as expected; my dad became uncomfortable but dealt with it in his own way, and my mum treated me like a girl. However much I complained, though, I did feel for Al—having to keep it a secret would be worse.
Al had promised at the beginning that he’d tell his parents if we got serious—three years on, not a word had been spoken and I honestly thought the day would never come.
My throat clenched tightly, my emotions tightening like a coil in my chest—Al was swaying slightly, but his eyes were focussed on mine. “I was with my father, Scorpius,” he repeated slowly.
I struggled to find words. “And?” My squeaky voice betrayed me, I knew, but I didn’t particularly care.
“I told him.”
My jaw dropped and my eyes widened in shock. “W-what?”
“I told him. About us.” Al’s voice was confident but I saw a glimmer of uncertainty flicker in his alcohol-hazed gaze, as if the implications of what he had done had just occurred to him.
Which it probably had.
Obviously panicking, he started blabbering rapidly, the alcohol running his words together, making them difficult to decipher. “I thought that was what you wanted, for him to know—I know I said I’d tell when we were serious, but I think going on a year is pretty serious—we didn’t talk about it, I’m sorry—“
My emotions snapping as I realised he was worried about my reaction—worried!—I let out a small—and embarrassing, something I’d regret later—squeak and launched myself at him, flinging my arms around his neck. Toppling to the floor in surprise with a dull thud, his arms were around me in an instant, pulling me close against his hard chest. My lips crushed against his, teeth clinking against teeth, the kiss lacking all of the finesse we usually took pride him. He responded in kind, his lips devouring mine hungrily.
A moment passed, and I could no longer take the suspense. “How did he take it?” My voice was slightly breathless but it was okay because I could see the desire flicker in his eyes as he blinked rapidly. I tried to regain some composure, my voice turning teasing as I examined his jaw mockingly. “Well, doesn’t look like he clocked you, so that’s good…”
It took Al a moment to register the comment. “Shut up, tosser,” he laughed, his grip on me loosening. I wriggled away and crossed the steps to his bed, flopping backwards as he sat down, scooting back so he could lean against the wall. He sighed, staring unseeingly at the opposing wall. “He was…alright, I guess. What I expected. Didn’t speak, even when I told him about you; looked like he wanted to hit something, actually. I’d be surprised if he talks to me for a couple of weeks—his eyes, Scor, it was all in his eyes. Disappointment, anger…”
From my position lying down, I could see Al’s jaw clench tightly in annoyance as he trailed off. I fingered a hole in the blanket uncomfortably—after three years, I knew there was nothing I could do to calm him, that it would only make things worse. He continued. “I just wish…blimey, I don’t even know what I want.” He sighed, running a hand through his dark, messy hair. “I wish he didn’t hate you; I wish he could accept me; I wish I wasn’t…” He trailed off with an apologetic grimace.
His last words cut me like a hole in the heart but I brushed it aside—I’d known from the start Al wasn’t comfortable with his sexuality. But I’d learnt to deal with it, like I had with a lot of things about Al. While I knew for a fact he loved me, I knew he hated himself for it. It broke my heart at times, knowing what he was going through, but most of the time it was left unspoken between us. The only times it had ever come up were when he was blind drunk, like now; easy to deny in the morning with a “Al, what are you talking about?”.
Knowing he wouldn’t turn me down, I took his hand and placed it over my heart, tyring to ignore the little voice in my head that was screaming at me for being such a pansy. “He’ll come around,” I said soothingly. “Just give him time—he loves you, Al. He’s a wanker about it sometimes but he does, trust me.”
Al grunted, staring at the wall again as another silence stretched between him. I absently stroked his long fingers as I watched him carefully. A few minutes passed before a sloppy grin flourished on his face. He looked down at me, amusement twinkling in his eyes, any lingering sadness disappearing with drunk enthusiasm.
“I have something to show you.”
I frowned slightly, sitting up and leaning against the wall with him. Something about his tone didn’t quite sit right with me. “You know, you still haven’t told me where you were today. I mean, surely you weren’t with your dad for six hours—”
“I wasn’t.” He gave me a sloppy smile. “I was at a tattoo parlour. Well, and the pub with James—bought me drinks to prepare. You know, for the tattoo.”
I laughed disbelievingly, leaning my head against his chest. “Bollocks. You did not get a tattoo.”
He grin grew wider, his hands sitting me upright. “Did. Want to see?”
He didn’t wait for an answer. As he begun slipping off his shirt, I felt my jaw drop as disbelief settled in. “You got a tattoo because your dad needed time to adjust to the fact you’re gay? Al, are you mad?”
He winked at me, a twinkle in his eyes. “Had to make a statement, didn’t I?”
I groaned, cradling my face in my palm before staring at his curiously blank chest. “Typical…bloody git, you should have been in Gryffindor. Go on then, show me. Don’t be surprised if I hate it; I’m not a fan of mindless skin drawings.”
Al chuckled and pointed his wand at his now bare chest. “Oh, I think you’ll learn to appreciate this one. Revelio,” he murmured, not breaking his stare from my face.
Beneath the wand, stars begin to spread across his chest. Glowing and pulsating with a hidden light, I feel the blood rush to my head and my jaw dropped in wonder and awe. I can feel his eyes scrutinizing my reaction as I raise my and to touch the sparkling stars; the biting claws, the proud head, the curved, lethal tail…
It was a constellation. My constellation, across his heart.
My voice was shaky when I spoke again. “W-well,” I stuttered, trying to compose myself. Emotion welled in my chest but I refused to cry like a bleeding girl. “I guess I could grow to like it, I suppose…”
Al ignored me, and his next words were surprisingly sober. “Scorpius, I love you, you know that, right?”
“Yeah, I do,” I said softly, my hands trailing the stars that sparkled across his chest. “Me too.”
A/N: Pointless, yes. Fun to write, yes. Enjoyable read? Well, that is up to you :) Thanks for reading and Merry Christmas! Have a fantastic New Year :D