Team WIP FTW!

Albus is hopelessly addicted.

 Addicted to the sensation of lightness and warmth as his brain is bathed in sweet serotonin.  Addicted to the rush of hot adrenaline flooding his veins.  Addicted to the sweeping elation of love and the electric thrill of danger.  Addicted to secret pleasure, to heaven contained in a single explosive moment, to a sudden and complete dissolution of himself.

 He had his first taste of it upon the tongue of a beautiful boy with platinum blond hair at the age of fifteen. It created a terrible need inside of him that would never truly be satiated.  Every moment spent separated from his angel of white light was tense and anxious. The interim was occupied by obsession and longing.  And once he got that fix, delivered from lips that whispered pure love, he could ride that high for hours, or at least until the next kiss.  But the more he took, the more he needed, and the more painful it was in the moments before that next blissful hit.  And soon, stolen kisses in the broom closet weren’t enough.  

 He was in a constant state of need, even when the boy was near.  He had to touch, to taste, to feel at every given opportunity.  But the boy was naïve and innocent, and in no hurry to progress further than feverish snogging.  Albus loved him too much to push and resigned to suffer silently, feeding his cravings as best he could with a hand under his bedcovers at night.  

 The first time that the boy’s mouth took the place of Albus’ hand, it should have been enough of a thrill to keep him high for months.  But it wasn’t enough.  And Albus wanted so much more from the boy – more than the boy could give.  Albus felt his need eating him up from the inside.  He had no right to want him this much – to expect so much from somebody that had already given him everything.  Albus was afraid of the desires that lurked darkly within. So he suppressed them, and suppression lead to shame.  Shame lead to guilt.  Guilt lead to self loathing.

 It was a sweltering summer night at Malfoy Manor when that beautiful boy first buried himself inside of Albus, deep enough that he felt it for days.  They were sixteen, precocious by most standards.  It should have been more than enough.  Hell, it would’ve been too much, had Albus been a normal teenage boy.

 But Albus was not normal. And so it was still not enough.

 Albus is almost certain that he and Scorpius have fucked in every conceivable place in Hogwarts. When they wistfully recount every hidden nook and not-so-hidden corner in which they’d shagged, they grin smugly. Really, who but Albus and Scorpius would even consider having sex in the elves’ pantry in the Hogwarts kitchens? Albus will never forget getting dusted in white when the sheer force of Scorpius pounding into him had broken open a sack of flour – they had laughed about it for years after, and when Scorpius would bake, Albus would get hard just from the association in his mind, which would usually lead to fucking on their kitchen floor before anything could reach the oven.

 Albus thought that he would never get enough of Scorpius – that his love would always consume him and forever be all-encompassing.  So he married his childhood best friend and teenage lover at the age of eighteen. They’d gotten hitched on a whim in a little chapel in Las Vegas while Albus was on his first tour through the United States with The White Lies.  It was a spur-of-the moment decision, but he knew it was right.  He had already felt eternally bonded to Scorpius, even without the exchanged vows and certificate.  And when they made it official at home, with a wizard-officiated ceremony and a huge party, it was really just for show – Albus belonged to Scorpius long before they were bonded by magic.    Being married should have been enough to satisfy Albus’ constant need for Scorpius.

 But it was still not enough.

 It wasn’t fair to keep dragging Scorpius around the world.  He was meant to be so much more than Albus’ arm candy.  He deserved to blossom into the incredible man that Albus always knew Scorpius would be.  So even though it hurt Albus more than Scorpius would ever know, he let go.  

 Modeling took Scorpius to amazing heights and inevitably in directions that Albus could not follow. And though Scorpius could not be with Albus on tour anymore, Albus’ insatiable need for him was still along for the ride.

 Out of the misery of being separated from Scorpius, grew a hungry demon that would not relent in its destruction until it was appeased.  For a time, Albus could feed the demon with the adulation of a screaming audience.  The thrill of the stage was fulfilling enough to make Albus momentarily forget the pain of being deprived of Scorpius.  On the road between gigs, a few stiff drinks and sleeping pills kept the despair at bay.  As was expected, it was not enough.

 Rock stars like Albus are plied with all manner of poisons and distractions to feed their demons without ever having to ask.  Backstage, there were always hollow supplements to maintain his sunny exterior as readily available as multivitamins  -  whiskey to keep him smiling stupidly while the emptiness inside consumed him, Vicodin to quiet the ever-present anxiousness he felt in the absence of Scorpius, a pretty boy to shallowly flirt with when the loneliness became unbearable, an entourage to kiss his arse and make him feel worth something when the demon made him hate himself.  For a couple of years, Albus could sustain himself on a steady diet of screaming fans, prescription pills, and plastic people.

 But it was still not enough.

 Albus came home at the end of tour one day, twenty-two with the exhaustion of a middle-aged man, and more alone than he’d ever been in his whole life.  The flat he shared with Scorpius had been uninhabited for so long, so deeply devoid of human presence, that the dust had taken the place of the residents.  He wanted nothing more than to sink into Scorpius’ arms and reacquaint himself with his other half.  But Scorpius was doing runway shows an ocean away.

 The Interim - This is where Albus’ head and heart were when he began to write songs for his latest album, aptly titled.  At the bottom of that insurmountable chasm between unfathomable heights.  In that state of constant need that makes him feel like a horny, hormonal, angst-ridden fifteen-year-old all over again.  The in between days of anxiousness and impatience and desperation, before seeing Scorpius again.  

 Nothing can truly sate Albus’ addiction to the heaven that Scorpius makes him feel – not even Scorpius can anymore.  Once he had let the demon in, it had taken control of every aspect of Albus’ life.  The demon has become all-encompassing in the same way that Albus’ love for Scorpius had once been.

  And the demon must be fed. It must be appeased with the darkness from which it was born.  

  ~//~

  “Are you hungry?” Huldi asks, lazily tracing Albus’ bare arm with a fingertip.

 Albus instinctively flinches from the unexpected touch that startles him out of his sleepy daze.  

 Huldi notices the adverse reaction to his touch and he seems offended.  “You’re on edge,” he assesses.

 Albus throws off the blankets and sits up in Huldi’s bed, facing away from the other man.  “I should go.  I don’t feel right sleeping here tonight.”

 Huldi moves from his reclining position and folds himself around Albus from behind.  He mumbles into the back of Albus’ neck between kisses, “Then don’t sleep.  Let’s stay up all night and fuck until dawn.”  His teeth gently nip at Albus’ nape.

 Albus can feel his skin crawl with iniquity and shrinks away.  He groans wearily, “I don’t want to play anymore, Huldi.  I’m really sore, yeah?”  He can still feel the dull ache in his muscles and the lingering burn of the lashes he took upon his shoulders.

 “I wasn’t suggesting that I spank you until dawn,” Huldi replies wryly, nipping harder as if to reprimand Albus.  

 Albus flinches slightly. Huldi soothes the bite with a wet, open-mouthed kiss upon the back of Albus’ neck.  Huldi’s voice pours behind Albus’ ear, over his shoulder, like tendrils of smoke searing his skin and enchanting his body to react against better judgment.  “You were such a good boy tonight, Albie.  I just want to make you feel nice.”

 Huldi could almost be mistaken for a powerful sorcerer, ensnaring Albus in his dark magic.  He’s that fucking good and it gets Albus every time – he’s so coercive that even though guilt and obligation pull Albus towards home, he ends up staying more often than not.  It doesn’t help Albus’ nearly non-existent sense of responsibility that Huldi is always so generous with his drugs.  It’s easy for Albus to shove his commitments to the very back of his mind with a sharp inhale of white powder.

 But Albus is sober enough right now to know better.  He’s been leaving Scorpius alone at night far too often for it not to raise suspicions. And though Scorpius has yet to confront him with these suspicions, Albus knows that his husband isn’t stupid.  And Albus still loves Scorpius enough to not wish more mental anguish upon him.  

 Albus fights the magnetic pull of Huldi’s seduction and gently removes himself from Huldi’s arms as he stands from the bed.  “I need to go now if I’m going to be back by the time Scor gets home from work.”

 Huldi drawls sarcastically, sneering, “Run home to your cold, little wifey, then.  To your cold bed and your cold, miserable existence.”

 “You assume too much,” Albus snaps, regaining his old sense of self – the one he loses when he’s under Huldi’s control, under his sensual enchantment, beneath domineering hands.  

 “Do I?” Huldi knowingly smirks up at him from the bed, moving toward him, predatory and slow, “If it weren’t true, you wouldn’t have come to me.”

 At once, Albus feels small again, without Huldi having to raise a hand to him.  Huldi holds Albus in his stare, somehow able to assert his dominance with just his eyes, even from his seated position.  His arms snake around Albus’ waist.  He never breaks his stare as he parts his lips and presses them to Albus’ chest.  His tongue sweeps Albus’ nipple and the warm metal of his lingual piercing works like a trigger – that metal ball has become so synonymous with pleasure that feeling it makes Albus’ cock twitch.  And because he’s still naked, Huldi is very aware of the effect he has.

 Huldi flashes his deliciously malicious grin and Albus could almost be convinced that he wants another spanking.  “You come to me because he doesn’t understand you like I do.  He doesn’t know who you really are inside – all he knows is the child you once were and not the man you’ve become.  He doesn’t want you – the real you.”  He’s hitting home so fucking hard that his truth hurts more than his leather whips.  “And even if he did see you for what you really are, he wouldn’t know what to do with you.”

 “Oh, and you do?” Albus asks challengingly, because he’s not so ensnared that he will easily concede.

 Huldi’s hands come away from Albus’ waist to grab him firmly by his cock and balls.  Albus bites his lip to stifle a whimper when Huldi pulls in painfully opposed directions.  “Do you doubt me, boy?”

 Albus has played with Huldi enough to know that Huldi has just broken one of their previously established terms.  He has engaged Albus in a role-play scene without his consent.  He’d been so good about clearly delineating when he’s playing that this violent, physical expression of his dominance comes as a shock.

 “We’re not playing,” Albus manages in a pained, strangled, growl.  He clenches a hand around Huldi’s shoulder, as much as an act of retaliation as a necessity to keep from buckling from the pain.

 Huldi doesn’t relent.  Albus tries his safe words weakly.  “Red,” he whimpers.

 “It ceased to be role-play the moment you let me fuck you.”  Huldi wrenches harder, twisting as viciously as his venomous words.  

 The pain he inflicts causes Albus’ vision to become blurred with tears and speckled with bright spots of light.  Albus can no longer remain stoic.  He cries out and Huldi grins smugly.  For a moment, Albus thinks he’s going to pass out or vomit, but then Huldi releases him. He drops to his knees and clutches his tortured genitals gingerly, still reeling from the lingering pain.

 As if Huldi hadn’t been the culprit, he soothes Albus with calming tones as he guides him back onto the bed.  “Lie down. You’ll recover quicker – return blood flow to your brain.”

 It takes a good, long minute or more, curled in a fetal position on the bed, before the pain begins to subside - before the capacity to speak returns to him.  And in that time, Huldi whispers words of reassurance. “You’re okay, Albie… You’re alright…”

 But Albus is far from okay. He wants to tell Huldi to go fuck himself – to get the Hell off of him and to stop petting him as if he’s simply a child with a scraped knee.  His stomach is still too cramped and his breathing is still too erratic to form words. He feels helpless in his inability to calm down enough to talk, which just makes him cry harder, and exacerbates his frustration.

 “You’re a good boy. That’s it.  Breathe slow,” Huldi encourages him.  He sounds so decidedly not patronizing that it is eerie and disturbing.  “I forgive you.  No need to cry.”

 Albus is terrified. Because he realizes that Huldi isn’t just a nice boy with a kinky side.  Huldi Reinhart is completely unapologetic and quite possibly psychotic. And Albus needs to get as far away from him as quickly as he can.  When he finds his voice, as mangled as it may sound, he pleads raggedly.  “I can’t do this anymore.”

 “You don’t have to do anything. I’ll take care of you,” Huldi whispers, nuzzling his face into the back of Albus’ neck.

 Albus feels paralyzed by the persistent ache and by his fear, but he manages to insist.  “I don’t want to see you anymore.”

 “That’s a lie,” Huldi says calmly, but with a tinge of hurt raising the octave of his voice.

 “You hurt me,” Albus growls indignantly.

 Huldi sighs softly and plies the back of Albus neck with little kisses again as he explains, “I was scared. I reacted out of fear.  It was a moment of weakness.  But I’m stronger than that.  I can be stronger for you.”

 Albus could almost be fooled by Huldi’s gentleness – by the sweetness of his kisses and the vulnerability of his words.  But, even as the pain dissipates, Albus suspects that every tender kiss is dipped in poison and manipulation.

 “Well, I’m not stronger than that. I can’t be what you want me to be,” Albus insists, “I won’t be.”

 “Albie, look at me.  Please,” Huldi pleads quietly, but Albus refuses to turn around to face him.  “I don’t expect you to be anything you’re not.  Nobody else can say the same.  Not Scor, not your fans.  When you’re with me, you can be everything, or you can be nothing.  You can just be.”

 This strikes a cord deep inside Albus.  He’s reminded of why he had been so drawn to Huldi.  Huldi had provided him with, not just an easy escape, but a complete departure from the expectations that had weighed down so heavily on his shoulders.  He turns and finds himself lying in Huldi’s arms.

 Huldi’s eyes are sincere and Albus begins to doubt that he’s being manipulated, now that his judgment is not being skewed by pain.  But he still has to question Huldi.  “You say you don’t expect me to be anything.  But that’s not entirely true.  There are very clear expectations for somebody serving as your boy, and I don’t want to do it anymore.”

 “Albie, I told you this isn’t a game anymore. It’s real for us now.”  If Huldi did not appear to be on the verge of tears, Albus would be more alarmed by this declaration.

 Still, he furrows his brow, wary.  “What does that even mean?”

 Huldi cups Albus’ cheek in his hand and chuckles despite the tears that begin to pool at the corner of his eyes, “You’re a bit daft.”

 Albus shies away from Huldi’s caress, affronted and confused.  “Well, fuck you too,” he huffs.

 Huldi explains with a soft, placating grin, “My cock, my trust, and my love are not so easily earned. And you, Albus, have the distinction of being the only one to have earned all three.”  

 Albus somehow doesn’t feel flattered and just feels uneasy.  “I doubt that,” he mutters.

 “Why?  Do you fancy yourself so unredeemable that you are un-deserving of love?” Huldi reasons with him, “So deceitful, that you’re un-deserving of trust?  So fucked up that you don’t deserve a good fuck?”

 Albus is beginning to see how Huldi has the tendency to turn things around so that the focus of blame or suspicion is averted to Albus.  And he’s too bloody tired to put up with Huldi’s veiled manipulation.  He rolls his eyes as he rolls off the bed once more, moving as quickly as his aching body will allow.  

 “I’m a horrible person. I admit.  But that doesn’t give me license to keep blowing off Scor.” He asserts definitively, “I’m going home.”

 Huldi remains lounging on the bed and says flippantly, “Fine.  Go home.  But remember this: I’m the only one that wants you.  The real you.”  

 He continues to speak calmly and casually as he pulls a tiny vial from a drawer and empties its white contents onto the bedside table.   “I’m the only one who will ever accept every part of you – all the dark parts and secret parts and parts you can’t show anyone else, not even your husband.”  

 He cuts the powder into thin lines with a razor blade as Albus watches with growing interest.  “If you go home to your Ice Queen, you’ll have to lie and pretend and suppress your true self.  You will never truly be happy with him.  You will never be fulfilled.  You will never be satisfied.”  

 And with those last words, he snorts a line of cocaine with banal ease.  Albus tenses with need.  Huldi gestures at him with the tube he’d just used to take that hit.  Albus doesn’t realize he’d been aching for it until he finds himself twitching, almost imperceptibly.  

 But Huldi misses nothing. “You have to take the edge off somehow or you’ll be a wreck the whole way back to London.  And then you’ll be cranky when you see Scor.  If that isn’t a set up for a domestic dispute, I don’t know what is.”  Huldi is so right that it’s infuriating.

 Albus sighs heavily, defeated. “Just one.”  He doesn’t know who he hates more right now – Huldi, or himself.

 One hit becomes two, because Huldi has cut four lines and he can’t finish them all nor put it back in the vial, and it would be a waste.  Taking the edge off becomes a full on high.  And when Albus is high, he can’t say no.  So he doesn’t shirk away when Huldi kisses him.  And he doesn’t protest when Huldi puts his pretty mouth on his cock - because it’s the least Huldi can do after hurting him, right? And a blow job becomes a cocaine-fueled marathon fuck until the sun comes up, exactly the way that Huldi wants it – trapped in a dawn-out, endless loop of tension and release, of drug-addled restless sex to frustrated ejaculation that ceases to satisfy.  Now Huldi will never be content to have one dark facet of Albus – Huldi must own them all – every shard of Albus’ obsidian black heart.

 And when Albus comes crashing down from his high, it’s the next day, and he falls into a fitful, nightmare-wrought sleep to the sound of Huldi whispering over and over like the sinister words of a spell, “You’re mine, Albus… I love you so much… You’re mine… ”

  ~//~

  A knock at the door of Albus’ flat startles him out of his hung-over stupor.  He’s content, or more likely resigned, to not answer it. Nobody he wants to see would be knocking.  This is not to say that somebody using the floo, or somebody who is able to apparate through the wards, is anybody Albus wants to see either.  Really, Albus just wants to be alone.  He wants his head to stop pounding, and the rapping at the door isn’t helping.

 “Al, it’s dad.”  Of course.  Bloody Harry Potter has come to put his nose where it isn’t welcome – to save the day – to be the hero – to make the world a better place.  Maybe this is just Albus’ withdrawal talking, making him more bitter than is warranted.

 Albus flicks his wand in the direction of the noise from his sprawled position on the sofa and the door unlocks with a loud click, ushering in his father.  He comes in without a word, but the sound of a plastic bag rustling hints that he’s bearing gifts.  Albus doesn’t move, doesn’t even greet his father.  A large jar of soup is placed on the coffee table in front of him with a heavy clunk, and a nudge at his feet makes him pull his legs up with an annoyed, pained whine.

 “Gods, you must really be on death’s door.  Glad I came equipped with Gran’s chicken soup,” his dad says, subtle and quiet in his fatherly humor.

 “Huh?” Albus simply replies, staring at the jar, feeling uncharacteristically nauseated by its contents, which had once been so comforting.  Nothing was better for a hangover than Molly Weasley’s home made chicken soup.  But Al’s sickened feeling is unlike any post-bender headache and can’t simply be quelled with Gran’s comfort food.

 “You made such a production out of promising you’d be home for your mum’s birthday dinner, that I figured you must have been awfully ill to have missed it.”  

 Albus makes a breathy sound between a horrified gasp and a pitying moan, admonishing himself.  He turns to bury his head in the sofa cushion and mutters, “Fuck… That was last night…”

 “Yeah,” his dad drawls, with a thin twinge of reproach, but still with his usual forgiving undertone.

 He’d forgotten completely and utterly. “Shit,” Albus huffs quietly.  

 “Exactly.  Deep in it, in fact.  With mum, at least,” says his dad.

 Albus gingerly pulls himself up into an upright position, seated on the couch near his dad.  He’s feeling so guilty that he still can’t look at his father.  “I’m sorry. I wanted to come, honestly.  I must’ve --”

 “Save it, Al.  It’s okay.”  He puts up a hand to quiet his son, and Albus is saved from coming up with a lame excuse.

 Albus is ashamed of forgetting his priorities – of detaching from reality so utterly that he’d entirely missed an important family gathering.  It was unlike him to do so without prior apology.  When Albus had left school to pursue his career, he’d missed out on a lot, and he had always been apologetic of the fact.  He’d missed Lily’s graduation from Hogwarts, missed James’ first match with Puddlemere, missed Granddad’s retirement party.  He never missed his parents’ birthdays, even if all he could do was firecall to acknowledge it.

 “I’m not here to make you feel like rubbish for missing mum’s birthday.  But we really need to talk.” His dad says softly, yet still conveying his deep concern – a concern that also shows itself on his furrowed brow.

 This concern makes Albus’ back go rigid in his seat.  No matter the gentle tone of his father’s voice, a conversation that began with we need to talk had never historically resulted in anything pleasant.  Albus gets a momentary reprieve when there is another knock at the door.  This time, Albus’ dad answers it and returns with a large bouquet of flowers.

 “I’m guessing it’s from a fan?” he says, handing it to Albus with a small smile.  “The presents you must get on a regular basis – I can’t even imagine,” he muses.

 Albus cracks a humble little grin, though it hides his alarm.  The truth is, nobody sends gifts to his flat.  The exact address of the apartment he shares with Scorpius is a well-kept secret.  He takes the flowers and pulls a tiny card from the arrangement.  It is simply signed in heavy, black ink, H.R., with an adjacent black heart.

 Albus feels a shock of burning panic shooting up his spine, making his throat tighten and his brow sweat. He has never given his address to Huldi. And now Huldi somehow knows where he lives.  This is not a token of Huldi’s affection.  It is a reminder – a reminder of just how much he’s owned – of the inescapable grip Huldi has on him.

 He swallows hard and does his best to let his expression do most of the lying for him.  “I’ve got such sweet fans… But why don’t you give these to mum?  Let her know I’m sorry?”

 “Not a bad idea, but you should really drop by the house, yeah?” his dad suggests, and then adds, because he knows his son all too well, “When you’re feeling up to it?”

 Albus nods gently. “Should I, erm, get dressed so we can go somewhere to talk?”

 “No, I think here and now is fine.”  He takes a deep cleansing breath and sits on the heavy, stone coffee table so that he’s directly in front of his son – so that Albus cannot ignore the lines of anguish and anxiety carving themselves into Harry Potter’s face.  And that’s the last thing that Albus wants to see in his father’s expression – the man that already carries the weight of the wizarding world, fraught with sadness over his youngest son.

 Albus swallows the guilt to go along with the fear that’s roiling in his already sour stomach as he realizes, oh gods, dad knows.  Of course, he knows.  Not only is he the head of the DMLE with all the surveillance resources that come with the title, he’s Dad.  Albus’ father has always had the uncanny ability to read him like a book, and maybe it’s because Harry sees so much of himself in Albus.

 “Remember, I love you.  I always will, no matter what.”  His father puts a hand on Albus’ shoulder, and the gesture is warm – not unwelcome, given the heightened tension in the moment. “Albie, you have a problem…”  The words are firm, but somehow also compassionate.

 It’s all that Albus needs to break down.  And it says a lot about the fragile nature of his emotions lately that it had taken so little.  His eyes well-up with tears.  His gaze lifts to the ceiling, unwilling to let his tears fall, unable to look his father in the eyes – eyes that are equally green, equally deep, yet reflect none of the evil that resides in Albus’ own.

 “How did you know?” Albus simply says, at a loss for anything else to say.  What else can one say when one’s father calls him out on his adultery?

 “I’m no expert on addiction, but I’ve seen enough addicts in my line of work to recognize the signs,” his father says, sympathetic and devoid of judgment.

 Albus blinks quickly, narrowing his eyes at his father, able to look at him now – now that he’s quite sure his dad is mistaken.  “What are you talking about?”

 “Al, you don’t have to tell me specifics.  But I want to get help for you.  I mean, I’m not naïve – I know that part of the rock star lifestyle is to indulge in substances a bit enthusiastically, but… It’s gone beyond that.  It’s affecting your relationships with everybody around you. You’re blowing off birthdays. You’re hardly home, and it’s affecting your marriage, from what I gather from Scor.  And, no offense, you look physically unwell.”

 Merlin’s fucking balls… This is an Intervention, Albus thinks to himself.  

 Deeply offended that his father would think so lowly of him, Albus shoots up from his seat and snaps, “I’m not a bloody drug addict, dad.  Honestly, I know you think I’m a fuck up, but I didn’t realize you thought I was that much of a fuck up.”

 “Sit down, Albus,” his father says sternly, raising his voice only slightly, “I never said you were a fuck up.  I have never said that to you.”

 Albus plops down on a nearby armchair.  “But you’ve thought it.  I mean, how could you not?  I’m the only one who didn’t get sorted into Gryffindor.  The only one who wasn’t good enough to make the quidditch team.  The only one who didn’t finish school,” he compares himself to his siblings, dredging up old bitterness he’d thought he’d left behind when he dropped out of Hogwarts.

 “So you’re not just like your brother and sister or even like mum and me.  I didn’t have kids so that they could be replicas of myself.  You have always reveled in your uniqueness – always embraced the differences that set you apart from Lily and Jamie.  

 And don’t you ever tell me that I haven’t done the same, because, god damn it, I’ve done it to a fault. You’ve gotten away with so much nonsense because you’re different – because I accepted this about you and loved you for it.  I mean, come on, Al!  You bloody left home at sixteen.  You eloped at eighteen.  And your mum and I just let you, because we didn’t want to stifle who you are, even if it meant letting you do things that seem less than wise.

 And then you show up to Sunday dinner one night, high as a kite, and I’m inclined to chalk it all up to – Oh, that’s just Albie being Albie – he’s always going to do whatever he wants.  I can’t do that anymore.  I’m not going to make excuses for you in my head anymore.  I can’t idly watch you making bad choices anymore because your bad choices are having adverse effects. You’re destroying yourself.  You will destroy the people around you as well, if you continue down this path.”

 All the tears that Albus had been holding back come flooding down his face.  He huffs angrily, unable to form words.  He can’t believe that this is what his father sees – not a man caught up in a dangerous affair, but a drug addict.  He feels betrayed somehow.  He thought his father knew him so well, but, just like everyone else, they don’t know him at all.  And this fact makes Albus feel so very alone.

 As if things could not get worse, Scorpius suddenly appears, having apparated home.  He’s startled when he finds Harry and Albus in the living room, looking the way they are.  “Erm, what the Hell is going on?” Scorpius mutters, glancing between Albus’ tear-stained, distraught face and Harry’s flustered expression.

 “Good, you’re home, Scorpius. You should be here for this,” says Harry, “Have a seat.”

 Scorpius tentatively sits on the sofa, looking worried.  Harry remains standing, and Albus can’t help feeling like they’re little boys once more being scolded.

 “Al, your mum and I have found you a drug rehab program at Saint Mungo’s.  You can get clean--”

 Albus interrupts his father and throws his arms in the air, protesting, “I don’t need to go to fucking rehab, dad.  Yeah, I admit, I’ve done stuff on occasion, but…”

 Scorpius snorts derisively at this and crosses his arms.  Albus shoots him an affronted glare.

 “An addict will always downplay how much they use,” his dad says, “And like I said before, you don’t have to tell me specifics.  I just want to get you the help you need.”

 “I hate to sound like an arsehole, but I don’t need your help, dad,” Albus asserts, offended, “Honestly. I don’t have a bloody drug problem.”

 Scorpius snorts again and rolls his eyes.  This time, Albus snaps at his husband.  “Oh, fucking spit it out, Scor.  What is it?”

 “He’s right,” he says, shaking his head in disbelief, “For once, your dad is fucking spot on.  And I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid.  I should have figured out that this is what’s been going on.  And frankly,” he turns to glare pointedly at his father-in-law, “Harry, I’m miffed that you didn’t talk to me about this sooner.”  

 Scorpius returns his attention to Albus and says, devoid of the same sympathy that Harry had shown, “You have a problem, Al.  You can’t even get through a bloody interview without snorting coke.  You come home, more often than not, high or hung over – that is, if you come home, which you do so rarely these days.  You’re sneaky and secretive and hiding shit from me.  You’ve not been yourself.  I see it all now in hindsight.  It makes perfect sense.”

 “So, you agree with me that Al has a drug problem?” Harry asks, and Albus feels increasingly like he’s being ganged up on.

 Scorpius nods, continuing to stare accusingly at Albus.  “Yeah. And if you love me, you’ll get help.”

 Astonished and betrayed, Albus can do nothing but gape at the two people he thought knew him best.  “Is that an ultimatum, Scor?”

 Scorpius pauses and seems to think about it, perhaps second-guessing himself in his hesitation. But then he says firmly, “Yes. I’m tired of your shit.”

 “Fuck you,” Albus breathes out incredulously.  He is still in shock that the conversation had escalated so quickly to this.  He storms off, locks himself in the bathroom and is only slightly disappointed that neither his husband nor his father have bothered to coax him out.

 But when he does come out, after a hot bath and what seems like an hour of feeling wretched and crying in the tub, he finds Scorpius warming Gran’s soup in the kitchen.  “You should eat something,” Scorpius mutters, staring down at the broth simmering in the pot.

 For some reason, this picture of domesticity breaks Albus’ heart.  He doesn’t deserve Gran’s soup.  He doesn’t deserve Scorpius’ love.  He doesn’t deserve dad’s help. He doesn’t deserve to be taken care of. Surely, Scorpius knows this, and is sticking by him anyway.

 Albus steps behind Scorpius and tentatively snakes an arm around his waist.  He holds him close to his chest and breathes in his familiar scent along with the comforting aroma of chicken soup.  He feels Scorpius become tense in his arms.

 “I do love you. And you don’t deserve my shit,” Albus mumbles somberly.  

 “And?” Scorpius prods stiffly as he stirs the soup.

 “And, erm… I’m sorry,” Albus offers weakly.

 Scorpius remains frozen as ice, silent.  It is not until Albus moves away that Scorpius seems to relax with a long, slow exhale, as if he’d been holding his breath the entire time Albus had been close. Albus wonders what would cause Scorpius to be so cold beneath his touch.  Had the growing rift between them become such a gaping divide?  Could Scorpius know more than he’s letting on?

 “Anything else?” Scorpius asks, unsatisfied with Albus’ lame apology, and rightly so.

 But Albus can’t offer him anything else.  He’s not going to promise that he’ll put himself in rehab.  His family thinks he’s got a drug problem, but the truth is that he’s got a problematic lover.  He’s not ready to admit it.  He will likely never be ready.

 “And…,” Albus struggles for something to say that will placate his husband.  He realizes that it’s pointless to try so hard to find words to reassure Scorpius that they’re going to be okay.  Because it isn’t going to be okay.  Scorpius doesn’t even know the extent of how irreparably Albus has fucked things up.  “And… I should probably give you some space,” he sighs sadly.

 Scorpius whips around, furious, making Albus flinch from just the fury in his silver blue eyes. “That’s your answer to everything, hm? Running away.”  He doesn’t give Albus a chance to defend himself, not that he can find any words with which to do so.  Scorpius shoves his shoulder and spits bitterly, “Well, go on then.  Deal with your problems the only way you know how.”

 Albus just stands there, lip trembling, on the verge of tears again, unable to say anything meaningful, afraid he’ll keep saying the wrong thing and continue to make things worse.

 Scorpius pushes him again, harder this time, provoking him as much as accusing him.  “Go on, leave me.  I know you want to.”

 “What do you want me to do?” Albus’ question is more confrontational than it needs to be.

 “What does it matter what I want?” Scorpius huffs, pointing emphatically at his chest, “You haven’t cared about what I want in a long time, Al.  So don’t even pretend to care about what I want right now because I know you’re just going to do whatever the fuck you want anyway.”

 Albus is silent for a long time.  He’s already exhausted his tears, though he still can’t help feeling like he needs to cry. “I don’t want to leave you, Scor. But at the same time, I don’t want to stay here and fight with you like this.”

 “Let me make this easier for you, then.”  Scorpius turns away briefly to shut off the stove.  He takes off the apron he’d been wearing over his clothes and throws it to the floor.  “I’m leaving. When you’re ready to deal with this, owl me.”

 In a final, desperate gesture, Albus grabs Scorpius’ arm.  “Where are you going?  Please don’t. You don’t understand.”

 And now it’s Scorpius’ turn to cry.  He stares at Albus, looking frustrated and hopeless.  “I’m so bloody tired of this, Albie.  I don’t know you anymore.  I don’t know where you are half the time.  I can’t fix you, and I can’t fix us.  Not on my own.  Not until you admit that there’s a problem and commit to doing something about it. And I’m not going to stay here and wait for you to come around.  I don’t want to be alone here.  Because even when you’re here, you’re not really present.  And I need you to be fully present… Does that make sense?”

 Albus nods weakly and mumbles, “It does, I guess… But are you leaving me, leaving me?”

 Scorpius looks uncertain, as though he hadn’t fully thought it through, which is vaguely reassuring.  “I… No… I just… I don’t know.”  He heaves a defeated sigh.

 Albus puts his arms around Scorpius and pleads quietly, murmuring like a sad child, “I love you. I’m here.  I’m here, okay?  We’re going to deal with this.  Together.  Don’t go.”

 It takes an alarmingly long time for Scorpius to reciprocate Albus’ embrace.  But when he does, Scorpius’ arms seem to melt around him, and the tension that Albus had felt in his husband’s body begins to loosen.  “I love you too, Albie.  I’m not going anywhere.”

 When they kiss, Albus tastes Scorpius’ tears on his lips, and they are bitter sweet.  Their kiss deepens and grows feverish.  It had been a while since they’ve kissed like this, and Scorpius’ tongue in his mouth somehow feels foreign, Scorpius’ hands on his bare skin somehow feel like that of a stranger’s.  And when Scorpius hoists Albus onto the kitchen table, Albus does not feel that sense of playfulness he should feel.  

 Albus isn’t wearing much, having just come out of the shower, so it takes little effort on Scorpius’ part to divest him of his boxer briefs.  And when Scorpius pushes into him and fucks him on the table, it feels more like scrambling for purchase than reaching for heaven, as what they had slips away from beneath them.

 Later, when they stumble into their bed, Albus’ mobile glows with a text message on the bedside table. He quickly sweeps it up and he shoves it into the drawer without even checking it.  When he does check it, hours later, after Scorpius has fallen asleep, he finds an alarming number of messages from Huldi.  He feels too sick with guilt to read them all.  He quickly sends out a reply.

 Sorry, spent the day with my dad. Ring you tomorrow.

 Alec could see the soft twinkle of star shaped string lights through the gauzy curtains that partially shaded the window; the type of curtains that didn’t serve any purpose other than looking what Magnus had assured him was “stylish and smart.” He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and curled his fingers tighter around the small box inside his pocket, eyes wide as he stared up at the window. The first time Alec had found himself inside the walk-up seemed like a far away dream to him now. So much had happened since then, so many changes that had seemed so stifling at the time were now just his past. His mind produced an image of the first time he’d laid eyes on Magnus Bane, who was nothing more than a glittery downworlder who might have held some answers that didn’t seem all that important to him at the time. Alec hadn’t wanted to come to the party that night, had tried his best to dissuade his siblings in fact, not that they listened to him. He smiled a bit sadly and shook his head, forcing the faded memories from his mind. A crisp breeze came barreling down the sidewalk and swirled around his booted ankles, carrying with it dead leaves and decaying trash that caught up against the side of the building.

He swung one of the glass doors open and slipped inside the building, taking the steps two at a time. His gaze flicked to the door on the landing below the loft he shared with Magnus, dark brow arching at the cluster of pink rose petals clinging to the door in no particular design. Alec had never met the neighbors below, but he still felt as if he knew much, much more of their torrid relationship than he had any right to know. His head tilted as he stepped up onto the landing, fishing into the pocket of his jeans for his key and ignoring the way his fingers fumbled on the cool metal for purchase. The sounds of music filtered through the crack beneath the door and Alec shook his head, finally managing to pull the key from his pocket and fitting it firmly into the lock.

It did not matter how long he’d lived with Magnus, Alec would never grow accustomed to the fickle nature of his decorating habits. He could be walking into a Gothic dormer one day, and a Japanese Zen room the next. Today, he found himself standing in a simplistic space that was far more muted minimalist than he was used to seeing from Magnus. His eyes moved over the room in a single, sweeping gaze, pausing on the Warlock in question, who was dancing on a pounded steel coffee table with his eyes closed.

Alec blinked slowly as he stared at Magnus, who had either genuinely not heard him come in or was just pretending; Alec bet on the latter. The beats of the song playing seemed to seep through the walls and they shook Alec’s insides in fast, rhythmic succession. He remained frozen where he was, watching Magnus with an expression that was probably far more readable than he would have liked. Alec had always been absolute shit at keeping his heart off of his sleeve, as it were. Magnus’ arms were waving over his head, which tossed back in time to the music that seemed to fill up every inch of the loft. Alec licked his lips and sucked the swell of his bottom lip into his mouth, between his teeth. He felt his chest constrict and his pulse quicken, the music drowned out by the soft buzzing that occupied his ears. Seeing the Warlock after being away was always like this, even months and months after the Dark War had ended. He knew it was residual effect, left over from a time in his life when he hadn’t been sure if either of them would live to see another day. He also knew that his subconscious’ fear of losing Magnus would most likely fade over time, although he couldn’t say how much time that may or may not be. Alec’s heart twisted with all of the love he felt for Magnus and his brows knitted together where he stood, yet undiscovered. Magnus had changed his life in so many strange and wonderful ways; Alec’s greatest wish was that he could return the favor, even by half.

As if sensing his presence, Magnus’ eyes snapped open and he smiled a smile that melted Alec’s heart just a little bit more. “Major Lazer,” he said, pointing at nothing in particular. Magnus’ fingertips cracked electric blue as he jumped off the coffee table and snapped them once, the deafening beat of the song immediately ceasing to play. “Major who?” Alec asked blankly, twisting his hands out of his pockets as Magnus sidled up to him.

“Never mind,” Magnus replied as he stepped right into Alec’s personal space, reaching up to brush aside strands of unruly dark hair that had fallen across his eyes.

Alec’s pulse jumped slightly as warm fingertips grazed his face and he smiled, silently willing himself to just breathe. “I love what you’ve done with the place,” He said as he reached out and hooked a finger in the belt loop of the burgundy jeans Magnus was wearing, using the leverage to firmly tug the Warlock closer.

His smile quirked up at the corner in a way that Made Magnus’ blood shimmer in his veins and quickly wound his arms around Alec’s neck and smiled back. “You should see the bedroom,” Magnus whispered as he leaned forward, mouth ghosting Alec’s ear just enough to send a shiver shooting straight down his spine.

“Is that an invitation?” Alec asked, arching a dark brow as his hands came to rest on the other’s hips.

Magnus’ smile turned coquettish and his cat eyes gleamed in the soft glow of twinkle lights. There were so many things that he loved about Alec that it would be impossible to pinpoint just one reason, but it was moments like this that made him think that his candor might be near the top of the list. “Absolutely,” Magnus replied brightly as he leaned forward to deposit a kiss against Alec’s lips that were icy and wind-chapped and altogether perfect. “But first, we dance.” He added brightly, pulling away and catching Alec’s hand before he could protest.

Alec’s head shook slowly and although he tried to plant himself firmly where he stood, he knew that the situation was hopeless because it was impossible to deny Magnus anything. “I don’t dance,” He muttered as he was pulled towards the big open patch of floor in the living space.

Magnus laughed lightly and snapped his fingers, the deafening music returning and quickly filling up every inch of the loft. “It’s easy,” Magnus whispered in his ear, hands dropping to Alec’s waist and guiding him into subtle movement.

Alec stared blankly at Magnus, disbelief clearly written across his face. Magnus’ hips were swiveling and rocking and Alec concentrated on them instead of the awkward movements he was forcing out. Magnus rolled his body against him and his hands never strayed very far from Alec’s body. It was clear that Alec was uncomfortable, which Magnus found terribly endearing. He’d lived hundreds of years and experienced so many wonderful things, but somehow Alec’s unassuming light managed to outshine it all.

Magnus leaned against Alec and whispered in his ear, fingertips tracing up the center of his chest over his clothes. “Close your eyes Alexander, “ He pressed himself firmly against the other, his movements slowed down and drawn out, willing Alec’s body to follow. “Let the music be your guide,” He added, a small smile curving his mouth upwards as Alec began to move with him. “That’s it,” Magnus’ hands smoothed over the front of Alec’s worn sweater, creeping beneath the coat he was still wearing and slowly pushing it over his shoulders. There was really no need for such things indoors. Alec still had his eyes closed and did not seem to notice his coat fall to the floor. His hands rested on Magnus’ hips and held him close, which Magnus didn’t mind one bit. The music thumped Alec’s insides in a steady rhythm that was impossible not to follow, particularly with Magnus’ body pressed up against him and showing him the way. It didn’t take long before his movements smoothed out and they moved together like a seamless unit caught in a whirlwind of loud beats and crystal-cut lyrics. Alec’s fingertips curled around Magnus’ hips and pinned their bodies together, his own hips greedily following the Warlock’s movements. A trickle of sweat ran down his spine and he was vaguely aware that he had lost his jacket, but the music in his ears and the body moving against him made it virtually impossible to concentrate on such things.

Magnus watched Alec unguarded, his insides swollen with the love contained within him. It never ceased to amaze him how open and honest Alec was, as if he lived his entire life by a code that did not involve anything other than blinding truth. Alexander was something that Magnus hadn’t even been looking for, but he had managed to find Magnus all the same. His love had awoken something dormant inside of the Warlock that he had locked up and put away, and he wasn’t sure there were enough ways in the universe to properly thank Alec for bringing him back to life, but he certainly was not above trying.

When he could stand the separation no more, Magnus leaned forward and closed his mouth over Alec’s slightly parted lips, pulling a contented sigh from him that Magnus extinguished with a kiss. The music wrapped itself around Alec’s senses and his form and when Magnus’ tongue, soft and wet, slid over his bottom lip, he could not stifle the whimper in his throat. Alec’s entire body was suddenly alight with a fire that could not be doused, his soul singing openly beneath the expert touch that Magnus wielded at his fingertips. Magnus laughed into Alec’s open mouth as nimble fingers fumbled with the few buttons he’d bothered to cage at the front of his shirt and he pulled back, just enough room to let Alec work between them.

This time it was Magnus with a whimper on his lips as scorching fingertips traced over his bare skin reverently; wondrously. He tilted his head back and lowered his arms obediently as Alec quickly divested him of his shirt and tossed it unceremoniously on the floor, a wicked grin on his lips. “You’re so perfect,” Alec whispered as he dropped his head to press a string of feather-light kisses to Magnus’ collarbone. “And yours,” Magnus replied pointedly, mischief dancing behind green slit eyes as he inched the shabby sweater Alec was wearing up and up until it was tugged over his head and tossed on the floor, not to be outdone. Alec’s hair was longer than usual and seemed to be taking its role of unruly mess extremely seriously.

Alec folded his arms around Magnus and brought him back in, a soft groan of approval escaping him as skin smoothed against skin. “See? Dancing isn’t so bad.” Magnus purred in his ear, chuckling softly and sending another involuntary shiver straight through Alec’s core. Alec smiled but said nothing, foregoing words for another kiss that took the Warlock’s breath straight away. Their movements slowed into a seductive rhythm as they kissed and by the time their lips broke apart, Alec was gasping for reasons that had very little to do with lack of oxygen. He gazed at Magnus openly, all of the words he longed to say, dying on his lips as his throat worked overtime to try and assimilate. He felt feverish and alive and although he wished he could form words that would flow like poetry or some other brilliant way to express his thoughts, he settled for a smile and what he knew in his soul instead.

“I love you,” He whispered, pressing their foreheads together, eyes never leaving the other.

Magnus smiled and smoothed his hands across Alec’s back, which effectively caused Alec’s pulse to stutter uncontrollably. “I know,” He replied, searching Alec’s disarming sapphire gaze. “I love you too, always.” He added quietly, capturing Alec’s mouth in another imploring kiss. Alec’s body melted into him and he smiled into the kiss and guided Alec backwards with firm hands on his hips. Alec’s lashes kissed his cheeks and he allowed himself to be molded and sculpted into something that would please Magnus because at the end of each day, that was really the only thing that Alec wanted to do. He had already experienced a life without Magnus in it, by his own doing, and although that time was also in their past, the memory of the agony was not so easily forgotten.

The back of Alec’s legs bumped up against an elephant grey sofa and he let out a little gasp of surprise into Magnus’ open mouth, which pulled a soft chuckle from the Warlock. Magnus’ fingertips curled into the front of Alec’s jeans and expertly worked the button fly, carefully parting the closure and inching them down without breaking their connection, for even a moment. Teasing fingertips brushed against him and had his heart leaping into his throat, sensations that Alec had grown extremely accustomed with since he’d met Magnus. Alec found himself standing in Magnus’ arms, jeans pooling around his ankles. He wasn’t shy or self-conscious, Magnus had long since divested him of those feelings, but it didn’t stop him from shivering, despite the fever that mottled his pale flesh deep red. Magnus quirked a single brow as he slowly removed his own pants and Alec couldn’t help but smirk because he was still moving to the music that had been drowned out by the forceful beating of Alec’s own heart.

Magnus guided Alec down onto the sofa and aligned himself atop, the ease with which they fit together, stealing his breath away. Every indent and swell that Alec’s body supplied was fit with a contrasting shape of Magnus’ own body and when he looked down into those blue eyes that had been his undoing since the first time they met, he could only smile. Every inch of their bodies were touching, and although Magnus could have spent an entire day precisely likethis, he knew that Alec was not quite so patient. Still, he took his time with the other, imparting teasing kisses along the taut column of his throat, tracing the permanent lines of the runes he found so beautiful with the tip of his tongue. Alec whimpered appreciatively beneath him and pulled him down, forcing a friction that blew his eyes out to the color of storm clouds. Magnus quieted his frustration with more insistent kisses, teeth catching skin and scoring it gently. He reached between them, fingers circling their matching erections and sliding over them in unison.

Alec’s eyes fluttered closed and he arched back against the arm of the sofa, momentary lost in the attention. Magnus smirked darkly down at Alec, his movements purposely slow and calculated. Perhaps he enjoyed seeing Alec fall apart a little too much, but he could not help it. Alec was a beautiful creation that Magnus assumed had been made just for him, lovingly handcrafted by the angel and sent to the Warlock for safekeeping. Alec was his to pleasure and tease, and although there was nothing but love in Magnus’ soul, he reveled in the ease with which he was able to pull such a range of emotion out of Alec. His Alexander.

So lost was Magnus in thoughts of pleasure and control that he didn’t readily notice that Alec was peering up at him, breath ragged and hair already damp with sweat. “Magnus,” He breathed raggedly, and the sound of it was so beautiful that Magnus could have shed a tear, perhaps two.

Magnus leaned over Alec and kissed him deeply, acutely aware of what he needed from him. Gently, he parted Alec’s thighs with a knee as he pulled back from his mouth, Alec’s bottom lip caught firmly between his teeth. Alec’s throat constricted another whimper and Magnus smiled with empowerment. He hovered over Alec’s entire body, the crackle of blue magic muted in his fingertips as he traced them over the marked surface of Alec’s form. Magnus took his time with Alec, working him slowly apart until Alec was reduced to a writhing mess, begging him not to stop.

Alec had long-since given into the fact that he was putty in Magnus’ hands. The Warlock had the ability to reduce him to a puddle of malleable need with such skill that it should have been alarming, except it wasn’t. Alec loved Magnus so totally that he chose to see his weakness where Magnus was concerned as a testament of his love, which wasn’t really weakness at all.

The room stilled as Magnus leaned over him, peering down at him with those green cat eyes that saw right into Alec’s soul. His breath caught in his throat as time slowed down to a crawl, only the sound of his rapturous heart breaching the silence that seemed to swallow him up. Magnus murmured something inaudible in his ear that sounded like I love you and then wedged himself so firmly inside of Alec that he was cast out on a chartless sea without a life preserver.

Magnus was always gentle with Alec; he was painfully aware that Alec’s sexual experiences began and ended with him. He ached with a need to make every intimate encounter unforgettable, not only because he loved Alec with every molecule of his make up, but also because he was selfish enough to want to be the first and the last. Slowly, he inched deeper into Alec’s pliant form, stilling only when he was completely engulfed, in a desperate attempt to recapture a breath. Alec was watching him in that utterly beautiful mix of unfettered love and wanton abandon that he wore like armor when they had sex. Magnus loved this look because it was even more readable than Alec’s usual range of emotion, how that was possible, Magnus did not know.

Alec had become something of an expert of Magnus’ expressions as well and he knew the current one intimately. He recognized the wondrous glint in the Warlock’s gaze for what it was and reached up, curling his fingers around the back of Magnus’ neck and pulling him down. “Fuck me,” He murmured against the other’s lips before crashing their mouths together.

A throaty chuckle vibrated in Magnus’ throat at Alec’s candor and he kissed him with renewed intensity and gave him precisely what he asked for, and then some. He knew that Alec was strong enough to take anything that he could give, and perhaps it was Alec’s blunt reminder that kindly pointed that out for him now. Magnus pulled back nearly to the point of disconnect, eyes fixed on Alec’s flushed face as his hips snapped back, sending him deep enough to make the other’s eyes flash with pleasurable surprise. Magnus liked to think of himself as a tease but he really wasn’t anything more than a slave to the whims of a beautiful Shadowhunter with a body so sculpted and agile that it really should have been criminal. It didn’t take Magnus long to find a rhythm that suited them both and when he lowered himself down closer, Alec was quick to bring him all the way down with a firm grip and a waiting mouth.

Alec couldn’t feel his toes. This was the one coherent thought that floated at the edges of his mind as if on a breeze, as Magnus moved above him and successfully forced everything else out. He arched into every firm thrust, shimmering stars bursting in his peripheral. His fingertips scrabbled for purchase on Magnus’ smooth, tanned skin, curling into his hipbones and forcing him down harder, better, faster. A string of throaty groans jumped out of his throat and his eyes rolled back into his head because he was utterly lost in sensation.

Magnus shifted just enough to take Alec in his hand, stroking him firmly in union with his own movements. Alec’s eyes squeezed shut and he had a white-knuckle grip on the armrest behind his head. His body arched up to meet Magnus, thrust for thrust, trying his best to ignore the impending release that was already coiling in his abdomen. His eyes snapped open and a string of breathy moans escaped him of their own accord. Beads of sweat clung to limp hanging strands of Magnus’ hair like raindrops and Alec could only smile and breath “I love you” before he let it all go.

The weight of the words on Alec’s lips twisted Magnus’ heart so tightly that he gasped and buried his face in the warm juncture where Alec’s shoulder met his throat, head swimming in the sensation of the moment. There were so many things he had yet to experience with Alec, so many moments yet to create, but somehow none of that seemed to matter. They had everything they needed, right here.

“Marry me,” Alec blurted out some time later, as they lie there on the sofa in a tangle of sated limbs and lazy kisses. Of course, this was not at all how he had pictured this moment playing out, but he was feeling far too relaxed to worry about possibly ruined plans now.

Magnus sighed softly against Alec’s chest and smiled, tracing the sharp lines of his runes with a single fingertip. “Any time, any place.” He replied without hesitation, and despite how casual the moment may have seemed, Magnus knew that Alec was just as sincere as he.

Later, when they found the energy to actually get off the sofa, Alec would take out that small velveteen box and open it for Magnus, who would smile and hold out his hand, content in the knowledge that Alec would be his, forever.

 “Draco,” Theo admonishes gently, dropping a delicate kiss to his shoulder. 

 “I can admit that you are right, but I don’t have to like it.” Draco smiles despite himself and his eyes shutter again because his skin is warm where Theodore had kissed him. 

 Theodore Nott has always been terribly skilled at reading Draco Malfoy. Sometimes he thinks it might be his very own super power; be jealous, world. As children it had been easy to glean which of Theodore’s habits annoyed Draco and which pleased him and as they aged the two became so tuned to one another that they could easily be discerned as one. As much fun as annoying Draco is, Theodore knows that what Draco needs right now is comfort and maybe just a little bit of a loving push, which he is more than willing to provide. 

 “I suppose we’ll have to find something that you do like, then.” Theodore speaks through a smile as he rolls atop Draco in a singular, fluid movement that curls Draco’s mouth into a satisfied smirk. 

 “That could take a while, I’m very particular.” Draco replies coolly, arms wrapping around Theodore firmly. 

 Theodore snorts and shakes his head fondly, “Don’t I know it.” He mutters before effectively changing the mood in the room with a single kiss to Draco’s waiting mouth. 

 This is how Sundays should always be… Draco thinks this while arching back against his feather-down pillow beneath Theodore’s teasing caress and biting kiss. Everywhere Theo touches him is flushed and warm and although he knows that he’s going to have to leave this bed soon, he clings to this moment because his life is never something that he does not desire with everything that he is. 

 Theodore’s mouth is inching its way down the taut column of Draco’s throat so slowly that it is bordering on maddening and just when Draco thinks he can’t take another second of this game, Theodore effectively quiets him with another kiss. “Anything?” Theodore says a bit breathlessly as their lips part, eyes glinting with the tiniest hint of mischief. 

 “Getting warmer,” Draco breathes as his fingers curl into the pale skin that stretches over Theo’s hipbones. 

 Theodore chuckles playfully and shakes his head, dropping another kiss to Draco’s mouth before he rolls himself off of Draco and reclaims his spot beside the blond. “Good. Now you have something to think about while you’re out today.” 

 Every inch of Draco immediately feels the loss and he groans inwardly because he really should have seen this coming. Theodore is chuckling throatily beside him and lighting a cigarette and although there is nothing that he’d like to do more right now than protest, he resigns to play this game and do it better. 

“Tease,” Draco mutters as he sits up and cards fingers through his sleep-mussed hair, unsettling the sheets enough that they are left pooling around his middle. “You’re going to pay for that later.” He adds as he tosses the bedcovers aside and climbs out of bed. 

 “Counting on it.” Theo replies cheekily, and when Draco leans over the bed, not to kiss him but to steal his newly lit cigarette, he can only shake his head and laugh again. 

 Draco takes his pilfered cigarette with him to the bathroom, where he will stand at the basin and stare at his bare reflection while he smokes and fiddles with his hair. By the time he exits his obscenely large walk-in closet freshly pressed and smartly dressed, Theodore is drifting off back to sleep, still in bed. Draco’s expression softens like it always does when he looks at Theodore and he crosses the room to kiss the top of the other man’s mussed head. “Give him my best,” Theo murmurs, and by the time Draco has disapparated out of the house, he has fallen back asleep. 

 Part 2: Scorpius 

 When Scorpius Malfoy was eleven years old he couldn’t have ever imagined his life becoming what it is now. His first year at Hogwarts was something that terrified and also excited him in the months leading up to September 1st. Scorpius knows he was a sheltered child, it is still painfully obvious, even years into adulthood. His family is definitely an unconventional one, but he never really considered himself lacking much, that is until he met Albus Severus. He can still clearly remember the moment he walked through the stone brick barrier at King’s Cross-onto Platform 93/4 like it was only yesterday instead of twelve years ago. His pale eyes were wide as saucers as his gaze swept around the station, taking everything in from the massive steam train waiting to be boarded to the throngs of children and their families milling about. His teeth chattered with anticipation as he stood there, frozen to the spot as Uncle Theo bent down on a knee to speak privately to him. He had barely the time to hug his mother before Duston and Alexa, his two best friends, came to cart him off towards the train. Of course Albus had been on that platform as well, surrounded by his massive family as they showered him in love and prepared to send him off for his very first year. At the time Scorpius had had no idea that his life was about to be forever altered, but he would, soon enough. 

 It had been terribly natural to form a bond of friendship with Albus, something that will always fill Scorpius with wonder and happiness. Before their first term of school was done and gone the two little boys from opposing but prominent wizarding families had become what most could only describe as inseparable. It became increasingly clear to their shared friends and the whole of the school that you rarely found one without the other, and although neither boy ever questioned their unconventional bond that exceeded any and all boundaries of normal friendship, somewhere inside they both knew that what they had was something special and undefined.

It had seemed a natural progression of their relationship to take things to the next level to everyone but Scorpius, and although it had taken him an obscene amount of time to admit that the love he had for Albus ran far deeper than that of any other friend or living soul, by the time they shared their first kiss at fifteen he knew that there was no one else in the world that he could ever love like he did Albus Potter. 

 Scorpius had six perfect years with Albus before everything changed. He had been standing inside the brilliant white of Albus’ light since he was eleven years old; it had hardly come as a surprise to him when Albus left school to pursue his dreams of rock stardom. When Albus left he took every last ounce of Scorpius with him and left behind only the vessel. Scorpius had always imagined his final year at Hogwarts as a precursor to the brilliant life that was waiting for him beyond the walls of adolescence, but instead he was left behind to wallow in the grim reality that he was absolute shit at being alone. Eighteen was a dark year for Scorpius and although he will shrug and casually say it ‘wasn’t that bad’ if you ask him, the pain of that year without Albus left a permanent mark on him. It was impossible for Scorpius not to think of Albus out in the world without him, living his dream, without him, and it slowly tore him apart from the inside out. Self-destruction was not something that Scorpius ever imagined he had in him, but it was easy when he was faced with the reality of being truly alone. For their part, his friends did their best to make the transition easy but they would never understand how Scorpius felt, which really only served in exacerbating the loneliness. 

 It was Christmas holiday of seventh year when Albus returned to London for a two-day visit. Scorpius can clearly recall that day like it was yesterday as well. Albus had come up with the brilliant plan of taking Scorpius on the road with him, and although Scorpius was sure that he was dreaming, he soon found out that this was better than any dream. 

 Life on the road with Albus and his band was brilliant until it wasn’t. Scorpius spent the better part of a year by Albus’ side, causing mischief and mayhem across the globe. There was a point when he thought it would always be this way and he was more than happy to live in the perfect bubble of love and happiness that he and Albus had created, together. Of course everything eventually changed, even Scorpius, for all of his naivety couldn’t really believe it wouldn’t. Before Scorpius knew what hit him he was leading his own high-profile life in a very different world than the one he had been sharing with Albus.  

Scorpius Malfoy is not a stranger to high fashion. His father has been schooling him on labels and lines since he was a very small child and he is fairly certain that Draco was a bit disappointed that his first word was Da instead of Dior. It was easier than he could have imagined, slipping into the world of material excess, and before long at all he had managed to make a notorious name for himself on looks alone. Runways and bitchy models make for a lonely life and once again Scorpius found himself surrounded by people who made him feel like an island. His foray into the fashion world was admittedly short-lived, but somehow just long enough to break him and by the time he was running for the comfort of a home he had yet to build, he was tired. 

 It was this particular homecoming that set a series of events into motion that would once again alter Scorpius’ life forever. It wasn’t as if he was clueless on the matter, he was more than aware what Albus’ life entailed. They had made a pact when they were seventeen years old and although they had done their best to avoid the subject after that particular day, it had always been there. They were both free to do, as they wished because they knew that in the end, they would always belong to each other alone. Scorpius isn’t sure when this became a real problem for him and it is impossible for him to pinpoint an exact moment where everything changed for him, but if he had to guess he would say that the idea of sharing Albus with the world was never an easy thing to get his head around. 

 The day that the anonymous faces that Albus spent his time with when he was away became not so anonymous is another day in the life of Scorpius Malfoy that will never be forgotten. A desperate phone call. A stranger on the other end of the line. It was enough to shatter the last remaining shreds of a made up reality that Scorpius had been desperately clinging to. It wasn’t immediately clear that Albus no longer belonged to him alone, but as hours bled into days and weeks, it was impossible to ignore. Letters home became a thing of the past. Texts and phone calls were practically non-existent. There was a time when Albus would drop the entire world for a moment of Scorpius’ attention, now there were only excuses, empty promises, and lies. He tried his best not to blame Albus because he had been anything but innocent himself. Of course there had been others, this had never been about that. This was different. 

 When Albus was home he was still somewhere else, Scorpius could see it in his eyes, hiding behind the glinting chips of emerald that no longer shone as brightly as they once did. Somewhere along the way Scorpius Malfoy had managed to lose the only real thing he’d ever had in his life, and he still isn’t equipped with the tools to properly deal with that. 

 Albus has been on the road for three months, two days, twenty-two minutes and thirteen seconds before he returns to London for a fleeting stay that never feels right. Scorpius knows this because he keeps a tally in his head next to the part of his brain that keeps reminding him that he is alone. Albus doesn’t know that Scorpius is more aware of his actions on the road than he lets on. He doesn’t realize that the light in Scorpius’ eyes has gone out because he is too busy looking over his shoulder at where he’s been. When Albus packs up for another tour he is quietly anticipating what is to come instead of dreading it and he doesn’t notice that it is slowly killing Scorpius because he is blinded by a rush that Scorpius has never made him feel. 

 When Albus kisses Scorpius goodbye the exchange is laced with unspoken awkwardness and those little white lies that Albus tells himself are for the best. 

When Scorpius kisses Albus goodbye he feels nothing because he is numb from the reality that he is in love with a version of Albus that no longer exists. 

Scorpius Malfoy is alone. 

 Part 3: Draco 

 A smooth displacement of air is the only indication of the arrival outside of the gates of Malfoy Manor. Draco Malfoy stands in the shadows of an overcast day, staring through the wrought iron bars up at the large house looming in the distance like a shadow of his past. Returning to this place is never easy, even though he’s done it countless times before. As a child the sprawling grounds of Malfoy Estate had been Draco’s safe haven, a notion that his father helped to destroy by the time he was barely dipping his toes into the pool of adolescence.  

Surviving a war and a misguided marriage is enough to put things into perspective for most people, and although Draco’s life has now become something that he always dreamed it would, the invisible stains on his family home will always serve as a gateway to that part of his life that he wishes he could forget. 

 It takes Draco a long moment before he raises his hand to the gate, which sputters and shakes beneath his touch. He lowers his hand and slides his hands into his trouser pockets as he watches the gates swing open for him, brows furrowed together as he mentally prepares himself for what is yet to come. Stepping foot back onto Malfoy soil is bittersweet for a myriad of reasons and as he makes his way up the cobbled path towards the house he can’t help but wonder if this will ever get easier. 

 The shrill caterwaul of a peacock’s call sounds somewhere in the distance and his mind supplies the rest as his eyes move to the curtained, second floor window that serves as the only view into Lucius’ private study. As a child Draco would often hide behind the shrubs and watch his father stand at that very same window with a pair of omnioculars, watching the majestic birds that he seemed to love more than his own son. Draco hated those peacocks as a child, and when his father finally passed he had them all removed—Or so he thought. 

It is with effort that Draco pushes aside his own childhood insecurities; he isn’t here for a cathartic trip down memory lane, after all. Draco is here to speak with his son, even if it’s taken him a terribly long time to bring himself to do it. When Draco had signed over ownership of Malfoy Estate to Scorpius and Albus they had been much younger than he himself was when he finally became the person he wanted to be, with three times the amount of living under their collective belt. It had taken Draco a long time to liken himself to the idea of a Potter in his family, and even longer to accept the fact that his son loved that particular Potter. When Draco looks at Scorpius he is relieved that he sees very little of himself in his son and he has done his best to raise a child that is more prepared for the world that he ever was. 

 Draco steps up onto the porch and reaches for the brass handle adorning the front door before he pauses and lets his hand fall back to his side. His mouth twitches with an unseen smirk as he once again raises his hand, this time to tap the brass knocker three times against the heavy wooden door. He knows that he doesn’t really have to knock but he does it anyways because this is not his home anymore. 

 When Scorpius answers the door Draco does his best not to allow the shock of his son’s current state outwardly show in his features. Scorpius looks positively skeletal and his hair has gone much darker than Draco remembers it. He worries that his son is slowly deteriorating in this old house all alone and he wonders if it is a curse that cannot be erased, no matter how many decorative charms and cleaning spells are put into place. Although Draco had mentally prepared what he wanted to say to his son, he finds the words drying in his throat because he is overwhelmed with parental fight and a need to murder the bringer of such grief to his most cherished creation. Painfully. 

 “Hello, son.” Draco says, and then he does something that neither one of them ever expected. 

 Part 4: Scorpius 

 Scorpius is lying supine when he feels the faint tingle of another presence on his skin. The wards upon Malfoy Estate are designed to yield only to blood or rightful ownership and although Scorpius has been one of the two current wizards alive who can claim ownership for three years, he doesn’t immediately recognize the sensation because he is so often alone within these walls. What he mistakes for an involuntary chill turns out to be the centuries of wards signaling an arrival to their master. 

 He is still lying in the same position when the sound of an ancient brass knocker echoes through the halls and seeps into the walls. Scorpius stares blankly up at the ceiling and wonders who could possibly be calling and why they bothered with such formalities. When the knock comes again he sits up with a sigh and pushes himself to his feet. Scorpius isn’t in the mood to receive company because he thinks that maybe he deserves to be alone and so he begins to piece together an excuse on the way to the front doors. 

 To say that Scorpius is surprised to find his father standing on the doorstep like a common visitor would be an understatement, and although his appearance doesn’t outwardly show it, he is somewhat relieved by Draco’s presence. 

 Scorpius feels infinitesimal beneath Draco’s scrutinizing gaze and if this were any other time he would fidget impatiently and avert his gaze anywhere other than his father’s steely metal eyes. Today he stands void and still, staring at his father with a detached sense of self. He thinks he might like to ask Draco why he is here but finds that even simple things like speaking have become arbitrary. 

 When Draco steps forward and folds Scorpius into an embrace he is rigid with shock and he feels like he is a five-year-old little boy melting into his daddy’s comforting embrace. It takes only a moment for his posture to soften and for him to sag against Draco. Scorpius has been locked up inside the manor by himself for so long that he is hypersensitive to human touch and this is almost too much for him to assimilate. For a long time neither father nor son says anything at all, each lost in the gravity of the moment respectively. 

 “What are you doing here?” Scorpius asks through tears that he doesn’t yet realize he is shedding. 

 This is the moment that Draco’s entire life has been leading up to and it takes every ounce of self-control that he possesses to remain calm and steady. When he left Theodore in bed this morning he had never expected this. He wasn’t prepared for this and as he stands here, with his son clinging to him like he’s a small child, he wonders if he is even equipped to provide the things that Scorpius needs. 

 “It’s going to be alright now,” Draco says as his mouth curves into a soft smile. 

Like Theodore, Scorpius also possesses a range of softer emotions within his father—Something he never really appreciated until this precise moment. 

Scorpius’ head drops back against Draco’s shoulder and he squeezes his eyes shut in a vain attempt to block out the world. “It hurts,” He whispers, and the two words are like a pair of tightly balled fists right in Draco’s gut. 

 He wants to tell his father everything. He wants to scream and shout and cry until his throat feels raw and blistered, but more than anything he wants Draco to tell him it’s going to be okay one more time because maybe he’ll believe it if he says it again.

 Los Angeles is like a putrid melting pot of every bad representation of muggle culture that you could ever imagine. It’s as if the entire city is slowly collapsing beneath the relentless weight of the sun and no one seems willing or capable to do anything about it. This is by far the worst stop on the American leg of the tour and I am silently counting the days until we leave this horrid place. 

 The White Lies have been zigzagging their way across the states as a supporting act who could probably stand on their own for the better part of a year now, quickly picking up steam and fans along the way. By the time we hit Los Angeles I am tired and the newness of being alone with Albus in the great big wide world has worn off. 

 Of course I love being able to share this experience with him, and I am ridiculously proud to call him mine, but there is no denying that I secretly long for the lazy London afternoons together that we will never get back. What I wouldn’t give for a lie down in the grass at Malfoy Estate with Albus beside me. Hell, I’d even take Hogwarts at this point, as least we didn’t have to pretend to be something that we’re not. 

 Albus’ wrangler had made it exceedingly clear right from the get go that I was to outwardly appear as a best mate and nothing more. “Bad for his image” she had said, and although both of us had loudly protested, she was hearing none of it. 

 In the beginning it wasn’t so terrible, being classified as part of the ‘entourage,’ the un-famous friend who served as a reminder to the fans that Albus was just as ‘normal’ and ‘average’ as they were. Stolen kisses behind the curtain and sneaking between hotel rooms after hours, it was like a game that I was more than happy to play. The scars that Hogwarts and Scamander and Albus’ absence had left on me were still fresh and there was nowhere else that I would rather be, no matter the cost. 

 By the time Albus and his band came to Los Angeles they had gathered up enough momentum to be invited onto several local radio shows. Of course Albus drug me along with, although I am usually relegated to the lobby to wait since I am not part of the actual band. I generally sit and leaf through whatever random magazines are scattered about and listen to the live feed filter through hidden speakers. I quickly began to recognize patterns in interview questions with every one that I listened to and it was easy to laugh off the innocuous questions about Albus’ ‘love life’ and if there was a ‘special girl’ that he was fond of. Of course, sexuality was another no-no with his manager. She had insisted that Albus keep that pivotal detail about himself private, as it may do him more harm than good. Female fans liked to live in the illusion that their favorite musicians could somehow be theirs, and she didn’t want Albus alienating this viable and highly profitable market. 

 I’m listening to Albus’ voice filter over the airwaves and I know him so well that I can hear the smile in his words. The band was playing The Paladium tonight and the radio host was promising listeners it was going to be a show to remember. Before they were finished they gave fans the opportunity to call in and win tickets and even now, all this time later, it never surprises me how many people love Albus. I can relate to those people and I certainly cannot fault them. 

 Albus came to get me after he was finished and his bright smile made my lonely wait worthwhile. What I wanted to do was throw my arms around him and kiss him, but his manager’s warning glare ensured our interaction was relegated to a smile and a casual nod. 

 I really hate his manager. 

 I could feel the weight of her stare on me as Albus leaned close and whispered, “Let’s get out of here,” in my ear, and I could only grin over my shoulder at her as he drug me out the station’s front doors. I don’t know when it had become a competition between us, but every time she told me ‘no’ it only made me want to do it more. 

 Outside it was sticky and hot and with in a few minutes I was ready for my nth shower of the day. Albus wanted to explore and eat and I was happy for the time alone. We walked randomly and without purpose, both of us content in each other’s company and the anonymity of a large city. At some point we had ventured into North Hollywood and stumbled upon a tiny hole in the wall hot dog joint. Albus giggled as we shuffled in and made a suggestive comment about American wieners and Vicious Dogs that had us both stifling laughter as we perused the menu. The man at the counter was an older gentleman who was super friendly and more importantly, not a fan. In fact, to this man we appeared nothing more than a couple of young blokes out to lunch. The place was small and we chose a seat by the window and I have to admit, that the hot dogs were damn good. 

 It is so easy to lose ourselves when we are together. I think that everyone forgets how young we still are and how tiring it is to act like adults all the time. We shared our food and some kisses and it never occurred to us that it was in any way, wrong. Of course, being in the heart of the city meant we were never allowed to be anonymous for very long and although we didn’t see the group of girls that all had their muggle mobile devices in hand, we would know all about them and the harsh reality of something that muggles called social media very soon. 

 Since Albus generally ignores his mobile and I have never even turned mine on, it wasn’t until we returned to the hotel that we discovered anything was amiss. His manager was waiting for us out front and looking murderous. Her hair was sticking out in several places and her eyeliner was smudged and although I knew I should have had the decency to at least look remorseful, I couldn’t help but smirk smugly at her instead. 

 “Inside. Now.” Her tone was a low whisper that completely erased any and all happiness I may have been feeling. She stood between us in the lift and escorted us back to our rooms. When I chance a glance at Albus it was his manager’s gaze that met mine and instantly stirred the first strings of anger inside of me.

 When she stopped in front of Albus’ room and told him to wait inside I quirked a brow, and when she escorted me to my room I begrudgingly followed along. Instead of leaving me she entered my room with me, and before I could inquire as to the reason she pointed a stiff finger to the nearest chair and told me to, “sit.” 

 I slumped down in the chair like a petulant child and sat on my hands, narrowed eyes watching her as she paced back and forth in front of me. I have never been fond of authority and I had zero tolerance for this woman and her ridiculous rules. “What did we do wrong now?” My words hung in the air and for a long moment were met with nothing but silence and the muffled click of her shoes against thin carpet. Each second that ticked by was like silent agony and I wished that she would simply get on with it and be done. Albus only had a few hours before he had to leave for the gig and I intended on being there. 

Suddenly she stopped pacing and turned to face me, a harshly penciled eyebrow arched nearly up to her hairline. “I have just one question for you, Mr. Malfoy.” I blinked and inwardly winced at her favored name for me. Mr. Malfoy is my father, and I am not my father. 

 When I said nothing she continued, “Where do you see Albus in five years?” She was still staring at me and her calm evenness was unsettling. 

 “I imagine he’ll be a household name in five years.” My reply was near instantaneous, because it is how I’ve always felt. There has never been a doubt in my mind that Albus would be exceedingly famous. 

 She nodded slowly at me and a knowing grin was slowly curling her mouth upwards, making her look very much like a sadistic Cheshire cat. “I don’t believe you.” She replied in a tone so low it was nearly a whisper, and although I frowned in confusion I had already begun to understand where she was going.  

Against my better judgment I opened my mouth and asked, “And why’s that?” even though I knew I would regret it. 

 “If you truly want him to be a big star you would follow the few simple requests that we ask of you.” 

 “I never said I wanted him to be a big star, I said that is where I saw him. What I want is for Albus to be happy, and if that involves becoming a massive rock star, then I support it.” 

 She quirked a brow at me when I spoke, as if she found great humor in my words. 

 “Mr. Malfoy, haven’t you realized that Albus can’t be happy with you here? Instead of focusing on his career and his music he is much too worried about pleasing you and making sure that you are all right. You’re a distraction, and frankly, I am afraid you are going to cost him everything.” 

 Her words hurt more than I would ever admit it and I blinked rapidly and bit back an impulsive string of expletives that wouldn’t serve any purpose except making me feel better and further prove her point. I averted my gaze as I turned her words over in my head, refusing to find truth in them. 

 I wasn’t distracting…Was I? 

 In mere moments I began second-guessing myself, just as this woman has hoped I would. She stood there watching me and waiting for the perfect moment to strike again. 

 “Perhaps it would be for the best if you return to London. Aren’t you tired of being away from home? Don’t you have any dreams of your own you’d like to pursue?” 

 Of course I knew that her inquires were self-serving. She had loathed me from the moment we met and had been waiting for an opportunity to present itself to be rid of me. But what if she was right? From the moment I had left England I had been so wholly focused on Albus that I hadn’t even bothered to stop and think about me, and when it came down to it, I really didn’t have any clue where I saw myself in five years. Would I always be just another member of the entourage? Destined to follow Albus around the world and stand in the background? I would never begrudge Albus his chance at success and fame, but would I be happy with nothing else but the knowledge that he was happy? 

 I chewed absently on my bottom lip as I sat there, refusing to meet this woman’s gaze. She was not so gently pushing for my absence and although I didn’t like the idea of her being right; I couldn’t exactly deny that she had a point. 

 “He wouldn’t want me to leave.” I muttered a bit miserably, head bowed like I was a small child all over again. 

 “Of course he wouldn’t, and herein lies the problem. Do you love him enough to make a sacrifice that he never could?” She took a step closer to my chair and peered down at me with a gentler expression that I did not see. She knew she was winning and if she got her way she would see me on my way back to London before the day was done. 

 I lifted my head to meet her gaze, a deep frown etching my features and giving them the appearance of being much more sharp than they normally were. Of course I wanted to tell her she was crazy, but I was so tired of traveling and hiding and sweating that I just sighed instead. The thought of leaving Albus and returning to London alone made my stomach turn and when I opened my mouth to protest she held up a hand to silence me before I could finish. 

 “Why can’t we just—“ 

 “Mr. Malfoy, I’ve been nothing but honest with you, now it’s your turn to be honest with yourself.” She smiled at me then, a mildly condescending expression that set my nerves on edge. When she patted my shoulder I wanted to shy away from her but I remained rigid instead. 

 “I know you’ll do the right thing.” She added sweetly, and then she was gone. Out the door and undoubtedly back to Albus to break the news to him. 

 For a long time I remained exactly where I was, my fingers were numb from lack of blood flow and I hardly noticed. My mind was racing with confused thoughts and uncertain half-decisions that I couldn’t bear to make. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Despite my lack of enthusiasm lately, it was never ever supposed to end like this. 

 Eventually I got up and I left my room and the hotel all together. I hadn’t collected my things as Albus’ manager had hoped I would, and I certainly did not run back to England like a scared and defeated little boy. Instead I walked, and I walked, and when the sun finally slipped beyond the edge of the horizon the air was still hot and sticky and it fucking sucked. 

 Los Angeles was nothing like other major cities we have visited, there were no cabs waiting to be called upon and by the time I had decided that I was going to Albus’ gig I had to move quick. 

 Running down The Sunset Strip was not nearly as awe-inducing as it should have been and I’m sure Uncle Theo would be deeply disappointed in me for not appreciating my current surroundings and absorbing the deeply ingrained musical roots that were surely soaked into the very pavement beneath my feet. By the time the venue came into view the entry line was wrapped around the building and twisting through the immediate parking lot. There were literally muggles everywhere. I didn’t have a ticket, but I did have a wallet in my pocket with an endless supply of American muggle money, compliments of my father. It was easy enough to procure a slightly overpriced ticket from a dubious looking man out front and before long I was in the queue, paid ticket in hand. 

 I had no idea what the fuck I was doing. Of course I could have simply went around back and used my all access badge to get in backstage, but that would have involved a whole lot of questions that I didn’t want to answer just yet. I was still confused and my head was still full of the band manager’s words from earlier. 

 And let’s be honest, a small part of me wanted to watch Albus from the anonymous safety of a large crowd. Would the show really go on, even if he thought I was leaving? Did he have it in him to put aside his personal problems and face his dreams? 

 It was a selfish thing to do, but I couldn’t help it. I simply had to know. 

 Muggle concertgoers are an interesting bunch and it was the first real time I had been on this side of things. The failing air cooler did nothing to quell the rising warmth in the massive room and by the time the lights went down I was reeling from the heat and anticipation. I was careful to remain far enough away to not be spotted. I know Albus had the habit of scanning the crowd and I’m not exactly the most inconspicuous face in this group. My chest seized as The White Lies took the stage and I didn’t even hear the cheers that were pressing in on me from all sides. My ears were a loud buzz of adrenaline and uncertainty and when he started singing it was like seeing him for the very first time. 

 It was easy to see how these muggles fell in love with him so easily. He was flawless and commanding and it impressed me on an entirely new level and made me love him even more; if that was even possible. I watched him carefully, searching for a single crack in his demeanor; any indication that he was affected in ways that had nothing to do with performing. It was unfair of me, I knew it, and yet still I desperately craved to see any outward inflection that I was more important than the thrill of the stage and that fucking guitar. I felt like I was sixteen again, worried about the future and being left behind, except now it was the future and maybe my worries weren’t so crazy after all. 

By the time I was pushing my way through the crowd towards the exit I was on the verge of tears that I did not wish to cry in an extremely public setting. Albus’ voice was still ringing in my ears when I stumbled back out onto the street and when I started running I never once looked back because I couldn’t face the truth that was hovering just over my shoulder. The city around me was a blur of lights and sounds that I didn’t bother to decipher. I was terrified to stop running even though my body was all but demanding it and when I finally did stop my knees buckled and I found myself kneeling on a dirty sidewalk in an unknown section of the city. 

 I should have been more wary of my surroundings, more aware of how vulnerable I really was out here all alone after dark. Of course I had my wand tucked into my jeans, but that didn’t mean I was by any means, safe. My father would have murdered me on the spot if he could have seen how careless I really was with my own life. When it came down to it I was a pretty little boy all by himself in an unforgiving city. When I was approached I hardly noticed. My hands were splayed out open-palmed on the ground and my eyes were squeezed shut and I was just trying to find my breath. I didn’t even hear what was said, although I imagine I made a peculiar enough sight to scare whomever it was away. 

 The mobile in my back pocket was ringing with calls that I would never get because I still hadn’t gotten the hang of how to use the stupid thing, and it was a long time before I finally stood up and slowly made my way back towards the hotel; or rather, the way I thought the hotel might be. It was a long walk back, longer on account of having zero sense of direction in a place like this and by the time I did find my way it was well past midnight. The fluorescent sign in the distance was like a foreboding beacon calling to me and I followed it, eager to wash the grime of the city off of me. There was no one waiting on the steps for me and I managed to slip inside the place virtually undetected. My room was exactly how I’d left it and when I shut the door behind me I sagged against the back of it and heaved a heavy sigh. 

 I should have known that it is never that easy. 

 “Where were you?” His voice cut through the shadows like the sharpest knife and I winced slightly at the hurt that was unmistakable in his tone. 

 “Had to get out for a bit.” I knew it was a lame response that he wouldn’t buy, but I put it out there anyways. 

 My eyes adjusted to the darkness and I spotted him sitting on the edge of the bed, staring directly at me. 

“You’re leaving.” He said, and it wasn’t a question so much as it was a pained statement. 

 I wanted to close the gap between us and tell him that I wasn’t going anywhere, that there was nowhere in the world that I’d rather be than by his side. More than anything I wanted to be that person for him, and I don’ t know if it was his manager’s words in my head or my own, but I was stuck to the spot where I stood. 

 Albus Severus has been the most important thing in my life since I was eleven years old, I could not begin to imagine how to live without him. Again. 

 “Yeah,” I said after an uncomfortably long silence, averting my gaze to my feet to avoid the hurt and confusion I knew I would find waiting in his eyes. 

 “Don’t you love me anymore?” His voice cracked with the words he spoke and it was almost enough to break me down. Almost. 

I swallowed thickly and lifted my head to meet his gaze, determined to show him that he was better off without me around, even if it killed us both in the process. 

“I can’t love you like this anymore. I’m tired, Al, and I want to go home.” My voice sounded foreign to my own ears and I felt sick beneath the weight of words that I did not mean. I was tapped out and trapped and there was no going back now because I can never un-see that look of anguish that screwed up his face when he looked at me. 

 “Scor, please…” Albus stood up and started to advance upon me as he spoke and although I wanted so desperately to allow him to come, I backed away from him and told myself it had to be this way. 

 “Don’t. It will only make it hurt more.” I held up a hand to halt him and we found ourselves caught in a stand off. His eyes burned with confusion and sadness and even though it should have made me feel like shit, I could only be angry at myself and this entire fucked up situation instead. 

 When Albus Severus stepped out of my hotel room and my life he most definitely took all the redeeming qualities I had once possessed with him. I felt empty and numb and more than anything else, I felt…slighted. I used the situation as an opportunity to disappear into an unforgiving world and I wielded my grief like an angry weapon to be used for destruction. Destruction of myself, mostly. 

He finds the twins in the guest room in which they’ve taken up residence for the week.  Hydra is holding a hysterical Lyra in her arms, rocking her back and forth upon the bed.  

 Scorpius is frantically trying to get his stepsister to calm down, but can barely keep his own cool as he throws questions at her. “Are you hurt?  Did something happen?  Stop screaming for a second and tell me what’s wrong.”

 Albus sits on the bed beside the girls, puts a hand on Hydra’s shoulder, leans his head close to hers, and asks evenly, “Can you tell me what’s happened?”

 “Nightmare,” Hydra replies.

 Lyra wails, “It was real! It was real!”

 Hydra speaks soothingly to her sister in a way that is more mature than her years, “Not real.  Just a dream.  You’re awake, sister dear.”  She pets Lyra’s hair and kisses her on the top of the head as Lyra shakes in her arms.

 Albus knows what night terrors are.  His dad had them on occasion when work really got to him.  His mum had said it was the lingering effects of post-traumatic stress disorder.

 He tells Lyra in soothing tones, “I know it must’ve seemed awfully real, but it was a nightmare. It’s over now.  You’re okay. You’re safe.”

 “That must’ve been some right-awful nightmare,” Scorpius says wearily.  “You sounded like somebody was killing you.”

 Lyra takes a shuddering, tearful breath and looks up at her stepbrother with accusing eyes.  “You were killing me.  You killed Hy and then you were killing me.”

 Scorpius gasps incredulously, “I’d never!  You’re both evil little creatures, but I wouldn’t go so far as to--”

 Albus flashes Scorpius a warning glare.  “Scor loves you both very much.  He’s here to help you, not to hurt you.”

 Scorpius sighs and looks apologetic.  “Why don’t you come sleep in our room, if that’ll make you feel better?”

 Albus still remembers having bad dreams (or just a bad day) and climbing into Scorpius’ four-poster in the Slytherin dorms as a child.  Scorpius had done the same.

 “What?  In your bed?  With you?” Lyra has calmed down enough to put her sour face back on. She’s asking like it’s the most outlandish suggestion in the world.

 “Well, yeah,” says Scorpius, probably too tired to hide that he’s offended.  “What does mother do when you have nightmares?”

 Lyra wipes her face on the sleeve of her nightgown and sniffles.  “Mother has Tink make me a big mug of warm milk.  With honey.  And a little bit of brandy.”

 Albus has to bite his bottom lip hard to keep from snorting.  How could they expect Astoria to do anything but delegate the post-nightmare comforting to the house elf and alcohol?

 Scorpius tiredly ruffles his hair and sighs deeply as if it’s a chore.  “We don’t have any brandy,” he lies and grumbles,  “But I’ll make you some warm milk and honey.”

 “And a biscuit,” Lyra adds, pouting and blubbering softly, “Tink always gives me an almond biscuit.”

 Scorpius sighs again, “We don’t have almond biscuits.”

 Hydra scoffs, offended on behalf of her sister, “No almond biscuits?  What sort do you have?”

 Scorpius replies, losing patience because he’s losing sleep, “I’ve no bloody idea.  Chocolate, I guess.”

 “Ooh chocolate,” says Hydra, suddenly perking up, “I want some too.”

 Scorpius pats Albus on the shoulder with a weary smile.  “I’ll take care of it.  You go back to bed.”  

 Albus says, “You’re a doll,” then pecks his husband on the lips.

 Lyra and Hydra remark in unison, “Ew.”

  ~//~

 The next time Albus wakes up, the sun is streaming through the narrow gap in the blackout curtains of his bedroom.  By the angle of the shadows, he can tell it’s early.  He senses a presence in the room that is not his husband curled up next to him. He looks to the foot of the bed and gasps in alarm when he finds Lyra and Hydra standing there, hands linked, staring down at him.

 He nearly swears aloud, but manages to curb his foul language.  “What in Merlin’s name are you doing?”

 They whisper their reply together, “We’re hungry.”

 “We want breakfast,” says Lyra.

 “Pancakes,” adds Hydra.

 Albus is careful not to wake his sleeping companion.  Circe knows how late Scorpius had stayed up with his sisters last night.  Judging from the death-like slumber he’s in now, Scorpius could probably use a good lie-in this morning.

 Albus is rubbish at cooking most things, but he’s proud of his breakfast-making skills.  His pancakes are particularly highly acclaimed. He’s still tired, and he has to drag himself out of bed, but he’s more than happy to prepare a fluffy batch of blueberry pancakes.

 Lyra and Hydra sit at the kitchen island, watching raptly while Albus mixes flour, sugar, butter, baking soda, milk, and eggs into the perfect, bubbly batter.  Apparently, their mother doesn’t allow them in their kitchen while Tink is cooking, so it’s a real treat for them.  Albus even lets them drop in blueberries, one-by-one, just for the fun of it.  The two girls giggle, and Albus smiles, feeling just a little bit proud of himself for being a good surrogate daddy.

 While the pancakes are on the griddle, Albus makes a special blueberry compote.

 “What’s that?” asks Lyra, scrunching up her nose in disgust.

 “Topping.  For the pancakes.  It’s better than syrup.  Trust me,” insists Albus.

 “Looks like somebody ate too many blueberries and got sick,” says Lyra.

 Albus rolls his eyes and chuckles.  “You don’t have to put it on your pancakes.  We’ve got maple syrup too.”

 “Do you have ketchup?” asks Hydra as she hops off the stool and pads barefoot to the refrigerator.

 Albus looks at her sideways. “Er, yeah.  It’s in the door.  You actually put ketchup on pancakes?”

 Lyra answers for her sister. “Hy puts ketchup on everything.”

 Albus can’t judge the palate of a five-year-old.  He’s put stranger condiments on food as a child.

 “Go up and get your brother. Breakfast is nearly ready,” Albus says as he flips over the perfectly golden pancakes.

 Hydra asks with a little smirk, “What if Scorpius doesn’t want to wake up?”

 Albus mirrors her mischievous grin.  He may be playing the part of the responsible adult, but he’s not opposed to some payback – Scorpius has had to resort to some pretty awful things to wake up Albus in the past, and Albus is still a little bit vindictive, if playfully so. “Use any means necessary,” he says.

 The girls respond cheerily, “Okay!”  Then skip out of the kitchen.

 After the pancakes have been sitting on the table for a while, Albus begins to worry what’s taking the girls so long to come down with their stepbrother.  When he goes up to check on them, he finds Lyra and Hydra in the doorway of his bedroom.  Hydra is standing there with reddened hands, looking guilty.  Her fingers are dripping onto the white carpet.  Lyra’s hands are also covered, and her nightgown is splattered red.  She’s holding a pair of scissors, crying.

 Albus’ eyes go wide.

 “We didn’t mean to kill him,” says Hydra, looking up at him from behind a curtain of wet lashes.

 Lyra adds tearfully, “We thought it would be funny to cut his hair when he was sleeping.”

 “The scissors slipped,” Hydra explains.  “He just kept bleeding and bleeding.”

 “We didn’t mean to kill him,” repeats Lyra, beginning to sob.

 Albus is in paralyzing shock, staring at the gruesome scene in front of him.  The twins are covered in blood, blood that trails all the way through the doorway, across the carpet, and on the white sheets.  Albus’ whole body shakes with rage and all-encompassing dread as he follows the trail back to a motionless, bloody lump in the bed. His heart is lodged somewhere in his throat, preventing him from breathing.  He’s in a stunned daze as he reaches down to pull back the bloodied duvet.

 He swallows hard and yanks on the bedcovers.  Instead of his dead husband, he finds a mass of pillows.  The blood on his hands is not blood at all, but ketchup.  He screws his eyes shut, willing himself not to lose his shit.  He hears the faint sound of the shower running in the en suite bathroom. The girls are snickering quietly.  Albus then proceeds to lose his shit anyway.

 “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”  He whirls around and narrows his eyes at the twins.  “Your idea of a practical joke is seriously fucked up.”

 Hydra is wearing a shit-eating grin when she reprimands, “Those are bad words, Al.  I’m going to tell Daddy.”

 “Oh, you’ll have a lot to tell your daddy when I get through with--”

 Albus doesn’t get to finish his threat.  The bathroom door opens and Scorpius walks out wearing a towel and a bewildered expression.  “The fuck…,” he hisses with confusion, surveying the red mess.

 “Language,” Hydra admonishes melodically.

 “Apparently, your sisters killed you with a pair of scissors,” Albus explains with a tight, humorless smile.

When I met Albus Severus I was eleven years old. I was sheltered and naïve and everything that he was not. From that first moment I took his hand I knew that he was special and I spent six entire years clinging to his brilliant white light with everything that I was. I think I have always loved him, even when I couldn’t admit it to myself or say it out loud, I knew. Albus was my best friend and my better half. There was no one like him in the entire world and he was all mine. By the time I realized that my love for him went beyond the boundaries of our decidedly unnatural friendship, I was fifteen years old. The night I kissed him beneath a blacked out sky down by the lake at Malfoy Manor sealed our fate and bound us together – long before we legally took that step.

Of course it wasn’t always happy and carefree. When I was seventeen Albus dropped out of school to pursue his dreams and I was left behind to nurse a broken heart and a missing piece of my soul. For the first time in seven years I was forced to face the world alone and I quickly learned that I was actually quite rubbish at it. Eighteen was a dark year for me, and although I don’t like to look back on the past if I can help it, I will say this—I was lost without him.

The time we spent apart was pure torture but it was nothing compared to the nagging tug at the back of my mind when he came home during Christmas holiday. I should have been happy to see him but the reunion was tainted with the unspoken knowledge that he was going to leave again and rip my wounds clean back open. I didn’t know how to let him go and more importantly, I didn’t want to let him go.

Of course that never happened or the story I am telling now would be a much different tale. Albus didn’t leave me that Christmas, instead he gave me the greatest gift he ever would – He took me with him.

“What are you writing, Scor?” Albus asks as he attempts to peer over my shoulder at the leather-bound journal in my lap.

“Just a few notes,” I say as I close the book with a smile. Uncle Theo had given it to me on my thirteenth birthday and told me that journals were friends that were always there ready to listen.

Albus’ shoulder presses up against mine and his side quirked grin slowly morphs into a smirk. “You in need of some fresh memories to jot down?” Whenever Albus tries to sound suave and sexy he gets this rosy blush on the bridge of his nose and he bites his lip unconsciously. I love this particular version of Albus because he reminds me of that black haired boy whose hand I took so long ago.

“Are you offering?” I ask with a raised brow, head tilting just enough to rest on his shoulder.

“Hell yes.” He replies almost instantly and when I grin, he is grinning right back at me.

We’re in the middle of nowhere land. Crammed in a run down muggle van with Albus’ band mates, his touring manager, and a driver. It’s uncomfortably hot and my shirt is sticking to my back and the breeze that is blowing through the open windows is stifling, but I will tell you that this is the happiest that I’ve ever been in my life.

Touring the states with a virtually unknown band is an experience I will never forget, even years down the road when this day seems like a distant dream that might not even be real. Miranda, his manager, says that this sort of travel is necessary to lend to the image and although I am inclined to disagree with her, I keep my thoughts to myself and just enjoy the ride.

“It’s hot as blazes in here Mir, can we stop and stretch out soon?” Albus leans forward and flashes his manager the type of charming smile that he reserves for those times when he really wants something. I’m not a stranger to this particular smile and I can’t help but wonder if it has the same effect on Miranda as it does on me.

Miranda sighs quietly and lowers her sunglasses enough to peer sidelong at Albus, who is still grinning wide and bright. She regards him for a moment with a look that is far too serious on a day like today. It seems the entire entourage is collectively holding our breath as we wait, ignoring the beads of sweat that were practically dripping off of us.

After another extended moment she rolls her eyes and returns her sunglasses to the top of her nose. She wants to tell him that we should keep going if there was any hope of making it to the gig tonight, I can see it in her posture and I’m ready to jump in and put up a fight if I need to. Hell, at this point I think all of us would kill for five minutes outside of this cramped and stuffy van.

“There’s a rest stop a few miles up, we can stop for fifteen minutes, not a minute longer.” Miranda’s voice is colored with reservation and I can’t help but smirk because old people are so easy to manipulate. Particularly old people whose parents are paying them handsomely to take care of their children.

The van breaks out in cheers and Albus leans back in his seat with a satisfied smile. When he takes my hand and looks right through me everything else fades away. His skin is flushed and moist with sweat and his eyes speak silently of promises and adoration and it doesn’t even matter that I’m sticking to a worn out vinyl seat in the back of a smelly old van because we’re together.

The rest stop isn’t really much more than that. It’s some dirty loo stalls and a couple of mechanical machines that eat muggle money and spit out stale crisps and warm bottles of water. Miranda is standing by the van on her mobile talking animatedly to someone on the other end and Albus’ band is advancing on the vending machines like hungry predators. I’m standing off to the side stretching cramped muscles when Albus grabs my hand and pulls me after him. He giggles mischievously over his shoulder at me as we run for the cluster of trees and disappear into a sparse forest. By the time we stop I can’t even hear the guys arguing over the last bag of peanuts and before I can even catch my breath or brush the hair out of my eyes Albus has me pressed up against a large tree that smells vaguely like urine.

“Ready for some fresh memories?” He whispers hotly into my mouth and I shiver imperceptibly despite the heat of the day that is pressing in around us from all sides.

I nod slowly and manage a muffled response against his lips that makes him grin deviously from ear to ear. He tastes like faded peppermint gum and salty sweat and I don’t even have time to think about how perfect that is before his fingers curl into the front of my jeans. He kisses me hard and fast and steals my breath away with an ease that would scare the average person. “You’re so hot,” he grunts against my throat between open-mouthed kisses, and he’s right. On so many levels.

I know we have to hurry before someone comes to drag us back to that paved highway but there is nothing I want more than to freeze this moment in time for all eternity. Albus is kissing my throat with a sweaty hand wrapped around my cock and all I can do is drop my head back against the tree with a dull thud and enjoy the ride.

He drops to his knees right there in the dirt and I smile because this feels dirty and forbidden and I never want him to stop. He makes short work of my button fly and before I can blink he’s got his mouth on me and I can’t fucking breathe. Every inch of me is tingling with pent up lust and anticipation and I can’t help but twist my fingers in his messy black hair as I watch my cock disappear into his white-hot mouth in quick succession.

His tongue swaddles me so perfectly that I can’t help but think that his mouth was made specifically for my cock. He grunts around a mouthful and my eyes flutter because it feels so good and I know it’s not going to last at all. He’s relentless and messy and I love him so much that I think my heart is going to burst right here. “I’m gonna…” I wheeze through clenched teeth and he hums an approval like a call to arms and before I can think better of it I’m coming in his mouth and he’s taking it all.

I’m panting and my vision is blurry but it doesn’t stop me from curling a fist into the front of his t-shirt and dragging him to his feet. “Love you, so fucking much,” I say through breathless gasps for air and then I kiss him fiercely. His tongue is bitter and minty and when he wraps his arms around me I shudder against him and give him everything.

Albus has certainly outdone himself with this rushed out memory, of this I am certain.

By the time we break apart my chest is constricted painfully from lack of oxygen and we are both sweaty and more than a little grimy. His smile is so consuming that I feel like I’m being devoured and I don’t even care that I’m going to have to cram back into that stupid van in a few short minutes. Time slows to a stop when he looks at me just like that and I think that I should be scared of how much I need him but at this particular moment I disregard it all.

“Write that down in that journal of yours.” He says with a quirked grin that makes my heart soar and my teeth ache.

When we step out of the cluster of trees hand in hand Miranda and the guys have already packed back inside of the van. “I said not a minute more,” She says as she narrows her eyes at our advancing forms.

“Sorry Mir, just trying to make some memories while we can.” Albus says cheekily and when she arches a brow, we both have the sense to at least try and look remorseful.

Albus clambers into the backseat and I quickly follow, sliding the rusty swing door shut behind us. Our fingers intertwine without even thinking about it and when I glance at him, my smile is mirrored in his image. The van rolls backwards with a shaky sputter and after a few tries we are heading back towards the highway. Just before the dingy rest stop is out of view I glance out the back window and do my best to burn the image into my permanent memory because I never want to forget even a second of this day.

“You smell like you pissed yourself,” Conner says on Albus’ other side and when we both break into a fit of giggles the entire van peers at us like we’ve lost our minds.

The return of the stifling heat inside a cramped van brings with it a silence that appears to make everyone sleepy. Conner has he feet propped up on the back of Daniel’s seat and Albus is snoring softly with his head resting against my shoulder. Even Miranda has stopped talking endlessly into her mobile and at least appears to be trying to relax. Once again I’m drenched in sweat and sticking to the back of my seat but it doesn’t bother me, not really. My gaze shifts to the open window and the endless black pavement of a two-lane highway that never breaks up or changes. Double yellow lines for miles and miles are enough to make anyone crazy, but I somehow still think this is the best time of my life and I never want it to end. I stick a hand out the open window and ride the warm wind with my fingertips and I can’t help but grin stupidly in my seat.

It doesn’t matter where I’m going or what I’ve left behind, so long as I have this moment, this boy beside me, and these double yellow lines to look back on. Years from now I will look back on this day with a fondness that is unsurpassed but for today, I’m just enjoying the ride.

It’s been a tumultuous first five years of marriage, plagued with doubt and tarnished by indiscretions, perhaps owing to the fact that they had wed as naïve teenagers – they were still kids themselves when they’d jumped into the real world before they were ready. Older, wiser, but still so unsure, Albus and Scorpius are navigating through life as adults now.  Part of growing up is thinking about the future.  Though they had a rough start and had come out of those first years a bit worn-down and bruised, they are both completely certain that their future will be spent together.

 Now Albus just wants to know if they will share their future with other people - Other little people.

  “I do,” Albus admits quietly, tracing faint lines on Scorpius’ arm with his fingertips.  

 Scorpius shivers almost imperceptibly from Albus’ touch, and it makes Albus smile.  He loves Scorpius so much that it hurts, and he worries that Scorpius won’t always feel the same.  But when a simple touch has such an affect on Scorpius, Albus feels reassured that his husband is still very much in love.

 Scorpius jokes, bending his knee slightly to wedge his leg between Albus’ as he drawls, “You want to make a baby with me, hm?”

 Albus doesn’t mind Scorpius making light of it, especially if doing so will inspire a morning romp upon the bed they share. “I don’t know how we’d accomplish it, but it would be nice to make a family together.”  He shifts his body fully onto Scorpius’ and murmurs against his mouth, “You’d be the sexiest daddy ever.”

 Following a teasing little nibble on Albus’ bottom lip, Scorpius says, “Even if we can’t actually procreate with each other, I’m willing to try knocking you up.”

 “Pretty sure I can’t get pregnant, no matter how much of your DNA you put inside me,” Albus giggles. Then he adds in a low, sensual purr, “But I won’t stop you from pumping me full of Malfoy genes.”

  Albus still can’t believe that this is his life – that he gets to wake up naked next to his best friend every morning in an enormous house.  Though it has been years since Draco signed over Malfoy Manor to Scorpius and Albus, it still feels slightly surreal.  He still feels a little bit like he is that fifteen-year-old kid sneaking into Scorpius’ house to do unspeakable things with Mr. Malfoy’s precious son behind a locked door and a few silencing charms.  

 Now they don’t even bother closing the bedroom door half the time, since they literally have the entire estate to themselves.  Some mornings, they forego clothing when they go down for breakfast.  And this morning, Albus has been shagged so rotten, that he thinks Scorpius deserves breakfast in bed.  

 Because Astoria can still get through the warded floo downstairs, Albus has the misfortune of greeting his mother-in-law in the kitchen while he’s wearing nothing but the dried remnants of her darling boy’s seed on his thighs.

 She’s sitting at the marble-topped kitchen island sipping coffee that she’d made for herself, when she catches sight of Albus, emits a short, sharp shriek, and raises a hand to shield her eyes.  

 Albus lets out a startled yelp and instinctively covers his lap with his hands.  “Bloody Hell, Astoria!  You could’ve owled first to tell us you were coming,” he sputters while scrambling for a dishtowel in a vain attempt at modesty.

 Astoria replies, lowering her hand to glare at Albus, “Since when do I need to owl prior to a scheduled brunch with my boys?”

 Albus swears under his breath.

 “Obviously, you both forgot,” she huffs indignantly, then adds with unveiled sarcasm.  “You also forgot your pants.”  She sighs heavily behind her coffee cup, “Merlin’s beard, you’re worse than Theodore.  At least he wanders about the house in his underthings – never stark bloody naked.”

 Albus dishes up some snarky attitude of his own.  It’s all just part of the banter that he and Astoria often exchange.  “Perhaps if you wouldn’t show up at their house without warning, you wouldn’t have to see Uncle Theo in his Skivvies.”  His mouth curves into a smirk.

 “Without warning?” Astoria repeats, slightly indignant, “Circe, Albus.  You make me sound like a bloody hazard.”  She regards Albus from behind her coffee cup and lets her eyes fall southward as she takes a sip.   She remarks wryly, “At least I can rest assured that my son did very well for himself by marrying you.”

 Flustered, Albus hunches over, grabs another dishtowel, and scoffs, “Ugh.  Could you please…?”

 “Please what?” Astoria asks, raising a penciled-in brow challengingly.  “Please make myself at home while you make yourself decent?  Please call over my elf to make us brunch?”  She puts on a tight smile.

 Albus just rolls his eyes rather than telling his mother-in-law to politely fuck off. “I’ll send Scor down,” he mutters as he awkwardly turns to walk away, inadequately covering his behind with a very small towel.

 Astoria whistles approvingly in his wake.  “Nice to see you’re keeping fit for Scorpius.  Only the best for my son.”

 Albus resigns to drop the ineffectual towel in favor of flashing Astoria a rude hand-gesture. Such is the language of love in this unconventional family.

  By the time the three are settled in the sunroom for brunch, Albus’ unexpected nakedness in the kitchen is quickly forgotten, facilitated by mimosas and a lovely quiche Lorraine.   Tink’s cooking almost makes Albus want to get a house elf of their own.

 Albus is surprised when Scorpius casually brings up the conversation that had begun in the bedroom. “Albie and I are thinking about having kids.”  

 Astoria gasps dramatically in alarm, as if Scorpius had told her some bad news.  This is not the reaction one would expect from a mother who just learned her son would be expanding their family.  If it had been Albus’ mum, Ginny Potter would be thrilled. But this is Astoria, who is far from a typical mother.

 Scorpius raises a hand before she can get too upset. “We’re just thinking, mum.  I didn’t say we were planning on it.”

 She twists her lips and says, “I’m too young to be a grandmother.”  Leave it to Astoria to make it all about her.

 Albus wrangles the conversation back on point.  “Don’t you think Scor would make a wonderful daddy?”

 Astoria takes a healthy sip of mimosa before answering, clearly opting for politeness rather than honesty.  “I think Scorpius is a wonderful young man.”  She pinches Scorpius’ cheek and says dotingly, “You’ll always be mummy’s special boy, even if you have children of your own.”

 But Scorpius isn’t buying it.  “Answer the question, mum.  Do you think I’d be a good parent?”

 Astoria sighs deeply. Albus knows that there is no gradation between blunt honesty and bullshit in Astoria’s vocabulary.  So when she takes an inordinate amount of time to answer, nothing good ever comes out of her mouth.

 She gazes upon her son apologetically.  “If the way you treat your sisters is any indication, then no.  I don’t think you’d be a good parent.”

 Though Scorpius appears to agree with his mother with a small, resigned shrug, Albus jumps to his defense.  “The way Scor treats your hell spawn is not an indication of how he’d be with his own children.  Nobody ever treats their siblings nicely.”

 To say Lyra and Hydra Valentine are five-year-old hellions is an understatement.  Albus believes that there is something inherently evil about the twins – their mischievousness goes beyond playful, childhood naughtiness and courts actual malevolence.  It is no surprise, considering that their father, Corvus Valentine had been a convicted Death Eater at the age of twenty-one and spent some time at Saint Mungo’s High Security Ward for the Criminally Insane after a five-year stint in Azkaban.  Somehow, he charmed his way back into wizarding high society, just like he charmed Astoria’s hand in marriage – not that she was very difficult to win, considering she’d been a divorcee before the age of twenty-five.

 Astoria replies, “Well, it’s true, I never got on with Daphne, even to this day.  But there are nineteen years between Scorpius and the twins. There’s no reason for sibling rivalry with an age gap like that.  Scorpius should know better.”

 Scorpius pouts over his quiche for a while.  This is probably why he’d been so unsure about whether or not he wanted to have children.  But Albus is adamant that Scorpius’ experience with his little sisters doesn’t reflect what it would be like to have children of their own.

 “Just because Scorpius isn’t the best big brother doesn’t mean he wouldn’t be a good dad.  It’s not the same,” Albus insists.

 She puts a hand on Scorpius’ shoulder, actually dissuading him from the idea of parenthood with what sounds like sage advice, but still makes Albus defensive.  “Darling, you’ve never cared for the girls in any capacity. Never changed nappies, never fed them a bottle when they were babies.  Do you really think you’re ready to have a child?”

 Before Scorpius can cede to his mother, Albus makes a rash proposal, as he is prone to do.  “We’ll take Lyra and Hydra for a week.  See how it goes.  Then revisit the question of us having kids.”

 Scorpius’ eyes go wide as he clandestinely tries to convey his adamant disagreement with the subtle shaking of his head.  He looks almost livid at Albus for even suggesting it.

 But Astoria is all too pleased with it.  She claps her hands together and smiles that red-lipped vindictive smile that Albus has come to know and detest.  “Oh that’s a wonderful idea!”

 Albus knows that Astoria just wants to set them up for failure to stave off potential premature grandparent status.

 “It would give Corvus and I an opportunity to go on holiday, and provide you with some much needed quality time with the girls,” she says.

 This is how Albus and Scorpius find themselves responsible for two evil five-year-olds.

 ~//~

 Lyra, who looks identical to her sister, is most easily distinguished by the sour expression she often wears on her face.  Conversely, Hydra often wears a smirk.  Albus would have said that the smirk was one of the few things they shared genetically with Scorpius, were it not for the fact that each owed their smirk to their fathers.  There was something sinister about Corvus Valentine’s smirk and something equally ominous about Hydra’s.  By contrast, Scorpius’ father’s smirk was astute, if a bit arrogant.

 Lyra and Hydra are wearing their typical expressions when their parents bring them to Malfoy Manor.

 “Be good to your… brothers.” Corvus stalls mid-sentence just to grin, and Albus doesn’t like the look of it.

 “Yes, daddy,” the two girls reply in unison, mirroring their father’s ominous smile.

 Albus has never seen Corvus in anything more informal than a button-down shirt.  Even on his way to a beach resort, he’s donning business casual attire.  Astoria must have a thing for overly dressed men, for the same could be said for Scorpius’ father.  Astoria, however, is practically spilling out of her obnoxiously floral designer sundress. Albus notices that the pocket square in Corvus’ linen jacket has the same obnoxious floral pattern as his wife’s dress, which is also the same pattern on the headbands that keep back the twins’ waist-length blond hair.  Creepy comes to Albus’ mind before cute.

 The twins give their parents double air kisses, which is not unusual for them.  Their lack of affection had always struck Albus as odd, especially because Scorpius was so contrarily free with his affection, despite his parents’ icy demeanor.

 Corvus addresses Albus and Scorpius sternly, reducing them to little boys with the severe look in his cold stare.  “If anything happens to my children,--”

 Scorpius cuts him off defiantly, as he was oft to do, “Nothing is going to happen, Corvus.”  He has never considered Corvus to be his stepfather and has never addressed him as such.  “We can handle it.  And if something does, we’ll ring mum’s mobile.”  

 Corvus laughs quietly and mirthlessly.  “I was going to say, if anything happens to my children, I’ll kill you both.”  He grins too brightly and shrugs.  “But if you insist that you can handle it, then you’ve nothing to worry about.”

 Both Albus and Scorpius know that Corvus’ threats can’t be taken lightly.  It has never stopped them from being defiant, for they also know that despite Astoria’s lack of maternal warmth, she’d sooner die than let her husband harm her son – she has the old, nearly faded scars to prove it.

 “Don’t hesitate to call on Tink if you need her,” says Astoria with a penciled-in smile, “But don’t abuse her services.  You’re supposed to be testing your parenting skills, after all.”  Her grin broadens, already triumphantly anticipating Albus and Scorpius’ failure.

 “Goodbye, mother,” Scorpius says, not kindly.

 Astoria still has kisses for her son and places one on his forehead, leaving a lipstick mark.  Albus wonders if Lyra and Hydra have ever been jealous of the fact that their mother can muster this sort of affection for Scorpius, but not for them.  But then Albus also wonders if the twins simply have no capacity for affection.

 Astoria and Corvus step through the floo, leaving Albus and Scorpius with the twins.  Lyra and Hydra stand in front of the marble hearth smiling too sweetly with their hands linked between them.  Without looking at her twin, Hydra says, “We’re going to have fun. Aren’t we, sister dear?”

 “So much,” replies Lyra.  

 “Let’s play, brother dear,” says Hydra, her saccharine smile turning sinister.

 Albus flashes a worried look at Scorpius and swallows hard.  Maybe they’ve bitten off more than they can chew.