"Little By Little," for writcraft
Dec. 29th, 2011 02:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
Author: ???
Recipient:
writcraft
Title: Little By Little
Pairing: Albus Severus Potter/Draco Malfoy
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2.500
Summary: Albus Potter’s non-existing talent for Potions makes a surprising impression on Draco.
Author's Notes:. I might have tried to squeeze too much into this… :D I still hope you can enjoy it,
writcraft. Many thanks to G. for the beta!
The four eyes of Albus Severus Potter were focused on him – again. Potter’s youngest son sat in the front row of Draco’s classroom, so that he was able to drool right on his shoes. It was kind of amusing, but it really started to freak him out. Young Albus was either a slimy git that had the scholarly ambition of his bushy-haired aunt, or he was crushing hard on his Potions professor.
Draco knew it had been a mistake to take this job over from a deeply wrinkled Slughorn, but he had not done it to liven up an old feud. Primarily, he wanted to be close to his son.
“He’s totally crushing on you,” Scorpius said after the lesson ended without Albus noticing it. Two more minutes he continued to stare dreamily at Draco, before one of his countless red-haired cousins dragged him away.
“Nonsense,” Draco replied, despite not being blind or oblivious. “I’m the old Potions master. No one’s that desperate.”
“Nonsense,” mimicked Scorpius with a fond smile that quickly became expectant. “I might be hoping that you smash the ego of the hero’s son.”
Draco himself was tempted by nostalgic ideas of torturing a Potter, but one wrong look on one of Potter’s children could cost him his job, so it sadly was no option.
Scorpius seemed to sense that. “We’re having dinner tonight, right? In your office?”
“I might be too busy with my countless fans,” Draco said thoughtfully. “But I’ll squeeze you in.”
Amused, Scorpius rolled his eyes at him before he left.
*
Albus Severus Potter was somewhat clumsy at times, and he had inherited his father’s non-existing talent for Potions. That was a dangerous mixture.
Draco wiped a spot of whatever it was Albus Potter had brewed from his cheek. It burnt so heavily that he was glad not more of the potion had reached him after the huge explosion of Albus’s cauldron.
“I’m so sorry, Professor Malfoy,” Albus mumbled into his hands, which he had pressed against his mouth in shock. Small orange dots were sprinkled on his face and on his glasses. His skin reddened, surely stinging just as horrible as Draco’s.
“Just clean it up,” Draco said, waving at the other students, some of them frozen with shock and others suppressing laughter. “Everyone else is please handing out a vial of the potion, preferably light blue.”
Beneath small burn marks, Albus blushed deeply. Draco could not say that he felt sorry for him, although he was not in the mood for that kind of snicker his son let out as he walked past Albus.
“Nice one, Father,” Scorpius whispered as he handed his perfect potion over; his words were not low enough for Albus in the front row to overhear. “Dinner at your office?”
Draco nodded. Scorpius smiled at him and shot a hostile glance at Albus on his way out of the classroom. Albus focused hard on letting the sponge fly over his desk. His face was still covered in orange spots, and the burn marks became deeper with each second. Just one of them was already painful, as Draco knew, but so many in his student’s face were unfortunate.
“Come here, Potter,” Draco commanded when every other student had left the classroom.
“It’s okay. I’m capable of cleaning my cauldron,” Albus muttered.
“Yes, but apparently not your face.” Draco motioned at Albus to come closer. Behind his desk he searched in a drawer for a vial with purple liquid. He pulled out a tissue and wetted it with an Aguamenti. Albus watched him curiously, and a hint of excitement blossomed on his reddened face as Draco cupped his chin. That blinding sparkle in his green eyes was worth an eye-roll.
Draco wiped the orange spots from Albus’s face and throat. He dripped some of the purple liquid on the tissue and pressed it on the burning marks. The injured skin, partly bleeding, healed quickly. Albus hissed, but Draco did not try to be gentler. He only did this to avoid any judging glances from other teachers because his student had been hurt, not because he had wanted to find out if the blushing cheeks were as hot as they looked.
Albus seemed to think this was a good time to talk. “I really tried,” he said, hardly moving his lips, where an especially heavy burn-mark spread. He might have attempted to distract himself from the pain. Draco dripped some more of the Healing Potion on the tissue before pressing the corner on Albus’s lip. Again, Albus hissed. This time the sparkle in his eyes clearly emerged from tears.
“You didn’t try hard, apparently,” Draco said, only to distract Albus from the pain, not because he was interested in the scholarly problems of teenagers – except his son’s non-existing. “Your potion might be more successful if you actually focus on it.”
Albus shrunk with embarrassment. Draco had to lift his chin up to reach a burn on Albus’s throat. He could feel Albus gulping hard, only then he realised that he was coming a bit too close to his student.
Draco stepped back and cleared his throat. “You’re good to go.”
For reasons unknown, Albus looked disappointed. He shoved his glasses back up his nose and straightened. With far more self-confidence than his red face should allow, he said, “You’re not.” He reached up to Draco’s cheek and wiped a remaining spot of the stinging potion away.
Draco shook his head. “I think you should really go now.”
Albus snatched the Healing Potion from Draco’s hand and dripped it on his own tissue. “I’m pretty sure you know that I’m not awful at Potions. I never was.” His touch was very gentle when he held the tissue on Draco’s cheek, carefully moving it over the rim of the burn to extinguish it.
“I’m sure that your marks don’t matter much. Harry Potter’s son can become whatever he wants.” Draco did not want to sound so bitter, but considering how hard a Malfoy had to fight these days to become more than a spoilt sloth his harsh tone was understandable. Still, he added in a lighter voice, “You’ve got a soft touch, Potter. Maybe a Healer-career might be better than the beloved Auror-thing.”
Albus lowered the hand with the tissue, smiling softly. “But I want to be good at Potions. I want to prove to you that I’m good at Potions.”
“Well, I suppose that’s flattering in a way,” Draco said with a sigh. “But please, refrain from blowing up my classroom while trying.” He touched Albus’s shoulder and gave it a light squeeze, then pushed him into the direction of the door. Albus stumbled a little and almost ran into the closed door. His embarrassment did not allow him to look back at Draco as he left.
Draco shuddered. He hated having to be nice to Potters. And he hated even more that it started to become easy.
*
The development of Albus Severus Potter’s potions skills over the following weeks was frightening. He almost managed to blow up Draco’s classroom once, only to come up with a good Elixir to Induce Euphoria a week later. That caused Albus’s cousin to be so enthusiastic about this success that she literally threw her cauldron at Draco when he declared the potion as merely passable.
The smell of the potion followed him the entire day, and later that evening in his office, Scorpius could hardly keep a straight face.
“I actually quite like that smell,” Draco declared, unable to suppress the happy feeling that welled up every once in a while.
Scorpius chuckled into his pumpkin juice. Draco tried to scowl at him, but he only made his son laugh harder. Eventually, Scorpius relapsed into heavy breathing and wiped a tear out of the corner of his eye.
“Honestly, Father. Do you know that he recently asked me to give him remedial Potions?”
“I would take that as a compliment, Scorpius. You’re such a clever boy. I couldn’t be more proud of you,” Draco exclaimed.
Scorpius blushed lightly. “Alright,” he said very slowly. “Just make sure that he doesn’t find someone tutoring him a Love Potion, okay?”
Draco smiled brightly.
*
In the next weeks, Albus Severus Potter managed to reduce his accidents to a minimum, eventually reaching a dangerously long row of uneventful Potion classes. The same applied to his dreamy stares into Draco’s direction. That was of course a positive development, but then again Draco found himself waiting for a longer look. He realised that he had liked the idea of being more than the old Potions master. Being a good teacher did not make up to that.
“Good one, Potter,” he said as he walked through the rows of cauldrons and took a longer look at Albus’s crystal clear elixir. Draco patted Albus’s shoulder and walked on, missing the bright smile in his direction.
In the last row, Scorpius sat sour-faced, his already completed potion waiting for Draco’s judgement. “What was that about?” he hissed.
Draco grabbed his son’s vial and gave it a sharp look – sharper than for all other students. “Excuse me?”
“You touched him. You touch him all the time,” Scorpius said, sounding somewhat disgusted. “Do you know what it means when girls touch you all the time?”
“No, Scorpius, I don’t,” Draco replied, the sarcasm dripping from his tongue like the thick substance one of those countless redheads tried to fill into her vial.
“Just sayin’,” Scorpius muttered, folding his arms defensively.
Draco smiled stiffly at Scorpius and commented on his potion, “Looks like expected.” He waited for Scorpius to ask him his usual question, dinner at his office, but when his son remained silent, Draco carried his vial back to the desk.
“Everyone cork up your potions now, please, pack up, and you’re good to go. No homework.” Draco turned around to clean the blackboard with his wand. Behind him mingled the clattering of vials with the noises of footsteps. When silence fell over his classroom and the blackboard deserved to be called black again, Draco turned around.
“Potter,” he stated at the view of Albus in front of his desk. Draco did not sound as annoyed as he had hoped for, though. “What’s wrong?”
Albus was smiling at him. His glasses slipped down his nose and he pushed them back up. “So, my potion was good?”
“I think it still is,” Draco said, pointing at Albus’s vial. “If you want to change that before I give you a good mark, go on.”
“Actually…” Albus wetted his lips. “Professor Slughorn used to reward us for good potions.”
Draco remembered that quite well and bitterly. “I’m not Professor Slughorn. If you want a reward, get it yourself.”
Taking that as an invitation, Albus walked behind Draco’s desk. Draco did not like it at all when students crossed this line, and he even more disliked it when they invaded his personal space. Still, he did not find himself pushing Albus away and allowed him to lean up. His lips brushed over Draco’s, merely the ghost of a kiss. Albus quickly pulled away, looking simultaneously embarrassed and proud of himself.
“That’s what I wanted,” he said quietly.
Draco raised his eyebrows.
“Don’t think that I want to get good marks like this,” Albus blurted out, the embarrassment apparently winning against pride and contentment. “I got the good marks to be able to do this without… well, it was a stupid idea.” Whatever led to a stuttering Potter could not be stupid, Draco thought.
He caught himself smirking. “You worked so hard just for that?” Albus did not answer, at least did not manage it before Draco grabbed his tie and pulled him into a kiss. There was no hesitation left, no cautious tasting of unfamiliar lips; Albus kissed him hard and hungrily, as if he had been waiting far too long for this moment. Draco was dragged along by this enthusiasm, devouring everything the sweet lips offered.
The blood pumped through his veins and soughed in his ears. He barely heard the door opening, and just in the last second he managed to pull away from Albus. Too bad that a Potter could not think that quick and continued to cling to him.
“Father, I just wanted to – oh.” Scorpius walked into the classroom and stopped as he noticed Albus. His face went from shocked to suspicious in a blink, eventually relapsing into hardness. “I see you’re busy.”
“What? No.” Draco stepped away from Albus, but dragged him a step with him. Behind his thick glasses, Albus’s green eyes sparkled like a Christmas tree, caught in a dream-like bubble not even Scorpius’s cold eyes could destroy. “Potter just had some questions about his potion.” He patted Albus’s shoulder, harshly enough to pull him from whatever fantasy he had drowned in. “And he just wanted to leave.”
“Yeah,” Albus sighed, stumbling backwards. He ran into the table and almost fell over it. Shoving his glasses back up, Albus straightened and walked, woven in forced confidence, to the door. Scorpius watched him sharply, and after Albus had left he focused on Draco.
“There goes the living tomato, eh?”
Draco smirked. “He blushes quite easily, indeed.”
“Irresistible, isn’t it?”
“I can hardly let a chance slip to humiliate a Potter,” Draco replied, and finally, Scorpius returned his smirk. “So, what did you want?”
“To ask you if we’re having dinner at your office,” Scorpius told him, and Draco nodded.
“Sure,” he said, and as Scorpius left in a much better mood, he exhaled in relief. Thank Merlin that this would never happen again.
Draco touched his lips, still hot and somehow prickly.
*
A few weeks later, Scorpius was on his way to his father’s office a bit earlier than usual. He walked through the dark and deserted dungeons, turned around a corner and out of nowhere bumped into another person.
Albus Severus Potter lost his glasses. They fell on the floor and he immediately ducked to retrieve them. “Sorry,” he mumbled, searching on the ground for his glasses. “Didn’t see you.”
Scorpius quickly scanned the dishevelled shock of black hair, the red spots on Albus’s cheeks and his shirt that was not properly buttoned and tucked in. “I assume you don’t see anything right now.” Scorpius lifted his foot and smashed it on Albus’s glasses. “Or any time soon.”
Albus looked up at him, squinting like a mole. Scorpius gifted him a smirk he wouldn’t be able to see and walked on. He entered his father’s office.
Draco sat behind his desk, bathed in the dim, green light of the dungeons. Everyone looked pale and unhealthy in that light. Normally.
Draco looked, as if he had taken a large sip of Euphoria again. “Scorpius, come on in,” he said and actually smiled. Smiled, not smirked. It was a weird but strangely appealing sight.
Scorpius sighed. All of his father’s happiness aside, he wouldn’t start being nice to Albus Potter.
Recipient:
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
Title: Little By Little
Pairing: Albus Severus Potter/Draco Malfoy
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2.500
Summary: Albus Potter’s non-existing talent for Potions makes a surprising impression on Draco.
Author's Notes:. I might have tried to squeeze too much into this… :D I still hope you can enjoy it,
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
The four eyes of Albus Severus Potter were focused on him – again. Potter’s youngest son sat in the front row of Draco’s classroom, so that he was able to drool right on his shoes. It was kind of amusing, but it really started to freak him out. Young Albus was either a slimy git that had the scholarly ambition of his bushy-haired aunt, or he was crushing hard on his Potions professor.
Draco knew it had been a mistake to take this job over from a deeply wrinkled Slughorn, but he had not done it to liven up an old feud. Primarily, he wanted to be close to his son.
“He’s totally crushing on you,” Scorpius said after the lesson ended without Albus noticing it. Two more minutes he continued to stare dreamily at Draco, before one of his countless red-haired cousins dragged him away.
“Nonsense,” Draco replied, despite not being blind or oblivious. “I’m the old Potions master. No one’s that desperate.”
“Nonsense,” mimicked Scorpius with a fond smile that quickly became expectant. “I might be hoping that you smash the ego of the hero’s son.”
Draco himself was tempted by nostalgic ideas of torturing a Potter, but one wrong look on one of Potter’s children could cost him his job, so it sadly was no option.
Scorpius seemed to sense that. “We’re having dinner tonight, right? In your office?”
“I might be too busy with my countless fans,” Draco said thoughtfully. “But I’ll squeeze you in.”
Amused, Scorpius rolled his eyes at him before he left.
*
Albus Severus Potter was somewhat clumsy at times, and he had inherited his father’s non-existing talent for Potions. That was a dangerous mixture.
Draco wiped a spot of whatever it was Albus Potter had brewed from his cheek. It burnt so heavily that he was glad not more of the potion had reached him after the huge explosion of Albus’s cauldron.
“I’m so sorry, Professor Malfoy,” Albus mumbled into his hands, which he had pressed against his mouth in shock. Small orange dots were sprinkled on his face and on his glasses. His skin reddened, surely stinging just as horrible as Draco’s.
“Just clean it up,” Draco said, waving at the other students, some of them frozen with shock and others suppressing laughter. “Everyone else is please handing out a vial of the potion, preferably light blue.”
Beneath small burn marks, Albus blushed deeply. Draco could not say that he felt sorry for him, although he was not in the mood for that kind of snicker his son let out as he walked past Albus.
“Nice one, Father,” Scorpius whispered as he handed his perfect potion over; his words were not low enough for Albus in the front row to overhear. “Dinner at your office?”
Draco nodded. Scorpius smiled at him and shot a hostile glance at Albus on his way out of the classroom. Albus focused hard on letting the sponge fly over his desk. His face was still covered in orange spots, and the burn marks became deeper with each second. Just one of them was already painful, as Draco knew, but so many in his student’s face were unfortunate.
“Come here, Potter,” Draco commanded when every other student had left the classroom.
“It’s okay. I’m capable of cleaning my cauldron,” Albus muttered.
“Yes, but apparently not your face.” Draco motioned at Albus to come closer. Behind his desk he searched in a drawer for a vial with purple liquid. He pulled out a tissue and wetted it with an Aguamenti. Albus watched him curiously, and a hint of excitement blossomed on his reddened face as Draco cupped his chin. That blinding sparkle in his green eyes was worth an eye-roll.
Draco wiped the orange spots from Albus’s face and throat. He dripped some of the purple liquid on the tissue and pressed it on the burning marks. The injured skin, partly bleeding, healed quickly. Albus hissed, but Draco did not try to be gentler. He only did this to avoid any judging glances from other teachers because his student had been hurt, not because he had wanted to find out if the blushing cheeks were as hot as they looked.
Albus seemed to think this was a good time to talk. “I really tried,” he said, hardly moving his lips, where an especially heavy burn-mark spread. He might have attempted to distract himself from the pain. Draco dripped some more of the Healing Potion on the tissue before pressing the corner on Albus’s lip. Again, Albus hissed. This time the sparkle in his eyes clearly emerged from tears.
“You didn’t try hard, apparently,” Draco said, only to distract Albus from the pain, not because he was interested in the scholarly problems of teenagers – except his son’s non-existing. “Your potion might be more successful if you actually focus on it.”
Albus shrunk with embarrassment. Draco had to lift his chin up to reach a burn on Albus’s throat. He could feel Albus gulping hard, only then he realised that he was coming a bit too close to his student.
Draco stepped back and cleared his throat. “You’re good to go.”
For reasons unknown, Albus looked disappointed. He shoved his glasses back up his nose and straightened. With far more self-confidence than his red face should allow, he said, “You’re not.” He reached up to Draco’s cheek and wiped a remaining spot of the stinging potion away.
Draco shook his head. “I think you should really go now.”
Albus snatched the Healing Potion from Draco’s hand and dripped it on his own tissue. “I’m pretty sure you know that I’m not awful at Potions. I never was.” His touch was very gentle when he held the tissue on Draco’s cheek, carefully moving it over the rim of the burn to extinguish it.
“I’m sure that your marks don’t matter much. Harry Potter’s son can become whatever he wants.” Draco did not want to sound so bitter, but considering how hard a Malfoy had to fight these days to become more than a spoilt sloth his harsh tone was understandable. Still, he added in a lighter voice, “You’ve got a soft touch, Potter. Maybe a Healer-career might be better than the beloved Auror-thing.”
Albus lowered the hand with the tissue, smiling softly. “But I want to be good at Potions. I want to prove to you that I’m good at Potions.”
“Well, I suppose that’s flattering in a way,” Draco said with a sigh. “But please, refrain from blowing up my classroom while trying.” He touched Albus’s shoulder and gave it a light squeeze, then pushed him into the direction of the door. Albus stumbled a little and almost ran into the closed door. His embarrassment did not allow him to look back at Draco as he left.
Draco shuddered. He hated having to be nice to Potters. And he hated even more that it started to become easy.
*
The development of Albus Severus Potter’s potions skills over the following weeks was frightening. He almost managed to blow up Draco’s classroom once, only to come up with a good Elixir to Induce Euphoria a week later. That caused Albus’s cousin to be so enthusiastic about this success that she literally threw her cauldron at Draco when he declared the potion as merely passable.
The smell of the potion followed him the entire day, and later that evening in his office, Scorpius could hardly keep a straight face.
“I actually quite like that smell,” Draco declared, unable to suppress the happy feeling that welled up every once in a while.
Scorpius chuckled into his pumpkin juice. Draco tried to scowl at him, but he only made his son laugh harder. Eventually, Scorpius relapsed into heavy breathing and wiped a tear out of the corner of his eye.
“Honestly, Father. Do you know that he recently asked me to give him remedial Potions?”
“I would take that as a compliment, Scorpius. You’re such a clever boy. I couldn’t be more proud of you,” Draco exclaimed.
Scorpius blushed lightly. “Alright,” he said very slowly. “Just make sure that he doesn’t find someone tutoring him a Love Potion, okay?”
Draco smiled brightly.
*
In the next weeks, Albus Severus Potter managed to reduce his accidents to a minimum, eventually reaching a dangerously long row of uneventful Potion classes. The same applied to his dreamy stares into Draco’s direction. That was of course a positive development, but then again Draco found himself waiting for a longer look. He realised that he had liked the idea of being more than the old Potions master. Being a good teacher did not make up to that.
“Good one, Potter,” he said as he walked through the rows of cauldrons and took a longer look at Albus’s crystal clear elixir. Draco patted Albus’s shoulder and walked on, missing the bright smile in his direction.
In the last row, Scorpius sat sour-faced, his already completed potion waiting for Draco’s judgement. “What was that about?” he hissed.
Draco grabbed his son’s vial and gave it a sharp look – sharper than for all other students. “Excuse me?”
“You touched him. You touch him all the time,” Scorpius said, sounding somewhat disgusted. “Do you know what it means when girls touch you all the time?”
“No, Scorpius, I don’t,” Draco replied, the sarcasm dripping from his tongue like the thick substance one of those countless redheads tried to fill into her vial.
“Just sayin’,” Scorpius muttered, folding his arms defensively.
Draco smiled stiffly at Scorpius and commented on his potion, “Looks like expected.” He waited for Scorpius to ask him his usual question, dinner at his office, but when his son remained silent, Draco carried his vial back to the desk.
“Everyone cork up your potions now, please, pack up, and you’re good to go. No homework.” Draco turned around to clean the blackboard with his wand. Behind him mingled the clattering of vials with the noises of footsteps. When silence fell over his classroom and the blackboard deserved to be called black again, Draco turned around.
“Potter,” he stated at the view of Albus in front of his desk. Draco did not sound as annoyed as he had hoped for, though. “What’s wrong?”
Albus was smiling at him. His glasses slipped down his nose and he pushed them back up. “So, my potion was good?”
“I think it still is,” Draco said, pointing at Albus’s vial. “If you want to change that before I give you a good mark, go on.”
“Actually…” Albus wetted his lips. “Professor Slughorn used to reward us for good potions.”
Draco remembered that quite well and bitterly. “I’m not Professor Slughorn. If you want a reward, get it yourself.”
Taking that as an invitation, Albus walked behind Draco’s desk. Draco did not like it at all when students crossed this line, and he even more disliked it when they invaded his personal space. Still, he did not find himself pushing Albus away and allowed him to lean up. His lips brushed over Draco’s, merely the ghost of a kiss. Albus quickly pulled away, looking simultaneously embarrassed and proud of himself.
“That’s what I wanted,” he said quietly.
Draco raised his eyebrows.
“Don’t think that I want to get good marks like this,” Albus blurted out, the embarrassment apparently winning against pride and contentment. “I got the good marks to be able to do this without… well, it was a stupid idea.” Whatever led to a stuttering Potter could not be stupid, Draco thought.
He caught himself smirking. “You worked so hard just for that?” Albus did not answer, at least did not manage it before Draco grabbed his tie and pulled him into a kiss. There was no hesitation left, no cautious tasting of unfamiliar lips; Albus kissed him hard and hungrily, as if he had been waiting far too long for this moment. Draco was dragged along by this enthusiasm, devouring everything the sweet lips offered.
The blood pumped through his veins and soughed in his ears. He barely heard the door opening, and just in the last second he managed to pull away from Albus. Too bad that a Potter could not think that quick and continued to cling to him.
“Father, I just wanted to – oh.” Scorpius walked into the classroom and stopped as he noticed Albus. His face went from shocked to suspicious in a blink, eventually relapsing into hardness. “I see you’re busy.”
“What? No.” Draco stepped away from Albus, but dragged him a step with him. Behind his thick glasses, Albus’s green eyes sparkled like a Christmas tree, caught in a dream-like bubble not even Scorpius’s cold eyes could destroy. “Potter just had some questions about his potion.” He patted Albus’s shoulder, harshly enough to pull him from whatever fantasy he had drowned in. “And he just wanted to leave.”
“Yeah,” Albus sighed, stumbling backwards. He ran into the table and almost fell over it. Shoving his glasses back up, Albus straightened and walked, woven in forced confidence, to the door. Scorpius watched him sharply, and after Albus had left he focused on Draco.
“There goes the living tomato, eh?”
Draco smirked. “He blushes quite easily, indeed.”
“Irresistible, isn’t it?”
“I can hardly let a chance slip to humiliate a Potter,” Draco replied, and finally, Scorpius returned his smirk. “So, what did you want?”
“To ask you if we’re having dinner at your office,” Scorpius told him, and Draco nodded.
“Sure,” he said, and as Scorpius left in a much better mood, he exhaled in relief. Thank Merlin that this would never happen again.
Draco touched his lips, still hot and somehow prickly.
*
A few weeks later, Scorpius was on his way to his father’s office a bit earlier than usual. He walked through the dark and deserted dungeons, turned around a corner and out of nowhere bumped into another person.
Albus Severus Potter lost his glasses. They fell on the floor and he immediately ducked to retrieve them. “Sorry,” he mumbled, searching on the ground for his glasses. “Didn’t see you.”
Scorpius quickly scanned the dishevelled shock of black hair, the red spots on Albus’s cheeks and his shirt that was not properly buttoned and tucked in. “I assume you don’t see anything right now.” Scorpius lifted his foot and smashed it on Albus’s glasses. “Or any time soon.”
Albus looked up at him, squinting like a mole. Scorpius gifted him a smirk he wouldn’t be able to see and walked on. He entered his father’s office.
Draco sat behind his desk, bathed in the dim, green light of the dungeons. Everyone looked pale and unhealthy in that light. Normally.
Draco looked, as if he had taken a large sip of Euphoria again. “Scorpius, come on in,” he said and actually smiled. Smiled, not smirked. It was a weird but strangely appealing sight.
Scorpius sighed. All of his father’s happiness aside, he wouldn’t start being nice to Albus Potter.