Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/8517406.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling, Harry_Potter_and_the_Cursed_Child_-_Thorne
      &_Rowling
  Relationship:
      Scorpius_Malfoy/Albus_Severus_Potter
  Character:
      Albus_Severus_Potter, Scorpius_Malfoy
  Additional Tags:
      Angst, Masturbation, Not_Actually_Unrequited_Love, Angst_and_Smut
  Series:
      Part 1 of Alone
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-11-10 Words: 2104
****** Albus Alone ******
by mischiefmanager
Summary
     Albus is angsting all over the place about Scorpius. Scorpius is
     oblivious.
     This story can be a stand-alone, or also works perfectly as a prequel
     to my Dress Robes series.
     More thanks to Dawn_Seeker, my amazing beta reader.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
It had to have been at least one in the morning. Albus Potter turned over onto
his right side for maybe—the hundredth time? He hadn’t kept count—his eyes wide
open and staring blankly at the closed curtains of his four-poster. He was
physically exhausted, yet as far from sleep as he could ever remember being. He
had attempted mentally quizzing himself on Herbology, concluded that he didn’t
know anything so that was useless, then tried to pass the time by imagining how
tired he was going to be in class tomorrow morning—it was a far more pleasant
idea to dwell on than the thing he was trying to avoid thinking about—but
apparently his mind was not to be guilted into sleep.
“Hey, Albus!” Scorpius whisper-shouted across the table.
Albus kept his eyes on the book he had opened in front of him. He hadn’t read a
single word of it in at least ten minutes.
“Albus!”
“Keep it down,” Albus hissed back, “What?”
“Look at this!”
And there it was. The memory he’d been hiding from all night; the memory he’d
been reduced to focusing on schoolwork to avoid—him and Scorpius, in a quiet
corner of the library that afternoon. Albus rolled over onto his stomach and
hid his face in his pillow, trying to block it out, but the scene seemed
determined to play itself out in his head. 
“Look at what? Show it here.” Why, oh why did Albus always take the bait?
Albus expected him to pass whatever it was over the table, but instead Scorpius
crossed to Albus’s side, then leaned over it and pulled the heavy book he’d
been reading toward them.
“So I was reading about Albus—you know, the other Albus—the lesser of the two
Albuses,” Scorpius whispered, grinning at him.
Albus’s heart flipped over.
“Yeah, I know who he is. We read about him all the time, it’s sort of
required,” Albus said, trying to sound annoyed. He was very aware of Scorpius’s
proximity, and it was hampering his ability to be scathing.
“But look at this,” Scorpius pointed at the book.
Albus rolled his eyes, but looked where Scorpius was pointing. It was a black-
and-white picture of two boys, maybe a few years older than himself and
Scorpius. One was clearly Dumbledore. The other had hair light enough that
Albus could tell he was blond, and was also quite handsome—he grinned cheekily
up at Albus out of the page. Albus thought he probably ought to remember who
the boy was, and not just because he was very good looking. This had come up in
lessons at some point, he was sure of it...
“That’s him and Gellert Grindelwald!” Scorpius told him excitedly. His breath
rustled Albus’s hair and Albus felt his cheeks heat up.
“Okay...and?” Albus just wanted Scorpius to finish what he had to say and go
back around to his side of the table because he was getting far too close to
Albus and it was starting to become a problem.
“Look at them,” said Scorpius, in a wistful sort of voice, which was weird
because the boys were older than Scorpius—was he, as a fifteen-year-old, trying
to remember what it was like to be eighteen? It didn’t make sense, but that
didn’t matter—Albus just needed him to move closer—no, farther away.
Albus scowled and punched his pillow as savagely as possible without removing
his face from it. He reached down blindly with the other hand and pulled the
grey, satiny sheet over his head. Maybe he could try to overheat himself to
sleep—it was very stuffy under the blankets.
“What exactly am I supposed to be looking at? So, that’s Dumbledore and
Grindelwald—they were friends when they were younger, everybody knows that...”
“Sure, but I’d never seenthispicture before,” said Scorpius, tilting his head.
He scooted a bit closer to Albus—there were no armrests on the seats and they
were now knee-to-knee, thigh-to-thigh.
“Look at them,” he said again, in that same longing tone.
Albus closed his eyes for a second, trying to maintain his composure. He took
in a deep breath—and no, that was a huge mistake, because in doing so he
inhaled a great big whiff of Scorpius, who smelled like books and fresh linen
and mahogany. And then Albus’s whole body, especially his lower body, perked
right up and Albus wished he could just start pulling his hair out. School
robes were excellent for concealing these things, so it wasn’t that he was
worried about Scorpius seeing it—it was the principle of the thing. Getting
turned on by his best friend sitting close to him.
Brilliant, thought Albus bitterly, and he winced because although he had
successfully banished the stiffy at the time through willpower, bringing up the
memory seemed to have resurrected it. He shifted his hips up a bit, then
trapped it down between his body and the mattress as though he might be able to
suffocate it into going away. He was not going to pay it any further attention.
The young Grindelwald had turned his gaze from Albus and Scorpius and was now
looking at the other Albus—the lesser Albus, as Scorpius had referred to
him—Dumbledore, and his eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. Dumbledore
threw his head back with laughter. Scorpius leaned closer into Albus; another
couple inches and he would be sat in Albus’s lap.
“Seriously, what is it?” Albus asked him, placing his hands in his lap because
his legs had suddenly decided to start shaking and he really didn’t want to
draw Scorpius’s attention to that particular area at the moment.
“They’re so...sweet,” Scorpius cooed. He was watching the picture with great
fondness.
“They’re stuffy old men,” Albus retorted, “what’s so sweet about that?”
“No they’re not!” Scorpius cried, and Albus cringed because they were in the
library and the last thing he wanted was more company, people coming over to
shush them, “they were young here...and besides, they were fascinating. I think
you’re the only person who has ever referred to Albus Dumbledore as ‘stuffy’
and you’re named after him.” 
Albus flipped over onto his back and breathed in the chilly air of the
dormitory. The lake outside cast a dim, greenish glow over the whole room, so
it was never completely dark, but Albus couldn’t see all the way to the bottom
of his bed. His hand had somehow drifted to the waistband of his pyjama bottoms
and he snatched it back as though it were on fire. I am not indulging this
behaviour, he told his body furiously. 
Scorpius’s head was nearly resting on Albus’s shoulder as he tilted it further
while looking at the picture in the book. Albus chanced a glance at him, he
looked radiant and in his element—Scorpius loved history and Albus couldn’t
stop the corners of his mouth from turning up at the sight of his face.
Grindelwald placed a hand on Dumbledore’s shoulder. Dumbledore looked into
Grindelwald’s eyes with unguarded adoration. Albus felt his own eyes widen. It
was exactly the same way he wanted to look at Scorpius—the face he sometimes
caught himself making when Scorpius wasn’t paying attention.
Scorpius sighed and smiled softly at the picture.
“Do you think they were in love?” he asked quietly.
Albus started to groan and then stifled the sound quickly, remembering where he
was. He sat up for a moment and peered out of his curtains—it didn’t look as
though he had awakened anybody, so he laid back down heavily.
“Do you think they were in love?”
Albus ran both hands through his hair and let out a frustrated huff of breath.
All his blood had pooled in his lap and he knew he was fighting a losing battle
with his own body. 
“Do you think they were in love?” 
Albus noticed his hand had once again wandered back past the waistband of his
pyjamas, but this time he didn’t pull it back. He hesitated for a moment, then
lifted his hips off the bed so he could pull down his bottoms just far enough
to get at himself.
It was still stifling under the covers, but so cold over them that he didn’t
want to push them off—much like how it was with Scorpius. Being around him and
not with him was almost unbearably painful, but Albus was sure that he would
figuratively freeze to death on his own.
He snaked his hand back down past the hem of his shirt and suddenly felt the
rush of relief that could only come from the knowledge that he was going to put
himself out of this misery. Again. He flattened his palm and rubbed it over the
underside for a few minutes until he had coaxed out enough of a throbbing that
his body had provided a bit of lubrication, then he wrapped his hand around
himself lightly. When he got like this—when he felt it this badly, a tighter
grip was painful. He could’ve probably used a feather.
Scorpius’s head nearly on Albus’s shoulder, the tips of his hair brushing
against Albus’s cheek...
Albus started to glide his hand up and down, trying to keep his breathing
steady. 
“Do you think they were in love?”
The memory was so sharp in his mind it was as if Scorpius was lying next to
him, whispering it into his ear. And that’s when Albus completely gave up. He
ran a hand over his chest, underneath his old Harpies shirt as his other hand
sped up.
And then it was Scorpius’s fingers touching him, Scorpius hovering over him,
breathing in Albus’s ear, kissing his neck, running his hands through his hair
and lightly scratching at his scalp.
“Do you think you’re in love?” Scorpius whispered to him, then he ran his
tongue along the shell of Albus’s ear.
Albus shuddered and chewed on his lip to keep from making any noise. His
muscles began to tighten.
“I think about doing this with you all the time,” Scorpius confessed to him,
nuzzling their noses together and closing his eyes, white-blond lashes nearly
grazing his cheekbones. Beautiful...
His toes curled and he squeezed his eyes shut.
“I’m in love with you,” Scorpius whispered onto his lips, and then they were
kissing properly—tongues touching, lips sliding together.
Albus absolutely erupted all over himself—his hips jerked up, pumping into his
hand which now glided slickly up and down, covered in hot wetness, as he panted
as quietly as possible and clutched the hem of his shirt in his other hand.
Scorpius.
Albus kept his eyes shut as long as he could, trying to hold onto the fantasy,
but it started to fade around the edges and then Scorpius’s bright face
disappeared altogether and Albus wrinkled his nose in distaste. He sighed, then
opened his eyes with great reluctance, turning his head to the side and staring
again at the curtains around his bed for a moment, before sitting up and wiping
his sheet carelessly over his belly. It was a form of self-punishment for his
weakness, to force himself to sleep in the crusty blankets after he did this.
“How should I know?” Albus managed to bite out, despite the swooping feeling in
his stomach.
“I doubt anyone does,” Scorpius said sadly, then he added, “anyway, just
thought it was cool—had to share it with someone, you know how it is.”
He beamed at Albus, collected his book, then got up to sit on the other side of
the table again.
He hiked his pyjama bottoms back up around his hips and then flopped down onto
the bed. He was embarrassed, even though no one was around to witness his
mortification. He had succumbed to this—again—this thing that was starting to
happen a lot more often than Albus would’ve ever been willing to own up to.
I hate myself, he thought savagely. He hated everything. He hated everybody.
But he loved Scorpius. “He’s all I need,” his own voice repeated in his head.
It was something he remembered saying to his dad once.
He turned back onto his side and closed his eyes—determined not to open them
again until the morning, and then it would be the real Scorpius pulling back
the curtains to his four poster, greeting him cheerfully, ready to start
another day of this endless agony...
“Morning, Albus! Time to get up! We’ve got that Herbology test today, do you
think you’re ready?”
End Notes
     Thank you for reading! If you want this story to have a happy ending,
     continue on to my other series entitled Dress Robes. Both this and
     Dress Robes work as stand-alones, but this also is a perfect prequel
     for Dress Robes.
     Also Scorpius is not, as Albus thinks, asleep during this story.
     Surprise! Part 2 of this series is Scorpius Alone. Three guesses what
     he's up to.
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