Title: Man's Dwelling Place
Pairing: Albus Severus/Scorpius
Rating: NC17
Words: 15, 250
Status: Complete
Disclaimer: If they were mine, they'd have normal names.
Summary: Scorpius is the lone survivor of a tragedy that cost him his family, his identity, and his past. Albus shows him a possible future for them both.
A/N: By GOD, that's a sappy summary. But there's also sex. Happy now? Endless thanks, as usual, to the women who make my fics fit to read: empathic_siren, secretsolitaire, and lusiology. I love you all. Art courtesy of the talented oldenuf2nb, who brought this story to life with her gorgeous drawings.







MAN'S DWELLING PLACE




Every Tuesday, thick ropes of unbreathable fumes coiled about the room. The stench, especially around the potions table, clung to his clothing and filled the inside of his mouth with a foul sludge. It was a normal and acceptable state of affairs, as Tuesdays were for staining and finishing.

Mondays were for sanding, which he did by hand. No spell or Charm could cushion the fine-grit paper like his own roughened palm. There wasn't a spell in existence that could sense when one more pass against the smooth wood would be too much, or when to lighten its touch so that the sandpaper brushed the surface in such a way that it did little more than raise the grain.

But today was Tuesday – finishing day – which meant odorous potions and fine, porous sponges. Just the thought of it made his nose tickle. Scorpius scratched it as he stood in the middle of his crowded workshop, examining his current project. The desk measured more than eight feet across, a vulgar display of pretentiousness. It had four visible drawers, a dozen more magical hidden ones, three security spells, and a handful of other Charms. Such a combination of magic would preserve the piece's beauty and functionality for hundreds of years to come. It'd last far longer than the stuffed shirt who was planning to sit behind it.

Scorpius made his furniture to last.

His current commission had taken him over a month to complete, and he despised it. It dripped with character – custom carvings and trim were Scorpius' specialty – but possessed no feeling. (The worst sort of malignancy, in his mind.) Still, his client had examined it just yesterday and had left the shop pleased and preening. Scorpius supposed the Gringotts gold was all that mattered in the end.

He turned from the desk, pulled his wand from his sleeve, and set about readying the shop for the day's task; staining was messy business. Coaxed by his magic, his half-completed projects scraped across the floor and precariously stacked themselves, one atop another, against the walls. Another flick of his wand and wood stain-spattered sheets billowed over the furniture to form makeshift mountains.

One more swish and the door that connected the shop to his one-room flat swung closed. Such precautions didn't usually stop the smell from pervading everything, but Scorpius didn't mind. There was something comforting about cocooning into his blankets at night and breathing in the potion-laced wood stain. It smelled of home. Of security. It eased his anxiety to such a degree that he often pushed his face deep into his pillow while he touched himself, inhaling fumes until he was dizzy from both the smell and the frustration.

The timeless frustration.

Some nights the need cut him so deep he could feel it in the very base of his spine, pulsing. Begging. His head would pound with it, his mouth would first go dry, then flood with saliva, and he'd shiver uncontrollably. He'd push back the spectre-like memories and concentrate on the feel of his palm against his skin while he gasped into his pillow. But no amount of stimulation brought him his coveted release.

If this was the punishment everyone implied he deserved, it was a mighty one.

Idly, he scratched at his stomach while the tints bubbled in their cauldrons. He would finish the desk today, barring interruptions and mistakes. Now that the piece was almost complete, he itched to have it gone and replaced with something he could imbue with feeling.

The stains – one for colour, one for shine, and one for sealing – reached a rolling boil and Scorpius extinguished the flames under the cauldrons. Just as he turned to reach for his sponges and rags, a chime sounded. A moment later, the door to his shop opened.

Scorpius bit back his frustration and turned to face the visitor. "Sorry. I must have forgotten to turn the sign. I'm closed on Tuesdays."

The stranger, a dark-haired man, stopped short. Slack-jawed, he stared at Scorpius.

Scorpius tugged on the hem of his t-shirt and rubbed his palms down the worn denim of his jeans. "May I help you?"

The other man, who couldn't have been older than Scorpius, snapped his mouth closed and cleared his throat. "Yeah. Sorry. I just wasn't expecting…. How are you, Malfoy?"

Scorpius froze. He, too, cleared his throat. He laid the sponge on the table and crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm well, thank you." He bit his tongue, hating the next part. "Do we know each other?"

The other man blinked. "Oh," he said and shifted his feet. Strangely, the creaking of his leather jacket hypnotized Scorpius. It sounded for a moment as though his stain-splattered ghosts were stuttering to life. He fought the urge to cut his eyes to the looming pile of covered furniture on his left.

"Oh," the man repeated. "Yeah, we do. I'm Albus Potter." He gestured at Scorpius, then himself. "We went to Hogwarts together."

"I see." That was the best response, Scorpius had discovered, to such a declaration. "Were we friends?"

"Uh…not really." Albus looked almost apologetic.

Scorpius' fingers tightened on his forearms. Not really meant I hated you, in all likelihood. Another jaunt down the dark path of semantics, and one he could traverse with his eyes closed. The best he could hope for was that this Albus Potter person had left his grudges at Hogwarts. "Sorry," he said. "I don't remember any of that."

"I know," Albus blurted. "I knew about your accident, but I'd forgotten about…the other."

The laughter bubbled out of Scorpius before he could stop it. Albus turned red, and Scorpius spoke up right away. "It's okay." He waved Albus' embarrassment off.

Albus dropped his eyes and chuckled under his breath. "Sorry about that."

"Is there something I can help you with?" Scorpius pressed. It was past time to move the conversation along; he hated being at a disadvantage. He could hardly stand around sharing schoolboy stories and unrepentant laughter, even if Albus seemed inclined to put their as yet unnamed rivalries behind him.

"Yeah." Albus gathered himself. "I wanted…well, we wanted…my brother and sister and I…wanted to have a new wardrobe made for our mum. A boggart got in her old one – nasty thing – and damn near shook it to pieces before we could banish it. It's my parents' thirtieth anniversary coming up, and we thought…well, that this would be a nice gift."

Since talk had turned to more comfortable subjects, Scorpius' defensiveness eased. He leant back against the table and dug his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. "What did you have in mind? Something just the same as what she had?"

"No. I want something different. Something special." Albus stopped and pursed his lips. "I was told this was the place to go if I wanted something special."

Scorpius gave Albus a half-smile. "That's always good to hear."

"I suppose so."

The cooling potions behind him reminded Scorpius of his waiting project. "Do you have a picture, maybe? An idea of size, what type of wood, and how you want it Charmed?"

"Uh." Albus cleared his throat. "No, sorry. I thought you might have some samples. Or something."

Scorpius frowned.

"But," Albus continued hastily, "I can get together with my brother and sister and we can talk about all that. Then maybe I can bring you a sketch?"

"That's fine." Scorpius turned and re-ignited the flames under the three cauldrons. "Just come back when you have the basic parameters of what you want. I can help you with the details." He turned back in time to see Albus' face transformed by a wide smile.

At the base of his spine, the ever-present desire flared to life. If he had such a thing as a 'type', he supposed Albus Potter was it. In the five years he could remember, Albus was only the third person to coax such a knee-jerk response from his confused body, and he had the same look as the other two: dark, intense, and dangerous.

"Stop by anytime," he said as casually as he could. "Just not Tuesdays."

"Okay." Albus flashed that smile again and turned to leave. "One more thing." He hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his jacket and rocked back on his heels.

Scorpius kept his eyes resolutely on Albus' face – not that it helped matters much. "Yes?"

"This will be expensive, right? I heard that, too."

Scorpius gave a slow nod. "Yes. But you'll get what you pay for."

"Sounds fair to me." With a wink, Albus disappeared through the door.

Scorpius flicked his wand at the sign and it flipped to 'closed' with enough force to rattle the glass. He stayed bent over his cauldrons, staring at his scratches on his worktable, until the potions began to burn.


*~*~*


"You poor thing. You poor, poor thing."

"What happened?"

"An accident. A terrible accident."

"What happened?"

"Don't try to move."

"What's happening to me?"


*~*~*


Six months ago, a man had come to him, claiming to be an old lover. His touch had left Scorpius cold. He'd been Albus' opposite in every way: fair and slight with a false smile and eyes that focused on everything except Scorpius himself.

"You're not telling me the truth," Scorpius had said as he pushed the wandering hands away.

"Baby," the man had replied in a breathless voice, "you're breaking my heart," and he'd pressed Scorpius' hand against his erection.

"I've never touched you," Scorpius had answered with quiet certainty. He'd clenched his fist closed with a harsh twist. "And I've no desire to start now." The pained grimace on the man's face had been worth the punch to the stomach Scorpius got in return – even if the blow had made it difficult to rise from his bed for several days.

His wariness of strangers grew even more pronounced after that.

Yet he found himself looking forward to seeing Albus – a stranger (in all the ways that counted) who stirred him in dangerous, painful ways. More than once, he was sure he heard leather creaking, just as Albus' jacket had sounded as he'd prowled around Scorpius' workshop, but of course, there was nothing there. Nothing except the heavy and persistent erection that accompanied any thought of the man.

Six days were all he lasted before the temptation became unbearable. Sunday night he retired early. He crawled across the blankets with both dread and delight and barely made it between the sheets before his hand found his cock.

"I want something different. Something special," he whispered, wishing his voice had Albus' rough quality. His left hand trailed across his chest, circled his nipples, then moved to draw patterns around his navel. His cock jumped in his hand, and knowing it was a mistake but unable to help himself, he tightened his fist and began to stroke.

Pleasure built and built, but wouldn't crest. Almost sobbing in frustration, Scorpius rolled to his stomach and burrowed into the soft mattress and pillows. He imagined Albus against him, pressing close, gasping and thrusting. His cock dripped steadily onto his fingers as the images drew him to the very cusp of orgasm, but never pushed him over the edge.

In his fantasy, Albus came again and again, marking him. Scalding him. Sometimes he yelled and swore and gripped Scorpius hard enough to hurt, and other times he came without a sound, whispering unintelligible words against Scorpius' neck.

It was torture, and in the end, completely for naught. Orgasm stayed as out of reach as it always did. Scorpius finally twisted out of his blankets, still unfulfilled, and stumbled across the room for a vial of Dreamless Sleep. He drank it down with sticky, shaking hands and limped back to bed in the dark. His head throbbed. His cock throbbed. But finally, after long, agonizing minutes, sleep carried him away from the pain.

His last thought was to hope he never saw Albus Potter again.


*~*~*


Never give up hope, one doctor had been fond of saying after the accident. Precious little good that advice had been, as Albus – the last person Scorpius wanted to see – was the very first person at his door the next morning.

His jeans were different, more faded, but the t-shirt looked a bit cleaner. The jacket, Scorpius noted with dismay, was the same.

"I've got it!" Albus waved a roll of parchment in the air as he came through the door. "We had lunch together yesterday." He grinned as he brushed his fringe off his forehead.

Scorpius retreated behind his worktable. "We?"

"Yeah, me and James and Lily."

"Oh." Scorpius began to organize his sanding blocks. It was Monday – sanding day. That he knew. He had no idea who James and Lily were.

Albus hissed and slapped the rolled parchment against his palm. "Sorry. James and Lily – my brother and sister."

Scorpius nodded. More ghosts from his forgotten Hogwarts days. "You've settled on something then?"

"Well, yeah, in a way. You said you'd help with the details, right?"

Had he? He should kick himself if he had. "Of course." He set the sanding blocks to the side. "Bring it over. Let's take a look."

As Albus walked across the shop, that damn leather jacket creaking loud enough to wake the dead, Scorpius took his wand to the clutter on the table. A few seconds later, the surface was clear. Albus ducked as a tub of stain whizzed by his head to a high shelf. Then laughed as a rag hit him square in the chest. "Where'd you learn to do all this?" he asked as he peeled it off and dropped it into a nearby bucket.

Scorpius shrugged. "Most of it just comes to me."

Albus walked right up beside him, then spun and hoisted himself up onto the table. He bumped his knee against Scorpius' thigh. "I guess that makes sense, considering all the stuff you did in school."

There was no way Scorpius could resist asking. And Albus had no idea what he'd offered. It made things both better and worse. "What do you mean?" As he spoke, he unrolled Albus' rough sketch and spread it across the table.

His faked nonchalance worked. Or Albus was feeling kind. Either way, he answered without making Scorpius feel like an idiot for asking. "You used to build all kinds of things. Um, let's see…." Albus screwed his face up as he thought. "It's been nearly eight years since we left. Some of the details kind of blur over time. But I still remember when someone smashed the trophy cases in the long hall to the Divination Tower. You pieced them all back together." He stopped and winked. "With improvements, of course."

A warm feeling stole over Scorpius. He didn't recall the incident, but it seemed to reflect well on him. "Improvements?" he asked.

Albus chuckled under his breath. "Yeah. You made sure all the Slytherin trophies were front and centre. Some even had their own cases. The others…well, they got crammed in a cabinet round the corner next to the toilets." He tipped his head back and laughed.

It served him right for asking. Horrified, Scorpius' fingers tightened on the edge of the table. "I'm sorry."

"What?" Albus bent to look at him. "Why?"

Scorpius Summoned a pencil and began to make notes on the parchment. He shook his head. "Never mind. Is this a group of drawers you have here?" He pointed to a scribble.

"Yes. Listen, Scorpius—"

"Do you want three or four? All the same size or different?"

"It was a good thing, what you did," Albus said quietly. "I thought so, anyway."

Scorpius snorted. "I'd wager all the Slytherins did."

"They did, but I wasn't in Slytherin. I was in Gryffindor." Scorpius' head jerked up, and Albus held his gaze. "Nobody would take responsibility for it because McGonagall said whoever did would have to fix the mess. Without magic. Everything sat there in pieces for a month before you set it to rights. You took the blame for something you didn't do, and made your House look good for it. That's nothing to be ashamed of."

It was nothing to be proud of, either, Scorpius wanted to say. He shrugged and gripped his pencil tighter. "The drawers?"

He kept his eyes on the drawing until he heard Albus sigh and slide off the table. "Four, I think. Two small ones for her jewellery and two bigger ones for her…you know."

Scorpius smirked. "Her lingerie?"

"Agh! God! Yes, I suppose. Did you have to say it?"

"Her unmentionables, then?"

Albus groaned. "Do we have to mention them at all? She's my mother."

"So you've said. Will two drawers be enough for all that silk and lace?"

Albus looked horrified. "How would I know?"

Scorpius burst out laughing. Albus blinked at him, then joined in. "Listen, if you need any more details like that, owl my sister." He shuddered.

Scorpius ran his hand over the crude sketch, already envisioning the piece in his head. This one would have feeling, he knew. Feeling and elegance. He felt committed to doing his best for Albus' mother. Ideas and plans spun through his head. Cedar lining. Wizarding space built into the main compartment. Security spells.
"I can hide the jewellery drawers," he muttered, "and Charm the others to be mirrored when they're not needed."

"You can do that?" Albus' voice drew Scorpius from his musings, and he turned, shocked to see how close together they were standing. Wary, he drew back. Albus followed, eyes on his. "That would be fantastic," he continued. "I had no idea all of that was possible."

"Anything's possible."

Albus' face split into his familiar grin, and Scorpius suddenly found it difficult to breathe. "I think you're right about that," Albus said. His gaze slid over Scorpius' face with blatant interest.

A fierce heat reared up within Scorpius, so hot he shivered. The table blocked his retreat on one side, Albus on another, so he backed himself towards the corner. "I'll owl you in a couple of weeks. I'll need more details by then." The words spilled clumsily from his mouth.

Albus' lips quirked. "That long?" He took a step forward and reached out to ruffle Scorpius' hair. "This is new," he mused. "You wore it differently when we—back in seventh year."

Scorpius took one last step back and hit the wall. "Different how?"

"Just...more put together. More groomed." He grinned. "This length makes you look a bit rough around the edges, actually."

"It's my busy time of year." Scorpius scratched at the stubble on his chin, but resisted combing his fingers through his mop of blond hair. Truthfully, his appearance varied little regardless of the season, and in hindsight, it irked that he felt compelled to explain it.

Albus smirked. "It's okay," he said, voice a low purr. "I like it."

At a loss for words, Scorpius nodded. He'd been half-aroused since Albus stepped through the door, a condition that was growing worse, not better. Albus took another step closer, and desperate to forestall him, Scorpius said the first thing that came to mind.

"Why didn't you like me? In school?"

"What?" Albus drew back, and Scorpius sagged in relief. He inched along the edge of the table until he'd slid past, then retreated to the opposite side of the room. Albus watched him go. His calculated expression reminded Scorpius of a coiled panther, ready to pounce.

Safely away, Scorpius answered, "You said we weren't friends in school. Why didn't you like me then?"

Albus slid his hands into the pockets of his jacket and gave a sad smile. One that made Scorpius' toes curl inside his shoes. "I did like you," Albus said. "It was you who didn't like me."

The revelations didn't stop today, apparently. Scorpius licked his lips. "I don't remember why."

"Maybe someday you will."

"They say I won't."

Something shifted in Albus' expression, and he took a step forward. "I'm sorry."

"Are you?" He'd never spoken about his condition to anyone except his doctors. His true feelings on the subject had always been his alone. He lifted his hands and ran them through his hair, uncaring anymore of how Albus would interpret the gesture. "I'm not sorry," he said. "I'm not sorry at all."


*~*~*


"What do I do now?"

"What do you want to do?"

"What did I do before?"

"No, no. Don't worry about that. It's what you like now that's important."

"I like to build things."

His doctor pauses before answering. "Then build things."

"That's not what I used to do, is it?"

"The past isn't important."

Out of the corner of his eye, Scorpius watches the two nurses tidy his room. They look everywhere but at him. "The past is everything," he says.


*~*~*


He was Scorpius Malfoy, they'd told him, which sounded respectable enough until he noticed the name tended to put shadows on people's faces. Just Scorpius, he'd taken to saying after that, but the small alteration made little difference in the long run.

"Scorpius!"

The sound of his name being shouted stopped him dead in the centre of the street.

"Scorpius, I thought that was you." A petite redhead caught him by the arm. He stood there, staring down at her, desperately trying to match her face to a name, until a horn blared, startling them both. Still distracted, Scorpius guided her to the pavement.

She wore a scarf wrapped round her head and ears, and though it was tied in a secure knot under her chin, the wind sent the loose ends flapping against his face. "Oh, sorry 'bout that!" she said in a low and throaty voice. She patted his cheek with her mittened hand. "This thing is a hazard, but does keep me warm. I didn't mean to assault you, I promise. How've you been?"

"I—" he faltered.

Desperate for some equilibrium, he stepped back, but the young woman followed. Corkscrew ringlets escaped her makeshift hat and blew in a tumble around her face. "I'm sorry," she repeated. "I didn't mean to startle you. Are you all right?"

"Yes," he managed.

"Oh!" She slapped a hand to her mouth and gasped. "Merlin, I'm sorry." She sidled back a few feet, and the tightness in Scorpius' chest eased. "It's Lily Potter. I'm Lily. I know you don't remember, but we were…friendly. Back in school."

The eyes, he thought, as Lily scolded herself under her breath. He should've guessed the moment he saw her. They didn't necessarily match Albus' in colour, but they did reflect the same flawless clarity. He forced himself to relax. "Hello, Lily. How are you?"

She cocked her head. A smile teased at her lips, but the wind kept pushing it back. She bounced on her toes as she shivered. "Faring well, thanks. But it's far too cold for the first week of December, don't you think? Sometimes I wish Mum and Dad had settled someplace a bit warmer." She gave a dismissive wave. "Anyway, I was on my way to see you, but I got a bit lost."

Scorpius took in her knee-length skirt and sockless feet – a sharp contrast to the woolly jacket and scarf that protected her from the waist up – and frowned. He slipped his hand into his pocket, gripped his wand, and sent a strong Warming Charm sailing toward her.

"Ah," she said with a sigh. "Much better." She peered down at her toes. "Think you could hit me again, a bit lower this time?"

It never occurred to him to insist she warm herself. A wave of protectiveness welled up and without another thought, he sent another spell, then drew her under his arm and out of the worst of the wind. "Better?"

"Much." She squinted up at him. "What luck I found you."

"Is that so?"

"'Tis." She bumped him with her hip. "That git, Albus, promised me a Portkey, but then went off with his mates without making one." She pouted prettily. "I knew the name of the village, but not much else. I've been wandering around here for close to ten minutes!"

He stifled a smile. "That long?"

"Oh, you!" She punched his arm. Her laughter rang through him, warming places in his chest he'd forgot existed. It wasn't the sharp stab of desire he felt when Albus looked at him. Rather it was the friendly comfort of something all together different, but just as missed, he realized.

Companionship.

"Well, I've found you, so all's well." Lily stamped her feet again and rubbed her hands together. "Fancy Apparating me to that pretty shop of yours?"

"It's not pretty, by any stretch of the imagination."

"No, perhaps not. But I hear the fellow that owns it isn't so hard on the eyes." She winked, then burst out laughing when Scorpius blushed.

Without answering, he took her arm and steered her around a corner and into a secluded courtyard.

Lily let herself be led, but Scorpius knew already – without any additional evidence – that she wasn't the docile sort. Which she proved a moment later. "Aren't you going to ask where I heard such a scandalous bit of gossip?" She yanked playfully on his fingers.

"No."

"Not that it's news to anyone in my family."

The spark of mischief in her eye was enough to prompt his next move. He had little forbearance for teasing, and Lily looked to be just getting started. He scooped her up in his arms, smiling at her squeak of surprise, and Apparated them. They landed laughing and stumbling, Lily with her arms twisted around his neck, his around her waist.

"Oh, not fair!" she cried. "You're trying to distract me!"

Scorpius smiled and tugged on the end of her scarf. "Did it work?"

"Undoubtedly," a deep voice answered, tinged with ice. "She flusters rather easily."

Scorpius spun to find Albus leaning against his worktable, his face a mess of chiselled lines, his stare fixed where Lily's arms rested on Scorpius' shoulders. "I was worried about you, sis," he said as his gaze dropped to where Scorpius' fingers grasped her coat. "But I see you have things well in hand. Or, at least, somebody does."





Scorpius' heart rate, which had spiked upon seeing Albus, began to gallop even faster. He snatched his hands away from Lily and retreated a respectable distance. The suppressed anger in Albus' voice, as well as the accusation, roused his own temper. "I don't suppose you would've needed to worry at all had you left her a Portkey like you promised."

"I—" Albus pushed off from the table. "This is none of your affair, Malfoy. And I don't understand why you're complaining. If she'd waited until this afternoon like I told her to, you never would've had the opportunity to provide your convenient side-along services."

Scorpius raised an eyebrow.

"Albus," Lily hissed. She shot Scorpius a look of apology over her shoulder.

Scorpius ignored her. "Well, lucky for me she didn't wait, then."

Lily squeaked. Eyes narrowed, Albus stepped towards them. "Enjoyed your little grope, did you? Shall I stay for the thank-you kiss?"

"Albus!" Lily stamped her foot. More curls bounced loose from underneath her scarf.

"If you've nothing better to do, you're welcome to watch."

"Enough!" Lily yelled. Reluctantly, Scorpius complied, and was pleased to see Albus equally cowed. Robbed of his bluster, he eased back into his posture of disinterest and scowled at his sister.

Lily glowered back before turning to Scorpius with a tight smile. "I'm just here to see the wardrobe."

"Of course. I’m sorry." Scorpius took her by the elbow and guided her forward. Albus didn't so much as twitch as they passed, but Lily paused and spoke under her breath.

"What's the next step in your brilliant plan, brother dear? Club him over the head and drag him off by his hair?" She capped her question with a sugary, tight-lipped smile.

Albus' answer was a sharp pull to a stray lock of hair. "Maybe," he growled – not unlike the wild beast Lily had accused him of being. The sound, almost physical in nature, made the hair on the back of Scorpius' neck stand on end, and he suppressed a shiver.

Lily winced and batted his hand away. Out of the corner of his eye, Scorpius saw a look pass between them, some unspoken communiqué, then Lily spun back around and grabbed his hand in hers. "Well, then. Let's have a look. Is that it there?" she asked.

"Yes." Scorpius flicked his wand at the dust sheet and it floated off and away from the wardrobe, then folded itself neatly and landed on a nearby table. Lily's soft "oh" of appreciation brought a grin to his face. "You like it?"

"Oh, it's lovely! Just lovely!" She pranced forward and laid her palms against the wood. "I can feel it humming."

"I've put the spells in place already. It's the magic that you feel."

She circled it twice before stopping in front of the doors. Glancing over her shoulder, she asked, "Can I bring you her old door handles? I think they'll go well. And they'll lend a bit of sentimentality, don't you think?"

Scorpius nodded. "Of course. But in the meantime…." He flicked his wand and the doors swung open.

"Oh, my," Lily said. Steadying herself on a drawer handle, she leant into the space Scorpius had built for hanging clothes. "Roomy!" her voice echoed back. "How far back does it go?"

"Far enough, I hope, to meet her storage needs. Not far enough to get lost in." He returned Lily's smile when she peeked at him over her shoulder. Her eyes flitted past him – towards her brother, he imagined. In a heartbeat, her open smile morphed into a playful smirk. Scorpius bit the inside of his cheek; he almost pitied Albus then.

"So," she said, leaning back in, "how far down does it go?"

"Down?" Scorpius parroted.

Lily surfaced, pulled her scarf off, and shook out her auburn tresses. "I know how important discretion is to Mum. She'll want an out of the way place for those thigh-high red sequined leather boots that Daddy adores."

Behind Scorpius, Albus choked. "Plenty of room," Scorpius assured her. "I even put in a hook for her matching whip."

"Clever boy!" Lily cried. "She'll be thrilled."

"Lily!" Albus was beet red. "God!" He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and turned away from the two of them.

Lily straightened up and rubbed her palms together, then glided forward to peck Scorpius on the cheek. "My work here is done," she said with a wink. "It's absolutely beautiful. Thank you so much."

He smiled down at her. "It's nothing."

"I have a feeling that's as far from the truth as things get." She wrapped her scarf around her waist and tied it in a sloppy bow. "Bye for now, Al. Will you be round for dinner?"

"I might be along."

She snorted. "As if you'd turn down a free meal." She blew Scorpius a kiss and Disapparated.

The levity and humour went with her. Scorpius felt the change, as though the air pressure had dropped ahead of an electrical storm. His skin prickled. Sick with anticipation, he steeled himself with a deep breath and turned around. He blinked, both relieved and disappointed when he saw that Albus wasn't even looking at him.

"It is beautiful. She's right about that," Albus said, staring at the wardrobe. He crossed his arms in front of him, the jacket bending and folding with that sound. Not the unseasoned squeak of new leather, but the creak and groan of something well broken in. Scorpius couldn't take his eyes from it.

"Are you going to run away again?"

Scorpius gaze shot to Albus' face. He wet his lips, ready to answer, but in the end, simply shook his head. He was a masochist, he knew. And weak. But he'd heard of men and women alike who'd traded whole lives of ordinary for a few moments of spectacular. Would it be so bad to be counted among them?

He knew it would end in pain. So be it.

Albus unfolded his arms and walked towards him. Scorpius' focus wavered between his intent-darkened eyes, the leather that covered and shifted with him, and the bulge of his hardened cock, hidden beneath the folds of denim. He didn't run.

Albus stepped right up to him, chest to chest. With a start of surprise, Scorpius found himself to be the shorter one, by at least an inch or two. His body thought it a glorious discovery. His cock filled and throbbed with the intense pressure that he'd come to both love and hate. Heady from the scent of leather, he swayed even closer. Then – taken by an urge he couldn't control – he reached out and stroked his hand down the front of the jacket.

Albus grinned. "Do you want me to take it off?"

"Most definitely…not," Scorpius said, voice gravelled. He massaged the material with his fingers.

Albus' eyes went dark. He surged forward, pushing Scorpius ahead of him until they met an unyielding pile of covered furniture. "Like it, do you?" he whispered against Scorpius' cheek. Scorpius barely had time to nod, then Albus' fingers were tangling into the hair at the nape of his neck and pushing his face against his jacket.

Scorpius gasped, and the smell of leather filled his lungs. He gave a drawn out, breathy moan and inhaled again, spawning threads of writhing, tingling pleasure that settled in his groin. Mouth open, he rubbed his face back and forth along Albus' shoulder. On the third pass, he bit down. The soft give of flesh under leather drew a low growl from deep in his throat.

Albus jumped. "Oh, God. You—" He grabbed a handful of Scorpius' hair and yanked him back.

They didn't speak, just looked at each other, both breathless. Reeling and flustered, Scorpius arched his hips forward, seeking and finding Albus' erection. After a quick indrawn breath, Albus shifted, pushed back, and it started – back and forth, cock to cock, give and take – and the whole time Scorpius keened under his breath while Albus held him still, hand tight in his hair, and stared into his eyes.

"Please," Scorpius whispered. He flicked his tongue at Albus' lips. When the act wasn't discouraged, he did it again. Albus trembled, hesitated one more moment, then shot forward and pressed their mouths together.

Scorpius thought the wave of lust sizzling through him would buckle his knees. This is what he needed. This is what he'd been missing. A hot mouth over his own, taking without apology, and the pure zing of electricity that made every hair on his body stand on end.

Albus' tongue stroked over his, went exploring, then returned, while Scorpius' hands slid across and underneath leather to find the soft cotton t-shirt beneath. He scrubbed his palms up Albus' chest, over his nipples, then dragged them back down over the waistband of his jeans and over the bulge of his cock. Albus jerked into the touch. Clumsily, he forced his hands between them, reaching to reciprocate, and just the thought of Albus' fingers around his cock sent a spike of pleasure shooting up Scorpius' spine. He moaned into Albus' mouth, dizzy with the scent of sweat and musk and leather.

"Can't wait to touch you. Can't wait to taste you." Albus spoke the harsh words against his lips. "Want to watch you come." His fingers brushed the buttons on Scorpius' jeans.

Scorpius froze in horror. He'd forgot for a moment – forgot that he was broken. Damaged in all the ways that would matter to Albus. His stomach rolled over with a sickening lurch. Determined to give something, he batted the hands away from his buttons and reached for Albus' zip. "Wait. You first."

"Together," Albus insisted, and his nimble fingers snuck past Scorpius' hands and ripped open the three buttons on his jeans with a quick pop pop pop. "All over each other." He ducked his head and nuzzled Scorpius' neck. "Fuck, so hot for you…."

Truly distressed, Scorpius tried to pull away.

The arm Albus had thrown around his waist tightened and pulled him closer. "Where are you going?" he whispered as he stroked Scorpius' cock through his pants.

"Please," Scorpius gasped. Shame closed his throat

"What?"

"I just…wait." He pushed at Albus' chest.

Albus pulled back a few inches, enough for Scorpius to see the hard cock arching from his open jeans – red and glistening at the tip and so fucking beautiful. His fingers twitched to touch and explore it. Sensing his conflict, Albus eased forward until the tip brushed Scorpius' pants. He eased to and fro, tracing the damp outline of Scorpius' prick with his erection. Scorpius whimpered as another wave of lust barrelled through him, but the embarrassment had too great a hold. He gave Albus another push. "I can't do this," he said, voice tortured.

"Why?" Albus tried to pull him in again.

"I said no!" Scorpius yelled.

Albus released him immediately and took two steps back.

Scorpius felt sick to his stomach. "I just— I can't—"

Albus spun away, and Scorpius could see him tucking himself away, zipping up his jeans, straightening his shirt. When he was finished, he ran his hands through his hair and stood quietly. Composing himself, Scorpius imagined, and God knew he needed to as well. With shaking hands, he did up his own buttons. As an afterthought, he smoothed his t-shirt back into place, then tried again to apologize. "Albus—"

Albus lifted a hand, shushing him. He shook his head with a bitter chuckle. "Nothing much has changed, after all, has it, Malfoy?"

Scorpius swallowed heavily. "What do you mean?"

"You're still a cold, manipulative bastard." He threw a glance over his shoulder, eyes dark and completely unreadable. "Just like you used to be."

He Disapparated.

Heartsick, Scorpius watched the sawdust swirl in his wake.




*~*~*


Another stranger with no name, the third one this month. But maybe this hand will be the one.

Beefy fingers jerk him in a merciless rhythm. Hot breath blows profanity into his ear. "Fuck. Fuck, yes. So hot."

After several minutes, the pleasure becomes discomfort, and Scorpius whimpers.

"Oh yeah. Come on. That's it."

"Stop." He twists away.

"What? What's wrong?"

"Just stop." He's angry and scared and hates the hand. He peels it off his cock.

It creeps back anyway. Scorpius hisses and struggles free.

The hand pushes him away. "What's wrong with you?"


*~*~*


He started with frigid water, but even that didn't kill the need. When the shivering grew into bone-jarring shudders, he turned the temperature to scalding and stood hunched under the spray, arms wrapped around his middle. His hair clung to his face, dripped into his eyes, and he shut them against the invading droplets. Thick, hot steam billowed around him until he was dizzy and half-sick from the heat, but his balls still ached. He allowed a hand to slip between his legs to cup them, hoping to soothe, and an arrow of pain shot to his toes. His head fell forward and he moaned. Remarkably, the chipped tile felt cold against his skin. He pressed his face against it and cursed until his voice was hoarse.

Albus' face haunted him. His face, his jealousy, his persistent hands. And Scorpius needed. He needed. He needed. He….

He spun out of the spray and planted his feet against the slick porcelain. The first touch to his cock buckled his knees and he fell hard, but the pain in his shins didn't keep him from working himself with tight, jerking strokes. Pain shot up his spine, pleasure a distant echo behind it.

"Please," he whispered. "Please, please, please…."

As always, his efforts carried him to the very edge of release, but no further. Dripping wet and aware that he'd begun to hyperventilate, Scorpius crawled out of the shower. Three times he tried to stand before his legs deigned to hold his weight, though they shook uncontrollably as he scrambled to grab two vials of potion from the shelf above the basin.

A double dose, he thought as he drank them both, was a ruinous idea, but he felt on a knife's-edge, leaning out over the abyss and staring into something that wasn't insanity – not quite yet – but was too damn close for comfort. He fumbled the empty vials onto the basin's edge. One missed its mark and fell to shatter on the tiles.

Unsteady, vision blurred, he set off across the room toward his bed. His legs gave out halfway across, and he fell first to his knees, then onto his side. The world began to spin, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the sickening movement. As an afterthought, he pulled the edge of the cotton rug up and over his damp, naked body. It covered him like a tightly wrapped cocoon.

At the last, before unconsciousness took him, he imagined the heat leeching into his body wasn't from the scratchy and dusty cotton rug, but instead from Albus' arms, pulling him flush and tight against his chest.

"It's all right," Albus said, cradling him close. "It's all right now."

Dazed, Scorpius shook his head back and forth.

"Yes, it is," Albus insisted. "It's all right. I promise."

In the end, it didn't matter that the words were born of a potion-induced hallucination. It was the first time in five years anyone had promised him anything.

Lips turned up in a small smile, Scorpius fell asleep.


*~*~*


"I hear you're earning quite the reputation."

"Am I?"

"Don't you know?"

Scorpius lifts one shoulder in a shrug. "I enjoy my work."

"Yet this other problem persists?"

"I think…I'm still not well."

"You're perfectly healthy, I assure you."

"Then why can't I--?" To his horror, he's too embarrassed to say it.

"Something's holding you back."

"What?"

His doctor shrugs. "Guilt?"

A pit of ice forms in his stomach. "Why would I feel guilty?"

"It was just an example."



Part II