My seventh fic for littlerose13writes's 12 Days of Shipmas! The prompt for day 7 is "Snowman" :)

When Professor McGonagall had said Christmas was cancelled, Scorpius had half-thought she was joking. He'd been wrong.

It wasn't as boring as he'd imagined, spending the holidays at Hogwarts. There were no bullies to avoid, the food was infinitely more delicious, and they had their pick of the common room sofas, which were usually occupied by the older students. Had this happened the previous year, Scorpius probably would have been glad. Staying at Hogwarts would have spared him from facing his empty, joyless home and his distant, grieving father. The pain of his mother's absence had been a real thing, sharp enough to cut. It had wounded them both, and they'd only just begun to heal. He understood that nearly resurrecting the Darkest wizard of all time merited some kind of punishment, but still… He would have liked to be with his dad. To keep fixing whatever it was that had broken between them.

But there he was.

"Get down from there, you lazy git."

Scorpius rolled his eyes as Albus tried, yet again, to persuade his owl to send a letter. But Flores pretended not to hear his owner as he stood perched at the very top of the Owlery, preening his feathers.

"It's not my fault I've run out of owl treats," Albus protested. "And I'm sure Mum will give you some when you get home. Come on." When that didn't work, he switched tactics. "If you don't come down, I'm adopting one of the school owls. One that's actually nice."

"No owl abuse, Albus, please," Scorpius chided. Then something clicked in his mind, and he felt his lips spread into a mischievous smile. "No owlbuse, Owlbus."

Albus snorted and turned to look at him. "That's worse than engorgimpressed, mate. Congratulations. I suppose you're proud of yourself?"

Scorpius beamed at him. "Very."

But Albus's threat appeared to have done the trick, as Flores swooped down and landed right in front of him, hooting softly.

While Albus busied himself tying the letter to the owl's leg, complaining about how difficult it was because his fingers had gone numb despite the gloves he wore, Scorpius fiddled with his sleeves and shifted his weight from foot to foot. He'd already written to his father. He'd written to him every single day since the start of the holidays, in fact. And it wasn't easy, but they understood each other now. They knew where they stood.

Things weren't so simple for Albus. He was trying, though; he was making an effort to talk to his father. He said it was terribly awkward for them both, but he was doing it anyway, painstakingly writing letter after letter and opening up bit by bit. He and Scorpius spent their evenings holed up in the common room, buried in quills, rolls of parchment and sweet wrappers. It was nice and peaceful, just the two of them. Scorpius got to wake Albus up as loudly as he pleased, they could play chess wherever they liked, and–

"Ow!"

An adorably small scops owl was nibbling at his fingers, looking for treats.

"Sorry, I've run out too," Scorpius said apologetically, cradling his finger to his chest. "But I'll come back and give you some when Dad sends me a new box."

The scops owl blinked up at him with its big yellow eyes, then took off, flying out the closest window to face the freezing wind.

Scorpius followed it, then leaned against the windowsill. He exhaled slowly, taking in the whiteness that stretched on and on across the castle grounds until it reached the horizon, where it seemed to fuse with the bright pearl grey colour of the sky. There were no students having snowball fights or making snow angels; the snow was intact, beautiful, like something out of a fairytale book. It reminded him of the Manor's gardens, and that gave him an idea.

He turned to Albus, who had just seen Flores off. "Do you want to build a snowman?"

To his surprise, Albus burst out laughing.

"What?" Scorpius asked, bewildered. "You don't want to? I mean, it's okay if you don't–"

"No, no," Albus said hurriedly, still chortling. "It's just… It's this Muggle thing that Lily liked when she was little. Too complicated to explain, and you really don't want to know. But yeah, sure, let's build a snowman."

They decided the perfect spot would be on the grounds behind the Owlery, where it was unlikely they'd be interrupted. It was slow work, mostly because they kept starting impromptu snowball fights or simply chucking handfuls of snow at each other. Without realising it, Scorpius forgot about every single miserable thought he'd had during the past few weeks. He was too busy laughing, shaping great piles of snow and coming up with dreadful puns he knew would make Albus groan.

It reminded him of past Christmases at the Manor, back when his mother had been well – or less ill, at least. They'd built a snowman every year, on the day before Christmas Eve, out of snow and twigs and buttons. The snowman had even had a scarf all of his own, made by Astoria after she'd learnt how to knit during those long, boring days spent resting in her bed. Scorpius had chosen the colours: purple and pink, because they were silly and fun, just like those precious hours spent with his family. Even his father had joined in sometimes, even though he didn't like the cold.

After a little while, their very own snowman stood before them. He was a little too small and slightly crooked, but they'd made him together, so he was absolutely perfect.

"He needs a hat."

"Well, he's not having my hat."

"That's a bit uncharitable, Albus. It's Christmas! The season of kindness, of generosity…"

Albus lifted a hand so he could hold on to his emerald green bobble hat, as if he thought Scorpius might try to snatch it. "Not my hat," he said stubbornly.

In the end, Scorpius had to part with his own bobble hat, to which he was significantly less attached. Albus informed him that he looked like a Pygmy Puff, since his hair was sticking up in all directions. Scorpius decided to be the mature one here and stuck his tongue out at him.

"We should give him a name," Albus said a while later, squatting on the snow so he was almost eye-to-eye with the snowman. He'd had to part with his scarf at Scorpius's insistence.

Scorpius didn't even have to think about it. The name left his lips without a moment's hesitation, simple and obvious: "Flurry."

Albus's eyebrows shot up. "Flurry? Weird name."

"I had an imaginary friend called Flurry."

"You had an imaginary friend?" Albus straightened up, looking at him strangely. Was that pity? Sympathy? Scorpius couldn't put his finger on it.

He felt his cheeks flush. Perhaps he should have kept this quiet. His parents had known about Flurry, of course, but he hadn't told anyone else. Well, with one notable exception he'd rather not think about.

"He was a snowman at first," he explained, looking down at his hands. "We built one every Christmas. When I was four, I named him Flurry and it stuck, so that's what we always called him."

"Didn't he… melt?" Albus asked delicately.

"Oh, yes. But his spirit lingered. He was very fond of Gobstones, even though he cheated half the time."

He wondered if this was it: the moment in which Albus would realise how odd he was and leave. Normal children had real friends, not snowmen and imaginary companions, but that was all Scorpius had known before he'd gone to Hogwarts. However, Albus didn't seem to mind his peculiarity. He was grinning at him, as if Scorpius had said something endearing and delightful, and there was a softness in his eyes that said yes, he knew Scorpius was a bit of a weirdo, but he liked him just the same.

"I'll bet Flurry was better company than James," was all he said, with that boyish, Albus-y grin he'd given Scorpius when they'd first met. And then, without warning, he slung an arm over Scorpius's shoulders.

His first thought was that he'd been doing that a lot lately. The touching. No more hugs, not since Scorpius had flung himself at him in the lake, but pokes, shoves, hair-ruffling… and now this. Albus didn't even seem to realise he was doing it, but Scorpius was acutely aware of every single touch. It was… very nice. He just wished he knew what to do with himself when it happened. Was he supposed to return the gesture? Or would that be too much? Their friendship had changed for the better, but there was a new set of rules that he still didn't understand. What was allowed, what was forbidden?

While he was busy overthinking everything, as usual, Albus gave him a little nudge.

"You okay?" he asked gently. "You were quiet at the Owlery."

"Yeah." It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't quite true, either. "I was just… thinking."

"Knut for your thoughts?"

There were so many swirling around in his head that surely they were worth at least a Galleon. But even as he tried to sort through them, to decide what he was ready to say out loud and what he wanted to keep quiet for now, he knew which one he wanted to share the most. It was a small, insignificant thing, but he felt it mattered.

"Mum would have liked you," he said abruptly. "She did like you. I know you never actually talked, but she always asked about you in her letters. She… It made her really happy, knowing we were friends."

"Best friends," Albus corrected, smiling at him. He looked down at his snow-covered boots, shuffling his feet. "I would've liked to meet her," he said after a while. "The way you talk about her… She always waved at me when she picked you up from King's Cross, remember? And she always seemed so nice. Not as scary as your dad."

Scorpius's eyes were burning, but his lips twitched at that last bit. "Appearances can be deceiving," he said in a voice that mercifully wasn't as shaky as he felt. "I tell you, Dad was terrified of her. In a good way, of course."

Albus glanced up at him. "Really?"

"She used to sneak up behind him and stuff snow down the back of his robes."

Albus waited for a second, perhaps thinking that Scorpius was joking, but when he realised he was being completely serious he threw his head back and laughed in surprise and delight. His cheeks were flushed from the cold, his hair was a damp, rumpled mess, and his eyes were almost impossibly green. Scorpius could only stare at him, stunned, but also slightly pleased with himself. Albus only ever laughed like that around him.

It took a while for Albus to calm down, which he only did when something white landed on the tip of his nose. He squinted at it. "It's snowing again?"

Scorpius nodded, holding a hand and watching as a snowflake landed on his palm, stark white against his black dragonskin gloves, and melted. "Looks like it."

"Well, I'm taking my scarf back," Albus declared, undoing the knot that tied it to their snowman. He took the hat, too.

"You're going to leave poor Flurry unprotected against the cold?" Granted, Flurry wouldn't feel a thing, but he looked horribly small and lonely without clothes. Scorpius felt a pang of pity.

"He'll live. I won't."

"It's not that cold."

"If you say it's 'a moderately cold day' again, I'm talking a leaf out of your mum's book and stuffing snow down your robes."

Oh yes, Astoria would have adored Albus.

Smiling softly, Scorpius patted Flurry on the head. "We'll visit you tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after–"

"Bye, Flurry." Albus was tugging insistently at his robes. "If I catch a cold because of you, mate, I'm not going to let you rest until term starts."

Scorpius rolled his eyes, but grinned and let himself be dragged along back to the castle. He turned to look at Flurry one last time. For years, Scorpius had thought he would never have more than that: snow and a wild imagination. But there was nothing imaginary about the boy at his side, who was real and brilliant and special, who knew everything there was to know about him and still stayed, and who was worth more than all the Knuts and Galleons in the world.

Reviews are very much appreciated!