VII

It started with Albus perfectly mapping his approach, only to be surprised by Scorpius before time.

"Albus?" said a very familiar voice, one day in the library. Albus was there to catch up with McGonagall's current pile of madness and, if needed be, fix a cheat slip. All the luckier he had been to find a table just for himself—so far, that was.

He startled and turned, finding Scorpius a few feet from his table and with a questioning look on his face. After contemplating the alluring idea of not replying, he answered, "Yeah."

Scorpius smiled, relieved, and came closer. "Your friend Rose told me I'd find you here."

"Oh," Albus said. He noisily pulled out a chair; Scorpius got the message and took it.

He looked good, if tired, his tie loose and slung carelessly around his neck. He dropped his impossibly damaged bag on the ground and nervously ran a hand through his outgrowing hair. "How have you been?"

Albus had fantasized about many things he would say, but this polite inquiry for his well-being was not among them.

"Good, thanks. You?"

"Okay." Scorpius smiled tentatively. "Lysander told me you were busy."

Albus didn't blush, but it was a close call. "Yeah, quite. I—well, I noticed I didn't study too much this term. A bit to catch up now."

"It's probably my fault," said Scorpius, "helping me and all."

"Don't be stupid, those are two different things."

They fell quiet for a few moments, and Albus thought his discomfort had to radiate off him. Scorpius fidgeted with his rolled-up sleeves.

"Are you angry at me?" the blonde asked out of the blue.

Albus blinked, but Scorpius' expression was firm in place. "Of course not," he replied, nonplussed. "Why would I?"

"I don't know."

"Me neither." Albus leaned forward. "Look, I was behaving like a fool . . . that night. If anyone could be angry, it's you."

Scorpius swallowed, colouring faintly. "I'm not."

"Good," said Albus. "Can you accept my apologies for epic douchebaggery?" He was surprised at how nonchalant his voice sounded, considering that his heart was hammering in his throat.

Scorpius laughed, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Sure. You were drunk."

"And by the way, I had the hangover from hell."

"Sweet justice," Scorpius said with a grin. Then, he turned serious. "We didn't get to talk that night, but—did you find something, or someone, interesting?"

Albus leaned back. "I guess. Before I was hammered beyond recognition, I had some fairly involving conversations. But overall—" How to put this, he wasn't sure. He hadn't even taken the time to properly admit it to himself. "Overall, you were right. No one who can share a big story will hang out in a pub, waiting to tell it."

"I'm sorry," said Scorpius, and it sounded painfully honest. "That sucks."

"Yep. I don't know; I might not do it again." Albus suppressed a sigh. He couldn't bring himself to actually regret it. "Sorry you helped me fix the Cabinet for—well, nothing much."

Scorpius shrugged. "I enjoyed it."

Albus looked at him curiously and found him blushing again. If only he didn't look so nice doing that, it would make everything a lot easier.

"So, what have you been up to the last two weeks?"

"Trying to catch up with my subjects." Scorpius rubbed a hand along his neck. "Looks like my housemates have gotten ahead of me, after all—not that it matters," he added quickly, smiling sheepishly.

For whichever reason, it mattered to Albus though. "Best we get back to work then," he offered. "I'm free this afternoon."

"You—seriously?" Scorpius' eyes hovered in the area of his face. "I thought you maybe—well, I thought you had your own subjects to worry about now."

"Sure I do. But that's no excuse to let you down." Had he really just said that? At least it was better than, I don't study most of the time because I'm busy thinking about you anyway. Albus intricately took his books and parchment from his bag and placed them upon the table. "What's on the agenda today?"

The last scepticism vanished from Scorpius' face. "History and Potions. Don't curse me."

Albus groaned, but reached for the books all the same. There he was again, reading about his most detested subjects instead of catching up with his enormous amount of homework. But that didn't matter as much as the feeling of something clicking into place—something that had gone missing in the time without Scorpius.

No matter how tense the atmosphere, or how much between them was left unspoken, at least, he could watch Scorpius, and laugh with him, and listen to him recite the most obscure details one could think of. It was pathetic, but he'd stopped caring somewhere along the way.

It was late when they were through with both Scorpius' and Albus' subjects. Surprisingly, they had gotten a lot of work done together, and Albus even felt himself warm up to some of the material.

Scorpius had scribbled down pages of Potions knowledge, but Albus didn't miss the new strain on his face. Only when they called it a night, he dared ask.

"Any news on the antidote?" He had meant for it to sound neutral, but his voice quivered ever so slightly. A pained expression flashed across Scorpius' face.

"Yes," he said. "Yes. I meant to tell you about this."

Albus stepped closer. "Yeah? What is it? They found something, right?"

Scorpius nodded, but didn't look relieved in the least.

"So? When can you take it?"

"It's—complicated."

Albus wanted to shake him. "Just tell me what's going on, okay?"

He wasn't prepared for Scorpius to release a tormented sigh and bury his face in his hands. "They don't know if it helps," he whispered. "I might be blind forever."

"No." Albus felt powerless. "No, you won't."

"It's been almost eight weeks," Scorpius insisted, his voice tight. "They told me the damage gets worse with time. At first it's the colours, and then everything is—disappears. They—No one knows what will happen when I take it." He looked away, embarrassed, but the tears were gathering unstoppably in the corners of his eyes.

Albus was horrified. Scorpius' sight was disappearing at that very moment, and it had been happening for weeks? They had nothing but waited, wasted time in which they could have healed him? Almost on instinct, he reached out for his friend and, when he hugged him, Scorpius sagged and let his head drop on Albus' shoulder. Albus felt him shake with quiet sobs and warily stroked his back.

It was intense, but it also felt right; like they had overcome a barrier that needed overcoming. He held tight until Scorpius took a deep breath and seemed to calm down.

"When will you take it?" Albus asked, not letting go.

"Tomorrow."

Tomorrow. Albus noticed that he could have offered support to his friend much sooner, had he not been busy hiding from his own idiocy. But, then again, Scorpius had sought him out today—maybe to study, but maybe to tell him this and be comforted. The thought filled Albus with that particular warmth reserved only for Scorpius.

"You know," Scorpius murmured, "I really hate this." His voice was broken and got caught in his throat.

"Sorry," Albus whispered back, for various reasons, and hugged Scorpius a bit tighter. In return he, very much felt the hands on his waist tighten and a moist face press up against the cotton of his shirt. He reached up tentatively and ran one hand through Scorpius' hair.

It felt much softer than it looked, especially in the tender area of his nape, and Albus did it again. Scorpius shivered against him.

Albus suddenly became aware of many things at once: his own frantic heartbeat, the silence of the library and the weight of this unforeseen moment. Scorpius' fingers moved slightly, hardly noticeably, against his hips, maybe caressing if you squinted—and what if this was it—the moment he had—

"CLOSING TIME," announced Madam Pince's magically enhanced voice from the counter, causing the boys to break apart. "DEAR STUDENTS, PLEASE FINISH ANY LOANS NOW AND CLEAR THE LIBRARY. THANK YOU."

Scorpius, with his cheeks nearly as red as his eyes, felt for his things so hastily he almost knocked over the table. Albus was still too dumbfounded by what had just transpired between them to get moving. Eventually, he shoved Scorpius' quill towards him, discreetly, and cleared his throat.

"When will you take the potion tomorrow?"

Scorpius found the quill and stuffed it into his pocket. "In my lunch break, I guess," he murmured. "One o'clock, in Slughorn's lab."

"Do you want me to come?" Albus asked, quickly adding, "I'd like to." He didn't want to sound like he thought Scorpius was too weak to go through it alone, but he somehow felt he should be there.

To his relief, Scorpius nodded. "Okay." He shouldered his bag and took out his wand; Albus was already at his side.

"May I?" he asked, his pulse almost choking him.

Scorpius nodded again, and stilled only momentarily when Albus put his hand on the small of his back instead. It felt much more intimate than taking his elbow, but Albus thought that after —that moment, whatever it had been, he could take the risk. The true nature of this touch was barring his windpipe, but Albus had no idea how he should really go about saying it. He didn't want to lose what they had carefully constructed over the past few weeks.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then," he said when they reached the great staircase.

"Thank you," Scorpius said, obviously embarrassed. "For letting me cry on you like a little girl."

Albus laughed. "Anytime. I'm always collecting blackmail material."

"I know."

He looked so forlorn that Albus grabbed him by the shoulder again. "Don't drive yourself crazy, Scorp. That's not going to change what will happen tomorrow."

Scorpius nodded. "I'll try." Then, he looked at Albus, actually looked at him, with the most ambiguous expression. It wasn't as much resignation as it was a challenge, but before Albus could be sure, it was gone.

"Are you telling me to calm down? Is that what you're telling me?"

Draco Malfoy, that much remembered the Hogwarts staff, had been unpleasant at his best of times when he was a teenager. An infuriated, fully developed, version of him was nothing they particularly wanted to deal with.

"Mr. Malfoy, please," Professor McGonagall tried to arbitrate. "This is not helping now. We have to focus on the present situation."

Draco whipped around and glared at her. "Believe me, Headmistress, that's exactly what I'm doing. I'm racking my brains on how to get this—this—cretin fired!"

"Mr. Malfoy!" she hissed. "I believe we get your point, thank you."

Slughorn, in the meantime, had resorted to not speaking at all. He kept a safe distance from the infuriated father, well aware that he had every reason to be furious, and left it to the Headmistress to have order.

They had, after a long discussion, informed Scorpius' father. By their current estimation, the potion would not be able to restore Scorpius' full eyesight, and the longer they waited to tell his family, the deeper in trouble they'd be.

"So, when exactly," raged Draco in that moment, "were you planning on telling me this? In summer holidays, when my son returned back home and didn't recognise his own father?"

McGonagall didn't miss the despair mixing with Draco's anger, and she looked at him gently. "I know about the irresponsibility of my decision, and have expressed my apologies. I'm afraid there's nothing more I can do to calm you. However." She held her hand up, indicating him to wait, and the movement was effective even on a student who had long left school.

"However, I must stress that this was your son's idea—because he wanted to spare you the worries. At the outset of all this, we didn't know whether the accident wouldn't pass without consequences." She sighed. "Scorpius wanted the best for you, and we all want the best for him. Let's not transport this to a level of animosity."

Draco, obviously restraining himself, balled his hands into fists and took a deep breath. Finally, he nodded.

"So, how many weeks?" he asked.

"Pardon?"

"How many weeks has he been blind?" The word didn't come across his lips easily.

McGonagall looked at Slughorn, but presumed that any word from the potions master would just upset Draco more. "Eight weeks," she replied in his stead, "since the accident."

"Eight weeks?" Draco's mask of fury was back in place. "Eagle's Tears take three weeks preparation, at most!" He looked at Slughorn, who squirmed.

"They do, but I was researching for a different antidote. Eagle's Tears is illegal!" At least he had a proper reason for not instantly using that potion.

Draco merely rolled his eyes. "So what? It's about a student—whose life you, by the way, have ruined!" He turned away and ran his hands across his face. It was quiet for several seconds, then McGonagall decided to take the lead again.

"I advise not to use such crass language at this point. We don't know anything yet."

"You know that he won't have back his full sight." When Draco turned again, he looked more dishevelled and distressed than she had ever seen him. "He's a reader! If there's anything he can't live without, it's his books." He stopped himself and straightened. "Can I see him?"

McGonagall sighed inwardly. "He's in class at the moment. We have scheduled one o'clock for him taking the potion, and I'm sure he'll appreciate your presence then." She gestured invitingly. "If there's anything we can do for you in the meantime—"

"You have done enough already," Draco snapped.

"Very well. Horace?"

Slughorn took the hint and, without further commentary, left the office. The potion was finished and simmering in his lab, but he'd better supervise it for the last hours. If anything went wrong now, he had no doubts Draco Malfoy would have his head on a plate.

When the teacher had left, Draco released another giant sigh and sat down on McGonagall's couch. "He's in class, you said? How does he manage?"

"He has a study partner, who helps him with his subjects."

Draco looked at her, puzzled, but nodded his approval. "Good, that's good." He ran a hand through his hair and got up to resume his pacing. "So his grades aren't suffering? He's keeping up alright?"

McGonagall frowned at him. "I'm not sure this should be a concern of yours at—"

"Not of mine," Draco hissed, whirling around. "Of his own. My son worked hard to be top of class, and he has every right to care about this position."

This, the Headmistress could understand. She had of course perceived Scorpius Malfoy to be extraordinarily gifted and ambitious. "He's doing fine," she replied. "I can't say he's leading in every subject anymore, but the development is anything but worrisome. I'm sure that once he's fully adapted to these new—circumstances, he will do as fine as ever." She folded her hands. "You're certainly aware that I would not speak like this to every parent."

Draco kept glaring, but his expression softened the tiniest bit. The hard line around his mouth wouldn't vanish, but McGonagall knew that it had been formed by much more in the man's past—for now, she saw concern and anxiety wash over his face.

"I care about him," he said, as though the situation required his explanation. Professor McGonagall looked at him patiently.

"I know."

"I'm not sure you do." Draco stepped up to the window and pressed one fist to his lips. His voice sounded bitter and worn. "I don't recall earning a reputation as particularly caring in my Hogwarts' years. But—I wanted him to do better. Here I tried to guarantee ideal prerequisites for my son and this, of all things, has to happen!"

McGonagall watched his shoulders sag and sighed. "Mr. Malfoy, there is only so much you can protect a child from."

They remained silent for some time again. From the Headmistress's office, you could see the Quidditch pitch and suitably dressed students who kept mistrustfully eyeing the approaching rain clouds.

Draco turned around. "I could use a coffee, if I may."

McGonagall smiled and rang for a house-elf.

The day passed agonisingly slowly and too fast at the same time. In the classes Albus shared with Rose – Charms and Transfiguration – she would pester him until he told her what was going on. If nothing else, the news shut her up; at least, for a while.

"That's horrible, Al."

"Tell me about it."

"And now?"

"What, 'now'? He takes the antidote and we see what happens."

"You don't think something bad could happen to him, do you?"

"I don't know, okay? I don't fucking know!"

It was excruciating: as much as she wanted to help, the questions only emphasized his own helplessness. There was nothing he could do at this point, and who could really guess what would happen when Scorpius took the antidote? What if it made matters worse? He craved for and dreaded one o'clock.

Shortly before lunch break, Rose pulled him aside, looking stern. Albus couldn't remember seeing her like this ever before, and he felt a strange tenderness: after all, she cared.

"I know what I said about him, being a Malfoy and all. But—I really hope this helps. All of it."

"Thanks," Albus replied, more mechanically than intended.

"Let me know what happens."

"As if I could keep it from you."

He was left alone in the corridor, just the occasional First- and Second-year student strolling past. Albus tried to remember himself and Scorpius in their first years at Hogwarts, but most of it was a distinct blur, more prominent their meetings at King's Cross. It didn't escape his notice that his father paid a certain attention to the Malfoys, but Albus himself never did.

Well, that certainly had changed.

Shortly before one o'clock, Albus descended the very familiar way to the Dungeons. His heart was pounding at laughable intensity when he entered the Potions classroom and made his way through to Horace Slughorn's lab. He hadn't been prepared for one of the present guests.

"Who is this?" asked Draco Malfoy, as haughty as in Harry's wildest tales. Besides, Albus' looks probably gave away pretty soon who he was. "What is he doing here?"

"I can talk as well, sir," Albus retorted snottily. "My name is Albus Potter and I'm Scorpius's—friend." They had been 'only study partners' before that. "He knew I'd be here."

"Is that true?" Scorpius' father asked him. Albus noticed that one of his hands lay protectively on his son's shoulder.

"Yes." Scorpius seemed uncomfortable, but managed a smile in Albus's direction. "Dad, Albus has helped me studying since the accident. He's a really good friend." He looked abashed by the revelation, but didn't waver. "Please, be nice."

Scorpius's father seemed to carry out a little fight with himself, and for some reason his gaze rested unusually long on Albus' green silk tie. Then, he smiled, if a little wiggly. "Mr. Potter, thank you very much for all your help. We owe you."

Embarrassed, Albus shook his head; the man was odd, but not necessarily unpleasant. There was something deep about him that made it hard to shake off the number of stories. "Not a problem," Albus muttered, burying his hands in his pockets.

"Welcome, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall addressed him with a smile. She was standing next to a very nervous looking Slughorn, who held an empty cup in his hand. The cauldron in front of them sizzled contently. "Mr. Malfoy informed us that you'd be present as well."

"Yeah, I—" Albus shut himself up. He didn't really know what to say, so he kept standing where he'd stopped.

"Horace, if you please," said the Headmistress.

Slughorn cleared his throat and looked up. Albus noticed how the older Malfoy obviously wanted to murder the man with his eyes only, and he had to suppress a chuckle. The potions master briefly explained the brewing process of Eagle's Tears, and which ingredients might cause improvement in which ways.

"Since eight weeks passed, I can't promise the potion's full effect," Slughorn said, avoiding everyone's eyes. "We'll have to see what happens when Mr. Malfoy takes it."

"Yeah, let's do it," Scorpius cut in. Albus noticed him picking his nail beds, something he only did under extreme stress.

Slughorn squirmed some more. "I have to warn you," he said, "if ingestion of the antidote occurs much later than the contact with the poison, various effects to one's senses may take place." He glanced sideways at the headmistress, whose face remained stony. "A variety of them have been recorded in the past. The strong impact on the optic nerve may cause disturbance of other perceptive organs."

The potions lab was very quiet after this. Albus looked at Scorpius, whose face was a mask if not for his tense jaw. He noticed Mr. Malfoy's knuckles turned white from the strength of his grip.

"Scorpius," his father finally said, "I advise you to take it, but it's your decision."

Scorpius looked like he was about to shake. All insecurities of the past weeks were suddenly written across his face, leaving it hard and vulnerable. Albus could almost see his thoughts race: what might happen if he took it. What if he didn't? Both could and would change his life forever.

Albus felt tenderness so intense it took his breath away. He wanted to be able to change this, all of this, but of course he couldn't.

"Scorpius," he said, the other people in the room unimportant. "Can we talk for a minute, alone?"

He ignored the piercing gaze of Mr. Malfoy, as well as the utter surprise on McGonagall's face. All he focused on was his friend, who nodded and took a careful step in his direction. Albus took his arm and led him from the room.

They stopped at the far end of the Potions classroom, out of earshot. Only now Albus noticed the faint red rims around Scorpius' eyes.

"Hey."

"Thanks for coming," Scorpius whispered, his voice steady yet, but breaking. Albus put both hands on his shoulders and held him still.

"Sure, Scorp. Scorpius. Listen." He took a deep breath, focusing on the warmth of the cotton and body beneath. "You should think about this."

Scorpius laughed a half-hearted, bitter laugh. "Believe me, I've done nothing but think about this for the past eight bloody weeks!" For a moment, Albus thought he'd wriggle from his grip, but he stayed just where he was. They were so close he could smell the lemons again.

He sighed. "I know. It's just—Maybe you're better off getting used to this, instead of who knows what happening." It sounded ridiculous that way. "We're getting there. You're getting there. I've seen how strong you are."

Scorpius hesitated, a few seconds, before a sad smile broke out on his face and he murmured, "Since when are you Mr. Nice Bloke?"

"I'm not, idiot," Albus retorted. "You better appreciate my rare compliments."

"Or what?"

"Or I stop making them."

Scorpius' smile widened. "I'd hate that."

No sound came from the lab, only the constant puzzling sounds of the Dungeons—was it pipes working?—filled the quiet. Albus listened to both their breathing. He had to say something, even if he wasn't sure what.

"I'm a selfish Slytherin, and I don't want to lose your acceptable company."

Scorpius snorted. "What was that?"

"Scorp." Albus let go off Scorpius' shoulders. "I'd rather you stay blind than—different."

"What, so I can never see your hideous hair?"

"That Potter-Malfoy joke is old."

"So it is."

They stood the way they would if they could look deeply into each other's eyes. After an eternity, Scorpius lifted his hand and searched for Albus' chin. When he found it, his fingers ran farther upwards, cautious and hardly touching, until they were on his lips. Albus concentrated on Scorpius' own concentration while his heart thundered through his head.

"Do you only do that when you're drunk?" Scorpius asked, his voice rasped.

Albus took a step forward. "Do what?" He opened his lips and felt a long finger drop to where it was moist. He pressed a kiss to the tip.

Scorpius' eyes fluttered shut. "I don't know," he whispered.

Albus pulled him close, not unlike in the library, though actually it was nothing like in the library because then he hadn't known the first thing about what he wanted.

"You don't see it, so I'll ask you," he said quietly. "Can I kiss you?"

And then Scorpius removed the finger from his lip, wrapped both arms around Albus' neck, and was pressing their lips together with enough insistency to drive them against Slughorn's shelf.

Neither the toppling of vials, nor the bruising of furniture mattered. Not even his own stupidity or fate's weird ways could keep Albus' mind busy, as all his senses were currently and fully occupied. He held Scorpius tightly enough to crush him, only Scorpius didn't get crushed at all, but held him just as tightly in return.

Albus parted his lips and gasped for breath, and Scorpius generously shared his. Their tongues touched, hesitantly at first, but with increasing determination. It was wet and sloppy and perfect, and Albus felt himself get lightheaded. When he inhaled deeply and exhaled into Scorpius' mouth, it felt like they shared a breath down to their cores.

An unknown amount of time later, they broke apart. Albus opened his eyes to find a beautifully flushed blonde who was busy running his hands all over Albus' face to map it out.

"I really want to see you," Scorpius said.

Albus grinned, tangling his fingers in the fine blonde hair. "You've seen me for six years."

Scorpius grimaced. "You're stupid," he observed, "I never looked. Not like this." And he flushed some more.

"You know, that's not how looking works," Albus teased. "And you smell really fucking good."

"Yeah, I remember that."

"Just don't turn arrogant."

"No, that's your post already."

Albus shoved him, but tangled their fingers together. The act made them both go still, though neither pulled back. When Albus prepared for what he was about to say, he thought he'd definitely inherited a fair bit of Gryffindor courage. He swallowed, feeling like the novel hero overcoming a seemingly impossible gap.

"I'm in love with you. Just in case you hadn't noticed."

Scorpius grinned goofily. "I might have," he said and then squeezed Albus' fingers almost painfully. "That's good, because I'm in love with you too."

The situation was way too corny not to laugh, but Albus managed to restrain himself. Instead he closed his eyes and replayed the simple and most meaningful words in his head until they sounded like a different language altogether.

Scorpius released a quiet sigh. "I'll take the potion. If I don't, I'll always wonder about what if I had."

"Alright." Albus led him away from the shelf, taking in the mess they had made and silently grinning to himself. Served Slughorn right. He tipped Scorpius' hand with his thumb. "Do you—Does that make you uncomfortable?"

"Not in the least." Scorpius leaned in again and Albus met him half-way. Their lips rested against each other for a few long seconds before they pulled apart. "How do I look?" Scorpius asked, trying to readjust his hair.

Albus grinned. "Like someone who just had the snog of their life."

Scorpius rolled his eyes, but let himself be pulled back to the lab. Albus' heart was hammering in his chest, but he was impressed to find that Scorpius didn't let go of his hand in front of his father and teachers. Two pairs of eyes wandered to their joined hands and he felt himself blush, but no one made a comment.

"Mr. Malfoy, have you decided?" Professor McGonagall asked in a nonchalant voice.

"I have," said Scorpius. "I want to take it."

Albus glanced at Scorpius' father, who looked both anxious and proud. When he reached out for his son, Albus let go.

"You know, in a way this is ultimate House unity."

It was a sunny, if windy afternoon three days before the final exams, and many students had taken their books to the lake. As long as the weeping willows' shadows didn't grow too long, it was comfortably warm by the shore, the stone slabs heated up by signs of summer.

Rose grinned and dropped her head back into Lorcan's lap. "Oh yeah, why is that?"

Albus rolled his eyes. "Please. Don't encourage him."

"Because," Scorpius continued, unperturbed, "all your ties and sheets and all that crap look the same now."

Lorcan gave up on his current chapter and ran a hand through Rose's hair. "Really? Completely the same?"

"Pretty much, yes." Scorpius looked at them, and then turned to Albus reproachfully. "Why can't you be that nice to me, huh?"

Albus threw him a perfectly irritated glance. "Because I'm studying, you know-it-all."

"'Pretending' is more like it."

"Oh, yeah? Come here and say that again."

"Pretending. Pre-ten—"

He didn't get to finish, because Albus cast his book aside and head-locked him. "Care to say it again?"

Rose watched them, snickering. "Never mess with a Slytherin, Scorp."

Scorpius' retort was successfully cut off by Albus bowing down and kissing him fully on the lips. After a brief and fake struggle, Scorpius returned the kiss so enthusiastically they rolled over and landed flat on the grass.

Rose rolled her eyes, while Lorcan looked like he still had to wrap his mind around the idea of his housemate dating another bloke.

"So, uhh . . . what does it look like? All greys?"

Scorpius sat up, dramatically gasping for air. "Yeah," he said. "Different shades, but none really dark or really bright." He hit Albus, who was laughing insanely. "Makes it easier that I remember the colours; this way I can compare."

According to several potions masters over time, Scorpius had been lucky: after taking the Eagle's Tears, his eyesight had fully returned, with exception of his ability to see colours. Since everyone had been prepared for the worst, though, the conditions didn't seem too bad. Albus recalled the expression of pure, unveiled joy on Scorpius' face when he found he'd be able to read again.

And to see Albus' face.

He sat up himself and slipped one arm around Scorpius' waist; the thought still made him smile. The way Scorpius had looked at him, that afternoon—Albus was sure no one would ever look at him like that again.

"Hey you sickening couples," yelled Louis, approaching with a broom in hand and Lysander in tow. "Don't tell me you haven't used this brilliant day one bit."

Rose squinted up at him. "Oh, we're using it excellently."

"Right. If any of you studied one line, Slytherin loses to Hufflepuff tomorrow."

Albus threw his quill at him. "Would you bear the shame?"

"Nope." Louis made a face and flopped down between them. "There's no way in hell we're going to lose. We trained like thirty hours. A day. Did I say our Captain is a sadist?"

"No please," Albus nodded, "say it again."

Louis put up his best glare. "You'd be the first whose ass I'd kick, Potter, if only it was on a broom."

Albus felt slightly betrayed when everyone laughed. Then, Scorpius kissed his jaw and stretched out on the ground, putting his head in Albus' lap, and so it was okay—like weeks ago, only better.

He twirled the light hair and leant down. "I want to show you something," he whispered.

Scorpius' eyes lit up. "Oh yeah? What is that?"

"Move your lazy arse and you'll see."

Louis and Rose groaned simultaneously.

"We'll see you at dinner?"

"And no, we do not want to know what you're up to!"

Albus dug one hand suggestively into Scorpius' hip pocket and grinned. "See you guys later." Only when they were approaching the castle, Scorpius looked at him with a raised eyebrows.

"This is not what I think it is, right?"

Albus chuckled. "Nah, probably not."

The Room of Hidden Things opened as it constantly had for weeks in the past, tearing a monochrome hole in the wall. It was the first time Scorpius actually saw what it was like, and they stood silently for minutes, just taking it in.

"There's no colours," Albus said, "it's exactly how you see it."

Scorpius crouched to touch the ashes and smiled. "Beautiful."

Trust him to think the dead grounds beautiful, Albus thought fondly. But then again, just because fire had swept through this room, it hadn't necessarily died. "Want to go pay the Cabinet one last visit?"

Scorpius nodded and grinned. "Does that mean I have to walk by myself now?"

Albus rolled his eyes, but put his arm around Scorpius's waist and slipped a hand beneath his shirt. They made their way across the shifting ashes, successfully dirtying their shoes in the process, and stopped in front of the Vanishing Cabinet. It was still beautiful and imposing, and Scorpius drank in the sight like he looked at everything now with multiplied intensity.

The Cabinet's doors stood open, as Albus had left them that night, and in one corner, an ambitious spider had already cocooned its home. Scorpius smiled at the sight.

"Looks like its story is told after all."

Albus took his face into both hands and kissed him. "And you were right yet again. This is insufferable."

Scorpius pulled him closer, folding his hands at the small of Albus' back. "I wasn't the first to come up with this, though. In fact, Mervyn Miraculis set up the same theory sixty years ago."

"Hmm," said Albus, "fascinating."

Then, they kissed until they lost their balance.

~ ~ ~FIN~ ~ ~