☂ , ☁ , ☠
☂ giving them their jumper to keep warm.
Scorpius visibly shuddered, shirt sleeves pushed stubbornly up to his elbows. It was a point of contention in every moment of his daily life. He would not let them think that he was marked, that he was anything but who he actually was, that he’d been raised anywhere but among the Order, anywhere but where he belonged. Something warm and vaguely fuzzy was presented to him, brushing against the goosebumps riddling his arms. It was Al’s jumper from his Grandma Weasley, a garish capital ‘A’ was lovingly knitted onto the front which the pads of Scor’s fingers traced gently. He was almost too prideful to pull it over his head, almost. The smell of Albus’ skin, something woodsy, the plain bars of soap that the Order supplied to the safehouses. Home.
☁ being caught in the middle a storm with them.
He couldn’t help the laugh bubbling up through his chest as they dashed through the grass, slipping across the water already gathering from the torrential downpour. Scorpius sprinted close to Al, to shove at his side in an attempt to make it back inside first. They slid, soles of their shoes flattening the grass as the rain plastered Scorpius’ hair down flat to his head. The first flash of lightning was followed by a rumble of thunder that shook his bones, made him feel electric. They huddled in the window seat, knees pressing together in the effort to fold all of their limbs into the space not meant for their size, cast warming and drying charms that left Scorpius’ hair fluffed out from his head like a baby chick. A faint curl to the strands like his mother’s.
☠ pushing them against a wall.
The battle had come down on their heads too fast, much faster than Scorpius had expected. His bow was slung across his body, the string taught where it stretched across his ribs that felt too brittle from where he hauled in pained breaths. Panting, aware of only a faint sting from the back of his head where a Death Eater had fisted their hand, attempted to drag him off but instead tore the strands free from his scalp as Scor had struggled and lashed out like a wild thing. There was blood underneath his fingernails mixed with the dirt and the ash. Spells sung past him through the air as he attempted to feint away from the battle, martial magic was death, he had been out of the fight for too long. Run. Before he could take two steps something heavy barreled into his back and he snarled like an animal, twisting to fight his attacker just as a green spell dashed through the empty space where he had just been standing. The black hood fell away and his insides turned to ice, he was boxed in, Albus’ palms slammed against the wall at both sides of his head and he stared into the eyes that were greener than the avada that had almost just ended his life, that were almost more familiar than his own. It almost doubled him over, the pain of seeing his face. He rode the burning flare of betrayal that lanced through him as he reared forward to slam the crown of his head into Al’s face, stamping his heel into his instep, dodging away from him and drawing his wand like a blade. “Wrong choice TRAITOR.”