Albus Severus
Any chance he was given to slip away from his family on Diagon Alley and out into Charing Cross Road, Albus Potter took it. The moment his mother was preoccupied with Lily in Flourish and Blotts and after his dad had taken James, the golden Gryffindor child, to look at new brooms, Albus saw his chance and took it.
No one stared, no one took double takes as Albus and his family walked by. There was never anyone stopping them as they tried to buy their school things to ask his mum and dad for autographs. If he had to hear one more time how he was named after heroes, great men, people to strive to be, well, Albus wasn’t above a well aimed AK to the head. He didn’t want to be compared to men long dead. Men who, after reading Aunt Hermione’s journals from the war and before, we’re not great at anything but deception.
As Albus kept walking, his feet carrying him farther and farther away from the magical world, the easier his breath came, the tightness his shoulders always seemed to carry lessened, the permanent scowl that marred his face dropped. He had heard his mother once say that his attitude was just from his age, that one day, Albus would stop being so surly, so angry. He knew his parents loved him, objectively at least. The middle child, not the Quidditch Star, Head Boy, the crown jewel of Gryffindor and the newest generation of the so-called Marauders. Nor was he the baby and only girl who was doted upon and loved by everyone who met her, Albus included.
When his father had told him the day he boarded the Hogwarts Express for the first time that no one would care, least of all him, if he was a Slytherin, had been the first time he knew of that he was being lied to. He noticed when Nana Molly made everyone jumpers in house colours except for his. Albus didn’t play Quidditch like everyone else in his family, he preferred to read, to study. He was constantly told to stop looking so melancholy but how was he to do that when that’s just who he was.
‘Knut for your thoughts,” a voice called out.
Albus looked up to see the platinum blond teen leaning against the opening to an alleyway.
“My thoughts are worth much more than a Knut, Malfoy,” he said, fighting back the first genuine smile he had had all summer.
The boy walked close to him, a slight swagger to his walk.
“Oh that I know very well.” Pale fingers entwined with his, pulling Albus close. “How long have you got? Mum just popped into the bookstore around the corner.”
Albus scoffed. “Then you’ve got all day I’d wager. Aunt Mione isn’t going to be quick in there. I’ve got maybe fifteen minutes.”
The moment Scorpius Malfoy’s lips touched his, Albus Potter felt whole.
This little Drabble was written for the @slytherincabal tumblrtuesday!
