The Many Musings of Albus Potter

vi. mermaids

vi. mermaids

Rose Granger-Weasley and Scorpius Malfoy have begun to spend an inordinate amount of time together since the start of their fifth September at Hogwarts. 

And it's pissing Albus off a lot more than it should. 

At first, Albus was happy to see that his stringent, uppity cousin had finally loosened up a little and allowed herself to acknowledge Scorpius first and his surname second. She had always been on the colder side to him for years now - never quite rude, because Hermione Granger-Weasley has taught her better - but crisp enough to let him, and Albus, know that she hardly approved of their 'liaison' (as she had put it sometime in their third year). All of that has changed now that she and Scorpius have chosen practically the same subjects for their upcoming OWLs. 

Oh, if only Albus had also taken Arithmancy, Ancient Runes and Care of Magical Creatures! What does it matter that he is awful at Arithmancy, bored to death of anything remotely ancient and won't go a mile near even a vaguely aggressive looking Pygmy Puff? The fact that it is not he, but Rose, sitting beside Scorpius in a classroom consistently throughout the day is enough of a motivating factor to go barging into Headmistress McGonagall's office to demand a switch in all of his classes. 

Once upon a time, Albus would've been all too comfortable with the idea of stepping into the sidelines of a friendship. His friendships in his Muggle primary school had always been like that - a mere convenience, an insurance,  to be used in the case of imminent danger (large bullies) or ward away worried adults with the reassurance that Albus wasn't lonely. Lonely! As if he had needed a friend at all to be rid of the feeling. 

But that was years ago, before Scorpius. Albus is used to this. This. The sheer duality of their relationship. That it was, is, and will continue to be Albus and Scorpius. So exclusive were they in their friendship, so together, that it became a norm. It was almost instinctual for any of their Hogwarts classmates to accidentally refer to either one of them as "Albus and Scorpius". It was stranger still to call them by their individual names, so odd and foreign sounding, because Albus and Scorpius was what made more sense. 

And now Rose has plonked herself right into the middle of it all, with her big, frizzy red hair and those dusty old books that weigh her school bag down so her shoulders are drooping slightly and her ridiculously inane sense of humor (if one could even categorize it as humor). 

Albus can't even remember a time since they've started their fifth year where he and Scorpius have had a moment's peace with one another. Scorpius is either always buried in his books in the corner of the Slytherin common room or off to the library with another 'session' with Rose (and Albus always grits his teeth at the innuendo behind it; Scorpius has never suggested that the session is anything more than its name but they're fifteen now and Albus doesn't think it wise to kid himself).

 It's even worse now that Scorpius has joined some utterly pathetic extracurricular club that involves making friends with ten year old Muggle-borns that are set to come to Hogwarts in a year's time. He and Albus see each other so little that they've now had to resort to owling each other little notes. Albus hasn't had to use the school owls since he told his father he shouldn't expect any letters home unless absolutely necessary. 

Today, Albus finds himself scowling down at another note conveniently placed between two of his school books - no doubt, the work of Scorpius himself and not his owl Prometheus, because of the parchment's unusually intact condition (Prometheus, as it turns out, prefers to eat rather than deliver his owner's letters). It reads, in Scorpius's elegantly lazy scrawl: Meeting w. RGW today near the Black Lake on Saturday morning - practicing some mermish!!  Professor Sirena says it is a futile endeavor but I just KNOW I've got the vowels right this time!  Meet us there? :) -SHM