Fic: 'In Remote Part' HP/SM R
Title - In Remote Part
Author - softly_sweetly
Beta - the_flic
Rating - R
Word Count - ~3,000
Characters/Pairings - Harry/Scorpius, past Harry/Draco
Warnings - Cross!Gen, Angst, Reference to Character Death, Suggestion
Disclaimer - I own nothing but the plot lines. I make no money from this, and mean no offence by any scene depicted within this story. All characters depicted in sexual situations herein are above the age of consent.
Summary - When Draco Malfoy passes away, his husband and son are thrown together in their grief, seeking solace from each other as they struggle to adjust to life without the man they love.
Author's Notes - Counts to prompt #96 Death from my 100quills Harry/Scorpius Table and prompt #4 Deprived of my mission_insane Genre Table - Angst. The scene breaks are lines from Idlewild's In Remote Part.
For the lovely snarkyscorp, who requested this way back ♥
It wasn't the words so much as the taut despair in every syllable that was pushing Scorpius over the edge. They should be soothing, should be celebrating, but each one pushed the knife in a little deeper, twisted it around a little further.
How long could a eulogy go on for? How many words could Harry take up, before he said what they were all thinking? That this wasn't fair, wasn't justified. That Draco shouldn't have been taken away from them like he had been.
There wasn't even someone to blame. No enemy to live up to the death threats that still came, thirty years after the war. No hidden villain to slip comfortably into the cloak of responsibility. Just a cancer that ravaged Draco's body hard and fast, leaving them no time between the diagnosis and the end. Migraines on and off throughout his adult life had been nothing, and certainly not an adequate warning. By the time he started throwing up blood, it was already too late, and all the Healers could do was tests and more tests, apologise and suggest a good hospice. Provide potions that would soften the end as much as they could.
Except nothing could soften the end. Noting could take the edge off the pale, sick man, a shadow of his former self, who seemed to drown in the silk sheets on the bed.
Scorpius looked up, not caring that the tears he shed were unbecoming, would make his skin blotch and his eyes puff up. Harry looked graceful, stood by the coffin with tears streaming down his face, stoic and proud as he spoke about his late husband. Scorpius looked like a lost and scared child. But it didn't matter, and Scorpius caught Harry's eyes, silently pleading with Harry to be quiet, to fall silent and stop this torture.
It worked, and Harry cleared his throat, letting the hand holding the sheet of parchment with his speech on fall to his side. "A loving husband and father, he will be sorely missed."
Harry didn't look up as he moved to return to his place next to Scorpius, but his hand snaked out and clasped Scorpius', tight enough that Scorpius could feel his knuckles squeezing together. It was comfort, hard and real and grounding, and Scorpius clung onto Harry like a child, unable to look away from the sight of the High Wizard blessing the coffin and catching it up in a bubble of gold magic. The coffin sunk into the ground, disappearing from view. It was his time, and Scorpius stepped forwards, still holding on to Harry. They bent together, taking up handfuls of the earth and scattering it down over the shiny lid of the coffin.
"Draco Malfoy, rest in peace."
The rest of the earth, caught up in the same golden magic, lifted and sank into the grave, covering it up and smoothing over the top. The headstone was already in place, and Scorpius focused on that, and on Harry's hand in his, as the world inexplicably started up again even without his father in it.
We stop in every passing place, to watch the world move faster than we do
Scorpius had barely got through the funeral; tears streaming down his face, making Harry hurt more even though he hadn't thought he could. Scorpius wasn't his, never had been really. Harry and Draco had got together long after Draco's divorce, when Scorpius was a headstrong teenager, but that didn't stop Harry loving Scorpius as his own. And seeing Scorpius so broken was killing him; Harry didn't know that he'd have the strength to get them both through the next few months, even if by some miracle he found the means by which to do so.
But he had to try; he owed Scorpius that at least. He owed Draco that.
Knocking softly on the door to Scorpius' suite of rooms, Harry pushed it open and stepped into the small lounge area. They had both been given compassionate leave from work - him from the Auror Division, Scorpius from the Finance Department - but since the funeral, Scorpius hadn't come out of his rooms. Which Harry would have forgiven, if he hadn't quizzed the House Elves and found out that Scorpius wasn't asking for food, and wouldn't touch anything they brought to him. Even more worrying was Maddy's frightening assertion that Scorpius hadn't even moved over the last six days.
Heading towards the bedroom, Harry knocked again, pushing the door open and squinting in the gloom. It was the middle of the day, the middle of summer, but Scorpius' curtains were drawn, and he was under the covers of his bed. "Scorpius?"
There was no response, so Harry crept in, circling the bed to squat down near the head. Scorpius was curled up on his side, face blotchy and damp, eyes red-rimmed, but wide open. Dropping forwards onto his knees, Harry ignored the complaining joints as he knelt up and rested his arm on the bed. Reaching forwards, he pushed Scorpius' hair off his face, sweeping the greasy locks behind Scorpius' ears. Harry had never seen Scorpius this dishevelled, never known him smell of anything other than the in-vogue cologne. The musty smell of not showering for a week seemed alien on Scorpius, too sharp and harsh for the boy. "Scorpius, you need to get up."
Scorpius' lips were dry and chapped deep enough that the dead white skin looked stark next to the red valleys running through it. Though his mouth moved, no sound came out, and Harry cupped his hand more fully around Scorpius' cheek, trying to offer support through the simple touch. Scorpius tried again, and this time his voice complied, dry and rasping but just audible. "I can't."
"I know it feels that way now. But you have to. Your dad wouldn't want you to waste away in here."
Harry expected a lot of comebacks, from tears to anger, even to violence. He didn't expect Scorpius to laugh. The sound shouldn't have been coming from between Scorpius' chapped lips at all; it was manic and high-pitched, an ungodly sound for someone who usually looked so angelic.
"My dad... my dad wouldn't... wouldn't want me to waste away?" Scorpius gasped out between laughs, tears streaming down his face now as he propped up on his elbow. "Harry, my dad wouldn't want to be dead!"
The word seemed to echo around the room, harsh and real. It was as though Scorpius hadn't realised what he was saying until he'd said it, and on the last syllable the reality of the words hit him. At least it stopped him laughing. Harry dropped his hand down onto Scorpius' shoulder and squeezed tightly. The shock of what he'd said had stopped the tears flowing down Scorpius' cheeks, and Harry tried again. "You don't have to talk. Just come and sit with me, drink something."
When Scorpius nodded slowly, a definite up and down movement that seemed to be taking all of his effort, Harry finally let go of his shoulder. Pushing up from the bed, the first few steps were stiff as the blood began circulating into his legs properly again. Pausing by the door, Harry turned around and tried not to be unnerved by the way Scorpius was watching him. "I'm in the conservatory."
Scorpius nodded again, another single nod that was overly pronounced, and Harry closed the door behind him. He didn't know if Scorpius would actually come, but at least he'd tried. That was all that was important right now, that he tried. That he kept trying.
Watch it pass with our eyes closed, the way we usually choose to
"Tell me about him."
Harry hadn't expected Scorpius to come down at all, but he had. Hair still damp from the shower, he'd sank into the armchair opposite Harry, and stared into the fire. When Harry stood up to go and eat, Scorpius followed him, pushing food around his plate and saying nothing. When Harry returned to the conservatory, Scorpius went with him.
That routine continued for two days before Scorpius finally spoke, staring off into the flames. His elbow was propped on the arm of the chair, and his chin was rested on bent fingers. With his legs crossed and his hair falling across his face, Scorpius looked so much like Draco that it made Harry's heart squeeze and forget to beat.
He must have been quiet for too long, because Scorpius' head turned slowly, and Harry found himself looking into the same grey eyes that he'd met across a function room all those years ago. The resemblance was uncanny, there wasn't a streak of Astoria in Scorpius. Trying to find something to say, Harry opened his mouth but closed it again.
"Sorry." Scorpius' head dropped, and he spoke the rest of his sentence to his knees. "If it hurts too much, I'll be quiet."
"Please, talk. Nothing gets better with silence. What do you want to know?"
"Tell me that he was a good person."
"He was, when he wanted to be," Harry smiled to show he was joking, and Scorpius smiled back, albeit smaller and tighter than Harry. "He was as willing to set aside our differences as I was. And he loved you, Scorpius, very much."
"Mother used to say that. He loves you, Scorpius. Only she never made it sound reassuring. They hated each other towards the end, you know?"
"They didn't..."
"Yes, they did. She stayed for me as long as she could, but even that wasn't enough. How could she hate him, when you loved him, and I could never see any difference in him?"
There was something about the question that unsettled Harry. Not the topic, not even the past history it would require to be dredged up. What unsettled Harry was the naive expression in Scorpius' eyes, the child-like tone in his voice. "Scorpius... she, they... it was difficult, for her."
"Because he ended it?"
"Partly. Because your mother was used to having things on her terms, and the divorce was on Draco's terms." Harry stopped there, checking himself before he slid any further into badmouthing Astoria. He knew full-well how difficult she had made the process for Draco, how she'd hated him for admitting he could never love her as much as he could another man, any man. But she was still Scorpius' mother, and Harry wouldn't reveal anything that could sour that relationship.
Scorpius stood up, swaying dangerously, and Harry slopped his whisky onto his knees as he jolted forwards, getting ready to catch Scorpius if he started to fall. But Scorpius stayed upright, making his way over to where Harry was sat. Harry assumed Scorpius was heading for the door, but Scorpius stopped by his chair, squeezing his shoulder softly.
"You won't leave me, will you?"
"Of course not."
Scorpius didn't say anything else, and Harry stared out of the windows long after the sun had gone down and dark had descended. Harry could pretend, could get through the day by telling himself that it would eventually get better. But Scorpius was making no effort, and Harry had no idea how to help him.
So I'll wait 'till I find the remote part of your heart
The night time visits started the next day, and Harry had no idea what to do. He had no children of his own, but if he had he was certain he would have been just as uncomfortable with them sliding into his bed as he was when Scorpius did it. Draco had told him how Scorpius would come into his bed as a child, seeking solace in his father's arms. It had died out, as Scorpius grew up, and as a grown man now, Harry was certain this shouldn't be happening.
And yet the gesture was so childish, so hopelessly lost as Scorpius floundered, trying to keep his head above the water. Harry couldn't throw him out, cast him adrift on his sea of despair and then lie back and watch as Scorpius drowned. And some small part of him was happy, was honoured that Scorpius loved him enough, trusted him enough, to seek out his comfort like Scorpius had sought out Draco's all those years ago.
So Harry ignored the voice telling him he should put a stop to this, and let Scorpius stay. No adage about slippery slopes could adequately describe what Harry knew was happening. It wasn't that he didn't notice how Scorpius slept a little closer to him every night. It was that Harry relished the closeness. Scorpius was roughly the same size as Draco had been. He looked the same in the darkness of night. His breathing followed the same tempo as he slept. Harry missed Draco more than he could cope with, and just sleeping in the bed with someone else let him kid himself Draco was still there, that he could reach out and touch Draco if he needed to. And although Harry would never reach out, would never touch Scorpius, the little fiction allowed him to get some rest at night.
For nowhere else will let us choose a comfortable start
The first time, Scorpius had woken up confused and upset. In a moment of childish weakness, he'd headed to the grand master bedroom, hoping to find his father and some comfort. The empty side of the bed brought the reality of the past few weeks crashing down around him, and Scorpius hadn't thought his legs would take him all the way back to his bedroom. He'd sat down on his father's side of the bed, laid down for a moment just to catch his breath. But Harry didn't send him away, and Scorpius had soon fallen asleep.
After that, it had been easy to go back again and again. Harry slept calmly, lay on his back and breathing deeply. He let Scorpius feel steady and safe. Scorpius hadn't gone into the room looking for solace, but he had found it there, and it soon got to the point where he couldn't sleep in his own bed. Harry never once told him to leave, and Scorpius didn't dare jinx that by speaking.
He didn't know why he did it that night, why he broke the invisible barrier between them and reached out to touch Harry. Scorpius didn't know why he suddenly felt the need to touch Harry, to touch the arm that his father had slept against for years now. It wasn't that it made him feel closer to his father - though it did, a little. It just made Scorpius feel whole again, touching another human being. Harry was still here, still fighting on, so Scorpius could too.
Scorpius hadn't meant to instigate anything. Harry was his step-father, and Scorpius knew that Harry had loved his father.
But the whisky they had shared to pass the evening was still clouding his mind, and Scorpius needed more than the slight skin that rested under his fingers. He needed to feel connected to someone else. Without really registering what he was doing, Scorpius leaned over and kissed Harry.
And even if the breath between us smells of alcohol
Harry stared into his whisky, not caring that it was barely midday. It was five o'clock somewhere in the world.
He'd been meaning to tell Scorpius to stop, to return to his own bed, as soon as Scorpius had started touching his arm. But somehow, Harry had been unable to say the words, and he had let it continue. Just like last night, when he'd known he should have stopped it, but every time he opened his mouth, the words got trapped in his throat. Scorpius felt the same as Draco, but different too. Scorpius was contact, real and warm and present in Harry's arms.
And Scorpius had said nothing when Harry whispered Draco's name, tears squeezing out from under his lids as he came, guilt and shame and betrayal mixing with the sheer pleasure of touching someone, of being touched, and connecting with someone who understood how he felt, and accepted him all the same.
The door creaked open, and Harry listened to the footsteps that normally strode so confidently towards the sofa as they tentatively crossed the room and hovered behind his chair. He didn't look up, because he had no idea what to say.
"I'd understand, if you wanted to leave now. Or wanted me to."
"I think..." Harry faltered; he didn't know what he thought. He didn't know what was right and what was wrong anymore. He did know Draco would be betrayed if he knew what Harry was doing. But he also knew that the previous night had been the first time he had felt like there might be light at the end of the tunnel. "I think I should stay until we're both a little less confused."
Scorpius sank onto the sofa, Summoning a glass and pouring his own drink. They had time, yet, to hide their indiscretions under the cloak of grief. They had time to lean on each other before the real world would demand them back again.
For the first time since Draco had been diagnosed, they had time, and Harry would use it all up before he tried to put his life - and Scorpius' - back together.
We'll call it confusion in the best way possible
Author - softly_sweetly
Beta - the_flic
Rating - R
Word Count - ~3,000
Characters/Pairings - Harry/Scorpius, past Harry/Draco
Warnings - Cross!Gen, Angst, Reference to Character Death, Suggestion
Disclaimer - I own nothing but the plot lines. I make no money from this, and mean no offence by any scene depicted within this story. All characters depicted in sexual situations herein are above the age of consent.
Summary - When Draco Malfoy passes away, his husband and son are thrown together in their grief, seeking solace from each other as they struggle to adjust to life without the man they love.
Author's Notes - Counts to prompt #96 Death from my 100quills Harry/Scorpius Table and prompt #4 Deprived of my mission_insane Genre Table - Angst. The scene breaks are lines from Idlewild's In Remote Part.
For the lovely snarkyscorp, who requested this way back ♥
It wasn't the words so much as the taut despair in every syllable that was pushing Scorpius over the edge. They should be soothing, should be celebrating, but each one pushed the knife in a little deeper, twisted it around a little further.
How long could a eulogy go on for? How many words could Harry take up, before he said what they were all thinking? That this wasn't fair, wasn't justified. That Draco shouldn't have been taken away from them like he had been.
There wasn't even someone to blame. No enemy to live up to the death threats that still came, thirty years after the war. No hidden villain to slip comfortably into the cloak of responsibility. Just a cancer that ravaged Draco's body hard and fast, leaving them no time between the diagnosis and the end. Migraines on and off throughout his adult life had been nothing, and certainly not an adequate warning. By the time he started throwing up blood, it was already too late, and all the Healers could do was tests and more tests, apologise and suggest a good hospice. Provide potions that would soften the end as much as they could.
Except nothing could soften the end. Noting could take the edge off the pale, sick man, a shadow of his former self, who seemed to drown in the silk sheets on the bed.
Scorpius looked up, not caring that the tears he shed were unbecoming, would make his skin blotch and his eyes puff up. Harry looked graceful, stood by the coffin with tears streaming down his face, stoic and proud as he spoke about his late husband. Scorpius looked like a lost and scared child. But it didn't matter, and Scorpius caught Harry's eyes, silently pleading with Harry to be quiet, to fall silent and stop this torture.
It worked, and Harry cleared his throat, letting the hand holding the sheet of parchment with his speech on fall to his side. "A loving husband and father, he will be sorely missed."
Harry didn't look up as he moved to return to his place next to Scorpius, but his hand snaked out and clasped Scorpius', tight enough that Scorpius could feel his knuckles squeezing together. It was comfort, hard and real and grounding, and Scorpius clung onto Harry like a child, unable to look away from the sight of the High Wizard blessing the coffin and catching it up in a bubble of gold magic. The coffin sunk into the ground, disappearing from view. It was his time, and Scorpius stepped forwards, still holding on to Harry. They bent together, taking up handfuls of the earth and scattering it down over the shiny lid of the coffin.
"Draco Malfoy, rest in peace."
The rest of the earth, caught up in the same golden magic, lifted and sank into the grave, covering it up and smoothing over the top. The headstone was already in place, and Scorpius focused on that, and on Harry's hand in his, as the world inexplicably started up again even without his father in it.
We stop in every passing place, to watch the world move faster than we do
Scorpius had barely got through the funeral; tears streaming down his face, making Harry hurt more even though he hadn't thought he could. Scorpius wasn't his, never had been really. Harry and Draco had got together long after Draco's divorce, when Scorpius was a headstrong teenager, but that didn't stop Harry loving Scorpius as his own. And seeing Scorpius so broken was killing him; Harry didn't know that he'd have the strength to get them both through the next few months, even if by some miracle he found the means by which to do so.
But he had to try; he owed Scorpius that at least. He owed Draco that.
Knocking softly on the door to Scorpius' suite of rooms, Harry pushed it open and stepped into the small lounge area. They had both been given compassionate leave from work - him from the Auror Division, Scorpius from the Finance Department - but since the funeral, Scorpius hadn't come out of his rooms. Which Harry would have forgiven, if he hadn't quizzed the House Elves and found out that Scorpius wasn't asking for food, and wouldn't touch anything they brought to him. Even more worrying was Maddy's frightening assertion that Scorpius hadn't even moved over the last six days.
Heading towards the bedroom, Harry knocked again, pushing the door open and squinting in the gloom. It was the middle of the day, the middle of summer, but Scorpius' curtains were drawn, and he was under the covers of his bed. "Scorpius?"
There was no response, so Harry crept in, circling the bed to squat down near the head. Scorpius was curled up on his side, face blotchy and damp, eyes red-rimmed, but wide open. Dropping forwards onto his knees, Harry ignored the complaining joints as he knelt up and rested his arm on the bed. Reaching forwards, he pushed Scorpius' hair off his face, sweeping the greasy locks behind Scorpius' ears. Harry had never seen Scorpius this dishevelled, never known him smell of anything other than the in-vogue cologne. The musty smell of not showering for a week seemed alien on Scorpius, too sharp and harsh for the boy. "Scorpius, you need to get up."
Scorpius' lips were dry and chapped deep enough that the dead white skin looked stark next to the red valleys running through it. Though his mouth moved, no sound came out, and Harry cupped his hand more fully around Scorpius' cheek, trying to offer support through the simple touch. Scorpius tried again, and this time his voice complied, dry and rasping but just audible. "I can't."
"I know it feels that way now. But you have to. Your dad wouldn't want you to waste away in here."
Harry expected a lot of comebacks, from tears to anger, even to violence. He didn't expect Scorpius to laugh. The sound shouldn't have been coming from between Scorpius' chapped lips at all; it was manic and high-pitched, an ungodly sound for someone who usually looked so angelic.
"My dad... my dad wouldn't... wouldn't want me to waste away?" Scorpius gasped out between laughs, tears streaming down his face now as he propped up on his elbow. "Harry, my dad wouldn't want to be dead!"
The word seemed to echo around the room, harsh and real. It was as though Scorpius hadn't realised what he was saying until he'd said it, and on the last syllable the reality of the words hit him. At least it stopped him laughing. Harry dropped his hand down onto Scorpius' shoulder and squeezed tightly. The shock of what he'd said had stopped the tears flowing down Scorpius' cheeks, and Harry tried again. "You don't have to talk. Just come and sit with me, drink something."
When Scorpius nodded slowly, a definite up and down movement that seemed to be taking all of his effort, Harry finally let go of his shoulder. Pushing up from the bed, the first few steps were stiff as the blood began circulating into his legs properly again. Pausing by the door, Harry turned around and tried not to be unnerved by the way Scorpius was watching him. "I'm in the conservatory."
Scorpius nodded again, another single nod that was overly pronounced, and Harry closed the door behind him. He didn't know if Scorpius would actually come, but at least he'd tried. That was all that was important right now, that he tried. That he kept trying.
Watch it pass with our eyes closed, the way we usually choose to
"Tell me about him."
Harry hadn't expected Scorpius to come down at all, but he had. Hair still damp from the shower, he'd sank into the armchair opposite Harry, and stared into the fire. When Harry stood up to go and eat, Scorpius followed him, pushing food around his plate and saying nothing. When Harry returned to the conservatory, Scorpius went with him.
That routine continued for two days before Scorpius finally spoke, staring off into the flames. His elbow was propped on the arm of the chair, and his chin was rested on bent fingers. With his legs crossed and his hair falling across his face, Scorpius looked so much like Draco that it made Harry's heart squeeze and forget to beat.
He must have been quiet for too long, because Scorpius' head turned slowly, and Harry found himself looking into the same grey eyes that he'd met across a function room all those years ago. The resemblance was uncanny, there wasn't a streak of Astoria in Scorpius. Trying to find something to say, Harry opened his mouth but closed it again.
"Sorry." Scorpius' head dropped, and he spoke the rest of his sentence to his knees. "If it hurts too much, I'll be quiet."
"Please, talk. Nothing gets better with silence. What do you want to know?"
"Tell me that he was a good person."
"He was, when he wanted to be," Harry smiled to show he was joking, and Scorpius smiled back, albeit smaller and tighter than Harry. "He was as willing to set aside our differences as I was. And he loved you, Scorpius, very much."
"Mother used to say that. He loves you, Scorpius. Only she never made it sound reassuring. They hated each other towards the end, you know?"
"They didn't..."
"Yes, they did. She stayed for me as long as she could, but even that wasn't enough. How could she hate him, when you loved him, and I could never see any difference in him?"
There was something about the question that unsettled Harry. Not the topic, not even the past history it would require to be dredged up. What unsettled Harry was the naive expression in Scorpius' eyes, the child-like tone in his voice. "Scorpius... she, they... it was difficult, for her."
"Because he ended it?"
"Partly. Because your mother was used to having things on her terms, and the divorce was on Draco's terms." Harry stopped there, checking himself before he slid any further into badmouthing Astoria. He knew full-well how difficult she had made the process for Draco, how she'd hated him for admitting he could never love her as much as he could another man, any man. But she was still Scorpius' mother, and Harry wouldn't reveal anything that could sour that relationship.
Scorpius stood up, swaying dangerously, and Harry slopped his whisky onto his knees as he jolted forwards, getting ready to catch Scorpius if he started to fall. But Scorpius stayed upright, making his way over to where Harry was sat. Harry assumed Scorpius was heading for the door, but Scorpius stopped by his chair, squeezing his shoulder softly.
"You won't leave me, will you?"
"Of course not."
Scorpius didn't say anything else, and Harry stared out of the windows long after the sun had gone down and dark had descended. Harry could pretend, could get through the day by telling himself that it would eventually get better. But Scorpius was making no effort, and Harry had no idea how to help him.
So I'll wait 'till I find the remote part of your heart
The night time visits started the next day, and Harry had no idea what to do. He had no children of his own, but if he had he was certain he would have been just as uncomfortable with them sliding into his bed as he was when Scorpius did it. Draco had told him how Scorpius would come into his bed as a child, seeking solace in his father's arms. It had died out, as Scorpius grew up, and as a grown man now, Harry was certain this shouldn't be happening.
And yet the gesture was so childish, so hopelessly lost as Scorpius floundered, trying to keep his head above the water. Harry couldn't throw him out, cast him adrift on his sea of despair and then lie back and watch as Scorpius drowned. And some small part of him was happy, was honoured that Scorpius loved him enough, trusted him enough, to seek out his comfort like Scorpius had sought out Draco's all those years ago.
So Harry ignored the voice telling him he should put a stop to this, and let Scorpius stay. No adage about slippery slopes could adequately describe what Harry knew was happening. It wasn't that he didn't notice how Scorpius slept a little closer to him every night. It was that Harry relished the closeness. Scorpius was roughly the same size as Draco had been. He looked the same in the darkness of night. His breathing followed the same tempo as he slept. Harry missed Draco more than he could cope with, and just sleeping in the bed with someone else let him kid himself Draco was still there, that he could reach out and touch Draco if he needed to. And although Harry would never reach out, would never touch Scorpius, the little fiction allowed him to get some rest at night.
For nowhere else will let us choose a comfortable start
The first time, Scorpius had woken up confused and upset. In a moment of childish weakness, he'd headed to the grand master bedroom, hoping to find his father and some comfort. The empty side of the bed brought the reality of the past few weeks crashing down around him, and Scorpius hadn't thought his legs would take him all the way back to his bedroom. He'd sat down on his father's side of the bed, laid down for a moment just to catch his breath. But Harry didn't send him away, and Scorpius had soon fallen asleep.
After that, it had been easy to go back again and again. Harry slept calmly, lay on his back and breathing deeply. He let Scorpius feel steady and safe. Scorpius hadn't gone into the room looking for solace, but he had found it there, and it soon got to the point where he couldn't sleep in his own bed. Harry never once told him to leave, and Scorpius didn't dare jinx that by speaking.
He didn't know why he did it that night, why he broke the invisible barrier between them and reached out to touch Harry. Scorpius didn't know why he suddenly felt the need to touch Harry, to touch the arm that his father had slept against for years now. It wasn't that it made him feel closer to his father - though it did, a little. It just made Scorpius feel whole again, touching another human being. Harry was still here, still fighting on, so Scorpius could too.
Scorpius hadn't meant to instigate anything. Harry was his step-father, and Scorpius knew that Harry had loved his father.
But the whisky they had shared to pass the evening was still clouding his mind, and Scorpius needed more than the slight skin that rested under his fingers. He needed to feel connected to someone else. Without really registering what he was doing, Scorpius leaned over and kissed Harry.
And even if the breath between us smells of alcohol
Harry stared into his whisky, not caring that it was barely midday. It was five o'clock somewhere in the world.
He'd been meaning to tell Scorpius to stop, to return to his own bed, as soon as Scorpius had started touching his arm. But somehow, Harry had been unable to say the words, and he had let it continue. Just like last night, when he'd known he should have stopped it, but every time he opened his mouth, the words got trapped in his throat. Scorpius felt the same as Draco, but different too. Scorpius was contact, real and warm and present in Harry's arms.
And Scorpius had said nothing when Harry whispered Draco's name, tears squeezing out from under his lids as he came, guilt and shame and betrayal mixing with the sheer pleasure of touching someone, of being touched, and connecting with someone who understood how he felt, and accepted him all the same.
The door creaked open, and Harry listened to the footsteps that normally strode so confidently towards the sofa as they tentatively crossed the room and hovered behind his chair. He didn't look up, because he had no idea what to say.
"I'd understand, if you wanted to leave now. Or wanted me to."
"I think..." Harry faltered; he didn't know what he thought. He didn't know what was right and what was wrong anymore. He did know Draco would be betrayed if he knew what Harry was doing. But he also knew that the previous night had been the first time he had felt like there might be light at the end of the tunnel. "I think I should stay until we're both a little less confused."
Scorpius sank onto the sofa, Summoning a glass and pouring his own drink. They had time, yet, to hide their indiscretions under the cloak of grief. They had time to lean on each other before the real world would demand them back again.
For the first time since Draco had been diagnosed, they had time, and Harry would use it all up before he tried to put his life - and Scorpius' - back together.
We'll call it confusion in the best way possible