volumetwo | (no subject)

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It had been a long, lazy stretch of summer so far. James knew he had to work on getting a job soon - there were spots at the Ministry, positions his dad had been nudging him into looking after for a few weeks or so now. But it was his last summer, the last time he'd get to spend time off with Albus and Lily, so the job hunt hadn't been pressing. That'll change in the fall, Harry had warned, and that had been perfectly alright with James: he was looking forward to getting his own flat and escaping from the house as quickly as he could.

"Hey," he greets, opening the door to Albus's room without so much as a knock, "grab your broom, I thought we might go flying-"

When his eyes land on Scorpius's face, the words die on his tongue.

"-what are you doing here?"

Never has there been a more accusing sentence in the English language.

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The promise catches him off guard, and he goes from silently hoping the broom flings him off to briefly wordless at the promise to stay out of his way. He hovers there, before swinging the broom around and moving to face him. "So, what, you're not here just so you can blow my little brother more conveniently?"

Ah, right - that still stung a little bit. His face seizes a moment later, though, as if realizing then how nasty and bitter that was, before he frowns and snorts. "Race you to that tree."

Scorpius cringes. Yeah. Well. No one ever said James Potter knew when to think first, speak second. Al was like that, but his older brother? Not so much. Still, it does sting. He doesn't really want to be known as the bloke who blows other blokes when they're too inebriated to know better. Much as he'd taunted James, Scorpius really wasn't all that bad. He's just been a little tipsy too. And there was something to enjoy in winding James up like that.

Trying to school his expression a little too late, Scorpius forces a grin. "You're on." Before either of them can count, Scorpius takes off.

James has always been sort of a prankster, a nosy brat, but he's never gotten very good at tempering his reactions. Things come unfiltered, too-honest, colored by his perceptions -- and maybe that's why it's easier to just focus on leaning in and shooting forward when Scorpius takes off. A broomstick race is a lot easier to handle than his brother's personal relationships: they're less sticky, less tricky.

(Truth be told, however, he considers setting the tail of the broomstick on fire, just to mess with Scorpius a little bit, but decides against it. Father would be furious.)

He doesn't hold back, though, and he's good with the broom - he'll be zooming toward that tree as quickly as possible.

While Scorpius has been taught how to handle a broom, and he's not bad at it, he's got a lot of things working against him, not the least of which is that James is a far better flyer in general. Not that Scorpius would ever admit it. He's trying his best to keep Al's broom steady, thighs clenched to hold it straight and fingers curled at the handle to guide it, body bowed down to decrease wind resistance.

And still, James beats him by nearly a full broom length.

Scorpius's hair is wind-blown as he rounds the tree and turns to face James. "Best two out of three?" he asks, grinning.

"You wish," he answers, and despite himself, he's grinning a little, too. It's impossible not to, really, what with the rush of adrenaline that comes with flying. He reaches up to drag his fingers through his own hair, rolling his eyes, before he starts flying again.

"C'mon, this way. In case-" Oh Merlin, this part is hard to say, and he struggles visibly. "-you and Al go flying around later. This is the path we usually take."

It should amuse him, just how hard it is for James to think that Scorpius and Al would be doing anything alone together. But really, it kind of pinches something in his chest to see it. Still, he follows, his grin fading as they go.

The Potters have a good sized flying space. Of course they do. They've got to, right? With such Quidditch stars holding down the fort.

"Look," Scorpius says, suddenly, as they round a treetop. He doesn't look at James. "You don't have to worry about any of that stuff. Okay? So just...don't stress it." He'd already told James that it wouldn't happen again, but apparently Potter didn't believe him.

"Never said that I was worried about it. I was just showing you where to fly. Yeah?" But it's clear that the worry is still there, as unfounded as it is: maybe Al is younger than him, but he's by no means dumb. Quieter, but brilliant, at least in James's eyes, even if he's always done a rubbish job of showing it. That's what older brothers are for, right? Ugh.

"But anyway." Yeah, he's not looking at him either. "Shouldn't you be jumping to make me believe the opposite? Sort of thought that was your M.O. there."

Now Scorpius does look over, grinning a little. "Didn't work out so well for me last time, did it?" he asks, gesturing to his mouth. It's healed; ironically, it was Al who helped him get that sorted, though he didn't know who the punch had come from. Like poking a sleeping dragon, that. Scorpius isn't dumb enough to do it twice.

At least, not for now.

"Guess you have a point." James can't help but laugh a little himself, glancing over to make brief eye contact with Scorpius, before he jerks it away and stares ahead. "-- so did you tell him?"

He's guessing the answer is no, considering the non-reaction he'd gotten from Al.

Scorpius holds his eye contact, long after James looks away. He's not a bad looking bloke, after all. Almost as good looking as Al. Both of them are, sadly, Scorpius's type. Or as much a type as he's old enough to think he has.

"About you punching me for bragging about blowing him?" he scoffs, flying a little closer, able to read James's body well enough to know when he's turning or pulling up. "Don't be daft. I wouldn't be here if I had, and you certainly wouldn't have gone unscathed." Al would have at least hexed him once or twice.

Scorpius was an attractive kid, too. Not that James acknowledged that he appreciated it, but facts were facts, right? It was no wonder that Albus had gotten himself... tangled up, for lack of better phrasing, with such a rotten egg, especially if he was attracted to blokes in the first place.

"If you say so." His voice is tight - he's still not looking at him. "Al showed you the pond out here yet?"

"Nope."

James is an odd one. Scorpius gets the distinct feeling that he doesn't want to talk about those things...but then he makes those offhand comments to stupidly bring it up. Scorpius doesn't quite know if he should talk about it or not.

For now, he settles with not.

"It's quiet here," Scorpius comments, looking out over the grounds as they turn towards the pond. "You planning to stay or get your own flat?"

This is all woefully, woefully new territory for him; James doesn't know if he wants to talk about it or not yet, either. Scorpius isn't quite giving him the ammo that he'd hoped for, either - it'd be easier to prove to Al that his friend was being a prat if Scorpius was actually, you know, being a prat.

He tips his head toward the water, before moving to land.

"Moving out," he answers, and it's quick. "As soon as I can. Love my family, but..." He shrugs as his feet touch down. "Living here is exhausting."

"I get that," Scorpius says, nodding. He tips his broom handle down, but pulls up a bit too late as his feet touch the ground. He's still not used to this broom, so his near tumble is only stopped by his hand on the crook of James's arm. He laughs, a little breathless, as he lets the broom drop. He doesn't at all trust himself to swing his leg over it without managing to wind up in the pond.

"Sorry." Probably should take his hand off now. But well...being a prat. It's in his nature, a bit. Testing the proverbial waters.

James is sort of a jerk at times, but not wanting someone to bail off of a broom and hurt themselves is sort of reflexive habit, here. When the hand goes to the crook of his arm and it seems like Scorpius might fall, his own snaps up, grabbing his elbow and holding it securely, just trying to balance him.

"You alright?"

Oh. Okay. Well. Scorpius didn't expect James to care if he spilled into the pond or not. It's a bit stupid to feel flustered at the touch, but, hey, it's James sodding Potter. Who has never once said a nice thing to him. It's bound to get to any boy.

"Sure you didn't hex the broom before I got on?" he asks, grinning up at James.

Al would have been pissed beyond belief if James had let Scorpius take a spill into the pond - that's what he's telling himself, at least.

"If it was hexed, it sure wasn't me."

And then, belatedly, he releases him, suddenly sure what to say. Awkwardly, then, he tries: "We get ducks sometimes."

"...Sorry?" Scorpius removes his hand, a little belatedly, staring at James in question until he realizes James is changing the subject. "Oh. Right. I imagine that's...fun." He looks out across the pond, but now things are a little awkward. Probably his fault, too. Still, did James have to take everything so annoyingly at face value?

He steps over his broom and aside, walking closer to the bank of the lake, where he squats and peers in.

"Our pond is more of a lake," he says, offhandedly.

Merlin, I need to smooth myself down, James thinks to himself, belatedly a little embarrassed over how easily his own feathers are getting ruffled. He moves to stand next to Scorpius, ignoring the thought of how easy it would be to nudge him it. Really, it would be a joke, not an outright attack - but there'd be no convincing him of that, would there? So he bites his tongue and resists the urge.

"Yeah?" He casts a sidelong glance at him. "Am I supposed to be impressed, Malfoy?" It falls a little flat, but it's clear that he's trying to be playful.

Scorpius looks up, grinning at James. "It wouldn't be a part of my house if it wasn't meant to impress somebody," he says, half in jest but mostly it's also true. His parents have always been desperate to show the world that not only are they good people but that they were not ruined by the War. Even if it had cost their family quite a bit in the end.

Standing, he stretches. "We have a pool, too. And a small Quidditch court that nobody ever uses. And a ballroom. Seriously, a ballroom, Potter. In my house." He chuckles, the sound of it a little husky. "I suppose you didn't see the article in Witch Weekly about it. They did a whole expose thing about the wealth of upper class magical families." An article Harry, as a good father, had turned down on many occasions, but which Draco and Astoria felt was more important to their reputation. "It was painfully humiliating."

"I'd kill for a Quidditch court out here," James admits, stretching his upper arms as he looks out over the pond again. He'd thumbed through the articles, sure, but mostly in just a vague, bored sort of way; he was the son of Harry Potter, and as vain as it sounded, he wasn't often given to jealousy of other wizarding families.

A Quidditch pitch, though. That sounded fantastic.

"Sounds useless for the most part, though. Not like you're ever around to use any of it, are you?"

"Tell me about it," Scorpius says, frowning. His mother had been overly protective of him growing up, which mean no flying on brooms when she was around until he was at least eight. It was sort of embarrassing to say they'd had the pitch longer than that and he hadn't used it until then and even then, minimally. Under his father's supervision.

"Sometimes it's like living in a museum." After he says it, he realizes he's talking to James and not Albus, and he goes a little red at the honesty of his admission.

"Anyway. What else do the great Potters have besides a pond with ducks? Please at least tell me you have a secret cave or something." There were a lot of rumors, and Al was very hush-hush about it all.

"Yeah, well- been in the family forever, hasn't it? Not really surprised you'd be scared of breaking stuff in it." It was a weird concept to consider. There were precious few things to pass down from the Potter side of the family, and everything from the Weasley side was well-worn, frugal and used lovingly until it couldn't be used anymore. Practical, pragmatic; Scorpius's home has a ballroom, and they don't even have a guest room.

James laughs a little under his breath, leaning down to pick up a flat stone, flinging it across the top of the pond. It skips thrice, and he frowns, dissatisfied. "Not that I've seen, and we've been all over, growing up. Guess we're a bit boring here, mate."

"How droll," Scorpius muses, but there's a glint of amusement in his tone. Teasing. It's something that drew him to the Potters in the first place, maybe something that draws everyone in: they're just...different. They should be prissy fucks with sticks up their arses, noses in the air, but instead Al had offered him help in Potions and Lily often said hello to him in the hallways. It was really only James who was so defensive, and even then, here he was now, calling Scorpius 'mate'.

They were a weird family, the Potters. But Scorpius found himself a little jealous of the ease of their lives here.

He'd done a lot of thinking since the day he'd decked Scorpius in the face. Not that he'd come to an overabundance of revelations, really, but thinking had certainly happened, and this little outing - this brief peek into his actual personality - made it hard to just blindly vilify him. Maybe they could have been friends, if it weren't for the House and the name, he thinks to himself.

"Droll?" he echoes, and there's a little snort in his tone. "Just wait until mum breaks out the board games on Saturday night. You're in for a real treat then."