Chapter 1: The Breaking of Rules Between Us
Summary:
Scorpius gets a little too excited during a wrestling match. Sirius spirals. Feelings are confessed. Neither of them are okay.
Notes:
If you ship Scorpius Malfoy/Albus Severus Potter, you’ll like this fic, same with Scorpius Malfoy/James Sirius Potter. The MC is named Sirius Severus AJ Potter for a reason, after all.
This fic is fully readable as a STAND-ALONE despite being a sequel — any changes from canon will be given context as you go. But I’ll leave brief lists of 🗝️ differences in END NOTES wherever relevant, just to be extra clear.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Oh, it was Malfoy,
I was thinking about him
and I lost track of things!”
✵
Sirius wasn’t sure what peace felt like yet, but he wanted to learn.
He loved his life, truly, but it was admittedly still rather hectic — he split half his time between his mother’s cottage and his father’s homes, with numerous family members constantly filtering in and out through the floo at all hours of the day, yet he still found himself floundering between being unspeakably grateful for how loved he felt and simultaneously exhausted by it, like an unmoored boat never able to fully be still.
Summer had been madness, as summers in his family tended to be, with a dozen birthdays to get through in the lead up to preparing for next school term. This year, however, the family had also seen the birth of Leota Pandora Potter, Teddy's graduation from Healer Hall, and the solstice feast at Scamander Ranch all within the same fortnight, and in the few months since, Sirius had never seen his father, Luna, Rolf, or Draco so sleep deprived in his whole life.
Somehow, though, they’d all survived the season, and yesterday, the 30th of August, had been the last of the summer celebrations.
Scorpius had turned fifteen.
There had been cake, handmade presents, a family hike through the valley around the ranch to visit the thestrals and his mother’s grave, and Sirius surprised him with exactly zero illegal time-turner heists.
A vast improvement from last year.
Sirius was pretty proud of himself for not managing to spoil anything all day honestly — then the next day happened.
The row was a complete accident, yet it still wound up being one of the worst he and Scorpius had ever had.
Loud. Messy. Too many emotions out in the open.
It began with a cancelled Dungeons & Dragons game. The first cancelled game ever between Scorpius and his Muggle friends, since Emir was sick, Guillermo was on holiday, and Gary refused to come over on account of the Malfoy townhouse’s lack of Wi-Fi.
As such, Sirius offered to play instead.
This, as it turned out, was a mistake.
Sirius liked to bend the rules, just enough to squeeze a little fun and mayhem out of life’s tight coils. Scorpius, however, appreciated rules. Enjoyed them, even. He liked lists. He liked instructions. Schedules. Even tedious ones.
It was the only thing they regularly bickered over, though they usually found compromises.
“No, you can’t just invent a new spell and kill the Ettin instantly,” Scorpius said, dragging the small pile of dice toward him.
“Why not?” Sirius sprawled across the rug, chin in hand, feet kicking, glasses slipping down his nose. “You’ve already got all this made-up lore about magic. Why not add spellcrafting to our champagne?”
“Campaign,” Scorpius corrected with a grin. “Because… the game just doesn’t work like that.”
“Why not?”
“It just isn’t how it’s played!” Scorpius sighed, shoving his pale fringe out of his eyes despite the long braid Luna had put in it that morning to hold most of it back. “Syr, it’s only pretend. Go with it. It’s more fun that way.”
“But if it’s all pretend anyway, why not make up our own lore?”
Scorpius laughed and shook his head, leaning over the map to adjust the pieces. Sirius, both mischievous and tired of losing, flicked a die — he did not mean for it to bounce off Scorpius’ forehead with a comically hollow thock!
“Ow! Oi!”
“Oops.”
Laughing, Scorpius lunged at him. Sirius yelped and tried to roll away, but was caught by the ankle. He scrambled, cackling as Scorpius vaulted the board and shoved him flat on the rug, where rules of D&D gave way to rules of roughhousing — all elbows, knees, and ribs. Sirius flipped him once, but Scorpius’ longer reach pinned him again.
“Say you surrender, Potter!”
Sirius twisted under him, yelling, “Never!” but Scorpius just caught his wrists and held them to the rug either side of his head. It wasn’t mean at all. Just a scrappy contest. Even Forks, Sirius’ little hoo-hoo bird, sang an amused trill from her cage in the corner of the room, while Sirius’ trio of opinionated bowtruckles squeaked indignantly from where they’d been pillaging the snacks on the floor.
Laughing, Sirius bucked his hips and managed to get a leg over Scorpius, who grunted, lost his balance and his grip, and was rolled abruptly onto his back, wheezing his giggles. Sirius fought to snatch his arms but Scorpius was too quick, too strong, grabbing him by the hips.
And Sirius froze.
Oh.
Oh no…
He can’t be—
Scorpius, still grinning, seemed not to notice what part of him was pressing against Sirius’ thigh. Not until he shifted, half by accident, and let out a tiny, helpless gasp. Sirius’ eyes widened. Scorpius went still in the same second, horror dawning. His face flushed pink.
“Shit— Syr—”
Sirius clambered off of him very quickly and very awkwardly, scrambling backwards until his back hit the wall. All the while Scorpius was apologising frantically.
“It’s just adrenaline, that’s all! It happens sometimes!”
Sirius could hardly look at him. His face burned.
“I didn’t mean to!” Scorpius blurted. “We were wrestling— messing around, not— then you were sitting on me, weren’t you? And my body just reacted— I didn’t—” He broke off, cringing, and sat back against the side of the bed, hugging his knees to hide his shame. He clenched his jaw, fiddling with his sleeve. “I really didn’t mean to, Sirius.”
Silence fell. Even the hoo-hoo and the bowtruckles were staring intently. Dice and board pieces lay scattered between them like shrapnel.
“Sirius?”
Sirius felt dizzy, like the floor was moving under him.
“Sirius, could you—” Scorpius tutted at himself. “Look, could you just say something? You’re freaking me out.”
His eyes snapped up at him. “I’m freaking you out? You— You’re the one—”
Scorpius looked like he’d been smacked. Sirius swallowed. It took several seconds to finally find something coherent to say.
“You…” He hated the way his voice cracked, coming out all tiny and high-pitched. “You’re not still— I mean— This isn’t still a thing for you, is it? You don’t still… you know…”
He couldn’t even say it. The fear clamped his tongue down.
“Still have feelings for you?” Scorpius asked for him.
Sirius swallowed again, throat dry. He nodded.
Scorpius looked away, wincing, then slowly he met Sirius’ eyes again. “Come on, Sirius…”
Sirius scowled at him. “What?”
“You have to know… don’t you?”
Sirius blinked. “No!” he snapped. “We’ve talked about this. You don’t like boys. You never have before I— You like girls. So if you still like me then it means you still see me as one, and in that case, you can shove your stupid feelings up your arse!”
Scorpius rolled his eyes. “Are you—? Merlin, Sirius, I’ve told you countless times already. I do like boys! I just didn’t notice until you realised you were one, that’s all. You’re the one that keeps brushing it off.”
Sirius scoffed angrily. “Yeah. Right. Why would I believe that?”
“Because I friggin’—” Scorpius pinched the bridge of his nose, laughed frustratedly, then took a deep breath, looked Sirius in the eye, and said, “I love you, Sirius. I’m in love with you.”
The words landed like a slap, or perhaps a hug, or no, a train collision — it was hard to tell. Sirius’ ears rang. His chest clenched so tight he thought he might be sick. His mind clawed for anything to say, any excuse, some safe, stupid joke, but nothing came.
“But… you fancy Rose…”
Scorpius shrugged and looked away, face scarlet. “I mean, I have eyes, yeah. But I mostly just said that so you’d stop avoiding me after I poemed you.”
Sirius opened his mouth, then shut it, turned away. He didn’t want to see the expression on Scorpius’ face — defiant and fragile all at once.
“The truth is,” Scorpius was saying, determined, “I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember. I can’t even help it. I tried. And after I almost lost you last year, in the wrong timeline and after that, when you tried to…” He broke off, voice raw. His eyes grew glassy. “Sirius, you’re my soul mate. Even if I’m not yours.”
He exhaled shakily, while Sirius couldn’t breathe at all.
“I was never even going to tell you any of this,” Scorpius admitted, and even had the audacity to smile. “But now that you know… honestly, it’s sort of a relief.”
Sirius stared, stunned, struck. It hurt to swallow the lump in his throat. He wanted to laugh it all off, shove the confession away, pretend none of it had landed, but there was heat in his stomach and he felt winded.
“Well, good for you then!” he huffed angrily, throwing up a hand. “Congratulations! Glad you've found some closure. Meanwhile, you’ve just made this the most awkward moment of my life! Thanks a lot!”
His chest ached, and he couldn’t stand it when Scorpius managed to laugh, like he was welcoming the turmoil now that he’d said his piece. He opened his mouth to say something else but Sirius didn’t allow it. He was already on his feet, scooping up the bowtruckles and storming out of the bedroom, as if he could outpace the fire suddenly raging in his stomach.
The smell of rosemary, chicken, and buttered carrots guided him downstairs to the kitchen, where the air was warm and comforting. Luna was sitting at the long kitchen table breastfeeding Leota, while Harry and Kreacher were preparing dinner — they could‘ve done it magically, but Harry had always insisted on cooking the Muggle way. Sirius used to think it was because of him, being a Squib and all, but eventually he realised his dad just enjoyed it; he’d been teaching the boys to do it since they were all little, long before realising Sirius didn’t have magic.
Sirius’ palms were sweaty so he washed his hands at the sink, ignoring the way his stomach was twisting into knots.
A large bundle of fresh spinach was sitting on the counter, so —seeking to distract himself— he took a knife from a nearby drawer and began chopping.
Harry smiled in approval as he moved around the room, dropping a light kiss on Luna’s forehead. Kreacher snapped his fingers at the kettle to pour a mug of overspiced chai for Sirius. He sipped intermittently as he worked.
He wished he hadn’t let Scorpius grab him like that. He couldn’t help but remember the way his breath had hitched, or how badly Sirius had wanted to hold him down, or how the soft end of Scorpius’ braid had felt as it swiped Sirius’ throat like a brushstroke—
Stop!
He chopped faster, scowling at the greenery. His heart raced, hot and frantic. He pressed the back of his hand to his forehead, wondering if he was dying from a fever, ignoring the bowtruckles worried little trills in his ears, trying to force the images away, but they were relentless. All he could see was Scorpius’ grin, all he could feel was the grip of his hands and the press of his thighs—
The knife slipped.
He dropped it with a hiss, jerking back as a line of blood dribbled along his finger. In almost the same moment, the sound of the floo flared to life across the kitchen and made him startle so violently he nearly hit the counter.
Green fire burst from the grate and Draco stepped out, elegant as ever despite the lanky lurcher, History, wriggling in his arms. He dropped her gracefully onto the flagstone hearth and brushed soot from his sleeve.
By then, Harry was already at Sirius’ side, eyes flicking to the cut before he could hide it.
“Let me see.”
“It was an accident,” Sirius blurted, clutching his bleeding hand. “I swear— I didn’t—”
“I know,” Harry said, softer this time. With a quiet wandless charm, the skin reknitted seamlessly. He didn’t say anything else — just gave Sirius a reassuring little smile, put the knife aside, and handed him a dish towel to dry his hands, before greeting History with a gentle scratch between her dark floppy ears.
Sirius’ shoulders relaxed.
Both Luna and Draco’s gazes lingered on Sirius for a moment, though —not prying, not pitying— before Draco simply said, “Smells lovely in here,” and stepped over to Luna and fussed over her and the baby.
Sirius took a seat at the bench before he made more of a fool of himself, glad nobody had made a fuss over his accident. He hadn’t hurt himself on purpose in months. The last thing he wanted was for anyone to think he’d fallen back on the old habit.
He still felt disgusting, though. All wrong. The dark, hopeless, familiar dysphoria clung to him like oil, a certainty sinking in that Scorpius must’ve been lying — how could he see Sirius as a boy when Sirius could hardly see himself that way? Not when he caught his reflection in the mirror, or heard his voice, or paid any kind of attention to his body at all.
Scorpius’ crush was not only embarrassing anymore —what with the whole step-brother thing— but it hurt now, too.
While Harry began serving up, Sirius went outside to the greenhouse and put the bowtruckles in their nest, Draco disappeared upstairs to collect Scorpius and the twins, and Luna plucked her wand from behind her ear and cast her silver hare Patronus, politely asking it to summon Rolf from the ranch.
Harry had outdone himself, with Kreacher’s watchful help. The long table was quickly crowded with clinking plates and serving bowls.
One by one, the family trickled back in. Draco with the boys; Scorpius still pink, although Sirius did all he could not to look at him at all; Lysander with a durag draped loose over his head; and Lorcan glued to his enchanted Switch —a technomancer in the making, they were all certain— until Harry spelled the console from his hands and set it on the far counter, because no screens (Lorcan), beasts (Sirius), books (Scorpius), or joke-shop paraphernalia (Lysander) allowed at the dinner table.
A few moments later Rolf swept in through the floo network, faintly smelling of mooncalf dung and heather.
He took a seat between Kreacher and Draco, Scourgified his hands and clothes before scooping up Leota from Luna and cooing to her in a low, serene timbre that made her babble.
Meanwhile, Sirius was grateful that Scorpius had chosen to sit halfway down the table instead of at his left shoulder like he usually did. Unfortunately, he wasn’t alone in noticing the change. Both their fathers cast suspicious glances between them. Harry’s eyebrows rose so high they disappeared under the wild curls of his fringe.
“Everything alright?” Draco asked.
Scorpius’ eyes shot instantly to Sirius, waiting for him to answer. He did not.
“Everything’s fine,” Scorpius said, spearing at the bowl of carrots like they’d personally offended him.
“Oh. Excellent,” Draco said dryly. “Nothing says fine like stabbing root vegetables.”
Sirius stared at his plate and waited for the spuds to be floated over, pretending not to notice the concerned look Harry gave him over the chicken. Meanwhile Lorcan, a blessed distraction, got caught by Kreacher trying to sneak a few of Scorpius’ spilled carrots to the nifflers under the table. Rolf snickered into his gillywater, while Draco grumbled under his breath about stolen trinkets until Luna reached out and tucked a stray lock of hair behind his ear for him, as though he were one of the children, not one of her husbands. His eyes went all soft like a receding raincloud, grievance forgotten.
Sirius picked at his food, appetite already gone. His fingers felt clumsy on his fork. Across the table, Scorpius wasn’t eating much either — his eyes stayed fixed on the gravy boat by his knuckles, gripping his cutlery too hard. Sirius jumped when he felt Kreacher nudge him with the breadbasket. He managed a polite smile for the elf, but it wobbled.
He tried not to notice the adults exchanging more loaded glances.
It was Lysander, inevitably, who broke the suffocating silence. “What animal are you going to be as an Animagus?” he asked Scorpius through a mouthful.
Draco’s fork clinked. “Excuse me?”
Scorpius tutted. “Thanks, Lye. Glad you could keep that secret for all of thirty seconds.”
Lysander shrugged, sheepish.
“You can’t decide your Animagus form,” Lorcan told him. “It depends on your personality.”
Scorpius nodded in corroboration. “Mine’ll probably be something awkward and pointy — and pale.”
“What? That’s not fair!” Lysander said. “What if you get something really stupid like a pigeon?”
“Or a rat,” Lorcan added.
Scorpius laughed, entirely unperturbed.
Draco, however, narrowed his eyes. “When exactly did you decide to become an Animagus?”
“I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” Scorpius replied. His voice firmed. “I’m serious about it.”
The adults were all rapt. Even the nifflers stilled mid-scuffle over a stolen spoon.
Harry made a low, contemplative, humming noise. “Not exactly light dinner talk,” he said, taking Leota when Rolf handed her over, tucking her blanket delicately around her little shoulders, a doting smile on his face.
“Nor light magic,” Draco added coolly. He might have looked scornful if not for the faint, prideful curl of his mouth.
Scorpius straightened. “I know. I’ve researched everything I can on the subject — Sirius has been helping. We’re going to talk to Professor Patil for help.”
Sirius looked up at that, properly meeting his eyes for the first time all dinner. His chest tightened at Scorpius’ determined, set jaw, at the way a lock of his soft fringe fell into his eyes.
“You… still want to help me, don’t you?” Scorpius asked uncertainly.
Sirius’ stomach dropped. The question felt like a hand reaching across a wreckage. He nodded anyway, heat flushing to his ears.
“I’m with you,” he said more fiercely than he meant.
Scorpius let out a relieved breath, his shoulders loosening.
Rolf spooned more potatoes onto his plate. “Patil will be happy to help, if he thinks you can manage it. Minerva, too, I bet. But the ritual is dangerous. Painful, even. It tests you. Most witches and wizards don’t even bother because of how much it demands of you. If you rush it, it can break you.”
Scorpius swallowed.
Sirius cut in, catching Scorpius’ momentum like instinct. “Then we won’t rush it,” he said.
Draco exhaled. “You’re certainly capable enough.”
Scorpius fought a grin.
Luna laid a hand over his. “Every Animagus form shows the truth,” she said dreamily. “That‘s the part most people find the most challenging. But if anyone can do it, it’s you two.”
Sirius felt himself blush — he couldn’t participate in the ritual without magic, but she’d said it like they’d be doing it together anyway.
Scorpius nodded without even questioning it, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. Sirius had to look away, his pulse hammering.
Lorcan nudged Lysander’s knee under the table. “Bet he’s a ferret,” he stage-whispered.
Draco’s glare could’ve cut glass. “Say that word again and you’ll be polishing cauldrons in the townhouse potions lab for the next week — Merlin, Harry, why did you tell them about that?”
“It wasn’t me! It was Ron.”
“I’ll murder him.”
Laughter broke the tension — Luna and Harry’s the loudest, Sirius’ a little late and half-hearted. Scorpius’ cheeks flushed pink at all the attention, his eyes flicking to Sirius in a quick, wary once-over before returning to his plate.
Conversation moved on — Rolf describing recent dragon-turtle hatchlings in China; Draco correcting the twins’ Latin revision for both Muggle school and their future studies at Hogwarts; Harry slipping History food under the table and justifying it by pointing out how skinny she looked, even when the others reminded him sighthounds were supposed to look that way; Luna theorising over why her sense of smell and taste had changed slightly since giving birth.
Between the chatter, Sirius snuck uneasy glances across the table, and Scorpius was always there, meeting his eyes a second later like he could sense him, before they both looked away.
Sirius knew he needed to fix this.
He found Scorpius a little while after dinner, upstairs in Sirius’ room. Which was still a mess — dice scattered, board askew, rug rumpled from earlier. Forks let out a happy twitter from her cage as Sirius stopped in the doorway.
Scorpius was curled up in the window seat with Arithmancy homework he’d been avoiding all summer. The sunlight had long since faded, but he had a lamp lit. The flickering glow caught in his hair, turning the strands all gold and silver like treasure.
“Hey,” Scorpius said without turning.
Sirius leaned on the doorframe. “Didn’t think you’d still be here.”
“Didn’t know if you’d want me to be, but school starts tomorrow. It’s your first day. I don’t want us to start on a bad note. Plus, I’m floundering over this spell formula.”
Sirius cracked a small smile, the effort behind Scorpius’ words warming him in spite of everything.
“Are you still upset at me?” Scorpius asked then.
“Yes.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
Scorpius’ mouth twitched. “Well, I think we should. Because I still stand by what I said.”
Sirius groaned dramatically, thunking his forehead against the door, shoulders hanging heavy. “Of course you do. You’re Scorpius the Unflappable.” He laughed. “You never back down from the truth, even when the truth is messy.”
Scorpius was trying not to smile, failing. He shut his textbook and stepped over slowly, as though Sirius might bolt. “I’m sorry if it makes you feel weird — that I loved you before and after you changed.”
“I didn’t change,” Sirius murmured, turning to him, feeling naked and achy and far too seen for his liking. He hugged himself. “I just… paid attention… and showed myself.”
Scorpius grinned, wonder all over his face. “And that’s why I still love you.”
Heat burned up Sirius’ neck. His fingernails dug into his arms. The image of Scorpius laughing beneath him, flushed and breathless, flashed unbidden. Sirius swallowed it down instantly.
“And you’re not asking for anything?” he asked.
Scorpius shook his head, smile gone. “Just to be allowed to mean it.”
Something raw and confusing and restless cracked open in Sirius’ chest at that. He took a breath. “Fine.”
Scorpius’ grin re-bloomed, sudden and bright, then gentled into something quieter — something that looked like relief and elation all at once, and it was both disarming and startling to Sirius.
They didn’t hug. Sirius didn’t want to and Scorpius didn’t ask to. But Sirius did sit beside him on the window seat, leaning over the parchment, showing Scorpius how to balance the equation.
Their shoulders hovered close but never touched.
It felt so normal to laugh over their usual nonsense. Sirius clung to that normalcy with both hands, daring the universe to try and take it from him. And if Scorpius’ gaze ever did linger a little too long, a little too warm or unguarded, Sirius bent lower over the parchment and pretended not to notice.
He could handle this.
They both could.
Because while Sirius still wasn’t sure what peace felt like yet, he knew he wanted to learn with Scorpius at his side.
Notes:
Five 🗝️ changes from canon:
1. SIRIUS POTTER 🧑🏽🦰 = Harry & Ginny’s ONLY child together. He’s essentially all their canon kids mashed into one character; James’ playful jokester personality, Albus’ time-meddling backstory & green eyes, & afab redhead like Lily.
2. GINNY 👩🏻🦰 has since married Lee Jordan 👨🏿🦱 & they have two children, Gideon 🧑🏾🦱 & Lyra 👩🏾🦰.
3. HARRY 🧔🏽♂️ is in an established polyamorous marriage with LUNA 👩🏼🦱, ROLF 🧔🏻♂️, & DRACO 👱🏻 (& formerly the late ASTORIA 👸🏻).
4. Sirius’ step-brothers = SCORPIUS 🤦🏼 & the Scamander twins LORCAN 🧑🏼🦱 & LYSANDER 🧑🏽🦱.
5. Harry and Luna have a newborn, LEOTA PANDORA POTTER 👶🏽.
Feel free to drop a comment! Constructive criticism is welcome.
Walk good, and as always,
Happy reading.
Chapter 2: Sirius’ Black Comedy for Coping
Summary:
Gay panic. Denial. Kings Cross Chaos. Sirius uses humor to cope. The method is… dubious.
Aka: the old “only one bed” trope but they literally climbed into it together and chose to suffer… so… 🤷🏽
Notes:
CW: brief references to masturbation and past suicide attempt
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Sirius kept his eyes closed and his head on his pillow as he felt Scorpius roll out of bed, until he heard the soft, careful click of his bedroom door shutting in his wake, and finally let out the breath he’d been holding.
They hadn’t discussed a sleepover last night because they never did. Scorpius always slept over before term. He wanted to be around. Sirius wanted him around.
Normal. Safe. The way it always was.
And sure, it had been a bit awkward at first, and for a few hours Sirius had felt far too aware of their bodies lying side by side, of the warm air in the respectable gap between them, and the stiff line of Scorpius’ back, and the way he kept the duvet angled just so.
But he’d grown up against Scorpius’ body, over dozens of holidays, in countless beds — they’d caught dragonpox and passed nits from Muggle preschool between each other. They’d cut and braided each other’s hair. They’d shared the spoils of stolen midnight sweets spread out like treasure under blanket-forts and Lumos-light. They’d even survived botched time-meddling together.
Sirius knew the shape of Scorpius’ comfort and the shape of his misery.
And last night had been misery mostly, and wanting, and restraint, so Sirius had done his best to make room for their special brand of familiar comfort, too, offering whispered jokes and idle chatter and a few stashed sweets, until finally normalcy won out and Scorpius relaxed again.
They’d shifted closer without thinking. Their breathing matched. Shoulders brushed. The quiet settled. The weirdness eased.
Because wanting each other around was older and deeper than the new wanting that made Sirius’ stomach twist.
By the time they fell asleep, Sirius almost believed he’d somehow done it, fixed whatever wires had been accidentally crossed yesterday, that they’d sunk back into the shape of each other the same way they always had — comfortable, easy, fitting without effort.
Then he saw how soft Scorpius looked in his sleep in the early dawn sunlight, with his hair strewn in his face and an arm thrown over his eyes, the faint scent of sweat Sirius couldn’t help but notice, and inhale, and immediately thoughts of yesterday’s roughhousing came to him like intrusive flashbacks, reminding him of the moment everything had flipped.
His thoughts were too loud, even after Scorpius had left. Sirius stared up at his bedroom ceiling and before he could help it he was reaching out across the mattress just to feel the warm dent Scorpius had left in it, like an echo.
He rubbed his hands over his face and let out a frustrated sigh. “Stupid,” he whispered to no one.
He wasn’t proud of what came next — the way he waited until he heard the shower fully start up, until Scorpius was safely behind steam and tile and running water, before sliding his hand under the blankets and dealing, quickly, reluctantly, with the stupid treacherous ache he’d been ignoring since he woke up, or —more truthfully— from the moment Scorpius had collapsed into bed with him last night.
When it was over, Sirius lay there catching his breath, ashamed for many reasons, a bit traumatised by how disgusted with himself he suddenly felt, but relieved, too, as the fog cleared and he could think rationally again, successfully shoving down the tiny bright spark in his chest that kept whispering to him he wants you, too, you know...
He told himself he didn’t actually want Scorpius like that. Not really. They were best friends —step-brothers, for heaven’s sake— and Scorpius was one of those lovely undeniable examples of everything Sirius wished he himself could be, in mind, body, and soul. It was only natural that he’d get so confused now that puberty had joined the mix.
It was a classic case of misfired hormones.
Nothing more.
By the time Scorpius emerged from the bathroom, Sirius was at Forks’ cage passing dried fruit through the bars, pretending he’d just woken up, heart still pounding like someone had stuffed a snitch inside his ribcage.
Scorpius was redressed already, hair brushed out down his back, face perfectly composed — very obviously pretending, too, that he hadn’t spent his shower doing the exact same early morning emergency triage as Sirius.
“Morning,” Scorpius said.
“Morning,” Sirius returned.
They didn’t look directly at each other.
Sirius fiddled needlessly with Forks’ seed dispenser. Scorpius moved past him, smelling of soap and flowers, and grabbed his wand from Sirius’ nightstand — like anybody underage living in magical households, Scorpius could get away with performing spells at home without his Trace alerting the Ministry.
He conjured his school trunk and empty owl cage from the Malfoy townhouse with the air of someone performing a complicated enchantment that required absolute concentration and absolutely no eye contact whatsoever. He was very talented at conjuration these days, and transfiguration, and charms, and defence, and—
Sirius only realised he was staring when Scorpius finally glanced at him. They both jumped and looked away.
“You sleep alright?” Scorpius asked as he began double checking his trunk’s contents.
Sirius swallowed. “Yeah. You?”
“Fine. Yeah.”
A polite exchange, even if they were both lying — they were trying to have a very normal morning, thank you, which meant neither of them needed to acknowledge the fact that they were both red-eared and hovering around each other like nervous bees.
“You ready for King’s Cross?” Sirius asked.
“Course.” Scorpius managed a smile, lugging his things to the wall by the door. “What about you? You got everything you need?”
Sirius shrugged. “Don’t need much. I’m coming back here after the feast.”
Sirius was only even taking the train for the novelty of it, when in reality he’d be coming and going to school daily through his father’s specially connected floo network between his staff quarters and Number 12’s kitchen hearth — the same method of travel Harry had used since he took over the Defence Against the Dark Arts position more than a decade ago after his and Ginny’s divorce, which enabled him to live bi-weekly between school and at home to match his shared custody over Sirius.
McGonagall hadn’t even needed to alter the magic to make it work. The special floo was designed to respond to Harry’s magical signature, so without magic at all, they discovered Sirius could come and go through it whenever he wanted so long as he used the special powder Harry kept on the mantle — this would’ve been useful to know years ago during his childhood, since Sirius had always had to walk all the way from Hogsmeade to visit Hogwarts.
“I’m getting you in the Slytherin dorms at some point, though,” Scorpius declared as he bustled around the room and grabbed a few of Sirius’ things at random to add to his own trunk, “we’re having a sleepover under the lake if it kills me.”
Sirius smiled, ignoring the way his heart swooped.
“Thanks, Scor.”
Hours later, the Hogwarts Express hissed beside Platform 9¾ like a sleeping beast, clouds of steam rising between the clusters of parents and children.
Sirius stood staring at the train for a moment, bristling nervously, pretending not to notice all the eyes on him — family and otherwise.
Little Leota was at home, being babysat by Grandpa Xen and Kreacher so that the others could see Sirius off for his first time.
Harry placed a hand on his shoulder. “Got everything?”
Sirius had no idea why people kept asking that. Classes didn’t even start until tomorrow. All he needed today was his satchel full of folded school robes.
“Bugger,” he said sarcastically, “I forgot my wand.”
Grandpa Weasley barked a laugh, while Nana Weasley threw her arms above her head with an exhausted groan and bustled off to pay one of her other, more reasonable grandchildren attention instead.
“You’re hilarious,” Harry said, rolling his eyes — for Sirius did not have a wand, nor could he use a pewter cauldron for potion brewing, or a broom to fly, and while he wouldn’t be doing practical work in his classes he did still have all the latest edition textbooks at home, along with a top-notch telescope and his dad’s old deck of barely used tarot cards; though those would be completely unreliable in his hands without magic behind them, too, but that was the same for most wizards anyway.
“Participate where you can, take notes where you cannot,” was the general advice going around for him — and once, months ago, a therapist at the inpatient facility had said, “You’re one of life’s players, Sirius, with as much right to take up space as anyone else,” which, oddly, had been one of the first things that had made him finally decide to ‘step back from the ledge’ so to speak.
Still, if life was a game and he was a player, it was easier to relearn to enjoy it when you had a little humour to fall back on.
“Oh, that’s right, I’m a Squib,” he carried on. “I forgot. Silly me.”
Harry, once again, rolled his eyes. “Hide behind your jokes all you like,” he said. “But you’re only fixating. You know you’ve got more magic in you than anyone on this platform.”
“That’s an objective lie and you know it.”
“No, I mean it — symbolically,” he added with a shrug.
Sirius cracked a grin. “Sure, Dad.”
Harry grumbled in disapproval. Sirius folded his arms and smirked, satisfied — until the bowtruckles squeaked indignantly from his breast pocket at almost being squashed. Sirius tried to act like he’d not heard anything, but Harry’s sharp green eyes flitted down and locked on like a hawk.
With a sigh, he extended a hand. “Give them.”
“But, Dad—”
“One familiar per student. And you’ve already listed Forks.”
“I’m not bringing her today, though, so I thought it wouldn’t hurt to bring the twigs instead.”
“It’s the rules.”
“But Poppin kept a bunch of creatures hidden at school in his day — in a storage cupboard by one of the courtyards. He told me so.”
“Well, did he also tell you he was expelled for one of his creatures, too?”
“No, that jarvey wasn’t even his,” Sirius argued, “he only took the blame for his friend after she set it on their classmate.”
“If you listen to yourself you’ll realise you’re only proving my point,” Harry replied flatly.
Sirius pouted, sighed, and carefully scooped Cricket, Nim, and Sprocket out of his pocket and reluctantly set them into his father’s palms. His heart cracked when they tried to cling to his fingers, trilling in protest as he gently pulled away.
“They’ll be perfectly fine at home,” Harry assured him, setting them across his shoulders.
Sirius sighed.
“Sirius!” a familiar voice called out — he turned to see his mother making her way through the crowd with Lee at her side, having just said a few goodbyes to the various other Weasleys, Gideon perched on Lee’s shoulders, and Lyra clutching Ginny’s hand like a barnacle. “Come here, sweetie. I need at least six-trillion hugs before you get on that train.”
“Mum,” Sirius complained, stepping forward into her arms. Ginny held him tight, pressing kisses to his hairline.
Lee grinned at them, lowering Gideon to the ground so he could scoop Sirius into his arms for a hug, too. “Have a good first term, mate.”
Sirius smiled. “Thanks.”
Lyra tilted her head up at him. “Can you bring me something from Zonkos?”
“Nothing with sugar,” Ginny reminded hastily.
“Promise,” Sirius said, and lowered his voice to a whisper just for his sister. “But don’t tell Uncle Ron or Uncle George. They don’t want us endorsing the competition.”
Lyra giggled. Ginny hugged Sirius once more. Over his mother’s shoulder, he glanced across the crowded platform, taking a steep breath. Nearby, Luna and Rolf were herding the twins over. Sirius felt his shoulders relax a few inches when he caught Scorpius’ eye, chatting with Draco nearer the train. Scorpius hurried over, grinning.
Luna didn’t need to say anything as she pulled them into her arms. Her golden coils were wound up above her head that morning, wand tucked behind an ear. Her eyes were shimmering and wider than usual, like she was trying very hard not to weep. Rolf wrapped an arm loosely around her waist, whispering gentle things that made her lip wobble.
It hit Sirius all at once that this was his family —as strange and stitched together as it was— and every one of them were sending him, Scorpius, and the rest of their cousins off like they were something precious.
Draco stood just off to the side, arms clasped behind his back, hair up in a tail, watching Sirius and Scorpius like he wanted to bottle them and put them up on a high shelf somewhere — about as emotionally rattled as he ever allowed himself to look in public, which was to say, still immaculate, only slightly squinting, and one brow twitching every few seconds.
“Do your own homework,” he told Scorpius, whose cheeks went instantly pink.
“Dad, I only don’t do my homework when Sirius wants to do it for me.”
Draco let out a very tired sigh.
Scorpius bit back his smile. Sirius knocked him in the shoulder. They laughed at the twins when they both decided to try and use Harry as a human-climbing-rack. Rolf helped wrestle them off him.
“Come on,” Scorpius said, “I found an empty compartment for us.”
Sirius nodded, climbed up, and lingered in the side-door.
“Be good to each other,” Luna said.
“And keep an ear out for wrackspurt!” Lorcan seconded, jostling under Rolf’s hand on his shoulder.
Harry stood beside the train, hand rested beside the door, watching Sirius fondly. Sirius leaned towards him, squashing himself against the doorframe so that other students could still file onto the train behind him.
“I'm a bit glad I won’t be sorted,” he admitted. “Enough people are already staring.”
“You get used to it.”
“Yeah.”
A beat passed. Then Sirius launched off the train before he could stop himself and flung his arms around his father’s shoulders. Harry hugged him back like he always did — like he was catching the world in his arms.
“Love you, petal,” he whispered.
Sirius squeezed tightly. “Love you. See you later.”
“At the feast,” Harry agreed. “Be good. Now go. Before the train leaves without you.”
The final whistle blasted across the platform. Sirius hurried back aboard, shutting the side-door behind himself and waving out of the open window with a few teary-eyed firsties as the train began to move.
His family waved back at him, all standing together or scattered along the platform — Harry with one arm around Luna; Rolf with a hand tucked into Draco’s; Ginny, Lee, and George clutching Gideon, Lyra, and Roxanne close who sobbed over still being too young to go to Hogwarts; while the twins and cousin Alfie Dursley broke away to chase the train along the platform until they were all spelled by Ron to levitate on the spot —even Alfie in his wheelchair, cackling madly— before they could get too far.
Finally, the platform slid from view, and Scorpius appeared at Sirius’ side, practically glowing with excitement as he grabbed his wrist and hauled him through the train, along the rattling corridors, weaving through narrow crowds of nattering students, until finally they found their compartment.
Bubo, Scorpius’ new eagle owl, was perched inside her cage on the overhead shelves beside his trunk. She cracked open one large judgemental eye as the boys burst inside, bristled her feathers in disdain, then promptly turned around on her perch to face the wall, tucking her head under her wing to go back to sleep.
Grinning, Sirius slumped into the seat below her. Scorpius sighed and flopped down beside him, grinning madly.
“What?” Sirius asked.
“Nothing,” Scorpius said with a sigh. “Just… weird. This time last year I was saying goodbye to you. Now you’re here, coming with me. It’s nice.”
“Yeah, well, everything is nicer than last year,” Sirius said dryly. “Was a pretty low bar.”
Scorpius’ eyebrows rose, as though he couldn’t have agreed more. “I remember I was so worried about leaving you on that platform, I tried to Apparate off the train. The wards stopped me. Did I ever tell you that?”
He hadn’t. Suddenly Sirius felt very guilty, and very touched, which was unpleasant, so he shrugged and said, “Don’t really like thinking about last year.”
“I don’t mind to,” Scorpius said, missing the hint. “Things are better now — you’re not suicidal, and look at this…” He pointed at the luggage rack. “Nobody’s managed to write ‘Son of Voldemort’ on my trunk yet.”
Scorpius really could be painfully tragic sometimes. Sirius almost wanted to snap at him to stop, but Scorpius was already pulling a face like he regretted bringing the subject up now that it’d left his mouth, and he made an odd bleating sound like a suffering goat.
“Okay. Moving on.” He patted down the pockets of his cloak and yanked out a wrinkled confectionary bag. “Pepper Imp?”
Sirius felt the grin spread over his face. Like an eager child, he made grabby hands across the seat towards him, and the pair of them stuffed their faces, breaking up into bouts of choked laughter as the peppery smoke poured out of their ears.
Notes:
Three more 🗝️ changes from canon referenced this chapter:
6. POPPIN is Rolf’s grandfather NEWT SCAMANDER (Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them). More on him later. The nickname was originally ‘Poppa N’ but when Rolf was tiny he’d say ‘Poppin’ instead, so it stuck. Idk why this is important to me.
7. DUDLEY and his wife CLAIRE have two children, MAISIE and ALFIE DURSLEY. Maisie, a Dudley lookalike, is a witch. Alfie, a Petunia lookalike, is Muggle. Vernon, widowed now, loiters in the background of their lives, but he's mellowed out a lot since Dudley shut down anti-magic bigotry in his household. Read this chapter to see Harry verbally hand Vern his arse, too.
8. Scorpius really can Apparate already. Though, he has yet to acquire a licence. If you don’t know why/how, feel free to read this chapter to jog your memory, but otherwise it’ll be explained when the time comes.
This fic is very much my soft belly on display so please consider letting me know your thoughts (whether it be with a simple kudos or just an emoji). Thank you so much for reading.
Walk good, and as always,
Happy reading.
Chapter 3: Room the Castle Made
Summary:
Nothing says Slow Burn like Pepper Imps, unintentional ginger fetishisation, and two boys pretending they aren’t staring. Meanwhile, the castle makes an unexpected decision regarding its newest non-magical student.
Notes:
Minor edits made to prev chapters since uploading (w/ reasons — for those of you reading as I post, aka. the real MVPs who deserve the world for putting up with me):
1. Bubo is Scorpius’ new owl. What happened to his old one will be explained in this chapter.
2. Sirius’ half brother is called Gideon now instead of Jaxon; Gid or sometimes Giddy for short. I liked the idea of Ginny and Lee naming Gid and Lyra after their initials and Gideon was one of Ginny’s uncles so seemed like the obvious choice.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Sugary smoke billowing out of their ears was the exact state the boys were still in when Rose knocked on their compartment door a moment later, arms crossed as she stepped inside, already dressed into her school robes, Prefect badge gleaming on her lapel, looking very unimpressed by the hysterics Sirius and Scorpius had got themselves into together.
“Hello, Sirius,” she said, flicking her eyes between them. “Malfoy.”
“Oh!” Scorpius gasped out, coughing on the last few Pepper Imp bouts. “Rose!”
“HELLO, ROSE!” Sirius howled, still choking on steam. “WHAT DO YOU WANT?”
“And what do you smell of?” Scorpius added curiously.
Rose’s eyes widened. “What do I smell of?”
“No, I meant it as a nice thing, you smell like a mixture of fresh flowers and… bread…”
Sirius was still snorting — and not from the Pepper Imps.
Scorpius frowned at himself, as though he just realised how he sounded. “I mean— nice bread,” he corrected awkwardly, “good bread—”
“Please shut up,” Rose said.
Scorpius worked to gulp down the remaining mouthful of smoking sweets. “What’s wrong with bread?” he asked innocently, looking at Sirius for help, floundering when he offered none.
In truth, Sirius rather enjoyed watching the car crash that always was Scorpius and Rose Interacting™ — the three of them travelling back to 1995 last year and accidentally creating a Dark Timeline together had, at the very least, enlightened him to such delights.
“God, I can’t believe we’re officially related,” Rose complained, sending another scowl Scorpius’ way, “even if it is only through marriage. ‘What’s wrong with bread?’ Rowena Ravenclaw, preserve me.”
“Can we help you, Rose?” Sirius asked, redirecting the conversation — he was still giggling, but his tolerance for picking on Scorpius was limited, especially if anyone other than himself was doing it.
“I was going to ask if you wanted to come see McDaniel’s augurey?” Rose answered. “Apparently it made her whole compartment rain.”
“Wow!” Sirius all but leapt from his seat. “Come on, Scor.”
“Actually—” Rose faltered. “McDaniel’s compartment’s a bit crowded at the moment. Malfoy can go and see it later — maybe.”
Sirius frowned, then slowly sat back down. “We’ll go later then — maybe.”
Rose tutted. “Sirius, you remember what we talked about, don’t you?”
“Yep,” he said flatly, eyes out the window. He heard her sigh, then finally leave once it was clear he wasn’t going to budge. As the compartment door snapped shut, he groaned and slumped low in his seat, glancing ruefully at Scorpius. “She actually thinks she’s being subtle.”
“She is very not subtle,” he said, sounding only mildly wounded. “She really doesn’t like me, does she?”
“The worst part is she’s not even trying to be mean on purpose,” Sirius told him. “She thinks she’s actually looking out for us, that we’re only going to make each other's lives difficult being friends at Hogwarts.”
Scorpius shrugged. “She’s not wrong. You won’t exactly be doing yourself any favours hanging out with me.”
Sirius tutted. “You’re not exactly doing yourself any favours acting like such a nitwit in front of her, either, though.”
“I know,” Scorpius said dejectedly, “but I can’t help it! It’s the red hair. It does things to me.”
“That’s your cousin you’re talking about.”
“Through marriage!” Scorpius reminded him passionately. “It’s the same with you,” he added, glancing out the window. “I’m only human. A weak man. Severely affected.”
Somehow, Scorpius was one of those rare people immune to feeling embarrassed. Usually Sirius loved this about him. Other times, well…
He bit his lip, still not sure how to feel about the idea of anyone —let alone Scorpius— finding him attractive. Sirius had always been a bit of a late bloomer when it came to symptoms of puberty; he suspected it was part of why it’d taken him so long to realise he was trans.
Before a few years ago, he barely paid attention to his body at all beyond tending to its basic needs. Then all of a sudden he was being made to wear dresses to formal events and people weren’t calling him a tomboy anymore and he didn’t understand why he cared so much. For months he tortured himself just trying to unpack the concept of being perceived and why it was so hard for him — and just when he’d finally thought he had it all figured out, now he had to deal with desire on top of it all, too.
Still, Sirius very specifically wasn’t panicking.
He’d thought through it all since yesterday, very logically, and he’d since confidently decided that Scorpius’ confession —and… reaction— had only shaken him so much because his entire sense of self was still under reconstruction. Sirius had tried to kill himself less than a year ago after all. He couldn’t beat himself up over being, as Scorpius put it, “severely affected”, could he? All he could do was keep calm and try to act normally until things in his brain settled back to normal.
As such, he coped with it all the same way he coped with everything:
Jokes.
“Ohh, I get it,” he told Scorpius, narrowing his eyes and pointing. “You’ve got a ginger fetish, haven’t you?”
Scorpius burst out laughing, then let out a very long-suffering sigh. “All I can say is that I’m extremely grateful that all the Veela in your family were born blonde.”
Sirius couldn’t help it. He laughed madly.
Scorpius, clearly, saw this as encouragement, and kept going: “Could you imagine Dom or Lou with red hair? Merlin. I’d get a nosebleed. Seriously, Sirius. My brain would start leaking!”
Sirius’ sides were splitting.
“I’m just glad I still manage to act normally around you half the time,” Scorpius added.
Sirius settled down —because ugh— and rolled his eyes. “It can’t be that bad. You see me every day.”
“Yes, I consider it exposure therapy, honestly,” Scorpius agreed casually. “Still doesn’t mean I’m not always going absolutely bonkers inside my head whenever I’m within six feet of you.”
Again, UGH.
Scorpius Hyperion Painfully Tragic Malfoy strike number… what was it now?
A guilty-confused-flattered-horrified pit grew in Sirius’ chest. He searched frantically for something to change the subject, eyes landing on Scorpius’ trunk.
“Do people really still spread the Malfoy-Riddle rumour around?”
Somehow, Scorpius shrugged with just his mouth. “It’s not as bad as it was,” he admitted. “I’ll get a note spellotaped to the back of my robes or something every few weeks, but nobody’s come after me with more than a hex or curse since third year.”
Third year, Sirius recalled bitterly, when Harry found Scorpius alone one night stripped and tied to the Whomping Willow with the words ‘Moldy Jr’ inked across his chest. Sirius had no idea how his father had known where to find him, or how he got there in time before the tree could batter him to death, but the incident had been so dangerous that the school immediately cracked down on bullying like a whip in the aftermath.
A Zero Tolerance Policy was implemented, students earned points towards their houses for reporting antisocial behaviour, lost them for contributing, even minorly, and a Muggle whose children had attended Hogwarts years ago was hired to fill the new Student Mentor position. Even the portraits were bribed to use their eavesdropping skills to keep an eye out, like sentient CCTV.
Sirius frowned at his lap, then looked up. “People still curse you?”
“Here and there.” Scorpius shrugged. “Most of the time just to get a reaction.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because it’s not a big deal? I can handle myself. And Harry’s got his weird sixth sense thing, doesn’t he — where he swoops in whenever things get really nasty.”
Sirius watched him, suspicious, then defiant. “Well, I’ll handle myself, too, then.”
Scorpius twisted his mouth thoughtfully. “I doubt you’ll have to. Like I said, most of it's just idiots trying to get a reaction. But if you don’t have a wand to react with… it’d be pretty bad form.”
“Bad form?”
“You know — like when Aunt Hermione banned Muggle-baiting and Amortentia. People know it’s bad form these days if someone can’t fight back.”
Sirius smirked. “Wait, are you telling me you actually go around duelling students behind Dad’s back?”
“No,” Scorpius said with a scoff. “Most of the time I just throw up a shield and belt it. Or if I do have to fight back, I disarm them — then I belt it.”
Sirius snorted. “How very Potter of you.”
Scorpius smiled, clearly complimented.
“So, why not fight back?” Sirius asked curiously. “It sort of sounds a bit fun.”
“Eh. I don’t like duelling. I don’t like fighting.”
He’d said it with the weight of someone who’d done both. Because he had. The scar across his right eyebrow was evidence of it —a thick, jagged, lumpy thing that ran right through the inner half to the peak, keloided the same way his father’s old curse scar was— though Scorpius had refused to tell anyone except Sirius how he got it or the matching scar across his shoulder.
Still, magic hadn’t been able to heal it, so everyone knew it’d been caused by Dark Magic.
The truth was, Scorpius had given himself the scar — or, at least, the other version of himself in the Dark Timeline had: a boy almost the complete opposite to Sirius’ Scorpius. Dark Scorpius had not been kind, or gentle, or brave, and instead he’d been bitter, and hateful, and favoured the Sectumsempra Curse perhaps even more so than its creator the Half-Blood Prince himself.
Scorpius had never said it in so many words, that he’d been forced to kill the other Scorpius in self defence, but Sirius had put it together.
Scorpius must’ve been thinking about it, too. He was staring off into space a bit, knee bouncing on the spot restlessly, thumb fiddling with the spinning peridots in his signet ring, and occasionally shaking his wrist like a dog ridding itself of water just to hear the charms on his mother’s old bracelet jangle.
“Scor,” Sirius said. “Are you—”
“Look— just—” he blurted, “if anyone says anything to you, about being a Squib or… anything else… don’t just pretend it’s fine, okay? Tell me.”
Sirius blinked. Not thinking about Dark Timelines or his other self then. Scorpius had been thinking about him. Sirius opened his mouth, wanting to say something snide and self-deprecating.
But he didn’t.
Because Scorpius’ expression was so raw — flickering with determination and protectiveness, and maybe something fearful and guilty, too, all tangled up with it.
So he swallowed. He said, “Okay.” And he meant it.
Scorpius’ shoulders loosened. “Okay.”
They sat in a surprisingly comfortable silence after that, the wind battering against the windows, the compartment rocking gently like a cradle, and as Sirius watched the hills pass by, he thought, not for the first time, that life was a story he’d tried to dive out of once —too soon— and now he was slowly climbing his way back in.
Later, the trolley witch had come and gone, leaving the seat between the boys littered with not only Scorpius’ empty Pepper Imp bag from home but spilled Bertie Bott’s boxes, discarded chocolate frog cards, cauldron cupcake wrappers, and a half-gnawed licorice wand that Sirius eventually gave up on — due to the implication.
Maisie Dursley and Alder Longbottom came to say hello at one point to catch up and satisfy their sweet tooths — inseparable, the pair of them, like Hugo and Freddy, and Rose and Mols, and Lucy and Louis.
…like Sirius and Scorpius.
Once Maisie and Alder left again to rejoin their Hufflepuff friends, Sirius and Scorpius stood back to back in the compartment and got changed into their school robes.
Sirius definitely did not peak.
Though, he may have glanced.
But that wasn’t the same thing.
He was just trying to figure out that thing again: whether he wanted Scorpius or wanted to be him. It was very difficult to tell when he noticed the way Scorpius’ legs seemed to go on for days, or how nice his hair looked as it trailed down his back except the thin braid behind his ear which he kept putting in his mouth to nibble on, or the flex of his broadening shoulders as he tugged his trousers up over the soft-looking curve of his—
Sirius looked away, blinking fast, aware of the way his glasses were fogging up at the edges. His chest was burning.
Quickly, he thought of other things.
Unlike Scorpius’ green-lined Slytherin robes, Sirius’ were the standard, firstie, Sorting-Ceremony colours that Madam Malkin had to tailor specially considering she had none on hand in his size: deep-black all over, a Hogwarts crest on the tie, matching the patch on the outer robe’s lapel.
Lastly, he retrieved the silver pendant from his satchel and looped it around his neck, thumbing at the Hogwarts emblem engraved on the face.
It was gifted to him only recently so he’d be able to attend school, specially enchanted to link the castle’s magic to him so that it’d always recognise him as a student, but most importantly, so it wouldn’t mistake him for an outsider. Essentially, the necklace meant he was magically and officially enrolled, but it also meant that if he took it off inside school grounds, there was a chance the castle might immediately banish, repulse, or kick him out on the spot.
Though, Hogwarts had never cast him out before. He’d been wandering the halls and exploring the grounds with his father, McGonagall, and Hagrid between terms since he was a toddler.
Perhaps it was a Squib thing — Filch had been hobbling around the school freely for almost a hundred years after all; although Harry had been specific to warn Sirius against talking to the old caretaker about anything Squib-related, at risk of invoking his medieval-inspired wrath.
Regardless, it was better to be safe than sorry, so Sirius tucked the pendant dutifully under his robes and tried not to feel like he was hiding it there, tried to ignore the question nagging at him: did he truly belong at Hogwarts if he needed a token to walk its halls?
Then the compartment door burst open, startling them.
Three students —all younger— stood in the doorway, wide-eyed.
“Sorry,” one said, “but are you really Harry Potter’s daughter?”
Sirius almost shat himself.
“Oi!” Scorpius hissed, just as a second student smacked the first upside the back of the head and said, “Son, you flobberworm! Honestly! I told you to be cool.”
“Is it true you don’t have any magic?” the third student asked.
The second smacked a hand over their face.
“Were you born like it?” the first student asked. “Or did something happen?” And Sirius truly could not tell if he was being asked about his magic or his body.
“D’you wish you did have magic?”
“What’s it like? Going to Hogwarts as a Squib?”
The questions came rapid-fire. Too fast to even try to keep up with.
“Uh…” Sirius blinked, mouth opening and closing. “Well, I dunno yet… so, I guess I’ll find out.”
They murmured amongst themselves, clearly fascinated, but not cruel as far as Sirius could tell. One of them asked him to try and use their wand to see what would happen. Sirius said no. Another asked if he’d ever considered writing a book. Sirius said what? Eventually, they wandered off, muttering enthusiastically amongst themselves as the door slid shut in their wake.
Sirius slouched back with a groan. “It. Has. Begun.”
Scorpius smiled fondly. “They already love you.”
“Funny.”
“No, I mean it. I can tell. It’s very difficult not to love you.”
Sirius groaned so he wouldn’t accidentally do something stupid, like swoon. “Well, you can’t tell human emotions apart from spell-light,” he complained, deflecting, “unless they’re your own, of course, so don’t be offended if I don’t take your word for it.”
Scorpius just grinned madly. “Sounds like something Sev would’ve said to me. He’d appreciate your talent for creative insults, as partial to giving them as he was. Maybe it’s why I liked him so much, ‘cause he reminded me of you.”
Sirius didn’t respond. He still didn’t know how to process the fact that Scorpius had actually met the older, living, alternate version of Severus Snape in the Dark Timeline last year, let alone that he’d been forced to live with him for a whole week until they were eventually able to travel back to 1995 and recover the original timeline by reversing the changes Scorpius, Sirius, and Rose had made during the third task.
The most bizarre part was that after it was all said and done, Scorpius actually found a letter from him, the other Snape, hidden in his robes, revealing that he hadn’t been unmade along with the Dark Timeline like they’d all initially assumed. Instead, Other Snape had been left there stranded in 1995, displaced on an unfamiliar timeline, while Scorpius, Sirius, and Rose escaped with the illegal time-turner back to where —or rather when— they came from.
Draco had been trying to track Snape down ever since, even though his letter made it clear he didn’t want to be contacted, but Malfoy Stubbornness prevailed.
Wherever Snape was, however, was hidden with powerful concealment magic — letters came back unopened, Scorpius’ eagle owl before Bubo never even returned from its last attempted delivery, which had devastated him, and every other attempt to use tracking magic so far had completely failed, thwarted by some obscure or unheard of preventative measure Draco would spend the next several weeks trying to crack.
Sirius and Scorpius helped where they could, but mostly Draco only really used them for bouncing around ideas, or sent them off on various scavenger hunts for research.
Harry was still extremely uncomfortable with the idea of reaching out to Snape at all, so they tended not to talk about it at all with anyone but each other. Not to mention that time-meddling was a serious crime and Hermione had barely managed to cover it all up in the first place.
Sirius still felt a lot of guilt over it all. While he, Scorpius, and Rose had all worked together to meddle with time, the idea had still begun with Sirius. If not for him, the Dark Timeline and all the suffering —the genocide— Voldemort had caused there wouldn’t have happened.
That was on Sirius.
He didn’t want to think about it just then, so he reached into their box of Every-Flavours and lobbed a suspiciously grey-green bean at Scorpius’ chest in the hopes it might distract him and it did: grunting, Scorpius threw a handful back and laughed when Sirius tried to catch them in his mouth.
Outside, the countryside blurred past in long green and blue smudges, until several hours later, after dark, the Hogwarts Express finally shuddered to a hissing stop at Hogsmeade station.
The crisp September air hit Sirius like a shock as he hopped off the train with the rest of the students. Voices overlapped. A tall lantern bobbed over the crowd.
“First-years!” Hagrid called. “First-years, this way!”
Sirius caught his godfather’s eyes and waved. Hagrid grinned back through his bushy grey beard.
He’d sent a letter weeks ago inviting Sirius to join the first-years across the lake, since it was his first time and all, but Sirius had politely declined, opting to blend in with the older years instead.
As such, he followed the rest of the students as they swarmed toward the main dirt track, where the thestral carriages waited, bumping shoulders with a few cousins as he went. Dominique smirked at him excitedly, then hurried off to join a few of the older students.
“Coming, Sirius?” Hugo asked, climbing in alongside Freddy and a few other Gryffindors Sirius didn’t know yet, but who looked to be in their year.
“Yeah,” he said, but turned on the spot when he realised he’d lost Scorpius.
Panic hit him only briefly before he caught sight of him a moment later at the front of the carriage. He felt his mouth pull into a smile as he headed over, watching the pair of bat-winged horses bristle with interest as Scorpius withdrew something wrapped in a napkin from his trouser pocket, unfolded it, and fed it to the beasts one by one, grinning as they chewed and bobbed their heads in satisfaction.
Both boys had been able to see thestrals since Astoria’s death two years ago. In fact, they knew these beasts personally, because for as long as they could remember, the school herd migrated to and from the valley surrounding Scamander Ranch year round to raise their foals — ever since Harry started working at Hogwarts and they’d followed his scent home.
Sirius pet along the nearest thestral’s long, dark, leathery neck. “What did he give you, huh?”
“Boiled eggs,” Scorpius said, smiling when Sirius tugged on his sleeve to guide him back towards the carriage.
He opened the door to let Scorpius climb aboard ahead of him. Scorpius thanked him, held out a hand, and hauled Sirius in after him.
“Where did you get boiled eggs?” Sirius asked, settling at his side while Hugo and the others broke out in a loud and animated debate over Quidditch.
“Trolley witch gives them to me. She likes me.”
Sirius grinned. “Cor. Friends in high places.”
Scorpius laughed, then proceeded to list several obscure facts about the mysterious old witch without prompting, as was his way: “Did you know she’s almost three-hundred years old and married to the conductor? They were hired in 1830 by Ottaline Gambol herself. She told me once that her pumpkin pasties explode at her will, but I think she was joking. She had to have been, right? Why would she want them to explode? Surely she wouldn’t sell them to students if it was true.”
Sirius threw in a few absurd theories just to hear Scorpius laugh again, listening to more of his ramblings, chin on his fist, grinning. The other Gryffindors chatted away across the cramped carriage, background noise.
The ride to the castle was shorter than Sirius expected it to be, bumping over the uneven path. The thestrals’ breath fogged in the cool air and he found himself relaxing into the sway of it.
Twenty minutes later, they were all filtering into the Great Hall. Light blazed from hundreds of floating candles. Sirius didn’t mean to stop in awe of it, but he couldn’t help it — glad when Scorpius took his elbow, chuckling softly under his breath, and gently guided him over to the Slytherin table so that Sirius could gawk at the spectacular surroundings without bumping into anything.
Sirius pulled himself together when he noticed how many people were watching him. Conversations hiccuped mid-sentence. Students whispered things into their neighbour’s ears. Scorpius seemed entirely unbothered as they sat down together, so Sirius tried to replicate the nonchalance. He spotted his father at the staff table, neither of them able to suppress their grins.
The Sorting Hat’s song was as foreboding as its reputation led Sirius to believe it would be:
“Once I sang of gallant deeds
And triumphs grand and bold
Of daring hearts and cunning minds
Of loyalty untold
But I have watched the seasons turn
Through years of grief and flame
And learned that houses’ shining crests
Are more than just a name
The brave may fall, the wise may weep
The loyal may feel lost
The cunning may be cornered in
And reckon with the cost
So choose your place, but know this truth:
It’s not the House alone
But friends and foes and open doors
That make your courage known
So step right up, and take your seat
I’ll weigh what makes you strong
I’ll place you where your roots can grow
You’ll all find somewhere to belong!”
After that, the Sorting Ceremony blurred, a few whispers rose about why the new fourth-year wasn’t being placed, and before Sirius knew it, roast meats, gravy, treacle tart, and more appeared in front of his eyes and he realised he was starving.
He and Scorpius reached for the same serving spoon, their hands bumping, and they both did an awkward little bristle before pretending nothing had happened. Scorpius recovered faster than Sirius, smiling sweetly as he took the spoon and served them both. Meanwhile, Sirius struggled to re-centre his entire nervous system for several minutes.
Across from them, a knot of Slytherins peered over, not unkindly, but with the same expressions as someone who’d spotted an escaped niffler: curious, mildly amused, waiting to see what it would do. They didn’t introduce themselves. Sirius didn’t introduce himself, either. When Scorpius glanced up and made a joke Sirius didn’t listen to, they all quietly returned to their plates.
“Do you know them?” Sirius asked.
Scorpius glanced over briefly. “Classmates, yeah,” he said to his food. “Why?”
Sirius shrugged. “They were looking over here, so I thought… I dunno… maybe they want to catch up with you or something.”
Scorpius laughed. “They’re looking at you. Not me.”
“Should we say hi?”
“You can if you want to, but if I try all they’ll say back is: Why are you talking to me, Malfoy?”
“They won’t really do that.”
Scorpius made a face like bet and turned to them. “Hey, guys,” he said casually. “Jenkins, how was your summer?”
The boy turned, looking like he’d smelled something unpleasant, and said with a mild grimace, “Fine…?”
Scorpius shrugged, waited, and then Jenkins turned back around and continued his conversation with his friends with a few exchanged looks that said thank God that’s over. Scorpius went back to his meal, unphased.
Sirius tried not to look as uncomfortable as he felt. “So… they all just ignore you? Treat you like—”
“Furniture? Yep,” Scorpius said cheerfully. “It’s normal.”
Sirius frowned.
Scorpius shrugged. “Don’t worry. You’ll still be able to make friends with the Slytherins in your year. And I promise when you do I won’t cramp your style by sitting too nearby — or you’ll make friends in the other houses, too, and sit at the other tables. You’ll probably have your pick of the litter by the end of the week.”
He said it so matter-of-factly, lightly almost, as though he’d already accepted the idea that Sirius would ditch him soon, and something in Sirius’ chest pulled, taut and protective — like a thread catching on a splinter.
Before yesterday Sirius would’ve called the feeling brotherly love, but now that just seemed naive. He couldn’t ignore the burning anger over the way the rest of the school had somehow managed to miss how spectacular Scorpius truly was —as a wizard, as a friend, as a human being in general— and for a wild moment he was glad, because he liked the idea of happily hoarding him away all to himself, rest of the world he damned.
Then he realised how selfish that thought was.
Not to mention just plain bloody weird.
He wanted to tell Scorpius that he wasn’t going anywhere, that if he made friends —when he made friends— he’d be bringing them right back to sit with them both at the Slytherin table, or dragging Scorpius off to theirs, whether they liked it or not. But he didn’t say that. For one, saying it didn’t prove it, and two, Scorpius would only go all soft and gooey hearing it anyway and would probably start professing his love for Sirius all over again and Sirius didn’t think he’d be able to cope with that happening two days in a row.
He stuffed his mouth with yorkshire pudding and thought of other things.
At some point during the meal, his father caught his eye from the staff table and mouthed, “All good?”
Sirius nodded.
When the feast finally ended, Sirius bumped Scorpius’ shoulder as they stood, muttering a quick, “Night, mate, see you tomorrow,” and hurried off to the staff table while the rest of the students were escorted away by their Head Boys and Girls to their houses.
Hagrid gave Sirius a bone-crushing hug before he left for his hut, while Harry led the way up to the teacher’s quarters, chatting idly to Neville and Hannah —or rather, Professor and Madam Longbottom— on the way.
The walk through the busy castle felt warmer at night than what Sirius expected. The sconces lit by themselves as they made their way through. It felt like the school was smiling at them, ushering them through.
Finally, Harry stopped at an oak door, bidding goodnight to the others as they headed on to their own quarters.
Harry’s rooms were a little cluttered in a cosy sort of way, like him. He had a bedroom, a main room with a desk filled with trinkets and supplies, and a bathroom off to one side.
“I wish I could stay,” Sirius said under his breath before he could stop himself. He immediately regretted it by the sympathetic look his father gave him, so he crossed the room quickly to reach for the special red floo powder above the fireplace to go home.
He was about to throw it in when suddenly the bathroom door creaked open.
He and Harry turned to it.
Harry made a little, “Huh,” sound, leaning forward to peer inside.
“What?” Sirius asked.
“There’s a new door in here.”
“What? Really?”
“Pretty sure I would’ve noticed two doors in my bathroom before.”
Sirius snorted. Harry was already entering and investigating the mysterious second door on the opposite end of the bathroom. He pushed it open — then he laughed.
“Oh!”
“Oh? What is it?”
“Get in here, Sirius! Look what the castle made.”
On the other side of Harry’s bathroom was another room. One that had not existed thirty seconds ago, same for the front door that led out into the corridor. An old black key sat in the keyhole. It twinkled slightly when Sirius pulled it out to look.
The room itself was filled with odd, mismatched furniture, as though Hogwarts had pieced it all together with random antiques found across the castle. There was a four-poster single bed pushed against a wall by a window, a nightstand, a narrow desk, a crooked bookshelf half-filled with both wizarding and Muggle titles —like the shelves themselves refused to decide what world they belonged to— and, to Sirius’ bewilderment, even a small, brass, perch with a cosy-looking, little, round birdcage sat just beneath it — both very obviously too large for any owl to fit inside, even a pygmy,
Sirius’ eyes swam, touching the pendant through his shirt with shaking fingers. He set his bag down slowly on the bed, sheets soft and patched with all the house colours.
“It’s… mine?”
“I assume so, ” Harry said, leaning on the bedframe. “If you want it, yeah.”
Sirius swallowed, half-expecting the walls to suddenly realise their mistake, shudder, and spit him out into the corridor —the way the world tended to when he tried to claim any space inside it as himself— but the room simply remained there around him, as patient and settled as stone.
“I don’t believe it,” he said.
Harry just smiled. “Well, you should. A wise and very mad old man once told me and your uncle that you’ll always find help will be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it…”
Sirius inhaled sharply, wondrous.
“The school’s always provided for its students, however unorthodoxly,” Harry said, sitting at Sirius’ side on the bed and gently bumping his shoulder. “Surely you’ve learnt that by now.”
Sirius ran his fingers over the quilt, pretending it was no big deal, even with all the house colours stitched into it, given specifically to him, in this room that the castle had made for him. But he couldn’t help but feel like perhaps he really had always been welcome here.
“I’ll go and get Forks,” Harry said mercifully, leaving for a few minutes to let Sirius pull himself together.
Forks looked utterly delighted to be introduced to her new home. Harry had even brought a set of Sirius’ pyjamas and his toothbrush.
“You can grab the rest of your things in the morning.”
“Thanks. Night, Dad.”
“Night, petal. Sleep well. I’ll be next door.”
When Harry left him for the night, Sirius curled under the sheets and laid there quietly for a long time, smoothing his hands across the fabric, Forks nestled warm atop his chest, with the castle’s low pulse of magic and distant footsteps and creaking doors soothing him like a lullaby.
For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel like he was sneaking into a place he wasn’t meant to be.
The castle had set out a space just his size, and it was more than he’d ever dreamed.
Notes:
3 more 🗝️ non-canon differences touched on in this chapter:
9. Cursed Child SUCKS, so I rewrote it all: no nonsensically malicious trolley witch, no Delphi behind the whole thing (she has a completely rewritten backstory focussed on reclaiming her heritage without becoming her parents), & Cedric died a hero instead of turning to the Dark Side — because I just cannot suspend belief enough to accept a brave kind Hufflepuff would join Nazis cause he was embarrassed in school.
10. SIRIUS took the role of Albus in instigating the whole scheme, and ROSE helped them steal the time-turner from Hermione’s office then JOINED THEM back to 1995 to change history.
11. After stunning Cedric during the third task, the trio tried to jump forward back to 2020, but had unknowingly caused a branching timeline due to stopping Cedric from taking the cup with Harry. As such, Scorpius arrived to the present alone, DID NOT REPLACE HIS OTHER SELF (cause that didn’t make sense to me, given established lore: Harry & Hermione having to avoid their doubles) meanwhile Sirius & Rose were temporarily stranded in 1995 because the time-turner wouldn’t/couldn’t carry them into a future they didn’t exist in.
12. SNAPE eventually JOINED SCORPIUS BACK IN TIME TO 1995 to reverse Cedric’s sabotage, while Scorpius reunited with Sirius & Rose & escaped back to their original timeline 2020, leaving Snape in the past, free to live out a quiet life in peaceful, chosen solitude…
13. The Malfoys are prone to keloiding & Draco’s Sectumsempra scar is from the edge of his jaw all the way down his chest. No reason. I just liked the imagery/symbolism (& fine yes I think it’s kinda hot too sue me — or blame RatKingPoe’s drarry fanart 🥵)
Walk good, and as always,
Happy reading.
Chapter 4: Feathered Lesbians and Other Queer Catastrophes
Summary:
Sirius loves runes, hates compliments, gets thrown out of Slytherin, and Forks develops a very intense (and annoyingly symbolic) crush. Harry witnesses everything but understands none of it.
Aka…
Gay panic: continues.
Slytherins: on brand.
Birds: sapphic.
Sirius: sweating (because Scorpius’ smile is basically a weapon)
Notes:
Updated yesterday so make sure you aren't accidentally skipping it!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
After a quick trip home with Harry first thing to properly pack —using his father’s old trunk, since they hadn’t known Sirius would need his own— they joined the rest of the school down in the Great Hall for breakfast.
Scorpius barely didn’t dance on the tabletop when he heard about the room the castle made. Sirius had to yank him back down onto the bench. And while he was not much of a hugger and never had been, even as a little kid, he let Scorpius drag him into one anyway —admittedly, quite a nice one— before they each broke off in different directions to head for their first lessons.
The Charms classroom buzzed with the chaotic energy of fourth-years eager to impress. Sirius slipped quietly into an empty seat beside Hugo and Freddy, trading mischievous smiles, the excitement palpable.
As the lesson began, students crackled their spells in the air and Professor Flitwick's bright voice cut through the clatter like a conductor above an orchestra gone slightly rogue.
Sirius bit back his smiles, feeling a strange mix of pride and distance. He wasn’t part of this bit of their world, not in a usual way. He could watch. He could take notes. But he couldn’t join in. So he laughed when his cousins made deliberate fools of themselves together and scowled over his shoulder when he overheard a few students whispering about nepotism and special treatment — not because they were wrong, but because it bruised him.
Yes, his father was the Saviour of the wizarding world. Yes, his aunt was the Minister for Magic. Yes, the Headmistress was his godmother. But he had earned his E and two O’s in his W.O.M.B.A.T exams six months ago. He had proved he was fully integrated within the wizarding world. The Board of School Governors wouldn’t have granted him full rights to a magical education otherwise.
So no, he wasn’t about to give up now just because a few dunderheads were uncomfortable — at least not before earning himself a good fat stack of O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s beforehand, thank you!
When the class ended, Sirius headed off down to the Alchemy classroom in the dungeons with a few students he'd acquainted himself with in Charms that were going in the same direction, since neither Hugo or Freddy took the class.
The transition from the noisy hallways to the cool, shadowed, study chamber was almost jarring. As Sirius stepped into the classroom, the stone-dusted air carried a faint tang of copper and smoke, and here, he felt sure that things would be more physically tangible to him.
No wand flicks necessary, just elixirs and elements, symbols and formulas — the first class where he could stand at the same height as everyone else.
Professor Rowle’s voice was steady and low as he introduced himself and explained the overall delicate balance between magical compounds. Sirius scribbled notes, careful not to miss a detail, then got to work with a pestle and mortar.
It was excellent.
Later, during lunch, he found a patch of sun in the Clock Tower Courtyard where Scorpius had agreed to meet him, and the two stretched against the lower steps and chatted about how their first day of fourth and fifth year was going.
Despite not making it onto the Slytherin Quidditch team last year, Sirius was trying to convince Scorpius to try out again in two weeks for either the Seeker or a Keeper role, where his talents lay.
“You’re a bit like History that way,” Sirius thought aloud, smiling fondly at the thought of their lovely, long-legged, scraggly, black sighthound back home. “Always moving at one of two speeds,” he went on, “full speed go, or completely still, watching… or napping.”
Scorpius grinned in approval at the assessment, the sunlight catching the scar across his eyebrow. He scratched it when he caught Sirius glancing at it. Sirius looked away, clenching his teeth, embarrassed — and he pretended not to notice how Scorpius kept watching him, even while they chatted, even when they’d fall into companionable silence together, as though he thought Sirius might somehow vanish in the sun's glare.
Sirius didn’t really mind.
And when Scorpius would lean into him —playfully, or for dramatic effect in the middle of conversation— Sirius couldn’t tell if it was intentional or not, but he didn’t really mind that at all, either.
He’d never really thought about how often Scorpius touched him. The little bumps, the nudges, the knocking knees, the brushing fingers. He’d simply never questioned it. In hindsight, though, none of it felt like a complete accident. The difference now was that it made Sirius’ sweat.
This, he minded very much.
There had been Before Two Days Ago, and now there was After It — a pivotal point in Sirius’ life, just a few months shy of fifteen years old, that’d forever changed the chemistry in his brain.
It was a bit ironic really, that at the same age his father got a resurrected Dark Lord and murdered classmates, while Sirius Potter got a platinum blonde step-brother with undiagnosed autism.
Still, he tried to be grateful. He supposed he’d take a feral Malfoy who sometimes needed help with sensory issues over a childhood tainted by constant fear and danger.
Sirius Potter was not his father, though. He didn’t know hunger or neglect or abuse. He had always known love. He knew he was lucky and he was grateful for it.
Still, none of it stopped him from being extremely frustrated sometimes, either, though, did it?
C’est la vie.
Just then, Forks swooped low above the courtyard, shrieking at a school owl that’d followed her a little too close — a few had tried to snap at her already, being so small and all, but she’d showered furious hot embers at them and had been angrily establishing herself as strictly not owl food ever since.
Sirius was proud of her. It was a bird-eat-bird world out there, after all.
A few minutes later, he spotted Dominique for the first time since the carriages —the only Weasley in history to be sorted outside Gryffindor— crossing the courtyard with a few of her fellow Ravenclaws, laughing and chatting with what Sirius could only label as “seventh-year confidence”.
He’d seen Rose and Mols walking around with a similar kind of ease, too, with their group of housemates snickering and teasing each other, except they were fifth-years like Scorpius.
Sirius sighed, his chest pinching. “I wish we were in the same year,” he complained aloud. “Why did you have to be born in August? Couldn’t you have waited a few more days?”
Scorpius laughed. “I would’ve held out if I’d known,” he answered. “Just for you.”
He looked at Sirius as he said that last bit. Sirius’ stomach flipped. He tried to laugh it off, snorting and knocking their knees. Scorpius just ducked his head and suppressed his grin.
Sirius decided a bit of affectionate mockery would be a good deflecting strategy. “So,” he said, “to circle back to your ginger thing—”
“Oh, Merlin.” Scorpius snorted, looking away. “Yes?”
Sirius grinned at him. “You’re not really attracted to all us Weasleys, are you?”
“No.” Scorpius smirked across the courtyard, squinting everywhere but Sirius. “Just Freddy, Hugo, Rose, and you.”
“Ah. Just the vaguely brown ones then.”
Scorpius let out a sudden bark of laughter. “What? No, that’s not— I mean—” He seemed to think about it, then said, “huh… yeah… I suppose there is a pattern there, isn’t there?”
Sirius was cackling. “But why?”
“Why do you think?”
Sirius faltered, thinking oh. Thinking, because of me…? But even as obvious as Scorpius was trying to say it, Sirius still couldn’t believe it.
“But… what is it specifically?” he asked. “I don’t understand.”
“Are you fishing for compliments?”
“No! I’m confused. I’m genuinely baffled. I’m…” He sighed, feeling the painful nag of dysphoria turning his thoughts dark and inward against himself, so he stepped back from that angle, and tried to look at it as a whole. “Come on, just go through it with me. What is it about each of us that you like so much? Is it just the colour combination?”
“No,” Scorpius said defensively, but he was laughing. “It’s just… okay, so… Freddy’s funny, isn’t he? Which is pretty. And Hugo’s really sweet when he wants to be, which is pretty, too. And Rose is clever, and… sort of rude… which, honestly, is just kind of sexy to me for some reason.”
Sirius made a strangled scoffing noise, heat sneaking up his neck into his face.
Scorpius went on without pause. “And you’re… well…”
Sirius winced, suddenly fearful that Scorpius was about to say he was all of those things, which he really didn’t want to hear because the idea alone made his stomach hurt.
Scorpius squinted. “Do you really want me to explain it?”
Sirius inhaled and said, “I don’t know… not if it’s going to be something weird. I don’t want to hear words like pretty or sexy.”
Scorpius nodded, swallowed, paused in thought, then glanced at the stone floor. “You’re just…” he began, “the kind of person who makes it hard to breathe properly. Like… I have to remember how a lot. Basically all the time, really.”
Sirius’ pulse skipped, catching somewhere in his throat. He didn’t feel any more enlightened. He just felt too warm and like his skin was going to fall off. He reached for levity — the safest weapon he had:
“Sounds like asthma.”
Scorpius just smiled. “Yeah. Maybe. I was cured of that when I was a toddler but it could’ve come back. You never know.”
Sirius accidentally giggled, which was humiliating, so he doubled down and made jokes about dragging Scorpius up to Madam Longbottom’s later for a check up, then they just sat in that golden afternoon quiet for a minute, shoulders almost touching.
“Merlin, Scor,” Sirius said at last. “Couldn’t you have said something boring, like… I’ve got nice eyes?”
Scorpius looked at him. “You don’t like your eyes?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Good, because your eyes are gorgeous,” Scorpius said, leaning back on his hands, watching Sirius with that maddening, easy grin. “I think they’re the reason green’s always been my favourite colour.”
Sirius tried to laugh, but it died in his chest. “Oh, God.”
Scorpius didn’t look away. Didn’t laugh. He wasn’t even smiling anymore. And he didn’t look nervous or disappointed or upset at all. He just looked thoughtful. “You asked why,” he murmured. “I answered. You said I could be honest. But… I can rein it in, if you want?”
Sirius made a groany noise. “It’s fine. Just… compliments are hard. I walked into it. My fault, I s’pose.”
“You didn’t used to like getting them,” Scorpius said. “But I don't know, you’re smiling, so…”
“I’m smiling because I’m extremely uncomfortable.”
“But you’re still here, so it can’t be too terrible, can it?”
Truthfully, after a childhood growing up in each other’s pockets, with fathers who’d been more or less infatuated with each other since they were in school, not to mention all the trauma bonding a year ago, at this point, Sirius wasn’t even sure he and Scorpius could function without each other. They were as written into each other’s lives as they could be without being actually related.
“I’m still here because you’d get lost without me,” was all he said, grumbling it faux-begrudgingly and shoving Scorpius lightly with his shoulder.
“Probably,” he admitted easily. He looked back towards the sunlight, smiling. “But even then I’d probably still look for you.”
Sirius didn’t reply. He couldn’t. The air between them was too full suddenly, all tangled and sunlit and impossible.
Somewhere, a teacher called out of a nearby window, warning of the lunch break coming to an end and afternoon classes beginning shortly, snapping the tension like breaking a spell.
Sirius pushed himself up, dusting off his robes. “Come on,” he said, forcing casualness into his voice. “You’ve got Potions, don’t you?”
Scorpius nodded. “And you Runes.”
Another class where Sirius could take part as much as the next student. He was excited. He’d always loved runes. His father would let him use his hand to draw them into the air while Sirius talked him through the sealing incantations. A few years ago they’d warded the bowtruckle nest together that way to protect them from the rats lurking under Grimmauld Place.
Scorpius brushed Sirius’ arm as he stood. Just enough for Sirius to feel it. Just enough to make it monumental, even if it hadn’t been intentional. Neither of them really talked as they headed inside and went their separate ways, but Sirius could feel the lingering warmth all the way to class, like Scorpius had left a bit of invisible Patronus magic behind just for him.
Later, after dinner, Sirius trailed after Scorpius down the echoing changing staircases toward the Slytherin dungeons, arms stacked with supplies and textbooks. The air grew cooler with every turn, the damp stone pressing in around them, tapestries swaying in the draft. Sirius tried to keep up the easy rhythm of conversation, tossing back little jokes about homework, the over-rich yet under-seasoned Hogwarts’ food, and how many times Hugo dropped his wand during Transfiguration, but underneath the chatter, he felt nerves prickle at his skin.
He’d never been this far into the dungeons before.
The Slytherin common room opened at Scorpius’ password, the stone wall sliding back to reveal the subterranean chamber. The dark walls smelled faintly of river-water, sweets, and old parchment. Shimmering emerald lamps threw shadows all around and made the place feel more secretive than welcoming.
Students lounged around the hearth. They all looked up when Sirius and Scorpius entered, their voices quietening instantly.
A beat of silence passed. Sirius felt eyes latch onto him, sizing him up.
“Er,” Scorpius said, voice thin. “We’ll just—”
“Not here,” a fifth-year interrupted without raising her eyes from her book, a polished Prefect badge gleaming on her chest. Her tone wasn’t cruel, exactly, but it wasn’t warm either. Her eyes fixed on Scorpius. “Potter’s not allowed.”
Sirius froze, embarrassment spiking hot in his throat. He was already halfway to backing out again with some dumb joke about “not wanting to breathe all the mildew anyway” when Scorpius spoke up.
“Chapman, relax,” he said. “He’s my guest.”
“So? You know the rules, Malfoy,” Chapman —Polly, Sirius recognised— insisted, sharper now. “Non-housemates aren’t permitted.”
A few boys Sirius recognised from his own year snickered behind her.
“That’s not really a rule and you know it,” Scorpius replied dismissively. “Your girlfriend’s a Gryffindor but you still invite her down here all the time.” His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried across the stone walls, sharp as a wand-tip. “So what is it you’re really trying to say?”
A ripple went through the room. Sirius caught the flicker of nerves in Scorpius’ throat as he swallowed. Chapman’s lips thinned, though she didn’t answer.
Sirius tugged Scorpius’ sleeve before it could drag on. “It’s fine,” he muttered, trying for lightness. “Let’s go.”
They left, the stone serpent sealing behind them into a blank wall, cutting off the firelight and cold glares. Sirius exhaled, trying to shrug off the sour lump in his throat.
“Well. That was fun.”
Scorpius muttered something unflattering under his breath about serpents, lions, and queer hypocrisy. Sirius elbowed him lightly to show none of it had stung him, even though it had.
“I’ve been thrown out of worse places,” he joked. “A few libraries. Boys’ and girls’ bathrooms. Even Great-Grandma Teenie’s hundred-and-twentieth birthday party the other week.” He hadn’t meant to let Forks set fire to one of the kneazles’ tails, but he hadn’t exactly done much to stop the chaos once it began either. “It's no biggie.”
Scorpius didn’t look any happier. In fact, he looked more miserable. “Being kicked out of toilets is a friggin’ tragedy, Syr. So is being shouldered out of dorm rooms you’ve already been invited to. Dear Dumbledore. Why does the world suck?”
Sirius tried not to smile, picking another strategy. “You’re like a different person at school, you know,” he said cheerily. “Where’d all that even come from? You were practically snarling.”
Scorpius frowned. “What? No I wasn’t.”
“Don’t deny it. Scor, you just took a theoretical swing at Prefect Polly Chapman. Even the fourth-years talk about her. She’s ruthless.”
Scorpius looked away, his ears pink. “I didn’t take a swing at her.”
“You basically did,” Sirius said, grinning. “It was excellent.”
Scorpius didn’t manage to bite down his grin.
“I thought you were, like… conflict allergic,” Sirius went on.
“I’m not conflict allergic,” Scorpius muttered. “I told you — I know how to hold my own. I just don’t like wasting my breath.”
Sirius watched him, gnawing on his lip, then shrugged. “Well,” he mumbled, chest hot. “It was very cool.”
Scorpius gave a small, crooked shrug.
They spent the evening in Sirius’ rooms, sprawled on the rug in front of the small hearth. Forks fluttered down from her perch at some point, trilling happily and glowing bright gold as she perched on Scorpius’ knee.
“Hey, Forky,” he said, tickling under her chin, earning a musical chirrup.
The boys chatted and bickered about nothing in particular for a while as they did their homework. Sirius teased Scorpius for always overorganising his potion ingredients. Scorpius teased Sirius for writing notes so fast it looked like a cryptic mix of chicken-scratch and short-twig runes. Their knees kept knocking. Neither of them moved away.
When a sharp tap-tap-tap rattled the windowpane, Scorpius got up to investigate.
His eagle owl, Bubo, sat impatiently on the ledge outside, dark feathers sleek behind the glass. Once Scorpius opened the window, Bubo swept inside with a cool rush of air, landed awkwardly on Forks’ too-small perch, and immediately fixed Scorpius with a stern glare for being kept waiting.
“Did you come all the way up here just to see me?” Scorpius asked her, stroking her feathers. Despite her mood, she preened under his touch, forgiving him quickly. “Good girl.”
Forks, in the same moment, abandoned Sirius’ shoulder and zipped across the room to land on the windowsill, skittering on the edge as close to the eagle owl as she could and puffing herself up to look twice her size, which was still extremely small compared. The contrast was ridiculous. Forks was but a scarlet tennis ball of magical warmth beside the large, dark, eagle owl’s foreboding form.
“Aw, she fancies her,” Scorpius said, grinning.
Sirius snorted. “Trust me, Forks, Bubo doesn’t have time for your nonsense.”
Scorpius’ smile became a little sheepish. Sirius suddenly became aware of the irony. Before he could think of anything to change the subject, Forks twittered and edged a little closer to Bubo on the ledge, glowing even brighter. The eagle owl snapped her beak, giving Forks a light, warning nip to keep her sparks in check.
“Lesbians,” Sirius declared solemnly.
Scorpius threw his head back and laughed.
They bantered until the hearth burned low, their laughter tumbling easily into comfortable quiet filled with scratching quills and rustling sweet wrappers.
At one point Scorpius leaned back against the sofa and Sirius found himself glaring at the high slope of his cheek and the curve of his smile in the firelight. And for a moment he wondered if he’d be able to feel Scorpius’ heartbeat if he leaned over and put his nose against his throat. He swallowed the thought down quickly.
Near curfew, a knock came at the bathroom door and Harry’s familiar voice called through: “Time to wrap it up, guys,” he said a moment before poking his head in.
Sirius groaned. “How did you even know he was in here?”
Harry just smirked. “Old Dad’s still got a few secrets left. Come on, Scorpius. I’ll walk you back.”
Scorpius got to his feet reluctantly, and despite the stubborn ache in Sirius’ chest wishing the evening could last a bit longer, he shoved on his shoes and followed them to the door, silently inviting himself along. Harry ushered them both along the corridor, leading the way toward the dungeons with Forks fluttering ahead like a charmed lantern.
When they parted ways at the stone gargoyle, Scorpius shot Sirius one last soft grin, and Sirius carried it with him all the way back upstairs — until he noticed Harry lingering outside his door.
“I heard you both the other day.”
Sirius’ stomach dropped. He squinted. “Did you?”
“Up in your room, yeah — your voices… carried.” Harry’s tone was gentle, probing. “Things sounded… heated.”
Warmth flooded Sirius’ face. He couldn’t tell if Harry was saying he’d heard exactly what the fight had been about or not. He could only pray he hadn’t.
“It wasn’t,” Sirius started, then bit down on saying anything else.
Harry glanced sideways at him. “You can talk to me.”
“There's nothing to talk about,” Sirius said quickly, maybe too quickly. His throat felt dry. “We just… didn’t see eye to eye on something. It’s fine now.”
Harry’s hand brushed his shoulder, warm. “I know coming here’s got to be an adjustment for both of you. But you’re as good as brothers. It’s normal to clash now and then.”
Sirius managed not to cringe, forcing a nod, keeping his eyes fixed on the flagstones. If his dad knew —if he ever even guessed what Sirius sometimes felt in the hollow of his chest when Scorpius grinned at him— he’d be horrified. Sirius was horrified. Step-brothers weren’t supposed to feel this way about each other. It was shameful.
So he bit his tongue, and when Harry tried to press again, Sirius only shrugged, muttered something about being tired, and slipped into his room as fast as he could.
Forks fluttered down to his pillow as he climbed into bed, her glow soft and consoling. Sirius turned his face into the blankets, wishing the warmth in his chest would dim as easily as the hoo-hoo’s light could.
Notes:
But, Harry, they’re already basically MARRIED!
Two more 🗝️ changes:
14. A hoo-hoo is a small canonical fire-bird native to Japan, but in my lore, all that is known about their magical abilities is that they’re “not as powerful or impressive” as phoenixes, therefore overlooked by the wizarding world; very symbolic to Sirius’ Squibness and transness.
15. Great-Grandma Teenie is, you guessed it, Tina Goldstein from Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. She and Newt Scamander (Poppin) will appear soon.
Walk good, and as always,
Happy reading.
J_animelover6 on Chapter 1 Mon 01 Dec 2025 10:36AM UTC
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notmuchmoretosay on Chapter 1 Mon 01 Dec 2025 02:25PM UTC
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NiknakKitKat on Chapter 2 Sun 07 Dec 2025 03:02AM UTC
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notmuchmoretosay on Chapter 2 Sun 07 Dec 2025 01:24PM UTC
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J_animelover6 on Chapter 2 Mon 08 Dec 2025 09:22PM UTC
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notmuchmoretosay on Chapter 2 Tue 09 Dec 2025 03:33AM UTC
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Kakuro (Guest) on Chapter 2 Thu 11 Dec 2025 09:52AM UTC
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notmuchmoretosay on Chapter 2 Thu 11 Dec 2025 03:31PM UTC
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Queliotislife on Chapter 3 Fri 12 Dec 2025 05:33PM UTC
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notmuchmoretosay on Chapter 3 Fri 12 Dec 2025 05:35PM UTC
Last Edited Fri 12 Dec 2025 07:00PM UTC
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Queliotislife on Chapter 3 Fri 12 Dec 2025 07:35PM UTC
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notmuchmoretosay on Chapter 3 Sat 13 Dec 2025 06:56AM UTC
Last Edited Sun 14 Dec 2025 09:39PM UTC
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