A little push is needed

Part 4

Harry had not really noticed when Scorpius Malfoy became a fixture in his week. At first it was just Scorpius stopping by to check on Albus's strange, temperamental plant, which Harry insisted was plotting his assassination, but the visits kept happening. Then they became regular. Then they became something Harry looked forward to in a way he did not dare examine.

Every visit began the same way.

"Morning, Harry," Scorpius would say gently, stepping inside with wind tossed hair and pink cheeks from Apparition. "Your plant is still alive, miraculously. I think it fears you."

"It should," Harry would reply, squinting at the vine that seemed to twitch whenever Scorpius was not looking. "I survived Voldemort. I will survive this shrub."

And then Scorpius would laugh, bright, warm, honest. A sound Harry had begun to crave in a way that felt both wonderful and dangerous.

Afterwards, they sat on the back porch with tea or butterbeer, the air crisp and cool, the garden a mess of nearly dead plants and heroic weeds. They talked about Quidditch, magical creatures, Albus's various adulting failures, and whatever odd package Luna had sent that week. It felt peaceful. Easy.

Too easy.
Dangerously easy.

One afternoon, while Harry was at the kitchen table pretending not to obsess over real estate adverts, Scorpius arrived just in time to catch him.

"Are you planning an escape," Scorpius asked, his smile tugging upward as he eyed the floating property listings.

Harry flushed. "I was just thinking. About maybe buying a cottage. Something small. Quiet. With land. Somewhere I can overwater innocent plants without witnesses."

Scorpius drifted closer, studying the enchanted map Harry had scribbled on. His brow lifted slightly. "This area, this is right by the old riding path. It is brilliant land, actually."

Harry blinked. "There was a riding path there."

"Abraxans, hippogriffs, stormwings," Scorpius said fondly. "My mum brought me once when I was little. The ground is still excellent for magical creatures."

"You are serious."

"I never joke about horses," Scorpius said primly. Then after a moment, "Well. Once."

Harry waited.

Scorpius cleared his throat. "It would be a stable investment."

Harry stared.

Scorpius's ears went pink. "Please never repeat that."

Harry laughed. "Would you come look at the land with me."

Scorpius's expression softened so quickly it made something inside Harry turn over. "You want my opinion."

"I want your company," Harry said. "And your expertise."

Scorpius's whole face warmed. "Then I would love to."

They Apparated to the countryside, landing beside an old hedgerow alive with birdsong. The hills stretched out in soft autumn gold, and Scorpius breathed in like the air itself was something he had missed.

"It is beautiful," he murmured.

Harry could not agree more.

Scorpius wandered ahead, his boots brushing through the grass as he cast soil diagnostics with an ease that made Harry smile. He moved with a quiet confidence, sunlight catching in his hair, the wind tugging gently at him like it wanted to keep him.

Harry watched him, and something inside him slipped.

A cottage at the edge of the field.
Two chairs on a porch.
Two cups on a little table, steaming in the cold morning air.
A narrow bedroom with rumpled sheets.
A second pillow dented.
Scorpius in one of Harry's jumpers at the window, smiling sleepily.