A Summer in Pastels: Chapter Two
**
_aurora_sky_was nice enough to do a little piece of art to accompany this chapter of the fic! :D So yay, you guys get a bonus if you read.!**
Prompts: bare feet, potato salad, boat trip, Hot in the City lyrics, Under the Boardwalk lyrics, Thnks Fr th Mmrs lyrics
Title: A Summer In Pastels: Chapter Two
Author:
savedglory
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4,399
Summary: Calista wants to move forward, but Albus seems stuck, especially when an engagement party with the Pattinsons turns into something of a disaster.
Notes: Sequel to Sketches of Saint Tropez and chapter two of A Summer in Pastels. The bit of art is, of course, by
_aurora_sky_.
A Summer in Pastels: Chapter Two
Albus’ flat was decorated comfortably in cool blues and warm browns, the textures reminiscent of Muggle vintage appeal. In the main entry stood a long hallway and a small closet barely big enough for two winter cloaks. This is why most people merely Apparated in, because, as Grandma Weasley put it, walking through Albus Potter’s entryway was like trying to fit a troll in a teacup - it just wasn’t going to happen. But once one made it through the hallway, the room expanded into a cozy and moderately-sized living area, off of which a small kitchenette deterred. Continuing down the hallway, a small bedroom and combination shower/bathroom could be found, along with several cupboards just large enough to store Albus’ things. Off the living area stood the balcony, which was Albus’ favorite place in the entire apartment, as it was almost larger than his kitchen, and he had been able to fit the hammock there, along with a bistro set, where he was most often found mornings enjoying a cup of tea and some toast before work.
It was, for all intents and purposes, a bachelor pad, even if Albus was not the quintessential bachelor himself. And while most days saw the flat as clean as possible in case of a surprise visit from his mother or fiancé, today found it stretched floor to ceiling with large canvases full of paintings, pages of sketches ripped from his art book, and the splattering here and there of acrylics.
Sitting barefoot in the middle of the chaos was Albus, red and yellow paint smudged on his toes, cheeks, and fingertips, like a small kid who had just discovered the excitement of fingerpainting. An old t-shirt that Aunt Hermione had given him several Christmases ago clung tight to his toned body, ruined in several artistic places by accidental smatters of black paint, and ancient jeans were rolled up just so to combat the sudden summer heat that was currently ripping its way through the city. The room smelled of fumes, though Albus had opened the balcony door a crack to air it out.
When Calista Apparated into the flat, her eyes went wide and she took a step back, one of her yellow pumps slicing straight through the edge of one of the sketches with a slow and horrid crackle. For an instant, it looked at though she was going to Disapparate out of pure confusion, but when her eyes fell on Albus, sitting so calm as he was with paintbrush in hand, she hesitated. “I…didn’t know you could paint,” she said, lifting her heel and plucking the sketch of an old man from the bottom of her shoe. Flushed, she grinned a little at him as she looked from sketch to artist. “I have to say, though I should be alarmed at just how messy you’ve managed to make this place over the past week, I find you to be unbearably sexy right now, Albus.”
Albus looked up, grinning back at her, fully unaware of the paint on his face, which he smeared as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Yeah?” he asked, eyes a little greener in his excitement.
Calista giggled and shook her head, tiptoeing her way around the art littering his floor towards the balcony. She wore a yellow sundress and a large white and yellow hat, and Albus thought her even more incredibly beautiful, almost to the point that she was untouchable, some piece of artwork come to life.
“Don’t let it get to your head, Al,” she warned in a sing-song manner as she nudged several drawings aside to get through. “Besides, how sexy you are right now is completely irrelevant to how horrid it smells in here! It’s a wonder you’re not high, honestly.” She pulled the balcony door open another inch or two. Removing the yellow sunhat she wore in, she fanned herself, and her full lips were swollen with the summer heat. “What?” she asked, flushed just so on her pink cheeks, her sharp jaw somehow feminine as the natural light fell upon it.
“I’ve just missed you,” Albus said, his voice hoarse from disuse.
“You’ve got a funny way of showing it - skipping dinners, never bothering to owl with an apology.” Though she rolled her eyes and folded her arms, it was clear to Albus that she was teasing, even if her sentiments carried several ounces of truth in them. “But…this is what you’ve been up to? May I see?”
“They’re kind of hard to miss,” Albus said, waving his hand to the surrounding portraits of people he’d never met, thankful his sketchbook with the old drawings of Scorpius were well hidden away under his mattress.
With a quirky lift of her brow, Calista crouched carefully down, her yellow dress fanning about her like an exquisite sail. Albus’ fingers ached and yet still twitched, ready to draw her silhouette or paint her yellow outline against a warm canvas. The way her light hair fell in tender slivers, like a waterfall in soft pastels, made him wish he hadn’t ignored her for the past week, that he had owled, that he had bloody showered more than twice or bothered to shave, and he was quite sure he looked like shit, but for the first time he was truly physically attracted to her, and part of him wondered if the painful kind of coil in his gut was the kind of lust he was supposed to have for her.
Calista chose several paintings, lifting each and examining them with warm eyes. Thoughtfully, she finally said, “You’ve talent, there’s no doubt.” Standing again, she brushed her skirts down and sighed. “But you are in absolutely no condition to go for a boat trip.”
The look on Albus’ face was unmistakably confused at first and then slowly, realization dawned on him. “Sailing,” he said dismally, “With your parents.” He threw his paintbrush down with a wordless curse and leaned his weight back onto his palms as he stretched out and let his head roll back on his shoulders. The last thing he wanted to do was change into ‘nice clothes’ and go sailing with the Pattinsons.
Nodding, Calista collapsed elegantly in a plush brown couch, which had been pushed to the back of the wall to give Albus room for his art. Toying with the lace on her hat, she shrugged. “I suppose I can reschedule. Tell them you’re sick.” Looking towards the bright, warm city beyond Albus’ balcony, her pale lips pressed to a concerned sort of pout. “Again.”
“No, that’s stupid.” At the look on Calista’s face, he amended, “To lie, I mean. It’s not worth it. Give me half an hour and I’ll be ready.”
“In half an hour, we’ll be half an hour late. You promised you would be ready, but I’m starting to wonder if your promises aren’t very sincere these days.”
“Half hour. I swear.” Albus stood up, grinning, and leaned over to kiss Calista’s forehead. “See? I swore - didn’t promise at all.”
Calista grinned in return and rolled her eyes. “Take a shower and I’ll magic you shaved. Fifteen minutes, tops.”
“Deal.”
********
The boat was smaller than Albus would have thought, though then again he had never been on one himself, as his own parents didn’t have spare ships or yachts hanging about like the Pattinsons did. Calista had told him several times about her father’s passion for sailing, that she used to go with him every summer, that she even knew all the nautical terms and places of interest along the coast. But Albus had never thought too much about it. It simply wasn’t…well…interesting to him. It wasn’t exciting like Quidditch or enticing like art - it was just climbing aboard a ship and letting the wind guide you. Poetic, certainly; but interesting it was not.
One of the Pattinson’s favorite house elves (Bitty) joined them on the boat, and she had managed to cater an entire table full of delectable summer treats - from potato salad to roast chicken and vegetables, there was literally something for everyone. And Albus found out quite quickly why there was so much food laid out - the small boat trip was apparently a bigger deal than Calista let on, as the Malfoys had come to join them.
Scorpius stood off to the side as Albus and Calista boarded, his hair once again taking on a thick curl to it, which led credibility to Albus’ earlier thoughts of the boy’s hair curling due to the seawater. All the Malfoys were dressed impeccably, especially Scorpius who was dressed nearly head to toe in flawless white, which only made Albus feel worse about not exactly being prepared for the trip. While Calista had assured him her shaving spell that she had perfected over the years (how did Albus think she got her legs so smooth all the time?) had smoothed his face, he was still sure the horrid kind of “5o’clock shadow” he had this morning was still there and she was just being polite to get him out of the house quickly. Dressed in a pair of khaki slacks, t-shirt, and unbuttoned overshirt, Albus at least thought he was dressed properly. At least he was clean, looked nice.
Not that any of it was for Malfoy’s sake.
As Albus helped Calista over the threshold where dock met boat, he caught Scorpius’ pale eyes from across the small space. Standing beside his parents, the whole image brought back memories Albus wasn’t comfortable with. He could still remember Mrs. Malfoy’s tone towards Scorpius at the way he was dressed at the party in Saint Tropez, could still see Mr. Malfoy’s anxiety when Scorpius announced he wanted to chat with his grandparents, and worst of all he remembered very suddenly the look on Scorpius’ face when his grandfather had cautioned him against his ‘lifestyle’, threatening to take away the entire inheritance for his family. At the time, such moments had prompted Albus to sleep with Scorpius, and with a horrid pang of regret, he let his mind wander to that time, to how amazing it felt with Malfoy’s thin lips against his own, to feel the other boy inside him, throbbing.
Calista seemed to quickly take note of Albus’ somewhat hesitant stance as she clenched his hand a bit tighter and guided him towards her family. “You remember Albus,” she said invitingly.
Mr. Pattinson extended his hand firmly and as Albus took it clasped him on the back in a rather awkward embrace. “Nice to see you again, Al,” he said.
Mr. Pattinson had the kind of look about him that suggested he had once smelled something truly awful and had yet to shake the scent from his upturned nose. Albus was very often thankful Calista didn’t have her father’s nose, or the ogre like height that made him lurch a bit when greeting those that didn’t meet his stature…which included 95% of the population. He was quite pale with wild blonde hair, even at his age, and narrow eyes, the color of which Calista had indeed inherited.
Mrs. Pattinson moved forward and embraced Albus gently, her waspish blonde hair tied up in an elaborate bun atop her head. “You’re late,” she hummed in his ear, just low enough that Calista, who was waving the Malfoys closer, couldn’t hear. She smelled heavily of perfume and liquor, a combination that made Albus lightheaded.
He tensed a bit and just smiled as politely as he could. “I was, uh -”
“Albus, I’d like you to meet the Malfoys,” Calista interrupted. This is my Aunt Astoria and -”
“We’ve met,” Draco said coolly, canting his head towards Albus.
“In Saint Tropez, several summers ago,” Astoria added, though she presented Albus with a kind, warm smile, the sort Albus knew Scorpius would have if he ever bothered to have an expression outside of a sneer or grin. “It is so nice to see you again.” Astoria clasped Albus’ hands tenderly and Albus felt his cheeks flush with heat as she glanced to her son, as if she knew all that had taken place between them nearly three summers ago. Well, she must have known, but it was more awkward knowing she knew.
“You vacationed in Saint Tropez?” Calista asked as she glanced from Astoria to Albus and then to Scorpius. “With the Malfoys?”
“Not…not with them, really,” Albus stammered, stepping back from Mrs. Malfoy’s warm greeting.
“He attended a party with me,” Scorpius said smoothly, shrugging nonchalantly as if attending parties with Scorpius Malfoy were as natural to Albus as breathing.
“I thought you weren’t friends with Scorpius?” Calista asked, and Albus felt every single person turn to look at him.
The weight of the moment settled firmly onto his shoulders.
“I’m not,” he finally said, a little too firmly. “I mean...you know, we really didn’t know one another…at Hogwarts, anyway, and-”
“It was pure chance we met in Saint Tropez,” Scorpius said, his attention focused on Calista, who was staring back at him with the kind of look she normally reserved for criminals she captured on the field. “I was bored and invited him to the party. I haven’t seen him since. Well…except for the other day at the Ministry.”
Albus couldn’t bear to continue the subject any further and though he tried to smile, just when his lips had almost curled into that happy design he remembered punching Malfoy’s face, the blood, pushing him against the wall. The things the other boy had said…the sketchbook…Saint Tropez.
“I was fairly rude,” Scorpius amended with another shrug. “It’s no wonder you slugged me, Albus. I forgive you, though.”
Albus paled a bit, helplessly. “I didn’t…I mean -”
“You don’t have to defend it, Al,” Mr. Pattinson said with a roll of his eyes. “Scorpius does quite a lot to land himself into some kind of trouble or the next, so I am sure he deserved a good blow to the nose.”
To Albus’ surprise, even Draco began nodding. “Hopefully your punch was strong enough to rattle him out of being so rude next time.”
It shocked Albus that Scorpius just stood there, a façade of absolute disinterest, as if he always had a crowd of people putting him down straight to his face. Something about the look in the other boy’s eyes when they caught Albus’ pained him, made him wonder if Scorpius wasn’t just a callous prick but someone who had to hear his entire lifestyle put down so constantly, even from those he loved, that it had hardened his emotions beyond repair.
“Still,” Albus said slowly, extending his hand to Scorpius, “I am sorry, mate. I…lost my temper.”
The way Scorpius looked at him then was very nearly tender, his pale blue eyes turned to Albus with something akin to skepticism. Maybe he hadn’t expected anyone to defend him or maybe he was just surprised it was Albus who had done so. Either way, he had somehow managed to unnerve Malfoy.
“I’m sure he provoked you,” Mrs. Pattinson said, and out of the corner of his eyes Albus could see Astoria’s shoulders tighten.
Scorpius tipped his head to the side, blue eyes alight as he extended his hand shook Albus’ gently, giving his fingers a squeeze. “I suppose I ought to forgive you, considering we’ll be related soon.” He grinned wickedly, all tenderness erased from his features, and as Albus visibly tensed, he only seemed to get more joy out of it.
“Good to hear, boys,” Mr. Pattinson said, clasping them both on their shoulders, though Albus got the distinct impression that he could not have cared any less if they got along or not.
“Merlin’s beard,” Draco drawled, waving to the dock, “We haven’t even embarked yet.”
“Your parties do often begin so tirelessly, Daphne,” Astoria added, sneering a little as Mrs. Pattinson flushed.
“I’ll start us off then,” Mr. Pattinson said. “Al, will you go below and bring up the wine and champagne? We’ve got quite a bit of toasting to do!”
“Of course,” Albus said, removing his hand from Scorpius’ with a jarring tug. Turning, he gave a faint smile to Calista to let her know he was alright, but as he soon as he had descended the stairs to the cabin below, he brushed his hair out of his face with the strong, severe kind of grip one might use to rip one’s hair out. His skin felt tightened, overheated, and he longed to be asleep in his bed or at least as far removed from this situation as would be humanly possible. He was a train when he was hateful, emotions pounding at every angle of his body.
Though Albus had made a show of accepting Scorpius, of saying he was sorry for punching him, he certainly wasn’t. He just wished whatever antagonism was left between them could be sorted out so he didn’t have to worry about the other boy making some kind of scene again.
With Scorpius onboard, Albus feared he wouldn’t be able to be himself, to show Calista’s family that was sincere, that he was ready. Maybe he wasn’t ready and that was the problem. Maybe he was just insecure, unsure. Maybe he shouldn’t have proposed. Albus had, until recently, been looking forward to the future, but now, it felt like everything was cloudy and impaired. Scorpius had the single and horrid ability to make him feel things he didn’t want to feel, to remember the things he tried so hard to push from his mind.
“I don’t think you’ll find the champagne in the bedskirts,” Scorpius drawled.
Albus looked up. He wasn’t even aware he’d taken a seat on the edge of the bed with his face in his hands, but there it was. And there he was, standing in the doorway, sheathed in the hot summer light that was leaking down into the cabin from above, like some fallen angel come to taunt him mercilessly. Helpless against the other boy’s obvious beauty, Albus’ heart pounded thickly against his ribcage. He could feel every pulse, every beat, knocking against his teeth.
“I’m coming,” he said, but he found his voice hoarse and ragged, like he hadn’t spoken in days, and he was horrified to note his eyes were stinging. Stumbling to his feet, he turned from Scorpius and moved about in search of the wines and champagnes, which he eventually found in a small cabinet. When he turned around, he was face to face with Scorpius but glad of the fact that several bottles he cradled in his arms kept them from touching. Skirting back, Albus searched the other boy’s gaze, which was focused on him, electric and chilling in its honest and obvious desire. “We should go back up.”
“You don’t sound very convincing.”
“Please don’t touch me,” Albus hissed, and he stumbled back, setting the bottles down to immediately retrieve his wand, holding it out before him with trembling sincerity. “I don’t know why I bother asking nicely when you’ve always been deaf to my concerns.”
Scorpius stilled, and slowly raised his hands with a careless kind of chuckle. “In Auror mode, I see. I thought perhaps the sketchbook would have changed that.”
Albus’ nostrils flared as he breathed in and out, attempting without success to calm himself. Muscles taut, he didn’t lower his wand, somewhat enjoying the slight upper hand he gained over Malfoy, who didn’t appear to have brought his own wand or if he had had managed to hide it well.
“I still don’t see why you had it,” he said finally.
“I wanted to see what you drew.”
Albus scoffed, and for some reason his eyelids stung sharply again. “Of you, you mean.”
“I was always frank about my intentions to see your drawings,” Scorpius said, lowering his hands and daring to step further, his eyes on Albus and not the wand pointed at his heart. “I wanted to see how you felt about me.”
“And you couldn’t have, what, asked me about that?” Without giving Scorpius a chance to answer, Albus scoffed again as he released a long, heavy exhale. “You can’t keep doing this.”
“Keep doing what?”
“Ruining things. For me. For Calista.”
“Your marriage isn’t going to be ruined by a few little taunts of mine unless you agree that they are truthful, that the things I’m saying are your real thoughts as well.”
“What thoughts?” Albus asked, eyes raking over Scorpius. He could feel the situation getting out of hand, and it was painful.
“About me, about Calista, about your art.” Scorpius’ gaze swept the length of Albus’ body as he took another step forward, reaching up to gingerly touch Albus’ wrist, guide his wand hand down to his side. “Pick a subject, Albus. They’re all so very interesting to me,” he added with a chuckle.
“Knock it off!” The strength returned to Albus very suddenly. He shoved Scorpius away and pocketed his wand with the same kind of mirthless chuckle Malfoy was so good at. “You need to get it through your head, Malfoy - we are not friends, we are not acquaintances, we aren’t even anything! You - you are absolutely nothing to me, do you not understand that? You’re just this worthless little shit that fucks with everybody because you think it’s amusing, or you’re bored, or you’re just scared to think that if you actually went for someone attainable, someone serious, that you might actually have to bloody grow up and have some kind of serious relationship rather than meaningless snogs on the beach with all your fuckfriends. You’re just pathetic. Completely pathetic. And you know what? I’m done with it. I don’t give a shit what you say, what you do - in the end, it’s about me and what I want, not what you can force upon me.”
Albus’ mind was racing and he gritted his teeth against how horrid he felt saying those things, even when saying them made him want to go on, rip at whatever was left of Malfoy’s dignity, make the prat feel the same kind of disgusted, self-loathing pain he felt every day in Saint Tropez. But to his surprise, Scorpius smiled, a very sad, gentle kind of smile, as his pale eyes rose to rest on Albus’ gaze.
“Is that what you think? You know, I think what has you so upset is that you have this very odd, painful view of how I treated you, when in all honesty I have never said or done anything that wasn’t obvious to you from the start, have I?”
“You bloody left me after you fucked me,” Albus hissed, voice low to ensure no one above would hear. “How’s that for honesty then?”
Scorpius rolled his eyes. “You’ve got this grand, evil picture painted of me, haven’t you?” Scorpius moved forward, the look in his eyes something Albus couldn’t quite discern, though it made his stomach turn uncomfortably. “I must have seduced you because I was bored. After I had my way with you, obviously I never wanted to see you again. Then of course, you fucked me under the boardwalk, down by the sea in Saint Tropez. And because I am such a bloody fuck, I left you again. Do I have the story straight now, Potter?”
Albus tensed. Suddenly, there were a lot of holes in his anger, a lot of aspects missing to what he had always deemed a very simple story.
“Or do you recall,” Scorpius went on, “that before I seduced you, I confessed things to you that I have never shared with anyone else in my life? Did you ever bother to think that the night you saw me sitting out by the pool, I hadn’t left you but had things on my mind? I suppose you wouldn’t care to remember that in the same night my grandfather had threatened to take away not only my inheritance but also my father’s? And of course, you don’t remember that I grabbed your wrist to make you stop before you unceremoniously left me under the boardwalk, nor that I swiped your artwork because I knew you’d burn it if I didn’t, and maybe I thought it was bloody good. Worst of all, Potter,” Scorpius said, and at this point Albus couldn’t breathe for wanting to hear what could be worse than all the rest of his explanations, “I’m sure the thought never crossed your mind as to why I wanted you in the first place. It certainly couldn’t have been because I liked you, because I had liked you since Hogwarts but you had never bothered to notice.”
Albus opened his mouth slowly but found that whatever he wanted to say sounded foolish and untimely. “It’s not like I can read your mind,” he finally said, chest heaving with every breath. “You’re never forthright, about anything.”
“I’m quite sure everything is my fault then,” Scorpius said with a shrug and moved away, towards the stairs.
Above them, Albus heard the wood creak at the top step, and though his heart jumped in anxiety, he reached out to grip Malfoy’s wrist. It felt slim and almost weak in his hand. The other boy stumbled at the tug, falling in against him, and when their eyes met, their faces were barely an inch apart.
“Whatever feelings you have for me,” Albus said quietly, “Whatever was between us in the past… It has to be the past.” His eyes searched Scorpius’. “You know that.”
“I think you’re just very lonely, and Calista is quite beautiful.”
“It’s not about how pretty she is, Malfoy,” Albus hissed, some part of him wanting to bite Scorpius then, to shut him up. “I’m not that superficial.”
“I didn’t say anything about superficial, Potter.” Scorpius reached up and pressed his palm lightly to Albus’ cheek, and Albus felt moved beyond measure for once at the tenderness that radiated from the other boy. “I just think you admire her beauty, as any artist would admire a perfect sculpture or painting.”
“But I love her,” Albus defended, his voice weak and his eyes stinging with tears. “Please don’t… You’re running everything. I was so happy.”
“You were?” Scorpius pulled away very slowly, and though Albus had ample time to stop him from going, he felt powerless to do so. “My mistake then.”
_aurora_sky_was nice enough to do a little piece of art to accompany this chapter of the fic! :D So yay, you guys get a bonus if you read.!**
Prompts: bare feet, potato salad, boat trip, Hot in the City lyrics, Under the Boardwalk lyrics, Thnks Fr th Mmrs lyrics
Title: A Summer In Pastels: Chapter Two
Author:
savedglory
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4,399
Summary: Calista wants to move forward, but Albus seems stuck, especially when an engagement party with the Pattinsons turns into something of a disaster.
Notes: Sequel to Sketches of Saint Tropez and chapter two of A Summer in Pastels. The bit of art is, of course, by
_aurora_sky_.
A Summer in Pastels: Chapter Two
Albus’ flat was decorated comfortably in cool blues and warm browns, the textures reminiscent of Muggle vintage appeal. In the main entry stood a long hallway and a small closet barely big enough for two winter cloaks. This is why most people merely Apparated in, because, as Grandma Weasley put it, walking through Albus Potter’s entryway was like trying to fit a troll in a teacup - it just wasn’t going to happen. But once one made it through the hallway, the room expanded into a cozy and moderately-sized living area, off of which a small kitchenette deterred. Continuing down the hallway, a small bedroom and combination shower/bathroom could be found, along with several cupboards just large enough to store Albus’ things. Off the living area stood the balcony, which was Albus’ favorite place in the entire apartment, as it was almost larger than his kitchen, and he had been able to fit the hammock there, along with a bistro set, where he was most often found mornings enjoying a cup of tea and some toast before work.
It was, for all intents and purposes, a bachelor pad, even if Albus was not the quintessential bachelor himself. And while most days saw the flat as clean as possible in case of a surprise visit from his mother or fiancé, today found it stretched floor to ceiling with large canvases full of paintings, pages of sketches ripped from his art book, and the splattering here and there of acrylics.
Sitting barefoot in the middle of the chaos was Albus, red and yellow paint smudged on his toes, cheeks, and fingertips, like a small kid who had just discovered the excitement of fingerpainting. An old t-shirt that Aunt Hermione had given him several Christmases ago clung tight to his toned body, ruined in several artistic places by accidental smatters of black paint, and ancient jeans were rolled up just so to combat the sudden summer heat that was currently ripping its way through the city. The room smelled of fumes, though Albus had opened the balcony door a crack to air it out.
When Calista Apparated into the flat, her eyes went wide and she took a step back, one of her yellow pumps slicing straight through the edge of one of the sketches with a slow and horrid crackle. For an instant, it looked at though she was going to Disapparate out of pure confusion, but when her eyes fell on Albus, sitting so calm as he was with paintbrush in hand, she hesitated. “I…didn’t know you could paint,” she said, lifting her heel and plucking the sketch of an old man from the bottom of her shoe. Flushed, she grinned a little at him as she looked from sketch to artist. “I have to say, though I should be alarmed at just how messy you’ve managed to make this place over the past week, I find you to be unbearably sexy right now, Albus.”
Albus looked up, grinning back at her, fully unaware of the paint on his face, which he smeared as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Yeah?” he asked, eyes a little greener in his excitement.
Calista giggled and shook her head, tiptoeing her way around the art littering his floor towards the balcony. She wore a yellow sundress and a large white and yellow hat, and Albus thought her even more incredibly beautiful, almost to the point that she was untouchable, some piece of artwork come to life.
“Don’t let it get to your head, Al,” she warned in a sing-song manner as she nudged several drawings aside to get through. “Besides, how sexy you are right now is completely irrelevant to how horrid it smells in here! It’s a wonder you’re not high, honestly.” She pulled the balcony door open another inch or two. Removing the yellow sunhat she wore in, she fanned herself, and her full lips were swollen with the summer heat. “What?” she asked, flushed just so on her pink cheeks, her sharp jaw somehow feminine as the natural light fell upon it.
“I’ve just missed you,” Albus said, his voice hoarse from disuse.
“You’ve got a funny way of showing it - skipping dinners, never bothering to owl with an apology.” Though she rolled her eyes and folded her arms, it was clear to Albus that she was teasing, even if her sentiments carried several ounces of truth in them. “But…this is what you’ve been up to? May I see?”
“They’re kind of hard to miss,” Albus said, waving his hand to the surrounding portraits of people he’d never met, thankful his sketchbook with the old drawings of Scorpius were well hidden away under his mattress.
With a quirky lift of her brow, Calista crouched carefully down, her yellow dress fanning about her like an exquisite sail. Albus’ fingers ached and yet still twitched, ready to draw her silhouette or paint her yellow outline against a warm canvas. The way her light hair fell in tender slivers, like a waterfall in soft pastels, made him wish he hadn’t ignored her for the past week, that he had owled, that he had bloody showered more than twice or bothered to shave, and he was quite sure he looked like shit, but for the first time he was truly physically attracted to her, and part of him wondered if the painful kind of coil in his gut was the kind of lust he was supposed to have for her.
Calista chose several paintings, lifting each and examining them with warm eyes. Thoughtfully, she finally said, “You’ve talent, there’s no doubt.” Standing again, she brushed her skirts down and sighed. “But you are in absolutely no condition to go for a boat trip.”
The look on Albus’ face was unmistakably confused at first and then slowly, realization dawned on him. “Sailing,” he said dismally, “With your parents.” He threw his paintbrush down with a wordless curse and leaned his weight back onto his palms as he stretched out and let his head roll back on his shoulders. The last thing he wanted to do was change into ‘nice clothes’ and go sailing with the Pattinsons.
Nodding, Calista collapsed elegantly in a plush brown couch, which had been pushed to the back of the wall to give Albus room for his art. Toying with the lace on her hat, she shrugged. “I suppose I can reschedule. Tell them you’re sick.” Looking towards the bright, warm city beyond Albus’ balcony, her pale lips pressed to a concerned sort of pout. “Again.”
“No, that’s stupid.” At the look on Calista’s face, he amended, “To lie, I mean. It’s not worth it. Give me half an hour and I’ll be ready.”
“In half an hour, we’ll be half an hour late. You promised you would be ready, but I’m starting to wonder if your promises aren’t very sincere these days.”
“Half hour. I swear.” Albus stood up, grinning, and leaned over to kiss Calista’s forehead. “See? I swore - didn’t promise at all.”
Calista grinned in return and rolled her eyes. “Take a shower and I’ll magic you shaved. Fifteen minutes, tops.”
“Deal.”
********
The boat was smaller than Albus would have thought, though then again he had never been on one himself, as his own parents didn’t have spare ships or yachts hanging about like the Pattinsons did. Calista had told him several times about her father’s passion for sailing, that she used to go with him every summer, that she even knew all the nautical terms and places of interest along the coast. But Albus had never thought too much about it. It simply wasn’t…well…interesting to him. It wasn’t exciting like Quidditch or enticing like art - it was just climbing aboard a ship and letting the wind guide you. Poetic, certainly; but interesting it was not.
One of the Pattinson’s favorite house elves (Bitty) joined them on the boat, and she had managed to cater an entire table full of delectable summer treats - from potato salad to roast chicken and vegetables, there was literally something for everyone. And Albus found out quite quickly why there was so much food laid out - the small boat trip was apparently a bigger deal than Calista let on, as the Malfoys had come to join them.
Scorpius stood off to the side as Albus and Calista boarded, his hair once again taking on a thick curl to it, which led credibility to Albus’ earlier thoughts of the boy’s hair curling due to the seawater. All the Malfoys were dressed impeccably, especially Scorpius who was dressed nearly head to toe in flawless white, which only made Albus feel worse about not exactly being prepared for the trip. While Calista had assured him her shaving spell that she had perfected over the years (how did Albus think she got her legs so smooth all the time?) had smoothed his face, he was still sure the horrid kind of “5o’clock shadow” he had this morning was still there and she was just being polite to get him out of the house quickly. Dressed in a pair of khaki slacks, t-shirt, and unbuttoned overshirt, Albus at least thought he was dressed properly. At least he was clean, looked nice.
Not that any of it was for Malfoy’s sake.
As Albus helped Calista over the threshold where dock met boat, he caught Scorpius’ pale eyes from across the small space. Standing beside his parents, the whole image brought back memories Albus wasn’t comfortable with. He could still remember Mrs. Malfoy’s tone towards Scorpius at the way he was dressed at the party in Saint Tropez, could still see Mr. Malfoy’s anxiety when Scorpius announced he wanted to chat with his grandparents, and worst of all he remembered very suddenly the look on Scorpius’ face when his grandfather had cautioned him against his ‘lifestyle’, threatening to take away the entire inheritance for his family. At the time, such moments had prompted Albus to sleep with Scorpius, and with a horrid pang of regret, he let his mind wander to that time, to how amazing it felt with Malfoy’s thin lips against his own, to feel the other boy inside him, throbbing.
Calista seemed to quickly take note of Albus’ somewhat hesitant stance as she clenched his hand a bit tighter and guided him towards her family. “You remember Albus,” she said invitingly.
Mr. Pattinson extended his hand firmly and as Albus took it clasped him on the back in a rather awkward embrace. “Nice to see you again, Al,” he said.
Mr. Pattinson had the kind of look about him that suggested he had once smelled something truly awful and had yet to shake the scent from his upturned nose. Albus was very often thankful Calista didn’t have her father’s nose, or the ogre like height that made him lurch a bit when greeting those that didn’t meet his stature…which included 95% of the population. He was quite pale with wild blonde hair, even at his age, and narrow eyes, the color of which Calista had indeed inherited.
Mrs. Pattinson moved forward and embraced Albus gently, her waspish blonde hair tied up in an elaborate bun atop her head. “You’re late,” she hummed in his ear, just low enough that Calista, who was waving the Malfoys closer, couldn’t hear. She smelled heavily of perfume and liquor, a combination that made Albus lightheaded.
He tensed a bit and just smiled as politely as he could. “I was, uh -”
“Albus, I’d like you to meet the Malfoys,” Calista interrupted. This is my Aunt Astoria and -”
“We’ve met,” Draco said coolly, canting his head towards Albus.
“In Saint Tropez, several summers ago,” Astoria added, though she presented Albus with a kind, warm smile, the sort Albus knew Scorpius would have if he ever bothered to have an expression outside of a sneer or grin. “It is so nice to see you again.” Astoria clasped Albus’ hands tenderly and Albus felt his cheeks flush with heat as she glanced to her son, as if she knew all that had taken place between them nearly three summers ago. Well, she must have known, but it was more awkward knowing she knew.
“You vacationed in Saint Tropez?” Calista asked as she glanced from Astoria to Albus and then to Scorpius. “With the Malfoys?”
“Not…not with them, really,” Albus stammered, stepping back from Mrs. Malfoy’s warm greeting.
“He attended a party with me,” Scorpius said smoothly, shrugging nonchalantly as if attending parties with Scorpius Malfoy were as natural to Albus as breathing.
“I thought you weren’t friends with Scorpius?” Calista asked, and Albus felt every single person turn to look at him.
The weight of the moment settled firmly onto his shoulders.
“I’m not,” he finally said, a little too firmly. “I mean...you know, we really didn’t know one another…at Hogwarts, anyway, and-”
“It was pure chance we met in Saint Tropez,” Scorpius said, his attention focused on Calista, who was staring back at him with the kind of look she normally reserved for criminals she captured on the field. “I was bored and invited him to the party. I haven’t seen him since. Well…except for the other day at the Ministry.”
Albus couldn’t bear to continue the subject any further and though he tried to smile, just when his lips had almost curled into that happy design he remembered punching Malfoy’s face, the blood, pushing him against the wall. The things the other boy had said…the sketchbook…Saint Tropez.
“I was fairly rude,” Scorpius amended with another shrug. “It’s no wonder you slugged me, Albus. I forgive you, though.”
Albus paled a bit, helplessly. “I didn’t…I mean -”
“You don’t have to defend it, Al,” Mr. Pattinson said with a roll of his eyes. “Scorpius does quite a lot to land himself into some kind of trouble or the next, so I am sure he deserved a good blow to the nose.”
To Albus’ surprise, even Draco began nodding. “Hopefully your punch was strong enough to rattle him out of being so rude next time.”
It shocked Albus that Scorpius just stood there, a façade of absolute disinterest, as if he always had a crowd of people putting him down straight to his face. Something about the look in the other boy’s eyes when they caught Albus’ pained him, made him wonder if Scorpius wasn’t just a callous prick but someone who had to hear his entire lifestyle put down so constantly, even from those he loved, that it had hardened his emotions beyond repair.
“Still,” Albus said slowly, extending his hand to Scorpius, “I am sorry, mate. I…lost my temper.”
The way Scorpius looked at him then was very nearly tender, his pale blue eyes turned to Albus with something akin to skepticism. Maybe he hadn’t expected anyone to defend him or maybe he was just surprised it was Albus who had done so. Either way, he had somehow managed to unnerve Malfoy.
“I’m sure he provoked you,” Mrs. Pattinson said, and out of the corner of his eyes Albus could see Astoria’s shoulders tighten.
Scorpius tipped his head to the side, blue eyes alight as he extended his hand shook Albus’ gently, giving his fingers a squeeze. “I suppose I ought to forgive you, considering we’ll be related soon.” He grinned wickedly, all tenderness erased from his features, and as Albus visibly tensed, he only seemed to get more joy out of it.
“Good to hear, boys,” Mr. Pattinson said, clasping them both on their shoulders, though Albus got the distinct impression that he could not have cared any less if they got along or not.
“Merlin’s beard,” Draco drawled, waving to the dock, “We haven’t even embarked yet.”
“Your parties do often begin so tirelessly, Daphne,” Astoria added, sneering a little as Mrs. Pattinson flushed.
“I’ll start us off then,” Mr. Pattinson said. “Al, will you go below and bring up the wine and champagne? We’ve got quite a bit of toasting to do!”
“Of course,” Albus said, removing his hand from Scorpius’ with a jarring tug. Turning, he gave a faint smile to Calista to let her know he was alright, but as he soon as he had descended the stairs to the cabin below, he brushed his hair out of his face with the strong, severe kind of grip one might use to rip one’s hair out. His skin felt tightened, overheated, and he longed to be asleep in his bed or at least as far removed from this situation as would be humanly possible. He was a train when he was hateful, emotions pounding at every angle of his body.
Though Albus had made a show of accepting Scorpius, of saying he was sorry for punching him, he certainly wasn’t. He just wished whatever antagonism was left between them could be sorted out so he didn’t have to worry about the other boy making some kind of scene again.
With Scorpius onboard, Albus feared he wouldn’t be able to be himself, to show Calista’s family that was sincere, that he was ready. Maybe he wasn’t ready and that was the problem. Maybe he was just insecure, unsure. Maybe he shouldn’t have proposed. Albus had, until recently, been looking forward to the future, but now, it felt like everything was cloudy and impaired. Scorpius had the single and horrid ability to make him feel things he didn’t want to feel, to remember the things he tried so hard to push from his mind.
“I don’t think you’ll find the champagne in the bedskirts,” Scorpius drawled.
Albus looked up. He wasn’t even aware he’d taken a seat on the edge of the bed with his face in his hands, but there it was. And there he was, standing in the doorway, sheathed in the hot summer light that was leaking down into the cabin from above, like some fallen angel come to taunt him mercilessly. Helpless against the other boy’s obvious beauty, Albus’ heart pounded thickly against his ribcage. He could feel every pulse, every beat, knocking against his teeth.
“I’m coming,” he said, but he found his voice hoarse and ragged, like he hadn’t spoken in days, and he was horrified to note his eyes were stinging. Stumbling to his feet, he turned from Scorpius and moved about in search of the wines and champagnes, which he eventually found in a small cabinet. When he turned around, he was face to face with Scorpius but glad of the fact that several bottles he cradled in his arms kept them from touching. Skirting back, Albus searched the other boy’s gaze, which was focused on him, electric and chilling in its honest and obvious desire. “We should go back up.”
“You don’t sound very convincing.”
“Please don’t touch me,” Albus hissed, and he stumbled back, setting the bottles down to immediately retrieve his wand, holding it out before him with trembling sincerity. “I don’t know why I bother asking nicely when you’ve always been deaf to my concerns.”
Scorpius stilled, and slowly raised his hands with a careless kind of chuckle. “In Auror mode, I see. I thought perhaps the sketchbook would have changed that.”
Albus’ nostrils flared as he breathed in and out, attempting without success to calm himself. Muscles taut, he didn’t lower his wand, somewhat enjoying the slight upper hand he gained over Malfoy, who didn’t appear to have brought his own wand or if he had had managed to hide it well.
“I still don’t see why you had it,” he said finally.
“I wanted to see what you drew.”
Albus scoffed, and for some reason his eyelids stung sharply again. “Of you, you mean.”
“I was always frank about my intentions to see your drawings,” Scorpius said, lowering his hands and daring to step further, his eyes on Albus and not the wand pointed at his heart. “I wanted to see how you felt about me.”
“And you couldn’t have, what, asked me about that?” Without giving Scorpius a chance to answer, Albus scoffed again as he released a long, heavy exhale. “You can’t keep doing this.”
“Keep doing what?”
“Ruining things. For me. For Calista.”
“Your marriage isn’t going to be ruined by a few little taunts of mine unless you agree that they are truthful, that the things I’m saying are your real thoughts as well.”
“What thoughts?” Albus asked, eyes raking over Scorpius. He could feel the situation getting out of hand, and it was painful.
“About me, about Calista, about your art.” Scorpius’ gaze swept the length of Albus’ body as he took another step forward, reaching up to gingerly touch Albus’ wrist, guide his wand hand down to his side. “Pick a subject, Albus. They’re all so very interesting to me,” he added with a chuckle.
“Knock it off!” The strength returned to Albus very suddenly. He shoved Scorpius away and pocketed his wand with the same kind of mirthless chuckle Malfoy was so good at. “You need to get it through your head, Malfoy - we are not friends, we are not acquaintances, we aren’t even anything! You - you are absolutely nothing to me, do you not understand that? You’re just this worthless little shit that fucks with everybody because you think it’s amusing, or you’re bored, or you’re just scared to think that if you actually went for someone attainable, someone serious, that you might actually have to bloody grow up and have some kind of serious relationship rather than meaningless snogs on the beach with all your fuckfriends. You’re just pathetic. Completely pathetic. And you know what? I’m done with it. I don’t give a shit what you say, what you do - in the end, it’s about me and what I want, not what you can force upon me.”
Albus’ mind was racing and he gritted his teeth against how horrid he felt saying those things, even when saying them made him want to go on, rip at whatever was left of Malfoy’s dignity, make the prat feel the same kind of disgusted, self-loathing pain he felt every day in Saint Tropez. But to his surprise, Scorpius smiled, a very sad, gentle kind of smile, as his pale eyes rose to rest on Albus’ gaze.
“Is that what you think? You know, I think what has you so upset is that you have this very odd, painful view of how I treated you, when in all honesty I have never said or done anything that wasn’t obvious to you from the start, have I?”
“You bloody left me after you fucked me,” Albus hissed, voice low to ensure no one above would hear. “How’s that for honesty then?”
Scorpius rolled his eyes. “You’ve got this grand, evil picture painted of me, haven’t you?” Scorpius moved forward, the look in his eyes something Albus couldn’t quite discern, though it made his stomach turn uncomfortably. “I must have seduced you because I was bored. After I had my way with you, obviously I never wanted to see you again. Then of course, you fucked me under the boardwalk, down by the sea in Saint Tropez. And because I am such a bloody fuck, I left you again. Do I have the story straight now, Potter?”
Albus tensed. Suddenly, there were a lot of holes in his anger, a lot of aspects missing to what he had always deemed a very simple story.
“Or do you recall,” Scorpius went on, “that before I seduced you, I confessed things to you that I have never shared with anyone else in my life? Did you ever bother to think that the night you saw me sitting out by the pool, I hadn’t left you but had things on my mind? I suppose you wouldn’t care to remember that in the same night my grandfather had threatened to take away not only my inheritance but also my father’s? And of course, you don’t remember that I grabbed your wrist to make you stop before you unceremoniously left me under the boardwalk, nor that I swiped your artwork because I knew you’d burn it if I didn’t, and maybe I thought it was bloody good. Worst of all, Potter,” Scorpius said, and at this point Albus couldn’t breathe for wanting to hear what could be worse than all the rest of his explanations, “I’m sure the thought never crossed your mind as to why I wanted you in the first place. It certainly couldn’t have been because I liked you, because I had liked you since Hogwarts but you had never bothered to notice.”
Albus opened his mouth slowly but found that whatever he wanted to say sounded foolish and untimely. “It’s not like I can read your mind,” he finally said, chest heaving with every breath. “You’re never forthright, about anything.”
“I’m quite sure everything is my fault then,” Scorpius said with a shrug and moved away, towards the stairs.
Above them, Albus heard the wood creak at the top step, and though his heart jumped in anxiety, he reached out to grip Malfoy’s wrist. It felt slim and almost weak in his hand. The other boy stumbled at the tug, falling in against him, and when their eyes met, their faces were barely an inch apart.
“Whatever feelings you have for me,” Albus said quietly, “Whatever was between us in the past… It has to be the past.” His eyes searched Scorpius’. “You know that.”
“I think you’re just very lonely, and Calista is quite beautiful.”
“It’s not about how pretty she is, Malfoy,” Albus hissed, some part of him wanting to bite Scorpius then, to shut him up. “I’m not that superficial.”
“I didn’t say anything about superficial, Potter.” Scorpius reached up and pressed his palm lightly to Albus’ cheek, and Albus felt moved beyond measure for once at the tenderness that radiated from the other boy. “I just think you admire her beauty, as any artist would admire a perfect sculpture or painting.”
“But I love her,” Albus defended, his voice weak and his eyes stinging with tears. “Please don’t… You’re running everything. I was so happy.”
“You were?” Scorpius pulled away very slowly, and though Albus had ample time to stop him from going, he felt powerless to do so. “My mistake then.”