Folie à Deux, Chapter 17/18 | AS/S, H/D | R
Title: Folie à Deux
Author: persepolis130
Rating: R
Pairing(s): AS/S, H/D, others
Word Count: novel length
Warnings: underage sex, het, language
Summary: Scorpius Malfoy wears a permanent invisibility cloak and dreams of growing wings. Al wishes he were half that cool (and has the nail polish to prove it).
CHAPTER 1 / CHAPTER 2 / CHAPTER 3 / CHAPTER 4 / CHAPTER 5 / CHAPTER 6 / CHAPTER 7 / CHAPTER 8 / CHAPTER 9 / CHAPTER 10 / CHAPTER 11 / CHAPTER 12 / CHAPTER 13 / CHAPTER 14 / CHAPTER 15 / CHAPTER 16
Note: The book Score is reading is called The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde. It's fabulous and creepy, and you should read it!
CHAPTER 17
Grandfather is still odd and incoherent from learning of my sexual proclivities. It's a bad idea to leave me with him. Father is off trying to find Mummy at expensive Belizean resorts. Al is at his grandparents', and they're asleep by now.
Dad takes me to stay with The Professor. They hiss at each other in the kitchen. Percy lights more candles and asks if I want tea.
I tell him I don't.
"Are you excited about the Tournament?" he asks. "Isn't it quite interesting having foreign students in the school? I was an integral part of the Tournament held just before the War, you know, the one that Head Auror Potter won. I stood in for one of the judges, a very big responsibility for a young man just out of Hogwarts. Very dramatic. I'm sure you've read about it, the situation concerning Mr Crouch…"
He keeps talking, but I don't hear. I just smile and nod and watch his lips move. They look soft. His breath smells like wine.
The Professor storms into the room. Glares at me.
I raise my hand and flick my fingers to shoo him. "Percy is imparting wisdom," I say.
Percy laughs. "It's fine, Severus, I don't mind him staying. It's only one night."
"It is your last night here," The Professor insists.
Percy shrugs. "I know you'll make it up to me."
"You," The Professor points a finger at my face, "are an inconvenient brat."
"Please don't traumatize him any further, Snape," Dad says. He slumps out of the kitchen and runs a hand through his hair. "I've got to get in to the office. I really appreciate it, Percy."
"Not at all, sir," Percy tells him.
Dad sighs. "We're not at work. How many times have I asked you not to call me sir when we're not at work?"
"I'm not sure, sir," Percy replies. "Would you like me to run a report?"
Dad stares.
"Of course, it would only be an estimation, unless you'd like me to record from this point forth and average the--"
"Please," Dad says. "Please no more reports, oh my god!"
"You can run me a report, Percy," I say. "Any time of day or night."
"You're sure you're alright?" Dad asks me. Rubs his knuckles across my chin. "You seem alright, but I won't leave you if you're not. Dark Arts will still be around in the morning, and if I've got to spend Christmas with them, then so be it. Ugh, those damned Idols…"
I nod. "I'm with Percy," I tell him.
"I have a way with young people," Percy assures him.
"I like when you have your way with me, Percy," I agree.
The Professor makes a noise.
"You owe me, Snape," Dad tells him. "This is the least you can do."
He snarls but says nothing.
Dad musses my hair, nods to Percy and steps out the front door. The crack of his Apparition rattles the hinges.
Percy turns to The Professor. Crosses his arms. "And what exactly do you owe him for this time?" he asks.
"The object was for him not to overwork," he says. "What sort of imbecile purposefully gives himself hives? I want him out of my hair at the Ministry so that I might accomplish some actual work, as well as… various unnameable endeavours of which you're quite aware. "
Percy raises his eyebrows. Drums his fingers against his elbow.
"The curses are linked," The Professor tells him. "I can't negate one without getting rid of them all simultaneously. And I know you don't want that."
"I didn't ask for curses! All I asked was for a bit of privacy so that--" he clears his throat and glances at me. "This is neither the time, nor the place. But it does make me distinctly unhappy when you do these things, Severus. He is my boss."
"I've done nothing wrong," The Professor claims.
"I can't believe the Dark Lord didn't see through you," I tell him. "Also, have you washed your hair?" It looks clean. Maybe that's how he intends to keep Dad out of it?
His logic escapes me.
He opens his mouth to answer, but Percy shakes his head pats him on the shoulder. "I'm getting another drink," he says. "Actually, several." Saunters out of the room.
The Professor watches him go. Tilts his head. Turns to me and clears his throat.
"You should be nicer to Percy," I tell him.
"I am nice to Percy on a regular basis," he tells me, "which has been made irregular by your unwelcome arrival."
"At least let him redecorate the house," I advise.
"You shall stay here," he says. "In this room. You shall plant your backside on that sofa," he points, "and read. Or sleep. Or twiddle your thumbs and think of wings. Whatever it is you prefer to do when you are summarily not bothering other people."
I tell him, "I need to fix my hair first. Dad messed it up."
He blinks at the word Dad.
"Severus!" Percy calls. "I have a glass of Merlot with your name on it!"
"Does he mean that in the literal sense?" I ask.
He sneers and spits, "Behave yourself!"
"I will," I say. Then, when he's closed the door: "Badly."
After I fix my hair, I find the book Percy was reading before. The one he dropped ash on. I pull it from its clamshell case and sit.
Muggle book. Gilt lettering, bit of restoration to the spine tail. Must be famous to have cost so much. I open it.
Tale of a young Muggle who charms his portrait to take on the true image of his wrongs, whilst he stays beautiful and innocent looking forever. He stares in awe at the cruel twist to his painted lips after he's caused the suicide of his fiancée.
I'm thinking of how horrid it would be to kill yourself over someone who could never love you as much as his own reflection, when Percy walks in. A glass of red wine rests in his hand, his fingers twisted around the stem. "Ah, I should've guessed," he says. "Oscar Wilde."
"He fairly gushes with bon mots," I tell him.
He leans on the back of my chair. The wine sloshes but doesn't spill. I set the book aside just in case. It would be bad if The Professor killed him. "Could I try some, Percy?" I ask.
He smiles, lopsided. Hands me the glass. I find where he's put his lips, and drink from there.
"Up to Malfoy standards?" he asks.
I nod and hand it back. It slips from his grasp and spills on his fingers before I can catch it. He swears.
"It's fine," I tell him. I mop up with my robes. My fingers brush the back of his hand.
He says, "Hmm," and knocks back the last of it. Sets the glass under the chair. Wobbles as he stands.
"Are you drunk?" I ask.
He laughs. "You're a good boy, Scorpius," he tells me. "I like you."
"I like you, too," I say. "You're barely slurring."
He drapes himself over the chair. "Are you alright? Severus says you've had a bad time of things tonight. Arguments, divorces…" Waves a hand in the air. "Literary homoeroticism…"
"I'd like you even if you did slur," I assure him. "Those last two were very big words." And he looks so handsome no matter how he talks.
"Well, I'd like you if you slurred, too," he says. Grins and sways. Rests his chin on the chair back and gazes down at me.
His dark robes bleed into the night, his face soft in the light of the candles. The curve of his jaw, pink in his cheeks from the alcohol. Deep, intoxicating eyes. Parted lips.
His cheek is warm.
The faintest hint of stubble prickles my fingertips as I run them across it. Tingles my senses. I trace down with my fingers until they reach his lips. Moist with wine. Soft as silk.
My breath catches in my chest.
He says something I don't hear because my heart is beating in my ears. His breath puffs against my skin.
I think of Rose and her peony kisses, being wrapped up with her, around, beneath, within. I hear the noises she made, feel her hands on my shoulders, thighs around my waist. How it felt to find my release inside her.
It was nothing compared to this.
Percy's fingers close around mine. "Scorpius, please," he murmurs.
The world shifts back into focus, scent of flowers still hanging in the air. He sets my hand in my lap. It looks small and pale against my robes. Callus from where my quill rests. Clear lacquer on the nails.
"You misunderstand me," Percy says.
"I don't," I tell him. "Nothing has ever been clearer."
The Professor's voice: "What in Merlin's name are you doing?"
Percy tells me, "Perhaps you should read something a bit more… innocuous." Pats me on the head.
The Professor takes hold of his arm and guides him back into the kitchen. They talk in low tones, Percy laughs and I go back to the book. Nothing innocuous in this house.
I realise Percy's left his glass.
"Percy?" I say, and bring it into the kitchen.
They're not there.
A bottle of wine sits empty on the countertop. Beside it another, half drank, and one glass. Drop of purple-red in the bottom.
I refill Percy's glass.
The back door sticks. I jiggle the handle and open it a crack.
Their voices from the garden.
"Though I don't understand why, when it's clear the boy is enamoured of you," The Professor is saying.
"Come now, you're overreacting," Percy responds. "He's just a boy. I would never."
"I know a bit about what you would and would not do, Percy Weasley," The Professor tells him. "It's shocking on a number of levels."
Percy laughs. You can hear the drink in his voice. "How many levels, do you think? More than the usual?"
"Perhaps not for a Slytherin, but for a former Gryffindor Head Boy…"
"Too bad I'm not wearing my pin, we could play detention. That's your favourite, isn't it? Teach the naughty child his lesson… right, Professor? Potions master… Headmaster… Master of…"
I don't catch the last bit, and they go silent.
I step outside. Look for them with one hand on the doorknob. Wine glass in the other. Percy shouldn't be out in such a state. Talking gibberish and laughing at things that aren't funny.
A foot grinds against gravel, and I catch sight of them by a tree. Black figures in a sea of dim grey. Light flares, and Percy brings a cigarette to his mouth.
"When I met Audrey, I swore I wouldn't do this any more," he says. "I made a promise to myself."
"Filthy habit," The Professor tells him.
He snorts. "Not the cigarettes. This. You know what I'm saying."
"Considering your current state of inebriation, I probably know what you're saying before you manage to get it out. You do realise that we've had this conversation before, do you not?"
"I was ashamed. Well, not ashamed, but I… Some days it felt as though people could tell just looking at me…"
"They could tell looking at you now," The Professor says.
Percy laughs and twists behind the tree, so I can't see him. The Professor follows.
He murmurs something like, "I don't mind the curses."
Odd noises, and I grasp the knob tighter. It's cold against my skin.
Percy's laugh again, breathless, and he swings back into view. Light of the cigarette shifts as he raises his hand to his mouth.
"Stop playing coy," The Professor tells him. "We both know you're not."
He exhales. "You know, I didn't think you were serious when you propositioned me," he says.
"I didn't proposition you," The Professor says. "I told you to proposition me. And I wasn't serious. I hated the sight of you. Leave it to a Gryffindor to take every word literally. Have you ever been quite this intoxicated in my presence before?"
"I'm barely even drunk," Percy tells him.
He snorts.
"You like Gryffindors, don't you?" Percy asks. "They're your favourite. Little golden boys. Best to toy with. Best to corrupt. Best to--" he leans in, and I don't catch the word. His face close to The Professor's in the moonlight.
The Professor clears his throat. "I admit, they do have their… appeal…"
Percy laughs again, throws his head back. Stumbles toward the tree. Leans against it and takes another drag. My eyes are used to the night now, and I see the line of his jaw, the curve of his lips.
"No one else now. Don't you dare, Severus. Only me," he says.
The Professor shouldn't be touching him. Should take his nasty fingers off Percy's neck.
"I believe I've more than compensated for that temporary oversight," he says.
Too close to Percy. Head tilted, lips near his chin.
Percy murmurs, "Did you really think he'd be better? Let you do things to him I wouldn't? Hadn't even been with a man before…"
"Now Percy," he chides, as though to a small child, "you know it wasn't my head I was thinking with if, indeed, I was thinking at all. Revenge is too sweet."
"Ah, so it was about his father, then? Here and I thought it was because of his--"
"Have I not atoned?" The Professor cuts across him. "Passed him on to his rightful owner? Is Draco Malfoy not handing his estranged wife divorce papers as we speak?"
"Mmm," says Percy, and brings his hand to the Professor's cheek. Tilts his hips toward the man. "Really, should we? The boy is just inside, Severus. I told you, I'm not that drunk… or maybe I am…"
But I'm not inside. I'm here, watching. Invisible. Push him away, Percy. Make him stop.
He'll blackmail you.
But Percy doesn't. He laughs-- always laughing with The Professor, always-- and whispers something.
The Professor's hand slides across his chest. He murmurs, "You would ask for that."
Percy laughs.
The Professor drops to his knees.
I shouldn't look, it feels wrong in my stomach, but I can't stop. His arm reaching under Percy's robes. Percy spreading his legs and throwing the robes over The Professor's head. Laughing, laughing.
My jaw trembles.
Percy brings his cigarette to his lips. Takes a drag and rolls his head back against the tree trunk. Smoke seeps from his lips. His eyes close. Brow creases.
He gasps.
Obscene noises from under his robes. The Professor shifts, the horror of his form concealed except his boots, which bite into the dirt. Bodiless nightmare, demon succubus.
"Oh, fuck," murmurs Percy. "Fuck fuck fuck--"
Stop, stop, please Percy, don't let him. Don't do this. Not you! Please--
Mouth wide, eyes squeezed shut, chest lifting. Cigarette held in the air, other hand on the head between his thighs.
"Higher, higher… push… harder, like you're going to--" he groans, "oh, Merlin! Ah! AH!"
I don't know how I get into the house. The door is shut behind me. The air still and quiet. The Professor's wine glass sits on the countertop.
The silence deafens. My footfalls resound like thunderclaps. My hand slides against the wood of the sitting room door like the grating of sandpaper. It closes behind me like an explosion.
Dorian Gray sits beside the chair, his portrait grown more hideous with his wrongs. I run my fingers over the type, indented from the old press. So gorgeous.
"How could you have?" I ask. It doesn't answer.
I throw it against a bookshelf.
It slides down in Omniocular slow motion, hits the ground with a dull thud. Upside-down, its spine broken. Pages twisted and bent in disarray.
How could you have? You were different. Special. I would have given anything. It's not right. Not fair. It's wrong, all wrong, and I can't do anything, it's all shit and it's not fair!
Signed by the author, first edition 1891, one of a kind, beautiful, and now look at it. Broken and beaten on the floor. Ruined!
I hate The Professor. HATE him. Want to kill him like that book, rip him limb from limb, tear him apart page by page. KILL HIM!
The room shakes, but it's not the room, it's me. I'm shaking, I can't take it. Not Percy. No. No, no, no, no no nononono--
All of it gone. All of it. I want it all gone, nothing left, and this ache will leave. No wand in my hand but something else that stings, and something burns inside me.
The room swims in red, and the book bursts into flame.
Pages crinkle and spark, Dorian's life going up in smoke, and the shelf behind it catches fire. The old parchment ignites, and dozens of priceless manuscripts curl and blacken. So easy to destroy, these precious things. So easy to watch them smoke and spread the flame. The entire wall ablaze.
Window coverings catch, and I wish it would hurry. Want it all gone. Everything burnt, nothing but husks of beauty and knowledge.
But it's horrible.
I hate The Professor, but I hate this, too. My heart on fire like the books, and I'm trapped inside it. Tearing at the fabric of the curtain in my mind, fingers bloody. Percy on the other side, I can almost reach him. But The Professor's covered him with draperies, wrapped him up tight.
Percy moans in ecstasy.
I can't breathe. Can't see. The curtains smother me, smoke in my eyes. My sister's unmade cries ring in my ears. The room is a circle of fire, and I cough and cover my eyes.
Run for the Floo.
I hit the grate of the Burrow so hard, I tumble onto the floor. Everything as it always is: nothing clouding my mind. Silent, peaceful.
Wrong.
A noise from the sofa. Al sits up.
"Score?" he mutters. Wipes at his eyes. "What are you doing here? Is everything alright? Is your dad okay? They're not really breaking up, are they?"
I say nothing, and he stands. Lights a candle.
"Oh my god, what happened to you!" he cries. "You're bleeding!"
I look down and raise my hand. Blood oozes down my fingers and onto the carpet. I unclench my fist and find the remains of Percy's wine glass. Deep slices from the broken glass.
"Let me see it," he says. Hands warm against my skin. Blood spilling over his fingers. "Oh my god, what did you do?"
I try to say it, but my voice won't work. My head swims, and his face blurs.
"Score--"
I fall into him, bury my face in his robes, and I cry.
I cry for Percy, losing him forever, and Al because I couldn't bear to see him go. I cry for Mummy and Father, Grandmother and Grandfather, and my little baby sister whom I miss more than anything and will never get to know. I cry for her snuggling in my bed when she has nightmares, her first day of school and the boy she'd one day love who will now be forever without her. For myself, because I'm without her, too.
I cry because life is awful, and beautiful, and if I had to hold it in any longer, I'd burst.
Al strokes my hair and says it'll be okay. He says shh and it's alright when I tell him about it-- about everything, gushing like a broken tap, and I can't make the words stop.
When I've said it all, I tell him I love him, say it over and over until I can't say it anymore, until someone else is there. Mrs Weasley, examining my wound. Her hand on my forehead, worry in her eyes.
The worry: I see it now. How she feels. That she feels.
And so do I.
I feel scared, and sad, and angry, and helpless. Lost and abandoned. I feel loved, and protected, and wanted. The curtain is gone, lying in tatters on the floor at my feet. I step over it.
"I think there's something wrong with me," I whisper.
"Shh," says Al. He cradles me against him. Strokes my cheek. "You'll be fine, I promise. You're just confused. It's hard. Life is hard. But we love you, and you're going to be fine."
"Father's divorcing her," I say. "Right now. He's divorcing my Mummy." Makes me want to cry again.
"But that's good! Right? Pretty soon, we'll be brothers," he tells me. Smiles angelically down at me.
Mr Weasley comes in and looks at my hand. Says I should go to St Mungo's.
"He's fine, Arthur, I'll brew something up for that scratch in no time," she says. "You just go back to bed, nothing to worry about. Now if I can just find that copy of Healer's Helpmate…"
Al holds me as she pulls a sliver of glass from my palm and slathers on the salve. Strokes his thumb against my neck. Rubs my shoulder.
"There, see? All better," he whispers.
"I'm tired," I tell him.
"Yeah, it's three in the morning," he says. "That's normal."
"I ache like I haven't slept in years," I say.
He sighs. Kisses my forehead.
Feels so good. Warm hands, soft lips, sinking into Al's feelings like bathwater. "Lips," I whisper, wanting to drown in him. "Lips next."
Dad chooses this moment to enter the house.
FINAL CHAPTER
Author: persepolis130
Rating: R
Pairing(s): AS/S, H/D, others
Word Count: novel length
Warnings: underage sex, het, language
Summary: Scorpius Malfoy wears a permanent invisibility cloak and dreams of growing wings. Al wishes he were half that cool (and has the nail polish to prove it).
CHAPTER 1 / CHAPTER 2 / CHAPTER 3 / CHAPTER 4 / CHAPTER 5 / CHAPTER 6 / CHAPTER 7 / CHAPTER 8 / CHAPTER 9 / CHAPTER 10 / CHAPTER 11 / CHAPTER 12 / CHAPTER 13 / CHAPTER 14 / CHAPTER 15 / CHAPTER 16
Note: The book Score is reading is called The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde. It's fabulous and creepy, and you should read it!
CHAPTER 17
Grandfather is still odd and incoherent from learning of my sexual proclivities. It's a bad idea to leave me with him. Father is off trying to find Mummy at expensive Belizean resorts. Al is at his grandparents', and they're asleep by now.
Dad takes me to stay with The Professor. They hiss at each other in the kitchen. Percy lights more candles and asks if I want tea.
I tell him I don't.
"Are you excited about the Tournament?" he asks. "Isn't it quite interesting having foreign students in the school? I was an integral part of the Tournament held just before the War, you know, the one that Head Auror Potter won. I stood in for one of the judges, a very big responsibility for a young man just out of Hogwarts. Very dramatic. I'm sure you've read about it, the situation concerning Mr Crouch…"
He keeps talking, but I don't hear. I just smile and nod and watch his lips move. They look soft. His breath smells like wine.
The Professor storms into the room. Glares at me.
I raise my hand and flick my fingers to shoo him. "Percy is imparting wisdom," I say.
Percy laughs. "It's fine, Severus, I don't mind him staying. It's only one night."
"It is your last night here," The Professor insists.
Percy shrugs. "I know you'll make it up to me."
"You," The Professor points a finger at my face, "are an inconvenient brat."
"Please don't traumatize him any further, Snape," Dad says. He slumps out of the kitchen and runs a hand through his hair. "I've got to get in to the office. I really appreciate it, Percy."
"Not at all, sir," Percy tells him.
Dad sighs. "We're not at work. How many times have I asked you not to call me sir when we're not at work?"
"I'm not sure, sir," Percy replies. "Would you like me to run a report?"
Dad stares.
"Of course, it would only be an estimation, unless you'd like me to record from this point forth and average the--"
"Please," Dad says. "Please no more reports, oh my god!"
"You can run me a report, Percy," I say. "Any time of day or night."
"You're sure you're alright?" Dad asks me. Rubs his knuckles across my chin. "You seem alright, but I won't leave you if you're not. Dark Arts will still be around in the morning, and if I've got to spend Christmas with them, then so be it. Ugh, those damned Idols…"
I nod. "I'm with Percy," I tell him.
"I have a way with young people," Percy assures him.
"I like when you have your way with me, Percy," I agree.
The Professor makes a noise.
"You owe me, Snape," Dad tells him. "This is the least you can do."
He snarls but says nothing.
Dad musses my hair, nods to Percy and steps out the front door. The crack of his Apparition rattles the hinges.
Percy turns to The Professor. Crosses his arms. "And what exactly do you owe him for this time?" he asks.
"The object was for him not to overwork," he says. "What sort of imbecile purposefully gives himself hives? I want him out of my hair at the Ministry so that I might accomplish some actual work, as well as… various unnameable endeavours of which you're quite aware. "
Percy raises his eyebrows. Drums his fingers against his elbow.
"The curses are linked," The Professor tells him. "I can't negate one without getting rid of them all simultaneously. And I know you don't want that."
"I didn't ask for curses! All I asked was for a bit of privacy so that--" he clears his throat and glances at me. "This is neither the time, nor the place. But it does make me distinctly unhappy when you do these things, Severus. He is my boss."
"I've done nothing wrong," The Professor claims.
"I can't believe the Dark Lord didn't see through you," I tell him. "Also, have you washed your hair?" It looks clean. Maybe that's how he intends to keep Dad out of it?
His logic escapes me.
He opens his mouth to answer, but Percy shakes his head pats him on the shoulder. "I'm getting another drink," he says. "Actually, several." Saunters out of the room.
The Professor watches him go. Tilts his head. Turns to me and clears his throat.
"You should be nicer to Percy," I tell him.
"I am nice to Percy on a regular basis," he tells me, "which has been made irregular by your unwelcome arrival."
"At least let him redecorate the house," I advise.
"You shall stay here," he says. "In this room. You shall plant your backside on that sofa," he points, "and read. Or sleep. Or twiddle your thumbs and think of wings. Whatever it is you prefer to do when you are summarily not bothering other people."
I tell him, "I need to fix my hair first. Dad messed it up."
He blinks at the word Dad.
"Severus!" Percy calls. "I have a glass of Merlot with your name on it!"
"Does he mean that in the literal sense?" I ask.
He sneers and spits, "Behave yourself!"
"I will," I say. Then, when he's closed the door: "Badly."
After I fix my hair, I find the book Percy was reading before. The one he dropped ash on. I pull it from its clamshell case and sit.
Muggle book. Gilt lettering, bit of restoration to the spine tail. Must be famous to have cost so much. I open it.
Tale of a young Muggle who charms his portrait to take on the true image of his wrongs, whilst he stays beautiful and innocent looking forever. He stares in awe at the cruel twist to his painted lips after he's caused the suicide of his fiancée.
I'm thinking of how horrid it would be to kill yourself over someone who could never love you as much as his own reflection, when Percy walks in. A glass of red wine rests in his hand, his fingers twisted around the stem. "Ah, I should've guessed," he says. "Oscar Wilde."
"He fairly gushes with bon mots," I tell him.
He leans on the back of my chair. The wine sloshes but doesn't spill. I set the book aside just in case. It would be bad if The Professor killed him. "Could I try some, Percy?" I ask.
He smiles, lopsided. Hands me the glass. I find where he's put his lips, and drink from there.
"Up to Malfoy standards?" he asks.
I nod and hand it back. It slips from his grasp and spills on his fingers before I can catch it. He swears.
"It's fine," I tell him. I mop up with my robes. My fingers brush the back of his hand.
He says, "Hmm," and knocks back the last of it. Sets the glass under the chair. Wobbles as he stands.
"Are you drunk?" I ask.
He laughs. "You're a good boy, Scorpius," he tells me. "I like you."
"I like you, too," I say. "You're barely slurring."
He drapes himself over the chair. "Are you alright? Severus says you've had a bad time of things tonight. Arguments, divorces…" Waves a hand in the air. "Literary homoeroticism…"
"I'd like you even if you did slur," I assure him. "Those last two were very big words." And he looks so handsome no matter how he talks.
"Well, I'd like you if you slurred, too," he says. Grins and sways. Rests his chin on the chair back and gazes down at me.
His dark robes bleed into the night, his face soft in the light of the candles. The curve of his jaw, pink in his cheeks from the alcohol. Deep, intoxicating eyes. Parted lips.
His cheek is warm.
The faintest hint of stubble prickles my fingertips as I run them across it. Tingles my senses. I trace down with my fingers until they reach his lips. Moist with wine. Soft as silk.
My breath catches in my chest.
He says something I don't hear because my heart is beating in my ears. His breath puffs against my skin.
I think of Rose and her peony kisses, being wrapped up with her, around, beneath, within. I hear the noises she made, feel her hands on my shoulders, thighs around my waist. How it felt to find my release inside her.
It was nothing compared to this.
Percy's fingers close around mine. "Scorpius, please," he murmurs.
The world shifts back into focus, scent of flowers still hanging in the air. He sets my hand in my lap. It looks small and pale against my robes. Callus from where my quill rests. Clear lacquer on the nails.
"You misunderstand me," Percy says.
"I don't," I tell him. "Nothing has ever been clearer."
The Professor's voice: "What in Merlin's name are you doing?"
Percy tells me, "Perhaps you should read something a bit more… innocuous." Pats me on the head.
The Professor takes hold of his arm and guides him back into the kitchen. They talk in low tones, Percy laughs and I go back to the book. Nothing innocuous in this house.
I realise Percy's left his glass.
"Percy?" I say, and bring it into the kitchen.
They're not there.
A bottle of wine sits empty on the countertop. Beside it another, half drank, and one glass. Drop of purple-red in the bottom.
I refill Percy's glass.
The back door sticks. I jiggle the handle and open it a crack.
Their voices from the garden.
"Though I don't understand why, when it's clear the boy is enamoured of you," The Professor is saying.
"Come now, you're overreacting," Percy responds. "He's just a boy. I would never."
"I know a bit about what you would and would not do, Percy Weasley," The Professor tells him. "It's shocking on a number of levels."
Percy laughs. You can hear the drink in his voice. "How many levels, do you think? More than the usual?"
"Perhaps not for a Slytherin, but for a former Gryffindor Head Boy…"
"Too bad I'm not wearing my pin, we could play detention. That's your favourite, isn't it? Teach the naughty child his lesson… right, Professor? Potions master… Headmaster… Master of…"
I don't catch the last bit, and they go silent.
I step outside. Look for them with one hand on the doorknob. Wine glass in the other. Percy shouldn't be out in such a state. Talking gibberish and laughing at things that aren't funny.
A foot grinds against gravel, and I catch sight of them by a tree. Black figures in a sea of dim grey. Light flares, and Percy brings a cigarette to his mouth.
"When I met Audrey, I swore I wouldn't do this any more," he says. "I made a promise to myself."
"Filthy habit," The Professor tells him.
He snorts. "Not the cigarettes. This. You know what I'm saying."
"Considering your current state of inebriation, I probably know what you're saying before you manage to get it out. You do realise that we've had this conversation before, do you not?"
"I was ashamed. Well, not ashamed, but I… Some days it felt as though people could tell just looking at me…"
"They could tell looking at you now," The Professor says.
Percy laughs and twists behind the tree, so I can't see him. The Professor follows.
He murmurs something like, "I don't mind the curses."
Odd noises, and I grasp the knob tighter. It's cold against my skin.
Percy's laugh again, breathless, and he swings back into view. Light of the cigarette shifts as he raises his hand to his mouth.
"Stop playing coy," The Professor tells him. "We both know you're not."
He exhales. "You know, I didn't think you were serious when you propositioned me," he says.
"I didn't proposition you," The Professor says. "I told you to proposition me. And I wasn't serious. I hated the sight of you. Leave it to a Gryffindor to take every word literally. Have you ever been quite this intoxicated in my presence before?"
"I'm barely even drunk," Percy tells him.
He snorts.
"You like Gryffindors, don't you?" Percy asks. "They're your favourite. Little golden boys. Best to toy with. Best to corrupt. Best to--" he leans in, and I don't catch the word. His face close to The Professor's in the moonlight.
The Professor clears his throat. "I admit, they do have their… appeal…"
Percy laughs again, throws his head back. Stumbles toward the tree. Leans against it and takes another drag. My eyes are used to the night now, and I see the line of his jaw, the curve of his lips.
"No one else now. Don't you dare, Severus. Only me," he says.
The Professor shouldn't be touching him. Should take his nasty fingers off Percy's neck.
"I believe I've more than compensated for that temporary oversight," he says.
Too close to Percy. Head tilted, lips near his chin.
Percy murmurs, "Did you really think he'd be better? Let you do things to him I wouldn't? Hadn't even been with a man before…"
"Now Percy," he chides, as though to a small child, "you know it wasn't my head I was thinking with if, indeed, I was thinking at all. Revenge is too sweet."
"Ah, so it was about his father, then? Here and I thought it was because of his--"
"Have I not atoned?" The Professor cuts across him. "Passed him on to his rightful owner? Is Draco Malfoy not handing his estranged wife divorce papers as we speak?"
"Mmm," says Percy, and brings his hand to the Professor's cheek. Tilts his hips toward the man. "Really, should we? The boy is just inside, Severus. I told you, I'm not that drunk… or maybe I am…"
But I'm not inside. I'm here, watching. Invisible. Push him away, Percy. Make him stop.
He'll blackmail you.
But Percy doesn't. He laughs-- always laughing with The Professor, always-- and whispers something.
The Professor's hand slides across his chest. He murmurs, "You would ask for that."
Percy laughs.
The Professor drops to his knees.
I shouldn't look, it feels wrong in my stomach, but I can't stop. His arm reaching under Percy's robes. Percy spreading his legs and throwing the robes over The Professor's head. Laughing, laughing.
My jaw trembles.
Percy brings his cigarette to his lips. Takes a drag and rolls his head back against the tree trunk. Smoke seeps from his lips. His eyes close. Brow creases.
He gasps.
Obscene noises from under his robes. The Professor shifts, the horror of his form concealed except his boots, which bite into the dirt. Bodiless nightmare, demon succubus.
"Oh, fuck," murmurs Percy. "Fuck fuck fuck--"
Stop, stop, please Percy, don't let him. Don't do this. Not you! Please--
Mouth wide, eyes squeezed shut, chest lifting. Cigarette held in the air, other hand on the head between his thighs.
"Higher, higher… push… harder, like you're going to--" he groans, "oh, Merlin! Ah! AH!"
I don't know how I get into the house. The door is shut behind me. The air still and quiet. The Professor's wine glass sits on the countertop.
The silence deafens. My footfalls resound like thunderclaps. My hand slides against the wood of the sitting room door like the grating of sandpaper. It closes behind me like an explosion.
Dorian Gray sits beside the chair, his portrait grown more hideous with his wrongs. I run my fingers over the type, indented from the old press. So gorgeous.
"How could you have?" I ask. It doesn't answer.
I throw it against a bookshelf.
It slides down in Omniocular slow motion, hits the ground with a dull thud. Upside-down, its spine broken. Pages twisted and bent in disarray.
How could you have? You were different. Special. I would have given anything. It's not right. Not fair. It's wrong, all wrong, and I can't do anything, it's all shit and it's not fair!
Signed by the author, first edition 1891, one of a kind, beautiful, and now look at it. Broken and beaten on the floor. Ruined!
I hate The Professor. HATE him. Want to kill him like that book, rip him limb from limb, tear him apart page by page. KILL HIM!
The room shakes, but it's not the room, it's me. I'm shaking, I can't take it. Not Percy. No. No, no, no, no no nononono--
All of it gone. All of it. I want it all gone, nothing left, and this ache will leave. No wand in my hand but something else that stings, and something burns inside me.
The room swims in red, and the book bursts into flame.
Pages crinkle and spark, Dorian's life going up in smoke, and the shelf behind it catches fire. The old parchment ignites, and dozens of priceless manuscripts curl and blacken. So easy to destroy, these precious things. So easy to watch them smoke and spread the flame. The entire wall ablaze.
Window coverings catch, and I wish it would hurry. Want it all gone. Everything burnt, nothing but husks of beauty and knowledge.
But it's horrible.
I hate The Professor, but I hate this, too. My heart on fire like the books, and I'm trapped inside it. Tearing at the fabric of the curtain in my mind, fingers bloody. Percy on the other side, I can almost reach him. But The Professor's covered him with draperies, wrapped him up tight.
Percy moans in ecstasy.
I can't breathe. Can't see. The curtains smother me, smoke in my eyes. My sister's unmade cries ring in my ears. The room is a circle of fire, and I cough and cover my eyes.
Run for the Floo.
I hit the grate of the Burrow so hard, I tumble onto the floor. Everything as it always is: nothing clouding my mind. Silent, peaceful.
Wrong.
A noise from the sofa. Al sits up.
"Score?" he mutters. Wipes at his eyes. "What are you doing here? Is everything alright? Is your dad okay? They're not really breaking up, are they?"
I say nothing, and he stands. Lights a candle.
"Oh my god, what happened to you!" he cries. "You're bleeding!"
I look down and raise my hand. Blood oozes down my fingers and onto the carpet. I unclench my fist and find the remains of Percy's wine glass. Deep slices from the broken glass.
"Let me see it," he says. Hands warm against my skin. Blood spilling over his fingers. "Oh my god, what did you do?"
I try to say it, but my voice won't work. My head swims, and his face blurs.
"Score--"
I fall into him, bury my face in his robes, and I cry.
I cry for Percy, losing him forever, and Al because I couldn't bear to see him go. I cry for Mummy and Father, Grandmother and Grandfather, and my little baby sister whom I miss more than anything and will never get to know. I cry for her snuggling in my bed when she has nightmares, her first day of school and the boy she'd one day love who will now be forever without her. For myself, because I'm without her, too.
I cry because life is awful, and beautiful, and if I had to hold it in any longer, I'd burst.
Al strokes my hair and says it'll be okay. He says shh and it's alright when I tell him about it-- about everything, gushing like a broken tap, and I can't make the words stop.
When I've said it all, I tell him I love him, say it over and over until I can't say it anymore, until someone else is there. Mrs Weasley, examining my wound. Her hand on my forehead, worry in her eyes.
The worry: I see it now. How she feels. That she feels.
And so do I.
I feel scared, and sad, and angry, and helpless. Lost and abandoned. I feel loved, and protected, and wanted. The curtain is gone, lying in tatters on the floor at my feet. I step over it.
"I think there's something wrong with me," I whisper.
"Shh," says Al. He cradles me against him. Strokes my cheek. "You'll be fine, I promise. You're just confused. It's hard. Life is hard. But we love you, and you're going to be fine."
"Father's divorcing her," I say. "Right now. He's divorcing my Mummy." Makes me want to cry again.
"But that's good! Right? Pretty soon, we'll be brothers," he tells me. Smiles angelically down at me.
Mr Weasley comes in and looks at my hand. Says I should go to St Mungo's.
"He's fine, Arthur, I'll brew something up for that scratch in no time," she says. "You just go back to bed, nothing to worry about. Now if I can just find that copy of Healer's Helpmate…"
Al holds me as she pulls a sliver of glass from my palm and slathers on the salve. Strokes his thumb against my neck. Rubs my shoulder.
"There, see? All better," he whispers.
"I'm tired," I tell him.
"Yeah, it's three in the morning," he says. "That's normal."
"I ache like I haven't slept in years," I say.
He sighs. Kisses my forehead.
Feels so good. Warm hands, soft lips, sinking into Al's feelings like bathwater. "Lips," I whisper, wanting to drown in him. "Lips next."
Dad chooses this moment to enter the house.
FINAL CHAPTER