Fic: Aubade, Harry/Scorpius, NC-17
Feb. 18th, 2012 10:39 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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hpkinkfestTitle: Aubade
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
melusinahp
Prompt Number: 30 submitted bymarguerite_26--"Harry is 'forced' to take Scorpius's virginity in a fuck or die scenario, where they are both agreeing that it needs to be done but 'consent' isn't an option."
Kinks Showcased: dub-con, first time
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Harry/Scorpius
Summary: You'd think Scorpius would know better than to mess around with unfamiliar magical objects.
Content Notes/Warnings: Consent forced through circumstance. I invite you to imagine Scorpius at whatever age you find most enjoyable/comfortable.
Word Count: 8k
Author's Notes: Big love toginger_veela, themostepotente, and vaysh11 for their betawork and great suggestions.
The look on his face…
He's always like that. You can see everything he's thinking, everything he's feeling, because it flashes through his eyes. Al's eyes aren't like that. They're the same, but so different. And James's eyes aren't even green.
Mr Potter--Harry--his face tells you everything.
Father only shows you what he wants you to see and you have to guess whether or not it's real. Sometimes I wonder if he feels anything at all.
Harry feels. I never doubt it. He feels everything. Right now his eyes are wild, his hands curled into fists, and his lips parted. He's shocked, he's confused, he's terrified.
And he's looking straight at me.
I'm not brave. There was never any chance I'd end up in Gryffindor. I'm not a coward either. I know what needs to be done, and I'll do it. Sometimes, I just need a little push is all.
* * *
The parchment crinkles beneath my fingertips and I adjust my grip. I'm worried I'll stain it. My palms are damp and my pulse races fast enough that I pause, concentrate, and try to make it slow. He's just a man. Just Al's dad. He's not even intimidating when you speak with him. Still. I can barely breathe. I'm a child, an idiot, and I need to calm down.
Taking a determined breath, I knock on the door to his guest quarters. I hear him moving about inside, approaching the door, and my pulse speeds up again despite everything.
He opens the door. I smile at him and say, "I have my essay, Mr Potter. Professor Ardento said I should give it straight to you." Why does my voice sound so strange?
He doesn't seem to notice. "Scorpius." He smiles back. "Mr Malfoy, I mean."
"Sorry, I wasn't feeling well earlier and had to miss class." I don't hand him the parchment. I just look at him. It's the first time we've ever spoken without being surrounded by a classroom full of other students.
"Ah, that's why you were missing. Feeling better now?" He's so polite. So friendly. And he'd noticed I wasn't there. My face heats. I try to respond, but only cough. My left knee goes wobbly and I sag against the doorframe. His brow creases. "Hey…"
"It's okay," I say, then press my fingers over my mouth. This is so embarrassing. My head spins. He grabs my shoulder and I look at him. His eyes are warm, his mouth pressed thin with concern. "Could I have a drink?" I ask. "I feel just a little..."
"Of course." He opens the door wider and leads me to the sitting-room, keeping his hand pressed against my back as he helps me to a small sofa. I stumble down on it, and he steadies me then says, "I'll get you a glass of water."
He moves away to do so. I try to get my breathing under control.
The sitting room is in disarray. There's a medium-sized trunk on the left half of the sideboard, its lid open and resting against the wall. To the right rest several small boxes of varying sizes. Some are closed and clasped shut; a couple are bound with leather straps. Two are empty and one holds a shiny black orb that looks as if it's made of marble. There are a few curious looking wooden objects sitting there as well. He's clearly packing up to leave.
Mr Potter returns and hands me a glass of water. I stand, to show him I've recovered, and take it. "Thank you, sir. I’m sorry to be a bother."
"No bother, Mr Malfoy."
The water is cool and soothing. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and set the glass down on the arm of the sofa. There's a moment of silence. He clears his throat and asks, "How's your father doing?"
"He's very well. Still in India. Says he'll be back in time for Christmas." Mr Potter nods, then shifts on his feet. His smile is still friendly, but he's clearly ready for me to leave. I remember. "My essay." I hand it to him; he reaches out to take it.
Just as his fingers close on the parchment, I suck in a breath and snatch the essay back again. He makes a startled noise. "Sorry! Sorry." I'm blushing again. "I forgot to write my name on it." He's looking down at his hand. His middle finger is bleeding. A paper cut. "Oh…" I say, mortified, and without thinking I reach out and take his hand. "Sorry." I can't stop apologising. A thin red line trickles down his finger; I release him, my own hand now stained with his blood.
He laughs. "I've had worse, believe me." He retreats to the bathroom again, presumably to heal the paper cut. I decide to leave the essay on his desk. It's right next to the sideboard.
Up close, I can't resist examining the collection of boxes and artefacts resting there. The orb is so densely black that it looks almost more like the absence of a thing rather than a thing itself. There's also a shimmering silver dagger with an ivory handle carved in the shape of a human leg. And a triangular, wooden box with two interlocking circles carved into the surface. This box catches my attention--particularly the gold-ringed hole in one side. It wants touching. I pick up the box and stick my index finger into it.
"Scorpius, no! Don't, it's--"
A bee-sting of pain shoots through my hand; I gasp and drop the box. A bead of bright red blood quivers on the tip of my finger, then melts, blending with the smear of Harry's blood. "It pricked me." The box, sitting intact on the floor, vibrates and begins to glow.
"Oh for fuck's sake." Mr Potter and runs over to pick it up. "You shouldn't have touched that. It's not mine; it belongs to the Museum of Magical History."
"What is it?" I stick my finger in my mouth and suck off the blood.
Mr Potter glances at me then looks back at the box in his hand. The glow has faded so now only the two interlocking rings on the top are bright and golden, as if light is leaking through the wood. A line appears between his eyebrows. "It's a consummation pledge box," he says in his lecturing voice. "They were used in medieval times during wedding ceremonies to make sure that the marriage would be consummated. Mostly by the wizarding aristocracy of the time." He looks shocked and dizzy, like he's just been punched. "It's ancient. The magic couldn't possibly still be potent enough for it to work." He runs a hand through his hair and mutters, "Bollocks," before turning to the desk and pulling a large, leather-bound book off the shelf behind it.
With my finger in my mouth, I watch him. I'm very still inside--poised but tense, a wave crested before it crashes down.
* * *
Al Potter used to hate me. I can't really blame him. We ended up in the same carriage for our first ride on the Hogwarts Express and he sat there, knees jumping, eyes wide, gaping at everything like he'd just been born. No manners, no self-control. He didn't even introduce himself. I sat properly, just like Mother taught me--feet on the floor, back straight, hands folded in my lap. Al chattered with Rose--she and I ended up in the same house, although she's loud enough that I wonder why she wasn't put in Gryffindor. I sat there feeling stiff and invisible until he finally turned to me with a shy smile and asked, "You're Scorpius Malfoy, aren't you?"
I sneered. I hadn't meant to be horrible but he was a Potter and I knew no one and I wouldn't see Mother for months. He was vivid and lively, colourful as the scenery flashing by outside the window. I hadn't been prepared for him to speak to me.
So I sneered. "And you're clearly headed for Ravenclaw with brains like that."
He blinked and shrunk away as if he'd been slapped. He didn't pretend not to care; he didn't insult me back. He just stared at me like a wounded Puffskein. I felt my cheeks turn pink. I would have said sorry, but Father says apologising makes you look weak. Instead I rolled my eyes. "You're a Potter. Right?"
He crossed his arms. "Yeah."
Rose, with her almost supernatural ability to see through bluster and nonsense, cut in. "I'm Rose. Not a Potter, but a Weasley. Is that worse?" She was round and warm looking with freckled cheeks and gobs of curly hair. Just looking at her made me want to smile. My lips twitched and then I did. She grinned back. It was kind of like love at first sight, only not romantic.
Then James burst in. While Al was a soft blur of moving colour, James was a ricocheting meteor strike. He filled the carriage with his energy. You couldn't look away. He talked about Quidditch, which House Al would end up in, how Gryffindor was the only house worth anything, how Rose's dad had been talking about me on the platform…
He was so loud and took up so much space, that I'd just given up and gone quiet. He turned to me, eventually, and pointed. "Scorpius. That's you."
I crossed my arms. "You're as clever as your brother."
He cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. "Is that a girl's or a boy's name?"
"It's clearly a boy's name, you cretin."
Nothing fazed him. I felt like I could have spit in his face and he'd have kept on grinning at me. "Well you look like you could practically be a girl."
"He does not, James," said Rose. She was always protective, even when I least deserved it. She turned to me. "Just ignore him, Scorpius. James is an enormous dickhead and never to be taken seriously."
She was right, of course. It took me a while to figure it out, but there was only one Potter truly worth my time.
* * *
Mr Potter's leafing quickly through the book and I notice dots of perspiration at his temples. When he finds the page he's looking for he stops, holds the page down with his fingers, and reads. His eyelashes flutter; he blanches. "Sit down, Scorpius," he says without looking at me.
Obediently, I return to the sofa and curl up against the armrest.
Violently, he pushes the book aside; it topples to the floor. He grabs another book from the shelf and thumbs through it, his eyes moving quickly as he reads. He shakes his head, then licks his lips. When he turns to me, I can't quite summon a smile. I just return his gaze and press myself harder against the sofa cushions. Maybe they'll swallow me.
He gets up. He walks to the Floo and falls to his knees, then grabs a handful of Floo powder and throws it into the fireplace. Flames bloom and bright green flowers appear reflected in his glasses. For a moment it looks as though he'll say something, someone's name--but he doesn't. He just kneels there with Floo powder trickling from his fingers. After a moment he covers his face with his hands. When he takes them away again his eyes are wild. He curls his hands into fists with his lips parted and looks at me.
"Scorpius…" he says, "You're a smart boy."
"I don't know." I hug my knees. "I don't know why I touched it."
The Floo flames fulminate then sputter out, leaving a pearlescent cloud of smoke. It seeps into the room, making the air thick and fuzzy.
"You’re the same age as Al," says Mr Potter.
Merlin, he's not going to make this easy on either of us. "I'm old enough."
While he's looking at me, I don't feel seen. His eyes are glazed. "So, you understand."
I swallow. "I'm a smart boy."
"We have until sunrise. Or we'll die. Both of us. That's how it works."
I will not cry. I won't. Although it would be a lot easier to maintain control if he'd stop looking at me like I'd killed his kitten and presented it to him in pieces.
He goes on. "The magic can't be reversed. It's built into the spell. There's no way around it."
"I'm sorry," I whisper, staring at my knees. "It was a stupid thing to do. I shouldn't have touched it." I hear his knees scuffling on the floor as he gets to his feet. I won't cry.
He comes over and sits down next to me. The sofa cushion dips. "Hey." His voice is soft and shaky. "I didn't mean that. I shouldn't have left you alone in the room with those things. This is completely my fault."
I take a shuddering breath. He's so upset. Of course he is. He's married, happily if the Prophet knows anything about it. I'm making him break his vows. And he likes women; he's probably repulsed by the whole idea and by me. I never should have touched that stupid box. He's going to hate me forever now. He's going to have sex with me and hate me for it.
As that thought drifts through my mind it catches on images and ideas along the way and pulls them to the surface. He's going to have to have sex with me. I’m going to have sex. Tonight. With Harry Potter.
I bury my face against my knees to hide my expression.
* * *
The moment his father strode into the classroom, Al came alive. I could feel it, sitting next to him at our table. His body hummed like a harp string, a single, bright reverberation of happiness. Harry Potter reached out and ruffled his son's hair as he went past; Al grinned up at him. And as Professor Ardento introduced Auror Potter to the class, I wondered what that would be like, to let all your love stream out so obviously, so anyone could see.
The Professor stood aside and watched as Mr Potter taught us, one by one, the Shield Charm. Until it was my turn, I didn't say a word. I just waited. Then he stepped up to me, took my wrist in his hand, and swivelled it clockwise. My pulse fluttered against his thumb. Could he feel it? I had an impulse to pull my hand free just to see if he'd try to hold it tight. My cheeks burned. He must have noticed.
"There. That's it." He rested the fingers of his free hand on my shoulder, pressing tingling warmth all down my back. "Now. A slight lift. Bend your elbow." He moved my arm an inch upward. "And thrust, then, Protego."
I did as he said, and mouthed, "Protego," but no sound came out. I blushed even harder. "Protego," I repeated. My fingers slipped slick on my wand and nothing happened. He squeezed my shoulder and the warmth turned to heat. I gritted my teeth. I took a breath. Once again, elbow bent, a slight lift. "Protego!" A bolt of strong, red light shot from the tip of my wand and exploded against the wall.
"Brilliant!" he said. "Well done, Mr Malfoy."
I turned to him, smiling, wondering if he'd ruffle my hair. He'd already stepped away and moved on to the next student. I swallowed.
It took Phineas Tort ten minutes to get the spell right, which was some small consolation.
* * *
I glance at him; he's sitting with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. "I don't mind so much," I say. "I prefer… well, I'm gay. You know. And I like you. So it's okay."
He looks at me, eyes wide, and laughs. It's not a nice laugh. "Scorpius, there's nothing about this that's okay."
"Oh, well. That's wonderful. Should be a lot of fun then. Just go ahead and stick it in me and we can get it over with."
He turns away and another twisted laugh shakes through his shoulders. He stands, walks to a cupboard, opens it. There's a bottle of firewhisky inside. He puts it on the desk then gets two glasses. "I'll hardly even know what to do," he says quietly, pouring.
"I've got some idea," I respond. "I've, uh, read up on it."
He hands me a glass, says, "Of course you have," then downs his drink in one.
I sip mine. It burns my mouth and throat but leaves me feeling warm and somewhat fuzzy. I suppose that's why he gave it to me. As I drink, he paces back and forth. His hair is always messy and it's more so now because he's been pulling at it. I imagine what it will feel like in my fingers, if he'll let me touch it. He moves like a prowling cat, like a predator, all strength and grace. Does he realise how beautiful he is?
My glass is empty. I stand up. This is how an adult would do it. Of course, I'm close enough to an adult to be getting on with things. I may as well play the part. "We should go in your bedroom."
He freezes and gives me an incredulous look. "Er, I'm grateful you're so willing, Scorpius, believe me. But it's not that easy from my perspective."
Wrapping my arms around myself, I look at the floor. "We could keep the lights off. If you think I'm disgusting or something like that."
He sighs and looks at the ceiling. "It's not that at all. I don't think that. You're a good-looking boy, but you're a student. And too young. It's wrong for me to even begin to think of looking at you as…" He makes an indeterminate gesture in my direction.
"Well then," I say, digging my fingertips into my upper arms. "Just for tonight. Only tonight. You can. You have to." I lick my lips. "Do you really think I’m good-looking?"
"You know full well what you look like, Scorpius."
I bite my tongue so as not to smile.
"Fine," he says. "Yes. Let's go in the bedroom." He trudges off, and I follow.
* * *
I thought it could be James for a while. I thought I liked him. He's handsome and athletic. All the girls want him. And sometimes I'd catch him looking at me, kind of incredulous. He'd touch me when he didn't have to--run his finger through the hair on my arm, squeeze the back of my neck. He always had one girlfriend or another, but I could tell I got to him. I never meant to; some boys just respond to me that way.
Like Flint. When Flint watched me I'd feel it. His eyes, hot and angry, shoving me out of the way in the corridor hard enough to make me drop my books, pinching my waist, my arm, and telling me to get a haircut. I avoided him as much as possible. I'm not stupid, obviously. I knew why he wouldn't leave me alone and why that made him cross, but there wasn't anything I could do about it. I can't help how I am.
It was similar with James, only playful. James didn't scare me. And… Well, I thought I wanted him. And that maybe if I did it, he'd stick by me and make Flint back off.
Sadly, James ended up a disappointment.
I sought him out, I admit it. I waited for him outside the Quidditch shed and fell into step beside him. He grinned, all clean and damp-haired from the shower, like he'd been expecting me, like it had only been a matter of time before I made a move.
I didn't mind his arrogance--it was part of his charm--and started chatting to him about some nonsense, what he was going to do over the break. I don't remember exactly.
There's a secluded spot near the west side of the castle--a little patch of grass hemmed in by a hedge on one side and a stone wall on the other. That's where we ended up, just the two of us alone.
He dropped his bag on the ground and shoved me up against the wall. Just like that. Then he kissed me. I hadn't expected things to move quite that fast, but I went with it, hoping he was better at other things than at shoving his tongue into my mouth. He pulled back and said, "You've got one of the worst cases of 'The Potters' I've seen, Malfoy. And I've seen a fair few."
I shoved him away then crossed my arms. "I don’t have 'The Potters'. I don't even know what 'The Potters' is supposed to mean."
"It's only natural." He leaned back in. "We're brilliant. Especially me."
By the time we were flat on the grass, I was almost ready to slap him. James couldn't shut up and the things he said made me want to throw hexes. Things like: "You're so pretty. Prettier than most girls."
"But I'm not one." He ground himself against my hip; I took his hand and moved it between my legs. "I'm not a girl."
He jerked his hand away like he'd been bitten. "Don't do that."
And then I shoved him off, stood, and ran away.
Rose is right. Most boys are stupid children. And James Potter is an enormous dickhead who should never be taken seriously.
* * *
The bedroom is cosy--there's a single bed, a wardrobe, a mirrored dresser, and a sink. A window, propped open, overlooks the Quidditch pitch. I'm relieved that no portraits hang on the walls. The bed is rumpled, smooth cotton sheets and a patchwork quilt. I take in all the details. I want to remember them.
He's just standing in the middle of the room, looking helpless. I start to unfasten my robes.
"Merlin help me," says Harry. He closes his eyes.
My robes drop to the floor and puddle at my feet. I undo my tie, kick off my shoes. It's not until I reach for the top button of my shirt that it hits me. He'll see. See me naked. He'll see how skinny I am. And how excited. It's the last one that turns my fingers clumsy. I don't know if the fact that I'm erect will relieve him or disgust him. What if he thinks my bits are weird? What if there's something wrong with me and I can't do it at all?
My vision clears and I see he's staring at me now, and the worry line is back between his eyebrows. My hand's shaking. I can't undo the button. "I…"
Hesitantly, he steps toward me. "Look. Oh god. Scorpius, I'll be as gentle as I can. I won't hurt you." He pats my shoulder. "You don't have to take all your clothes off."
Salazar, he really thinks I'm a child. I press my lips together and make myself undo the buttons. I yank the shirt off, then push down my pants and trousers. My face must look like a Braeburn, but that's just too bad. Once I'm naked, Harry doesn't seem to know where to look anymore. He glances at me, makes a funny sound in the back of his throat, then pulls his wand and dims each of the lamps one by one. The room is warm, but I break out in goose bumps anyway.
What now? The bed. I sit on it and fold my hands over my knees. Then I slide my bum back, kick the quilt to the foot, and lie down on my back, arms straight at my sides. Harry's still fully dressed.
"I think," I say, "that we'll need some oil or something."
It's a relief not to be the only one blushing.
"Yeah. I think I've got some…" he mumbles, then opens a drawer and fishes around inside. "Okay." He walks over to the bed, a small green glass bottle stoppered with a cork in his hand.
I scoot over to give him room. Gingerly, he sits down on the bed and looks at me. I want him to say something, to tell me I'm lovely or admit that he's at least a little bit pleased that we are going to do this. But he doesn't.
"Aren't you going to get undressed?"
"In a bit. Let's start slowly. All right?"
"All right." I look up at the ceiling. I bend my knees and set my feet flat on the sheets, legs slightly apart. My heart is beating so hard I can barely think. "You have to get me ready first. With your fingers and the oil." He nods. Blinks. Then pulls the cork out of the bottle. As he drips oil onto his index finger, I spread my thighs, very glad that I'd had a shower before coming by.
"Please tell me if I'm hurting you," he says in a low voice. He shifts on the bed. On reflex, I squeeze my eyes shut tight. He's breathing loudly; so am I. When his hand touches my thigh, I jump. "Shh. Just… All right. I'm going to…" I keep my eyes closed as he fumbles and touches. I hadn't realised how excruciatingly embarrassing it would be. "Here?" I nod. And he presses his finger gently into my body.
It's the strangest thing I've ever felt--not nice, not painful, just weird. And incredibly real. Heat and tension spread through my thighs; his finger is thick and insistently intimate. He's so quiet that I force myself to look at him. His eyes are glazed. He's not even here. His head is bent down; I see his pulse fluttering at his throat--but I'm alone. And it's going to happen; if I stop it, I'll die. I feel sick. James's voice floats through my memory and I can't help it, I feel my body tense up until I can barely move, I clamp down around him and a jolt of wrong and pain shoots up my spine. I bite down on a cry.
He pulls out of me and turns his back. His fingers slide into his hair, gripping it tight.
Shame and panic. I'm failing. I'm making it horrible for him. I'd rather die than endure it--like it's a punishment, for me, for him. He hasn't done anything wrong. "I'm so sorry," I choke, then roll onto my side and curl up in a ball.
* * *
It's not as if Al and I are real friends even now. We see a lot of each other when we aren't in our dorms, but that's because we're linked through Rose. They seem to be a very close family. I can't imagine what that would be like--all those relatives, all that noise every time they're at home. Never having a quiet moment to yourself. Never being alone.
They seem to enjoy it. They gravitate together like magnets. And since with Rose comes me, I'm there too--more watching than a real part of things. But I don't think Al hates me anymore.
In spring on days like today, sometimes, we'll sit by the lake together. Rose will rub my shoulders and make me purr. Hugo will talk about Quidditch, and Al will rhapsodise about whatever girl he's stuck on. I'll stay quiet and listen to them chatter.
James will spread gossip, although he'd never admit it. He'll talk about how Mickey Draughton is trying to get Allegra Smith to fuck him, but she won't until he changes his hairstyle. He'll complain about Gerald McGuillicutty refusing to share the sweets his mum sends him. He'll say how he heard that Mickey got fifty points taken from Slytherin for trying to steal one of the dark artefacts James's dad brought in to show the NEWT level DADA students.
Which is how I knew that Harry Potter was here at Hogwarts giving some of his periodic lectures. I looked away toward the Forbidden Forest so Rose wouldn't see my expression. Mr Potter is a wonderful teacher and I always feel safe when he's around.
* * *
He reaches out blindly and rests his hand on my hip. His voice is a hoarse whisper. "You have nothing to apologise for, Scorpius."
I think. That's one thing I'm good at. I need… I need him to be okay, to not treat me like I'm something he's ruining. I need him to be here with me. I roll onto my back and rub my face. I swallow. "Will you kiss me?" My voice is no louder than his.
Harry is quiet. I listen to him breathe. "Scorpius… I'm not sure--"
"It's just…" I turn my face away. I can't look at him now. It's too much; I can't bear it. My voice is so soft when I speak that I wonder if I really want him to hear. "I think… if we pretend that it's… real. Then it might be easier for me."
There's more silence, then he makes a choking sound. After a deep breath, he says, "Okay." Another moment passes. He says, "All right," and his voice sounds different. Stronger. The burning knot in my stomach eases a bit. "Whatever you need."
When I turn my head, he's looking at me. His mouth is a line; there's another line on his forehead between his eyebrows.
"I'm not a child, Mr Potter." I tell him. "I just haven't done this before."
"Right," he says, still not entirely present.
His skin is the colour of parchment and for a second I want to slap him. Put some fucking colour in his face. The impulse passes, and I push myself up and get on my knees. He's just looking at me. He's not going to do anything. I think: once we kiss, it will make things okay. I lean forward. He sucks in a breath.
My hands grip his knees as our lips press together. So soft. I barely touch him. Mr Potter's mouth. Harry's mouth. If he doesn't respond, I'll die of humiliation well before the sunrise gets me. But he does. He gives me one small kiss. Chaste. Hesitant. It sends a dizzying spiral of panic and desire through my centre. I kiss him again, a quiet smack of lips, his breath heating my face. He lifts his hand, slowly, trembling, and strokes the back of my head. His fingertips trail heat across my scalp and the tension coalesces in my chest, hot and magnetic. I'm terrified, but I want him. Want this. I move forward and crawl into his lap, legs around his waist, one hand curled around his neck, kissing him and kissing him and kissing him. Just lips. Soft and quick.
"I want you, Harry," I whisper, and he makes a soft sound, like Ahh. I take advantage of his parted lips by darting my tongue between them. His fingers trail down my back and I shiver hard. My dick is pressed tight against his torso. Lifting himself up on his knees, he gently lowers me onto my back. My thighs cradle his hips and I can feel, even through his trousers, that he's getting hard too. I wish… I wish he'd kiss my neck. I wish he'd bite me. I want to make him lose control.
He props himself up on his arms and looks down at me, somewhat flushed. "Are you okay?"
"Yes." I pull him down, feeling fierce. He's still gentle, but lets me make the kisses wet and hard.
But when I start to unbutton his shirt, he stops me. "You know that this is… That we're only doing this because we have to. Right? I wouldn't. You're so young." His words come quickly. "But I don't have a choice." He still thinks he's doing something horrible.
This makes me cross. "If it's such a hardship for you, if it's going to make you feel like such a bad person, then maybe we should just go ahead and die." I give him a glare. In a lot of ways, Father's right about Harry Potter.
But my words do the trick. Something flares in his eyes. I hold my ground.
"Okay," he says at last. "All right." He sighs. "But if I hurt you, you must tell me to stop. Promise me, Scorpius."
I love how he says my name, so gentle. "I will."
He retrieves the phial of oil and leans over me this time. I can feel the heat of his body; I can see his eyes. He's close, hair falling over a forehead creased in concentration as once again he pushes a finger inside me. It feels better this time--much better. My mouth opens and a soft sound escapes. "Look at me," I plead. After a moment, he meets my gaze. He's flushed. He doesn't look happy. "That's fine. It doesn't hurt at all. Try another one."
Two fingers at once feels different. My body resists a bit as he slides them in and out. I won't get tense, though. It will be fine. I force myself to relax, wanting to be ready, wanting to start. The way his third finger fills me burns a bit and I realise that no matter what we do, it's going to hurt. But I don't care. I don't care at all. "Can we try now?"
"All right." He's breathing really hard and his face looks strange. His lashes flutter over eyes that are too shiny.
I feel the same, carried away with emotion. His fingers are gone; he's resting on his elbow on one side of me and with the other and with the other, he's undoing his trousers. I glance down and get a glimpse of his--Merlin--his dick in his hand as he's getting himself ready, and I shiver so hard it makes my teeth clench. He says, "Shhh," and strokes the side of my face. He leans down and presses our foreheads together, gently, so gently.
"Oh God." I squeeze my eyes shut and run my teeth up my lower lip over and over again. His dick feels completely different than his fingers. It's blunt and insistent as he tries to press into me. It's not happening. I'm doing something wrong. I will myself to open for him. I want this I want this I want this, but my head is full of pounding blood and I've never been so scared.
"I'm sorry," he whispers in a funny voice. "I don't know…" He's shaking and for a moment I think he's going to give up.
I angle my hips, press back at him, and miraculously he pushes inside me. He makes an incredible sound and I almost come. My fingernails bite into his arms. Slowly he slides in deeper, and god, that's all there is. I'm narrowed down to this and only this, the pressure and burn as his thick cock penetrates me. And it does hurt, it hurts a lot. Oh god. Oh Merlin. My thighs shake as his hips bear down on them. We're connected, like one thing, he's mine all mine, and I'm his.
I've forgotten to breathe. I inhale hard to ward off the dizziness, and when I let the breath out it sounds like a sob. I swallow, then again, my cheeks burning hot. I glance at Harry--his lips are pressed together, his eyes boring into mine. I squirm and feel a tear spill over and run down my cheekbone. Merlin, no, that's exactly the wrong thing to happen. I will the tears to stop, but my eyes fill anyway. I clamp down on my throat and chest, holding it in. Why? Why can't I stop it?
I'm worried he'll stop, but he doesn't. He leans down and presses his cheek to mine. He whispers, "It's okay. It's okay, Scorpius. You're… You're doing great. Just hold on." I feel his lips move against my skin and I arch my back, tears flowing freely. It feels good to cry. I let go and sob, clinging to his back.
"Ah, god," says Harry, and his own voice sounds wet and thick. He nuzzles my face and pushes in deeper. His fingertips dig into my back. We're pressed so tightly together. I'm yours, I'm all yours. I know better than to say that out loud. I just think it. I will it into him.
He pulls back a bit, then presses in again. This is fucking. Harry is fucking me.
He's incredibly careful and moves slowly, each stroke controlled and measured to the point that he's trembling. As much as I'd fantasised that he'd just let go and pound me, I'm grateful. This, just this, him being solid inside me, the muscles clenching and unclenching in his arms, the sounds he's trying so hard not to make, they're enough, oh Merlin, they're enough.
My dick's not as hard as it was because of the pain, but when I wrap my fingers around it, it stiffens up again. I moan and bend my knees. He quickens his pace just a little and the mattress creaks. His eyes are squeezed shut. I'm caught in a haze of agony, but my hand feels good on my prick. Each time he thrusts into me streaks of ice rush through my thighs and stomach in contrast to the fire around his cock. "Look at me," I gasp. He doesn't. I reach up and grab a handful of his hair and then his eyes shoot open. "Look! Harry…" He whimpers and thrusts. I cry out; he thrusts again and I come, wailing with shock and pleasure.
Harry gasps. My fist is clenched against his scalp, and for a few short moments he fucks me hard just liked I'd imagined and it's too much and I think I might break and die. Then he makes a louder sound and his whole body shudders. He's coming. He's coming in me. I am dying.
"Oh," he says, still shaking, then slips his hands beneath my shoulders and wraps his arms around me. With his head buried against my throat, he holds me. I'm limp in his arms. "Scorpius?"
I manage to speak. "I'm fine." He exhales, a warm, wet tickle on my neck, and I shiver again. "You're… I… I'm so…"
Fortunately he loosens his hold on me and pushes himself up on his arms before I manage to finish saying something childish. Like I said, I'm not stupid, although I do hope he'll kiss me just once more. He doesn't. He pulls out and I hiss in surprise, then squeeze my legs shut because I’m leaking and it's desperately embarrassing.
He pats my shoulder, then says, "I'm going to go clean up," before standing and staggering into the bathroom. Once the door is closed, he turns on the tap. My bum stings. I'm elated but I want to cry again. Harry emerges, clothing straightened, his hair damp around his face. He sits down on the edge of the bed and gives me a very teacher-y sort of look. "Do you want to use the bathroom?" I nod. "You'll stay here tonight," he continues. "At least until dawn. So we can make sure."
I try to keep my smile measured. He sighs and gives me a small smile in return. The clean pyjamas he gives me and instructs me to put on don't smell of him, but his pillow does. I think, as he gazes down at me and I snuggle beneath the quilt, that he might get in as well. That I'll curl up against him and he'll hold me. Just like that. Sweet and safe. But he stays put.
It's so late. I can feel sleep nudging me and holding me down. I blink. I force my eyes open and see Harry frowning. Then my eyes close, and I'm gone.
It's still dark when I wake up and find myself alone in Harry's bed. I sit, rub my eyes, and get up. Harry's not that much bigger or taller than I am, but his pyjamas fit loosely. I may eventually outstrip him in height, but he'll always be bigger boned, even when I've finished growing. I pad out into the sitting room. I glance at the window and see it's still black and shiny.
Harry's sitting hunched at the desk, leaning over it with a hand fisted in his hair. His eyes, red and dark-circled, focus on the box, which sits dull and innocent but for the continuing glow of the rings on its lid. There's a mostly empty glass of firewhisky next to it.
He clearly hasn't slept. I scuff my feet on the hardwood floor; he startles, then looks at me. His gaze sweeps me up and down, making sure I'm okay, that I haven't broken since he left me sleeping. I yawn, scratch the back of my neck, and smile. He gives me a weary smile back. I want nothing more than to go to him, to lay my head against his chest and have him warm me. But the shutters are back over his eyes, so I remain still.
My heart's beating hard, the rhythm of blood pulsing through my veins like a song, like chanting. Can he tell? It doesn't matter. He's not mine. Never. Not once the dawn breaks. I knew that before and I know it now.
"Hey, Scorpius," he says, voice thick with fatigue. "Are you… How are you feeling?"
My thighs and back ache, and I still feel very sore inside. He did that. I don't tell him, because he'll try to heal me, and I want the pain to last. So I'll remember.
"I'm fine." I give him my brightest smile.
He's had a drink and he's exhausted. I can see his teacher's mask slip as he looks at me. Behind it is pain and something so close to affection that I have to look away because it's made my heart beat even faster. What time is it? How much do I have left before he makes me leave?
"It will be dawn soon," he says, and I know he can't read my mind, I know it, but his words still make me start. "Once we're sure it's worked I'll walk you back to your dorm."
Blinking, I ask, "What if someone sees us?"
With a lift of his chin, he says, "Leave it to me."
I'm quiet for a moment, then I say, "I'm not going to tell anyone." Except Rose. She doesn't count, I tell her everything.
His head dips. "I'm not asking you to keep this secret. That wouldn't be fair."
My skin goes cold. "Are you going to tell?" Not my father. God, please. And not Al. Or Mrs Potter.
"I don't know…" He shakes his head and gives a strange little laugh. "Shouldn't I? I can't do something like this and not face the con--"
"You mustn't. Never." My fists clench. "If Father finds out, I'll kill myself."
Wincing, he says, "Merlin. I think I would too."
Neither of us says anything for a while. He doesn't look at me. He stares at his desk and then turns to check the window. It's gone dark-grey. Dawn is coming.
He takes a deep breath. "There's pumpkin juice in the cooling cupboard. You should help yourself." He points to the corner.
Pumpkin juice sounds lovely right now, and I want to do as he tells me, so I turn my back. I don't know if it's a sound or a slight rush of air. I spin back. He's drawn his wand. It's pointed at my head. And I know, I know what he's contemplating. "No!"
"Scorpius…" His face is creased face, his hand shaking.
I want to scream. I can talk him out of this. I have to. But my words are a rat king in my head, clenched together in a squirming knot. "You can't!"
"It's for the best. I'm sorry. I'm sorry about all of it."
"It's illegal. I'm telling you no." I thrust my hand towards him as if it will protect me.
"It will be fine. I know what I’m doing. It will just be like it never happened."
And… And now I can't speak. I swallow, my throat tight. I force the words out. "But it did happen." My vision goes blurry. "It did."
He's exhausted and almost babbling. "I want to do what's right. But I don't know what that is. I just want to make it right for you."
"Then let it be. Please. That's what I want."
He lowers his wand and shakes his head. "Okay." He sits back down, his body limp, shoulders slumped.
I wipe my eyes with the sleeve of his pyjamas. He toys with the almost empty glass of firewhisky, but doesn't put it to his lips. The light in the window has gone pale pink. It's morning.
I sniffle. "I'm going to go get dressed."
Once I'm in the bedroom, I take off the pyjamas and put my clothes on, then cast some charms on my robes to get rid of the creases. I run my fingers through my hair. My reflection in the mirror doesn't look any different, not really. I fasten my tie, neat and tidy, just like Father taught me. Rose is right; the silver does bring out the colour of my eyes.
He shows me the box as I emerge. The rings have stopped glowing.
"It didn't kill us," I say.
"Not yet," he replies, and I can tell he means it as a kind of joke.
It's time for me to leave. If I stay any longer, he'll just get tempted to Obliviate me again. I lift my chin and straighten my back. "I'm going to go now. You don't have to walk me, I know the way. If Filch catches me, I'll just tell him I had to watch the sunrise on the tower for Astronomy homework."
Harry nods and stares blankly out the window. There's a strange moment where I wait. I'm not sure what for. Suddenly I feel sick and my eyes start to burn. Harry quickly gets to his feet and walks over to me. My knees go wobbly with relief.
He stands in front of me and puts a hand on my shoulder. "You're very smart, Scorpius." He brushes a lock of hair out of my eyes. His voice gets soft when he says, "And brave. And strong." He cups my jaw, and I know that just now, he sees me. I smile. He breathes in, then says, "And sweet," before clearing his throat. He pulls his hand away.
That's enough. I can't expect anything more, no matter how badly I want it. "I really am okay, Mr Potter." I know I need to call him that now. "It… It wasn't horrible or anything. I actually quite--"
"Shh, please." He runs a hand through his hair. "I'm glad you're okay. Relieved as hell, actually. I hope it lasts. And…" He looks me straight in the eye. "No matter what happens after this, I don't want you to feel bad. Okay? None of it was your fault."
I'm not sure what he's worried about. It's our secret, his and mine; Rose is the only one I'm going to tell. And we had to do it, so no one could blame him for anything. I smile. I make it a bright one. Then I make myself leave.
The castle is silent this early in the morning. I'm not worried about getting caught. I'm very careful when I need to be.
I hurry toward the dungeons. The corridor windows are bright with the glow of the just risen sun. I can't wait to find Rose and tell her. Maybe I'll sneak into the girls' dorm and crawl into her bed.
My body throbs where he was inside me. Harry Potter. My first. That one little piece of his heart is mine and I'll always have it. I'll lock it up tight and keep it safe where no one can touch it and no one can take it away.
-- The End
.
Author:
melusinahpPrompt Number: 30 submitted by
marguerite_26--"Harry is 'forced' to take Scorpius's virginity in a fuck or die scenario, where they are both agreeing that it needs to be done but 'consent' isn't an option."Kinks Showcased: dub-con, first time
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Harry/Scorpius
Summary: You'd think Scorpius would know better than to mess around with unfamiliar magical objects.
Content Notes/Warnings: Consent forced through circumstance. I invite you to imagine Scorpius at whatever age you find most enjoyable/comfortable.
Word Count: 8k
Author's Notes: Big love to
ginger_veela, themostepotente, and vaysh11 for their betawork and great suggestions. The look on his face…
He's always like that. You can see everything he's thinking, everything he's feeling, because it flashes through his eyes. Al's eyes aren't like that. They're the same, but so different. And James's eyes aren't even green.
Mr Potter--Harry--his face tells you everything.
Father only shows you what he wants you to see and you have to guess whether or not it's real. Sometimes I wonder if he feels anything at all.
Harry feels. I never doubt it. He feels everything. Right now his eyes are wild, his hands curled into fists, and his lips parted. He's shocked, he's confused, he's terrified.
And he's looking straight at me.
I'm not brave. There was never any chance I'd end up in Gryffindor. I'm not a coward either. I know what needs to be done, and I'll do it. Sometimes, I just need a little push is all.
The parchment crinkles beneath my fingertips and I adjust my grip. I'm worried I'll stain it. My palms are damp and my pulse races fast enough that I pause, concentrate, and try to make it slow. He's just a man. Just Al's dad. He's not even intimidating when you speak with him. Still. I can barely breathe. I'm a child, an idiot, and I need to calm down.
Taking a determined breath, I knock on the door to his guest quarters. I hear him moving about inside, approaching the door, and my pulse speeds up again despite everything.
He opens the door. I smile at him and say, "I have my essay, Mr Potter. Professor Ardento said I should give it straight to you." Why does my voice sound so strange?
He doesn't seem to notice. "Scorpius." He smiles back. "Mr Malfoy, I mean."
"Sorry, I wasn't feeling well earlier and had to miss class." I don't hand him the parchment. I just look at him. It's the first time we've ever spoken without being surrounded by a classroom full of other students.
"Ah, that's why you were missing. Feeling better now?" He's so polite. So friendly. And he'd noticed I wasn't there. My face heats. I try to respond, but only cough. My left knee goes wobbly and I sag against the doorframe. His brow creases. "Hey…"
"It's okay," I say, then press my fingers over my mouth. This is so embarrassing. My head spins. He grabs my shoulder and I look at him. His eyes are warm, his mouth pressed thin with concern. "Could I have a drink?" I ask. "I feel just a little..."
"Of course." He opens the door wider and leads me to the sitting-room, keeping his hand pressed against my back as he helps me to a small sofa. I stumble down on it, and he steadies me then says, "I'll get you a glass of water."
He moves away to do so. I try to get my breathing under control.
The sitting room is in disarray. There's a medium-sized trunk on the left half of the sideboard, its lid open and resting against the wall. To the right rest several small boxes of varying sizes. Some are closed and clasped shut; a couple are bound with leather straps. Two are empty and one holds a shiny black orb that looks as if it's made of marble. There are a few curious looking wooden objects sitting there as well. He's clearly packing up to leave.
Mr Potter returns and hands me a glass of water. I stand, to show him I've recovered, and take it. "Thank you, sir. I’m sorry to be a bother."
"No bother, Mr Malfoy."
The water is cool and soothing. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and set the glass down on the arm of the sofa. There's a moment of silence. He clears his throat and asks, "How's your father doing?"
"He's very well. Still in India. Says he'll be back in time for Christmas." Mr Potter nods, then shifts on his feet. His smile is still friendly, but he's clearly ready for me to leave. I remember. "My essay." I hand it to him; he reaches out to take it.
Just as his fingers close on the parchment, I suck in a breath and snatch the essay back again. He makes a startled noise. "Sorry! Sorry." I'm blushing again. "I forgot to write my name on it." He's looking down at his hand. His middle finger is bleeding. A paper cut. "Oh…" I say, mortified, and without thinking I reach out and take his hand. "Sorry." I can't stop apologising. A thin red line trickles down his finger; I release him, my own hand now stained with his blood.
He laughs. "I've had worse, believe me." He retreats to the bathroom again, presumably to heal the paper cut. I decide to leave the essay on his desk. It's right next to the sideboard.
Up close, I can't resist examining the collection of boxes and artefacts resting there. The orb is so densely black that it looks almost more like the absence of a thing rather than a thing itself. There's also a shimmering silver dagger with an ivory handle carved in the shape of a human leg. And a triangular, wooden box with two interlocking circles carved into the surface. This box catches my attention--particularly the gold-ringed hole in one side. It wants touching. I pick up the box and stick my index finger into it.
"Scorpius, no! Don't, it's--"
A bee-sting of pain shoots through my hand; I gasp and drop the box. A bead of bright red blood quivers on the tip of my finger, then melts, blending with the smear of Harry's blood. "It pricked me." The box, sitting intact on the floor, vibrates and begins to glow.
"Oh for fuck's sake." Mr Potter and runs over to pick it up. "You shouldn't have touched that. It's not mine; it belongs to the Museum of Magical History."
"What is it?" I stick my finger in my mouth and suck off the blood.
Mr Potter glances at me then looks back at the box in his hand. The glow has faded so now only the two interlocking rings on the top are bright and golden, as if light is leaking through the wood. A line appears between his eyebrows. "It's a consummation pledge box," he says in his lecturing voice. "They were used in medieval times during wedding ceremonies to make sure that the marriage would be consummated. Mostly by the wizarding aristocracy of the time." He looks shocked and dizzy, like he's just been punched. "It's ancient. The magic couldn't possibly still be potent enough for it to work." He runs a hand through his hair and mutters, "Bollocks," before turning to the desk and pulling a large, leather-bound book off the shelf behind it.
With my finger in my mouth, I watch him. I'm very still inside--poised but tense, a wave crested before it crashes down.
Al Potter used to hate me. I can't really blame him. We ended up in the same carriage for our first ride on the Hogwarts Express and he sat there, knees jumping, eyes wide, gaping at everything like he'd just been born. No manners, no self-control. He didn't even introduce himself. I sat properly, just like Mother taught me--feet on the floor, back straight, hands folded in my lap. Al chattered with Rose--she and I ended up in the same house, although she's loud enough that I wonder why she wasn't put in Gryffindor. I sat there feeling stiff and invisible until he finally turned to me with a shy smile and asked, "You're Scorpius Malfoy, aren't you?"
I sneered. I hadn't meant to be horrible but he was a Potter and I knew no one and I wouldn't see Mother for months. He was vivid and lively, colourful as the scenery flashing by outside the window. I hadn't been prepared for him to speak to me.
So I sneered. "And you're clearly headed for Ravenclaw with brains like that."
He blinked and shrunk away as if he'd been slapped. He didn't pretend not to care; he didn't insult me back. He just stared at me like a wounded Puffskein. I felt my cheeks turn pink. I would have said sorry, but Father says apologising makes you look weak. Instead I rolled my eyes. "You're a Potter. Right?"
He crossed his arms. "Yeah."
Rose, with her almost supernatural ability to see through bluster and nonsense, cut in. "I'm Rose. Not a Potter, but a Weasley. Is that worse?" She was round and warm looking with freckled cheeks and gobs of curly hair. Just looking at her made me want to smile. My lips twitched and then I did. She grinned back. It was kind of like love at first sight, only not romantic.
Then James burst in. While Al was a soft blur of moving colour, James was a ricocheting meteor strike. He filled the carriage with his energy. You couldn't look away. He talked about Quidditch, which House Al would end up in, how Gryffindor was the only house worth anything, how Rose's dad had been talking about me on the platform…
He was so loud and took up so much space, that I'd just given up and gone quiet. He turned to me, eventually, and pointed. "Scorpius. That's you."
I crossed my arms. "You're as clever as your brother."
He cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. "Is that a girl's or a boy's name?"
"It's clearly a boy's name, you cretin."
Nothing fazed him. I felt like I could have spit in his face and he'd have kept on grinning at me. "Well you look like you could practically be a girl."
"He does not, James," said Rose. She was always protective, even when I least deserved it. She turned to me. "Just ignore him, Scorpius. James is an enormous dickhead and never to be taken seriously."
She was right, of course. It took me a while to figure it out, but there was only one Potter truly worth my time.
Mr Potter's leafing quickly through the book and I notice dots of perspiration at his temples. When he finds the page he's looking for he stops, holds the page down with his fingers, and reads. His eyelashes flutter; he blanches. "Sit down, Scorpius," he says without looking at me.
Obediently, I return to the sofa and curl up against the armrest.
Violently, he pushes the book aside; it topples to the floor. He grabs another book from the shelf and thumbs through it, his eyes moving quickly as he reads. He shakes his head, then licks his lips. When he turns to me, I can't quite summon a smile. I just return his gaze and press myself harder against the sofa cushions. Maybe they'll swallow me.
He gets up. He walks to the Floo and falls to his knees, then grabs a handful of Floo powder and throws it into the fireplace. Flames bloom and bright green flowers appear reflected in his glasses. For a moment it looks as though he'll say something, someone's name--but he doesn't. He just kneels there with Floo powder trickling from his fingers. After a moment he covers his face with his hands. When he takes them away again his eyes are wild. He curls his hands into fists with his lips parted and looks at me.
"Scorpius…" he says, "You're a smart boy."
"I don't know." I hug my knees. "I don't know why I touched it."
The Floo flames fulminate then sputter out, leaving a pearlescent cloud of smoke. It seeps into the room, making the air thick and fuzzy.
"You’re the same age as Al," says Mr Potter.
Merlin, he's not going to make this easy on either of us. "I'm old enough."
While he's looking at me, I don't feel seen. His eyes are glazed. "So, you understand."
I swallow. "I'm a smart boy."
"We have until sunrise. Or we'll die. Both of us. That's how it works."
I will not cry. I won't. Although it would be a lot easier to maintain control if he'd stop looking at me like I'd killed his kitten and presented it to him in pieces.
He goes on. "The magic can't be reversed. It's built into the spell. There's no way around it."
"I'm sorry," I whisper, staring at my knees. "It was a stupid thing to do. I shouldn't have touched it." I hear his knees scuffling on the floor as he gets to his feet. I won't cry.
He comes over and sits down next to me. The sofa cushion dips. "Hey." His voice is soft and shaky. "I didn't mean that. I shouldn't have left you alone in the room with those things. This is completely my fault."
I take a shuddering breath. He's so upset. Of course he is. He's married, happily if the Prophet knows anything about it. I'm making him break his vows. And he likes women; he's probably repulsed by the whole idea and by me. I never should have touched that stupid box. He's going to hate me forever now. He's going to have sex with me and hate me for it.
As that thought drifts through my mind it catches on images and ideas along the way and pulls them to the surface. He's going to have to have sex with me. I’m going to have sex. Tonight. With Harry Potter.
I bury my face against my knees to hide my expression.
The moment his father strode into the classroom, Al came alive. I could feel it, sitting next to him at our table. His body hummed like a harp string, a single, bright reverberation of happiness. Harry Potter reached out and ruffled his son's hair as he went past; Al grinned up at him. And as Professor Ardento introduced Auror Potter to the class, I wondered what that would be like, to let all your love stream out so obviously, so anyone could see.
The Professor stood aside and watched as Mr Potter taught us, one by one, the Shield Charm. Until it was my turn, I didn't say a word. I just waited. Then he stepped up to me, took my wrist in his hand, and swivelled it clockwise. My pulse fluttered against his thumb. Could he feel it? I had an impulse to pull my hand free just to see if he'd try to hold it tight. My cheeks burned. He must have noticed.
"There. That's it." He rested the fingers of his free hand on my shoulder, pressing tingling warmth all down my back. "Now. A slight lift. Bend your elbow." He moved my arm an inch upward. "And thrust, then, Protego."
I did as he said, and mouthed, "Protego," but no sound came out. I blushed even harder. "Protego," I repeated. My fingers slipped slick on my wand and nothing happened. He squeezed my shoulder and the warmth turned to heat. I gritted my teeth. I took a breath. Once again, elbow bent, a slight lift. "Protego!" A bolt of strong, red light shot from the tip of my wand and exploded against the wall.
"Brilliant!" he said. "Well done, Mr Malfoy."
I turned to him, smiling, wondering if he'd ruffle my hair. He'd already stepped away and moved on to the next student. I swallowed.
It took Phineas Tort ten minutes to get the spell right, which was some small consolation.
I glance at him; he's sitting with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. "I don't mind so much," I say. "I prefer… well, I'm gay. You know. And I like you. So it's okay."
He looks at me, eyes wide, and laughs. It's not a nice laugh. "Scorpius, there's nothing about this that's okay."
"Oh, well. That's wonderful. Should be a lot of fun then. Just go ahead and stick it in me and we can get it over with."
He turns away and another twisted laugh shakes through his shoulders. He stands, walks to a cupboard, opens it. There's a bottle of firewhisky inside. He puts it on the desk then gets two glasses. "I'll hardly even know what to do," he says quietly, pouring.
"I've got some idea," I respond. "I've, uh, read up on it."
He hands me a glass, says, "Of course you have," then downs his drink in one.
I sip mine. It burns my mouth and throat but leaves me feeling warm and somewhat fuzzy. I suppose that's why he gave it to me. As I drink, he paces back and forth. His hair is always messy and it's more so now because he's been pulling at it. I imagine what it will feel like in my fingers, if he'll let me touch it. He moves like a prowling cat, like a predator, all strength and grace. Does he realise how beautiful he is?
My glass is empty. I stand up. This is how an adult would do it. Of course, I'm close enough to an adult to be getting on with things. I may as well play the part. "We should go in your bedroom."
He freezes and gives me an incredulous look. "Er, I'm grateful you're so willing, Scorpius, believe me. But it's not that easy from my perspective."
Wrapping my arms around myself, I look at the floor. "We could keep the lights off. If you think I'm disgusting or something like that."
He sighs and looks at the ceiling. "It's not that at all. I don't think that. You're a good-looking boy, but you're a student. And too young. It's wrong for me to even begin to think of looking at you as…" He makes an indeterminate gesture in my direction.
"Well then," I say, digging my fingertips into my upper arms. "Just for tonight. Only tonight. You can. You have to." I lick my lips. "Do you really think I’m good-looking?"
"You know full well what you look like, Scorpius."
I bite my tongue so as not to smile.
"Fine," he says. "Yes. Let's go in the bedroom." He trudges off, and I follow.
I thought it could be James for a while. I thought I liked him. He's handsome and athletic. All the girls want him. And sometimes I'd catch him looking at me, kind of incredulous. He'd touch me when he didn't have to--run his finger through the hair on my arm, squeeze the back of my neck. He always had one girlfriend or another, but I could tell I got to him. I never meant to; some boys just respond to me that way.
Like Flint. When Flint watched me I'd feel it. His eyes, hot and angry, shoving me out of the way in the corridor hard enough to make me drop my books, pinching my waist, my arm, and telling me to get a haircut. I avoided him as much as possible. I'm not stupid, obviously. I knew why he wouldn't leave me alone and why that made him cross, but there wasn't anything I could do about it. I can't help how I am.
It was similar with James, only playful. James didn't scare me. And… Well, I thought I wanted him. And that maybe if I did it, he'd stick by me and make Flint back off.
Sadly, James ended up a disappointment.
I sought him out, I admit it. I waited for him outside the Quidditch shed and fell into step beside him. He grinned, all clean and damp-haired from the shower, like he'd been expecting me, like it had only been a matter of time before I made a move.
I didn't mind his arrogance--it was part of his charm--and started chatting to him about some nonsense, what he was going to do over the break. I don't remember exactly.
There's a secluded spot near the west side of the castle--a little patch of grass hemmed in by a hedge on one side and a stone wall on the other. That's where we ended up, just the two of us alone.
He dropped his bag on the ground and shoved me up against the wall. Just like that. Then he kissed me. I hadn't expected things to move quite that fast, but I went with it, hoping he was better at other things than at shoving his tongue into my mouth. He pulled back and said, "You've got one of the worst cases of 'The Potters' I've seen, Malfoy. And I've seen a fair few."
I shoved him away then crossed my arms. "I don’t have 'The Potters'. I don't even know what 'The Potters' is supposed to mean."
"It's only natural." He leaned back in. "We're brilliant. Especially me."
By the time we were flat on the grass, I was almost ready to slap him. James couldn't shut up and the things he said made me want to throw hexes. Things like: "You're so pretty. Prettier than most girls."
"But I'm not one." He ground himself against my hip; I took his hand and moved it between my legs. "I'm not a girl."
He jerked his hand away like he'd been bitten. "Don't do that."
And then I shoved him off, stood, and ran away.
Rose is right. Most boys are stupid children. And James Potter is an enormous dickhead who should never be taken seriously.
The bedroom is cosy--there's a single bed, a wardrobe, a mirrored dresser, and a sink. A window, propped open, overlooks the Quidditch pitch. I'm relieved that no portraits hang on the walls. The bed is rumpled, smooth cotton sheets and a patchwork quilt. I take in all the details. I want to remember them.
He's just standing in the middle of the room, looking helpless. I start to unfasten my robes.
"Merlin help me," says Harry. He closes his eyes.
My robes drop to the floor and puddle at my feet. I undo my tie, kick off my shoes. It's not until I reach for the top button of my shirt that it hits me. He'll see. See me naked. He'll see how skinny I am. And how excited. It's the last one that turns my fingers clumsy. I don't know if the fact that I'm erect will relieve him or disgust him. What if he thinks my bits are weird? What if there's something wrong with me and I can't do it at all?
My vision clears and I see he's staring at me now, and the worry line is back between his eyebrows. My hand's shaking. I can't undo the button. "I…"
Hesitantly, he steps toward me. "Look. Oh god. Scorpius, I'll be as gentle as I can. I won't hurt you." He pats my shoulder. "You don't have to take all your clothes off."
Salazar, he really thinks I'm a child. I press my lips together and make myself undo the buttons. I yank the shirt off, then push down my pants and trousers. My face must look like a Braeburn, but that's just too bad. Once I'm naked, Harry doesn't seem to know where to look anymore. He glances at me, makes a funny sound in the back of his throat, then pulls his wand and dims each of the lamps one by one. The room is warm, but I break out in goose bumps anyway.
What now? The bed. I sit on it and fold my hands over my knees. Then I slide my bum back, kick the quilt to the foot, and lie down on my back, arms straight at my sides. Harry's still fully dressed.
"I think," I say, "that we'll need some oil or something."
It's a relief not to be the only one blushing.
"Yeah. I think I've got some…" he mumbles, then opens a drawer and fishes around inside. "Okay." He walks over to the bed, a small green glass bottle stoppered with a cork in his hand.
I scoot over to give him room. Gingerly, he sits down on the bed and looks at me. I want him to say something, to tell me I'm lovely or admit that he's at least a little bit pleased that we are going to do this. But he doesn't.
"Aren't you going to get undressed?"
"In a bit. Let's start slowly. All right?"
"All right." I look up at the ceiling. I bend my knees and set my feet flat on the sheets, legs slightly apart. My heart is beating so hard I can barely think. "You have to get me ready first. With your fingers and the oil." He nods. Blinks. Then pulls the cork out of the bottle. As he drips oil onto his index finger, I spread my thighs, very glad that I'd had a shower before coming by.
"Please tell me if I'm hurting you," he says in a low voice. He shifts on the bed. On reflex, I squeeze my eyes shut tight. He's breathing loudly; so am I. When his hand touches my thigh, I jump. "Shh. Just… All right. I'm going to…" I keep my eyes closed as he fumbles and touches. I hadn't realised how excruciatingly embarrassing it would be. "Here?" I nod. And he presses his finger gently into my body.
It's the strangest thing I've ever felt--not nice, not painful, just weird. And incredibly real. Heat and tension spread through my thighs; his finger is thick and insistently intimate. He's so quiet that I force myself to look at him. His eyes are glazed. He's not even here. His head is bent down; I see his pulse fluttering at his throat--but I'm alone. And it's going to happen; if I stop it, I'll die. I feel sick. James's voice floats through my memory and I can't help it, I feel my body tense up until I can barely move, I clamp down around him and a jolt of wrong and pain shoots up my spine. I bite down on a cry.
He pulls out of me and turns his back. His fingers slide into his hair, gripping it tight.
Shame and panic. I'm failing. I'm making it horrible for him. I'd rather die than endure it--like it's a punishment, for me, for him. He hasn't done anything wrong. "I'm so sorry," I choke, then roll onto my side and curl up in a ball.
It's not as if Al and I are real friends even now. We see a lot of each other when we aren't in our dorms, but that's because we're linked through Rose. They seem to be a very close family. I can't imagine what that would be like--all those relatives, all that noise every time they're at home. Never having a quiet moment to yourself. Never being alone.
They seem to enjoy it. They gravitate together like magnets. And since with Rose comes me, I'm there too--more watching than a real part of things. But I don't think Al hates me anymore.
In spring on days like today, sometimes, we'll sit by the lake together. Rose will rub my shoulders and make me purr. Hugo will talk about Quidditch, and Al will rhapsodise about whatever girl he's stuck on. I'll stay quiet and listen to them chatter.
James will spread gossip, although he'd never admit it. He'll talk about how Mickey Draughton is trying to get Allegra Smith to fuck him, but she won't until he changes his hairstyle. He'll complain about Gerald McGuillicutty refusing to share the sweets his mum sends him. He'll say how he heard that Mickey got fifty points taken from Slytherin for trying to steal one of the dark artefacts James's dad brought in to show the NEWT level DADA students.
Which is how I knew that Harry Potter was here at Hogwarts giving some of his periodic lectures. I looked away toward the Forbidden Forest so Rose wouldn't see my expression. Mr Potter is a wonderful teacher and I always feel safe when he's around.
He reaches out blindly and rests his hand on my hip. His voice is a hoarse whisper. "You have nothing to apologise for, Scorpius."
I think. That's one thing I'm good at. I need… I need him to be okay, to not treat me like I'm something he's ruining. I need him to be here with me. I roll onto my back and rub my face. I swallow. "Will you kiss me?" My voice is no louder than his.
Harry is quiet. I listen to him breathe. "Scorpius… I'm not sure--"
"It's just…" I turn my face away. I can't look at him now. It's too much; I can't bear it. My voice is so soft when I speak that I wonder if I really want him to hear. "I think… if we pretend that it's… real. Then it might be easier for me."
There's more silence, then he makes a choking sound. After a deep breath, he says, "Okay." Another moment passes. He says, "All right," and his voice sounds different. Stronger. The burning knot in my stomach eases a bit. "Whatever you need."
When I turn my head, he's looking at me. His mouth is a line; there's another line on his forehead between his eyebrows.
"I'm not a child, Mr Potter." I tell him. "I just haven't done this before."
"Right," he says, still not entirely present.
His skin is the colour of parchment and for a second I want to slap him. Put some fucking colour in his face. The impulse passes, and I push myself up and get on my knees. He's just looking at me. He's not going to do anything. I think: once we kiss, it will make things okay. I lean forward. He sucks in a breath.
My hands grip his knees as our lips press together. So soft. I barely touch him. Mr Potter's mouth. Harry's mouth. If he doesn't respond, I'll die of humiliation well before the sunrise gets me. But he does. He gives me one small kiss. Chaste. Hesitant. It sends a dizzying spiral of panic and desire through my centre. I kiss him again, a quiet smack of lips, his breath heating my face. He lifts his hand, slowly, trembling, and strokes the back of my head. His fingertips trail heat across my scalp and the tension coalesces in my chest, hot and magnetic. I'm terrified, but I want him. Want this. I move forward and crawl into his lap, legs around his waist, one hand curled around his neck, kissing him and kissing him and kissing him. Just lips. Soft and quick.
"I want you, Harry," I whisper, and he makes a soft sound, like Ahh. I take advantage of his parted lips by darting my tongue between them. His fingers trail down my back and I shiver hard. My dick is pressed tight against his torso. Lifting himself up on his knees, he gently lowers me onto my back. My thighs cradle his hips and I can feel, even through his trousers, that he's getting hard too. I wish… I wish he'd kiss my neck. I wish he'd bite me. I want to make him lose control.
He props himself up on his arms and looks down at me, somewhat flushed. "Are you okay?"
"Yes." I pull him down, feeling fierce. He's still gentle, but lets me make the kisses wet and hard.
But when I start to unbutton his shirt, he stops me. "You know that this is… That we're only doing this because we have to. Right? I wouldn't. You're so young." His words come quickly. "But I don't have a choice." He still thinks he's doing something horrible.
This makes me cross. "If it's such a hardship for you, if it's going to make you feel like such a bad person, then maybe we should just go ahead and die." I give him a glare. In a lot of ways, Father's right about Harry Potter.
But my words do the trick. Something flares in his eyes. I hold my ground.
"Okay," he says at last. "All right." He sighs. "But if I hurt you, you must tell me to stop. Promise me, Scorpius."
I love how he says my name, so gentle. "I will."
He retrieves the phial of oil and leans over me this time. I can feel the heat of his body; I can see his eyes. He's close, hair falling over a forehead creased in concentration as once again he pushes a finger inside me. It feels better this time--much better. My mouth opens and a soft sound escapes. "Look at me," I plead. After a moment, he meets my gaze. He's flushed. He doesn't look happy. "That's fine. It doesn't hurt at all. Try another one."
Two fingers at once feels different. My body resists a bit as he slides them in and out. I won't get tense, though. It will be fine. I force myself to relax, wanting to be ready, wanting to start. The way his third finger fills me burns a bit and I realise that no matter what we do, it's going to hurt. But I don't care. I don't care at all. "Can we try now?"
"All right." He's breathing really hard and his face looks strange. His lashes flutter over eyes that are too shiny.
I feel the same, carried away with emotion. His fingers are gone; he's resting on his elbow on one side of me and with the other and with the other, he's undoing his trousers. I glance down and get a glimpse of his--Merlin--his dick in his hand as he's getting himself ready, and I shiver so hard it makes my teeth clench. He says, "Shhh," and strokes the side of my face. He leans down and presses our foreheads together, gently, so gently.
"Oh God." I squeeze my eyes shut and run my teeth up my lower lip over and over again. His dick feels completely different than his fingers. It's blunt and insistent as he tries to press into me. It's not happening. I'm doing something wrong. I will myself to open for him. I want this I want this I want this, but my head is full of pounding blood and I've never been so scared.
"I'm sorry," he whispers in a funny voice. "I don't know…" He's shaking and for a moment I think he's going to give up.
I angle my hips, press back at him, and miraculously he pushes inside me. He makes an incredible sound and I almost come. My fingernails bite into his arms. Slowly he slides in deeper, and god, that's all there is. I'm narrowed down to this and only this, the pressure and burn as his thick cock penetrates me. And it does hurt, it hurts a lot. Oh god. Oh Merlin. My thighs shake as his hips bear down on them. We're connected, like one thing, he's mine all mine, and I'm his.
I've forgotten to breathe. I inhale hard to ward off the dizziness, and when I let the breath out it sounds like a sob. I swallow, then again, my cheeks burning hot. I glance at Harry--his lips are pressed together, his eyes boring into mine. I squirm and feel a tear spill over and run down my cheekbone. Merlin, no, that's exactly the wrong thing to happen. I will the tears to stop, but my eyes fill anyway. I clamp down on my throat and chest, holding it in. Why? Why can't I stop it?
I'm worried he'll stop, but he doesn't. He leans down and presses his cheek to mine. He whispers, "It's okay. It's okay, Scorpius. You're… You're doing great. Just hold on." I feel his lips move against my skin and I arch my back, tears flowing freely. It feels good to cry. I let go and sob, clinging to his back.
"Ah, god," says Harry, and his own voice sounds wet and thick. He nuzzles my face and pushes in deeper. His fingertips dig into my back. We're pressed so tightly together. I'm yours, I'm all yours. I know better than to say that out loud. I just think it. I will it into him.
He pulls back a bit, then presses in again. This is fucking. Harry is fucking me.
He's incredibly careful and moves slowly, each stroke controlled and measured to the point that he's trembling. As much as I'd fantasised that he'd just let go and pound me, I'm grateful. This, just this, him being solid inside me, the muscles clenching and unclenching in his arms, the sounds he's trying so hard not to make, they're enough, oh Merlin, they're enough.
My dick's not as hard as it was because of the pain, but when I wrap my fingers around it, it stiffens up again. I moan and bend my knees. He quickens his pace just a little and the mattress creaks. His eyes are squeezed shut. I'm caught in a haze of agony, but my hand feels good on my prick. Each time he thrusts into me streaks of ice rush through my thighs and stomach in contrast to the fire around his cock. "Look at me," I gasp. He doesn't. I reach up and grab a handful of his hair and then his eyes shoot open. "Look! Harry…" He whimpers and thrusts. I cry out; he thrusts again and I come, wailing with shock and pleasure.
Harry gasps. My fist is clenched against his scalp, and for a few short moments he fucks me hard just liked I'd imagined and it's too much and I think I might break and die. Then he makes a louder sound and his whole body shudders. He's coming. He's coming in me. I am dying.
"Oh," he says, still shaking, then slips his hands beneath my shoulders and wraps his arms around me. With his head buried against my throat, he holds me. I'm limp in his arms. "Scorpius?"
I manage to speak. "I'm fine." He exhales, a warm, wet tickle on my neck, and I shiver again. "You're… I… I'm so…"
Fortunately he loosens his hold on me and pushes himself up on his arms before I manage to finish saying something childish. Like I said, I'm not stupid, although I do hope he'll kiss me just once more. He doesn't. He pulls out and I hiss in surprise, then squeeze my legs shut because I’m leaking and it's desperately embarrassing.
He pats my shoulder, then says, "I'm going to go clean up," before standing and staggering into the bathroom. Once the door is closed, he turns on the tap. My bum stings. I'm elated but I want to cry again. Harry emerges, clothing straightened, his hair damp around his face. He sits down on the edge of the bed and gives me a very teacher-y sort of look. "Do you want to use the bathroom?" I nod. "You'll stay here tonight," he continues. "At least until dawn. So we can make sure."
I try to keep my smile measured. He sighs and gives me a small smile in return. The clean pyjamas he gives me and instructs me to put on don't smell of him, but his pillow does. I think, as he gazes down at me and I snuggle beneath the quilt, that he might get in as well. That I'll curl up against him and he'll hold me. Just like that. Sweet and safe. But he stays put.
It's so late. I can feel sleep nudging me and holding me down. I blink. I force my eyes open and see Harry frowning. Then my eyes close, and I'm gone.
It's still dark when I wake up and find myself alone in Harry's bed. I sit, rub my eyes, and get up. Harry's not that much bigger or taller than I am, but his pyjamas fit loosely. I may eventually outstrip him in height, but he'll always be bigger boned, even when I've finished growing. I pad out into the sitting room. I glance at the window and see it's still black and shiny.
Harry's sitting hunched at the desk, leaning over it with a hand fisted in his hair. His eyes, red and dark-circled, focus on the box, which sits dull and innocent but for the continuing glow of the rings on its lid. There's a mostly empty glass of firewhisky next to it.
He clearly hasn't slept. I scuff my feet on the hardwood floor; he startles, then looks at me. His gaze sweeps me up and down, making sure I'm okay, that I haven't broken since he left me sleeping. I yawn, scratch the back of my neck, and smile. He gives me a weary smile back. I want nothing more than to go to him, to lay my head against his chest and have him warm me. But the shutters are back over his eyes, so I remain still.
My heart's beating hard, the rhythm of blood pulsing through my veins like a song, like chanting. Can he tell? It doesn't matter. He's not mine. Never. Not once the dawn breaks. I knew that before and I know it now.
"Hey, Scorpius," he says, voice thick with fatigue. "Are you… How are you feeling?"
My thighs and back ache, and I still feel very sore inside. He did that. I don't tell him, because he'll try to heal me, and I want the pain to last. So I'll remember.
"I'm fine." I give him my brightest smile.
He's had a drink and he's exhausted. I can see his teacher's mask slip as he looks at me. Behind it is pain and something so close to affection that I have to look away because it's made my heart beat even faster. What time is it? How much do I have left before he makes me leave?
"It will be dawn soon," he says, and I know he can't read my mind, I know it, but his words still make me start. "Once we're sure it's worked I'll walk you back to your dorm."
Blinking, I ask, "What if someone sees us?"
With a lift of his chin, he says, "Leave it to me."
I'm quiet for a moment, then I say, "I'm not going to tell anyone." Except Rose. She doesn't count, I tell her everything.
His head dips. "I'm not asking you to keep this secret. That wouldn't be fair."
My skin goes cold. "Are you going to tell?" Not my father. God, please. And not Al. Or Mrs Potter.
"I don't know…" He shakes his head and gives a strange little laugh. "Shouldn't I? I can't do something like this and not face the con--"
"You mustn't. Never." My fists clench. "If Father finds out, I'll kill myself."
Wincing, he says, "Merlin. I think I would too."
Neither of us says anything for a while. He doesn't look at me. He stares at his desk and then turns to check the window. It's gone dark-grey. Dawn is coming.
He takes a deep breath. "There's pumpkin juice in the cooling cupboard. You should help yourself." He points to the corner.
Pumpkin juice sounds lovely right now, and I want to do as he tells me, so I turn my back. I don't know if it's a sound or a slight rush of air. I spin back. He's drawn his wand. It's pointed at my head. And I know, I know what he's contemplating. "No!"
"Scorpius…" His face is creased face, his hand shaking.
I want to scream. I can talk him out of this. I have to. But my words are a rat king in my head, clenched together in a squirming knot. "You can't!"
"It's for the best. I'm sorry. I'm sorry about all of it."
"It's illegal. I'm telling you no." I thrust my hand towards him as if it will protect me.
"It will be fine. I know what I’m doing. It will just be like it never happened."
And… And now I can't speak. I swallow, my throat tight. I force the words out. "But it did happen." My vision goes blurry. "It did."
He's exhausted and almost babbling. "I want to do what's right. But I don't know what that is. I just want to make it right for you."
"Then let it be. Please. That's what I want."
He lowers his wand and shakes his head. "Okay." He sits back down, his body limp, shoulders slumped.
I wipe my eyes with the sleeve of his pyjamas. He toys with the almost empty glass of firewhisky, but doesn't put it to his lips. The light in the window has gone pale pink. It's morning.
I sniffle. "I'm going to go get dressed."
Once I'm in the bedroom, I take off the pyjamas and put my clothes on, then cast some charms on my robes to get rid of the creases. I run my fingers through my hair. My reflection in the mirror doesn't look any different, not really. I fasten my tie, neat and tidy, just like Father taught me. Rose is right; the silver does bring out the colour of my eyes.
He shows me the box as I emerge. The rings have stopped glowing.
"It didn't kill us," I say.
"Not yet," he replies, and I can tell he means it as a kind of joke.
It's time for me to leave. If I stay any longer, he'll just get tempted to Obliviate me again. I lift my chin and straighten my back. "I'm going to go now. You don't have to walk me, I know the way. If Filch catches me, I'll just tell him I had to watch the sunrise on the tower for Astronomy homework."
Harry nods and stares blankly out the window. There's a strange moment where I wait. I'm not sure what for. Suddenly I feel sick and my eyes start to burn. Harry quickly gets to his feet and walks over to me. My knees go wobbly with relief.
He stands in front of me and puts a hand on my shoulder. "You're very smart, Scorpius." He brushes a lock of hair out of my eyes. His voice gets soft when he says, "And brave. And strong." He cups my jaw, and I know that just now, he sees me. I smile. He breathes in, then says, "And sweet," before clearing his throat. He pulls his hand away.
That's enough. I can't expect anything more, no matter how badly I want it. "I really am okay, Mr Potter." I know I need to call him that now. "It… It wasn't horrible or anything. I actually quite--"
"Shh, please." He runs a hand through his hair. "I'm glad you're okay. Relieved as hell, actually. I hope it lasts. And…" He looks me straight in the eye. "No matter what happens after this, I don't want you to feel bad. Okay? None of it was your fault."
I'm not sure what he's worried about. It's our secret, his and mine; Rose is the only one I'm going to tell. And we had to do it, so no one could blame him for anything. I smile. I make it a bright one. Then I make myself leave.
The castle is silent this early in the morning. I'm not worried about getting caught. I'm very careful when I need to be.
I hurry toward the dungeons. The corridor windows are bright with the glow of the just risen sun. I can't wait to find Rose and tell her. Maybe I'll sneak into the girls' dorm and crawl into her bed.
My body throbs where he was inside me. Harry Potter. My first. That one little piece of his heart is mine and I'll always have it. I'll lock it up tight and keep it safe where no one can touch it and no one can take it away.
-- The End
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Date: 2012-02-18 12:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-18 12:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-18 01:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-18 01:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-18 01:30 pm (UTC)Christ, just a boy and Harry–– so very Harry. You painted him flawlessly.
It was perfect. It was so...I'll try to explain. It felt so real, the actions and reactions, sort of awkward and intense in a way. I loved it.
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Date: 2012-02-18 01:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-18 01:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-18 01:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-18 02:03 pm (UTC)First, I loved the first person POV--it's a tricky thing to write, something I almost never attempt in my own fic, and you do it with aplomb here. Scorp is amazingly believable here. I particularly liked the way his father hovered over the edges of his consciousness, always there--Father, Father, Father in the background. I also loved the way he thought about his own sexuality: some boys just respond to me that way. This, more than any physical description, made me visualize Scorpius perfectly.
And Harry--oh, Harry, guilt-ridden Gryffindor to the end. Perfect.
Question--when Harry says, at the end, that no matter what happens it's not Scorpius' fault--does that reference anything specific? Is Harry's marriage with Ginny really happy? Or is Harry just thinking of potential backlash? I'm curious.
OK, I'll hush now. But I loved this, bebe. <3
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Date: 2012-02-18 02:54 pm (UTC)I thought Harry means both the obvious, that Scorpius touched the consummation box, and the less obvious - that Harry must at least half-way realise that Scorpius sought him out specifically and made their encounter happen.
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Date: 2012-02-18 02:27 pm (UTC)*hugs both of them*
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Date: 2012-02-18 05:08 pm (UTC)Thank you, lovely. I'm really glad you liked it. ♥
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Date: 2012-02-18 02:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-18 05:09 pm (UTC)re: Aubade
Date: 2012-02-18 02:42 pm (UTC)Re: Aubade
Date: 2012-02-18 05:11 pm (UTC)I'm very glad it felt real. It was tricky to write, especially as Scorpius and Harry are coming from such different places. And I'm very glad you were able to care for Scorpius despite his manipulations. Of course I'm happy you liked Harry too. :D *loves*
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Date: 2012-02-18 02:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-18 05:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-18 04:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-18 05:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-18 05:37 pm (UTC)I also love that there isn't really a happy end. Readers can choose to believe what happens next. I have to admit that I think that Harry's going to confess and going to be fired XD He seems to feel very guilty about that. Or maybe Rose's going to talk. But maybe later, after Hogwarts... who knows?
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Date: 2012-02-18 07:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-18 05:43 pm (UTC)The way you expertly wove the first person narrative, I truly connected with Scorpius. I found it brilliant, too, that you made him incredibly effeminate (not just his looks, but the way he loved getting a back rub from Rose, crawing into Rose's bed, sharing all his deepest secrets with Rose). The bits with Flint and James being attracted to him when they didn't really want to be served as an excellent set-up for Harry's similar attraction. That he and Albus had a contentious relationship from the start was a wonderful compare-contrast between father and son.
Overall, I was impressed with the quality of this fic. It was cleverly plotted and paced, emotionally provocative, and I believed it. WELL DONE!
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Date: 2012-02-18 07:27 pm (UTC)I'm so happy you liked it. ♥
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Date: 2012-02-18 05:46 pm (UTC)I can feel Scorpius' emotions and simply love that last line! I also think that it must be similar for Harry, he just does not want to examine it too closely...
Such a wonderful story!
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Date: 2012-02-18 07:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-18 06:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-18 07:29 pm (UTC)Very glad you liked the fic, lovely. ♥
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Date: 2012-02-18 07:50 pm (UTC)The comments above have said everything I wanted to say - how you let us into Scorpious' mind, and how perfectly drawn both he and Harry (and Draco and Rose and James and Al) are, and how there were so few actual words spoken, but it didn't feel that way, because Scorpious was so eloquent and so young and so tender.
Just, really, a very haunting piece. ♥
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Date: 2012-02-19 07:19 am (UTC)I'm really happy you enjoyed what I did with it. Thank you. ♥
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Date: 2012-02-20 02:31 am (UTC)yvgfgcgvhvhvhctchv!!!!!!!!!!!!
this is so brilliantly done.i,ll be thinking about itfor weeks. first, harry is brilliant in this. achingly ic. and i say that because you almost want him to slip i to ooc,just to please scorpius. just to make everything easier.
but it,s not easy. it,s uncomfortable. i squirmed through all of it. scorpius' clumbsy suduction of james? his mortification as harry didn,t wnat to go through with it.
more...
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Date: 2012-02-20 02:39 am (UTC)i agree with the comments abovethat harry will be telling ginny immediately. he needs an aliby or two so that when it gets out, his wife knew, maybe his boss... but it can,tbe trusted to remain a secret.
and telling rose. god. also gave me chills. it,s her uncle!!!
and if she knows of his crush. god, if she knows what happened with james... it,d be hard to believethis was an accident.
what a mess.
a hot mess.
complicated and thought provoking and beautifully told.
cannot thank you enough, darling. this was perfect. <3
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