For the third time this month, I find myself running top speed up the stairs of Ravenclaw tower, cursing the fact that our year's dormitory is at that top. I'm going to be late no matter what, but if I show up with book and have some sort of excuse, at least Flitwick won't guess that I've forgotten my book again.
I slow down as I get to the top and momentarily I brace myself against the wall, trying to catch my breath; the only further place from Ravenclaw tower than the charms corridor is the Slytherin common room. I'm about to open the door to my dormitory when I hear something that sounds suspiciously like crying coming from within.
I approach the door slowly and press my ear against the crack. The sound is unmistakable. I rack my brain for a moment, trying to figure out who it could possibly be. I suppose Hornsby was dumped by his girlfriend last week, so it could be him…
No, no. Hornsby was in Charms. Redkin, Atkins, Malfoy… Malfoy. Come to think of it, Scorpius left the breakfast table when I did… but I never saw him reach the classroom…
I knock on the door lightly.
"Malfoy?" I ask softly, opening the door. The sight I see before me is pitiful. Malfoy is sitting on his bed, red faced and puffy eyed. He's looking around at me in a panic as though he's trying to hide something, and although he clearly wiped his face of tears, his eyes are still watering. "Malfoy, what's wrong?" I ask, my charms book all but forgotten.
"P-potter!" He gasps at me. "What are you doing here?" His hostility would make you think all of this were somehow my fault. Though, if you were to ask headmistress McGonagall, everything usually is.
"I forgot my charms book," I say gently. "I could be asking you the same question, Malfoy, what's the matter?" Malfoy runs his hand across his eyes again.
"It doesn't matter. Just go away." I frown, trying to figure out how to proceed. Scorpius and I have lived in dorm together for the last six years, but we've never really been close. My brother never really approved of him, and I've always stuck for the most part with Rose, and Lily, who were also sorted into Ravenclaw. We're a close family.
"Well, it clearly matters, Scorpius." I say awkwardly. "Is there anything I can do?" Malfoy shakes his head and avoids eye contact with me.
"Just go to class, Potter." He snaps at me. I sigh. I'm about to turn around to collect my book and go when my eye catches something shiny on the bed. My stomach flips, violently.
"I… I don't think I'll be going to class, Malfoy." The blonde looks up, alarmed, and angry.
"Why the hell not?" He barks. Before he has a chance to track my gaze, I reach out and snatch up the object in question. It's a razorblade. My insides flutter in excitement from touching it and I resist the urge to fling it away from me.
"What's this for, Scorpius?" I ask, in the most level tone that I can manage.
"N-nothing." He stammers. "Give that back!" I hold it away from him.
"No way, Malfoy. Let me see." I don't know why I'm angry, with him – I barely know him – but I am.
"See what?" He tries to play dumb and for some reason that makes it worse.
"You know what, Malfoy." I bark. "Your arm. Let me see your arm." He glares at me.
"I barely know you, Potter. Give it back!" His voice breaks and I see his eyes begin to tear again. Suddenly, the anger flies away from me leaving an overwhelming sense of sadness. Come on now, Albus. You know yelling doesn't work. I sigh and approach Malfoy slowly. Uninvited, I sit down on the bed, beside him. Placing the razorblade in my robe pocket, I very deliberately pull up my sleeves.
Holding my bare arms out for Scorpius to see, I avoid eye contact as his eyes flit over scar after scar on my flesh. When I get the sense that he's gotten the picture, I pull my sleeves back down and look at him, pointedly. Pursing his lips together, and sniffling slightly, Malfoy repeats my action and pulls up his robe sleeve. He holds his left arm out in front my face, and I wince with the sight.
Scorpius' arm is littered with what must be years' worth of mutilation. The 7 fresh slices on his wrist are still bleeding pretty badly. Trying to ignore the nauseous turning in my stomach I look at him with as much sympathy as I can muster.
"You've been doing this for what," I find the most faded scar that I can see. "2, 3 years?" I ask. My voice is just ever so slightly unsteady.
"Two and a half…" I hear Scorpius mutter, barely, beneath his breath. I point out a thick, jagged looking scar near his elbow.
"You did that first." I tell him, point blank. He nods and I pretend not to notice his chin quiver. "Used a quill?" He turns away from me, and I can make out a single tear as it cuts a path across his cheek. Sighing, I grab his hand. He jumps with the contact, and looks around at me. "Come on," I say, tugging on him, gently.
"W-what?" he inquires, as his eyebrows furrow together in confusion. "Where are we going?" Seeming to trust me, he allows me to guide him.
"To the loo." I say simply. I pull Scorpius into the restroom off the dorm and start running some warm water from the tap. Still not bothering to resist, he allows me to run his arm beneath the water. I wash the cuts as gently I can manage, still making a conscious effort to quell the screaming anxiety that's building up inside my own stomach.
"Why are you doing this?" I take a towel from beneath the sink and press it against his wrist. He winces, slightly, and I look at him apologetically.
"Because," I say simply. "No one ever did for me." Reaching down, I grab Malfoy's right hand and place it on the towel. He starts to apply pressure, and as I pull my hand away from his, I spot scarring above his knuckles. I frown, as I start to rummage around for a bandage.
"You been making yourself throw up?" I ask, as gently as possible. I look up and see his grey eyes staring at me, unsure.
"It's okay," I answer, pulling out a roll of gauze. He nods, looking away from me.
"Did you do that too?" Pursing my lips together, I shake my head.
"No." I say, softly. "No, I never did that." I take Malfoy's hand and move it, taking away the towel and inspecting the cuts. "I just know what to look for." I'm relieved to find that none of them will require magical healing, because that's something I was never able to do. I dab some dittany that I found in the cabinet across his wrist before I start to wrap the bandages around the cuts. When I've finished, I pull his sleeve back over his arm and let go of his hand. "Good as new," I say, forcing myself to smile.
The expression with which he stares at me makes me very uncomfortable, because I'm not able to place it. I didn't really think about what I'd do when I was finished fixing him up, and now I'm left after a moment of intimacy with no idea how to proceed.
"Thanks." Scorpius mumbles. My fingers are shaking and the anxiety hasn't yet faded from my stomach. I can feel the razorblade sitting in my pocket and the sensation of it pressing up against my let sends excitement through my skin. I reach in and pull it out. I stare at it for a second, before I turn away from Scorpius.
"I know you have more of these, somewhere." I tell him, before I drop the blade in the toilet and flush it down. The level of my desire to know where is frightening to me, and make a mental note to never go looking for them.
I walk past Scorpius and back into the dormitory. Glancing up at the clock, I determine there's no point in trying to make it into Charms. I sit down on my bed and rub my eyes with the heels of my hands. I take a deep breath, and my stomach begins to settle. When I remove my hands, I can see the blurred figure of Scorpius, sitting across the room on his own bed, looking conflicted.
"If you ever want to talk about it, I'm a good person to go to." As I say it, I feel my cheeks go red. "That is," I add, feeling stupid, "if you don't have anyone you're already talking to." Taking his eyes off the floor to look at me, he speaks.
"That must have been hard for you." He says, his voice growing less tearful. I shrug. I am the last thing that I want to talk about. Feeling as though I need to be doing something, I stand up and start to rummage through my trunk for my Herbology book. Seeing as Professor Longbottom is present at almost all of our family functions, it would probably be unwise to miss his class.
"Don't worry about it, Malfoy." I say over my shoulder. I find my book at pull out. I set about collecting my things for class, even though it's a good 30 minutes before I need to head toward the greenhouses. My inner conflict at the moment is ridiculous. I want more than anything to help Malfoy. But I also feel stupid and arrogant for assuming that he knows or trusts me well enough to let me in. Its rude for me to even ask. Clearly, Scorpius has his own friends that he can go to. I need to stop butting into other people's lives because I feel like I have a personal stake in their problems.
My mental self-degradation only serves to place that nauseous longing back into my gut, and I find myself foolishly wishing that I hadn't flushed that razorblade.
"I don't." Says Malfoy, cutting into my thoughts. I look up, confused.
"What was that, Malfoy?" I ask.
"I don't have anyone. That I'm talking to, I mean." I realize what he's saying and I feel my insides flip.
"Oh. W-well why not?" He shrugs, a shadow of misery darkening his features.
"I've never been close with anyone before. Everyone avoids me. Because of who my family is." Sensing that Scorpius is probably not finished talking, I approach him. Asking for silent permission to sit down, I wait for approval. He slides over to allow me space and I take a seat beside him.
"I'm sorry to hear that," I tell him sincerely. My problem exists in the opposite extreme; no one will leave me alone because I'm the child of the Chosen One.
"The Slytherins are relentless." He says. "They always have been." Feeling sad, I place a comforting hand on Malfoy's shoulder, and he winces. My stomach flips again as I realize that his wrists are not the only victims of his blade.
"That doesn't mean that you need to hurt yourself." As soon as I've said it, I regret it. Scorpius will want nothing to do with me if I continue to spout out hypocritical clichés.
"It helps," mumbles Malfoy to his shoes.
"And the vomiting?" I press, against my own instinct. Wrapping his arms around himself, Scorpius turns away. "Sorry," I say, after a moment of silence. "I won't bother you."
"It's okay." He finally says, after what feels like an hour of beating myself up. "You're the only one who's ever cared enough to notice." Feeling myself flush, I stand. I reach out my hand.
"You should come down to Herbology with me. We can be partners." Scorpius stares at my hand for a moment, seeming to deliberate. Then, slowly, I see a slight smile come across his face.
"Alright." He tells me. "Let's go."
Alright guys, this is my first ever next generation story. I could leave this as a one-shot, or I could expand it. Let me know if you want some more chapters!
