A/N: This is for Alice (felines) it'll probably end up being a three-shot. Merry (early) Christmas, Ali-gator!
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or the song Diamonds.
melancholia
"you and i, we're like diamonds in the sky."
—rihanna, diamonds
oo1: prologue
"Do you ever get lonely?"
They are sitting by the lake on the Hogwarts grounds. He's torn between wanting to look at the lake and wanting to look at her so he settles for her. The late afternoon glow makes her hair light up from within and her jade eyes have no bounds. She is staring at him with the intensity that only Lily can—it's like she was born with this scorching look or something—and he tries not to think that this is the last time they'll sit here like this, peacefully, with no worries in the world. She jabs in him the ribs and he realizes that she's still waiting for an answer.
He decides to be truthful. "All the time, Lily."
"I do, too."
She sighs, looking away from him and towards the sun, already dipping beneath the line of trees that surround Hagrid's hut. He can tell that she, too, can feel the tension in the air, and he wonders, just briefly, if she will miss him. Of course, he doesn't dare ask because he knows that Lily doesn't miss anyone, not really—not since Lysander.
As if she can sense his thoughts leading him in dangerous directions, her eyes gloss over. "Don't," she advises, "Don't, please."
He wants to tell her that it's been a year; that it wasn't her fault, and that no one blamed her anymore— but all of this would be untrue. It felt like both a thousand years and a second since the accident—how, he wasn't even sure but nothing really made sense when it came to Lily—and, yeah, neither Molly nor Percy ever came to family gatherings anymore.
Party. Firewishiskey. Light-headedness. Car. Laughter. A scream. Black. He tries to not remember but the events run over and over again in his mind until they blur together.
"Tell me a story," she says suddenly, her voice far away. He can't help but smile a little bit at this; despite the fact that they were … dating—he really didn't know the word for what they were—she never stopped treating him like her cool older brother's friend, the one she'd met when she was ten years old and still believed that one was Sorted by wrestling with a troll. In a way, so many things had changed since then but really nothing had.
"Aren't you a little old for stories?" he raises a pale eyebrow, glancing at her through steel-grey eyes.
Lily rolls her eyes, running her hand through her messy red curls, "Of course not. The real question is if I'm still young enough for stories." She leans into him and he instinctively puts his arms around her; this feels natural.
"Scorpius?" someone calls, breaking him out of the trance he's been, running his hands through the piles of hair on Lily's head. It's Rose. She's squinting down at them, frizzy hair pulled back in a ponytail and, as always, book in her hand. "They need you for the robe fitting."
Lily narrows her eyes, "Hi, Rose." Rose nods stiffly and Scorpius wishes he could just fall into a crack in the ground or something; yeah, he knew that since the accident, Lily had pulled away from her family—even those she considered herself closest to—but he had no idea it'd gotten this bad.
Scorpius misses the year before last, when the LupinWeasleyPotterScamanders (and maybe even himself, a Malfoy) were the close-knit friends they now were not. Before Lorcan and Lily distanced themselves from the group and each other and he, Al, and Rose went their own way with the others hanging out with different friends, too. He really misses the shouting to different tables at breakfast time and the pandemonium they could create.
He misses Lucy.
He glances up briefly at Rose and she catches his eye; it occurs to him that perhaps she also misses the old days.
"See you later, Lily?" he asks, uncertain. Lily is once again facing the quickly darkening forrest but he can see what looks like a tear fall slowly down her cheek, hang off her jaw for a second—like a suicidal person deciding whether or not to jump—before splashing onto her lap.
"Whatever," she mumbles, her voice back to its usual nonchalant tone.
Rose raises an eyebrow and the two begin the long trek back towards the school. He can tell that they both want to talk about themselves, about each other, about Lily, about Lysander and Lucy and LysanderandLucyandLily but neither really knows how.
It's kind of like when you meet an old friend that you haven't spoken to inyears and you really have nothing in common anymore, and nothing to say.
Finally, he breaks he silence. "She's still sad."
"I know," Rose mumbles, "And I wish we could reach out to her; show her that we're hurting too, but the second one of us even gets near her …. It's like talking to a brick wall."
He really feels guilty, betraying Lily's trust like this. That, however, doesn't stop the next words from coming out, "It's not just with family; she pulls away from me, too, and Hogwarts, and everything she used to love."
Rose sighs and closes her eyes, as if she was a little kid wishing for the monsters to disappear. It doesn't work. She wakes up and they are still there, lurking in the shadows, waiting to prance on her already fragile life. She wonders if Scorpius knows about Lily's plan for the upcoming year, and whether or not he'd want to be informed. Well, she realizes that she'd want to be informed was it the other way around. "Lily's leaving," she blurts out whilst searching for a tactful way to tell him.
His face is blank. "We all are. It's summer."
Rose rolls her eyes and a quick smile flashes across her face; for a second, it's just like the old days again. "No. I mean, she's leaving for good. Hogwarts. England. You. Me." She watches Scorpius' face fall and realizes, with a sharp twist in her gut, that he honestly had no clue.
He has that funny feeling one sometimes gets when they're drinking pumpkin juice and someone makes them laugh so it does into their nose and it feels funny for hours. Also, he kind of wants to throw up—no big deal, really. "What do you mean?"
"She can't take it here," Rose says, her voice dropping, "All the stares. Her grades are dropping, her social life—or lack thereof—is really affecting her self-esteem, she can't deal with Aunt Audrey and Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny really think it is best for Lily to go to Salem Witches Academy in America with Uncle Harry's cousin's daughter, Violet Dursley—she's a Muggleborn with wizard blood—and—"
Scorpius stops listening; all he notices is that Lily, his Lily, is hurting so much and he didn't even know—he didn't even care to ask. She's hurting so much she has to move halfway across the world to escape it.
"It's not your fault," Rose says, looking at him in the eye for the first time for the entire conversation. "Don't you ever tell yourself that it is."
"I won't," he lies; both of them pretend to believe it—it's much easier than the truth.
They continue on in melancholy silence for about a hundred yards or so, when Scorpius suddenly blurts out, "I miss you, Rose."
Rose looks at him quizzically, "I'm right here, Scorpius."
He rolls his eyes, "You know what I mean—I miss us; the unstoppable trio, me, you, and Al. I miss goofing around with you guys. What happened to us?" Her face reflects the same sadness that he feels and he knows he's not alone.
Rose is quiet and he knows she's thinking about what he's saying, "After the accident—" she finally begins, but no: he'd heard enough about this God-damned accident—he was there for God's sake!—and he's not going to let it be used as an excuse any more.
Surprisingly, his voice is calm and doesn't let out all the anger he is feeling. "Rose. The accident should have brought us closer together; we were dealing with a tragedy, and pushing ourselves away from each other, trying to pretend it never happened, isn't going to solve anything."
"We could run—run far away; away from the daylight and live with the moon, and we'd feel no pain," she finally mutters. He sighs and grabs her hand.
"I really want us to at least try and get back some of what we had before," he admits, face turning slightly pink—he thanks Merlin he isn't a blushing Weasley—and he looks up at the sky, no indigo and dotted with stars. He makes a wish.
"I do, too. And I know Al does—it's just; I don't know how." She sounds so scared and vulnerable that he vows to help her (not aloud of course—heaven forbid feminist Rose ever hear that he thought she couldn't end for herself).
"I don't either," he admits, "but I want to try." He pushes the large oak front doors open again and it feels like nothing has changed. But they will be graduating tomorrow—this is their last night in the place he's called home for the better part of seven years; the place were friends and enemies were made, blood was spilled, trolls were battles, and toads were attacked. After tomorrow, there is absolutely no going back, only forward. After the robe fitting, he'll return to his common room—for the last time.
And he'll be damned if Scorpius Malfoy, great nephew of the Marauder, Sirius Black, doesn't spend his last night as a student making the staff and students remember his name.
Tomorrow, he will talk to Albus and maybe, just maybe, they'll end with a bang, not a fizzle.