A/N: I know, I've already written a one-shot about this couple, but I couldn't help it. I love them too much.
Pairing: James Sirius Potter/Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy
Song: Pictures of You
By: The Last Goodnight
James Sirius Potter was never one to dwell on memories. At least, that's what everyone thought. They didn't know what he did each night in his empty flat. They didn't know that he still had pictures of him and his ex hung around the apartment.
He looked around, studying each picture carefully - the one taken at James's coming of age party, the first birthday he'd spent with Scorpius... the blond cuddled in his arms at Teddy's wedding to James's cousin, Victoire… the one of the couple, piss drunk at the New Year's party… the one of them kissing after James had asked Scorpius to marry him…
All happy memories, celebrated over five years… They were so perfect for each other, could have still been perfect for each other…
But the bastard had left. He'd called off the engagement, packed his things, and left. For what? Because his stuck-up prick of a father had threatened to cut him out of his will, unless he married a Pureblood witch and conceived an heir? He'd thrown away nearly five years of happiness for a couple hundred galleons. James had tried arguing that he could support them both, but his fiancé's Slytherin pride caused him to refuse.
And yes, James was pissed, not just at Scorpius for leaving, but at himself for what he'd said as his fiancé left.
"You're a berk, Malfoy, and when you come to your senses, I'll be long gone!" Three months later, Scorpius still hadn't come to his senses, and James has been in the same spot since.
He turned away from the pictures and sat on the couch. Big mistake; there on the coffee table was the green velvet box. He picked it up, opening it, to look at the 14 carat gold ring inside. He slammed the box shut and threw it across the room at the pictures lined up on the fireplace. Pictures fell and glass broke, but James didn't care; he was already in the bedroom. He slipped under the covers, wishing it was all a dream, and in the morning he'd wake to a head of blond hair with far too much product…
Pictures of you
Pictures of me
Remind us all of what
We could have been.