Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy hates parties, plain and simple.
He doesn't know why, really; at sixteen years old he's been exposed to plenty of them in the Malfoy household, often praised by the Prophet as the 'Parties of the Year' among other brainless, vapid shit.
Maybe it's because the parties—his mother's doing, of course—always feature the same people: pureblood supremacists like the Mulciber's and Zabini's, blathering on about blood and blood traitors and mudbloods-something that Scorpius has never cared about much less understood, no matter how many times Grandfather has tried to instill it into him.
Or maybe it's because he has to share a dorm, a common room, and an existence with Albus fucking Potter, the surprising Slytherin and resident party animal.
Scorpius doesn't understand it. It's just a party, nothing special.
(except it's Albus, so it kind of is)
His grey slacks and immaculately pressed silver cardigan stick out amongst the sea of jeans, tee shirts, and too-short dresses; and the select few girls that have already hit third base and are wearing their bras only, but Scorpius tries not to think about that.
Almost everyone is positively shitfaced. It's a New Year's party, so of course they would be, drinking to their lives and to their friends and to all that will come in this upcoming year. The generous, lovely Albus is entertaining his guests, drunk and probably high. He's got to be high to have Viola Parkinson wrapped around him like that, Scorpius tells himself, nose wrinkling with disgust (and maybe just a touch of jealousy.)
The small amount of firewhiskey he's consumed is enough to make him feel at least a little bolder than usual, the warmth of the liquor pulsing through his bloodstream. So when he feels the green eyes of Lily Luna staring at him, he can't hide his trademarked sneer.
"Got something to say to me, Potter?" He sneers, edging closer to her. He cannot bring himself to look into her eyes, emerald and magnificent and—too much like Al's.
The small Potter, who is maybe the only sober person at this Merlin forsaken party, merely cocks an eyebrow at him. "Be careful, Scorpius." Is all she says, her voice struggling to be heard against the loud music and talking from the party. Scorpius' mask falters, revealing his confusion at her warning. "Is that- is that a threat, Potter?" he calls after her incredulously, though deep down he is just slightly scared of what the small girl may have in mind for later. Lily turns around to face him briefly, emerald eyes ablaze.
Then she's gone, lost in the sea of the crowd, leaving Scorpius to deal with his unease.
"Ten more minutes until New Years! Any birds who want a New Year's kiss; you know where to find me!"
Scorpius rolls his eyes at Hugo Weasley's typical buffoonery as he walks over to where the firewhiskeys were stacked. This is your last firewhiskey, Malfoy. This is your second! The still-sober part of his brain is screaming at him as he bypasses the dainty little cups of firewhiskey and heads straight for the bottle. The liquor still burns his throat, but this time, it's almost comforting. If the Potter girl foresaw something bad happening in his future, he figures he might as well live to enjoy life- even Albus' shitty (wonderful) parties.
"Oh! Looks like Malfoy's a lightweight, eh, Scorpy?" Albus Potter's voice, almost more obnoxious than his cousin Hugo's, snaps Scorpius out of his thoughts. The blond spins around wildly, the sides of his once perfectly styled hair hanging limply 'round his face as he takes in the scene in front of him. Albus is alone for once, the crowd around them too into themselves to care much about Scorpius or their beloved host.
"Fuck off, Potter," he slurs with as much iciness he can manage in his drunken state. He looks down at Albus for a fleeting moment to no avail. Those eyes, emerald green and so much like his sisters, are too much. Too much. It's not good for a boy like Scorpius to see those brilliant green eyes, not when he's drunk and all of what he's been trying to convince himself—that he does not fancy Albus Potter—has been proven false.
The Potter merely laughs, the lyrical sound burning up Scorpius' throat and sadly enough, his stomach, where the burning sensation travels lower. "Why should I, Scorpius?" He challenges, stepping closer to the blond; his breath makes hot little puffs against Scorpius' neck. Had he been sober, Scorpius would declare this as an 'invasion of his territory' even though yeah, he secretly likes it.
Well, not so secretly, now. Shit.
He quickly scrambles to hide his little Malfoy from making itself known; he would surely never live it down. When he meets Albus' eyes, however, the emeralds are looking straight at his crotch, much to Scorpius' horror.
"It's not wha' it looks like!" He loudly protests, several partygoers around him stopping to look at him momentarily before going back to their drinking and dancing.
"Oh? So it's a wand in your pocket, then? Classy, Malfoy." Albus remarks, the smirk clear in his voice as the blond across from him flushes.
"…Yes." Scorpius answers childishly, daring to move closer to him, right as—
"Ten seconds until New Years!" Goddamn fucking Hugo.
But right as Potter's eyes lock onto his, all thoughts of the annoying Weasley boy are forgotten.
Because Scorpius knows that hunger- he recognises it, having felt it himself when he's looked at Albus only now the roles are reversed. Now it's Albus who's looking at him with the hunger of a starving man in his eyes and Merlin, those slightly parted lips are too hard to resist and—
Five… four…. Three…. Two…
One!
It's no surprise to Scorpius, really, when their lips are latched onto each other like this is the last time they'll ever see each other. He's pressed against a liquor cabinet (and is quite uncomfortable) but in this moment, it's okay.
"Why don't we take this upstairs, Malfoy?" (Like he ever really could deny Albus bloody Potter.)
Scorpius can't say he isn't surprised the next morning when he wakes up in Potter's bed, his back sore and Potter strangely absent.
He'd like to say he isn't upset when Albus purposefully ignores him in the halls, their only interaction being Al telling him that no, nothing ever happened and maybe if you're having hallucinations, Malfoy, you should get a bloody potion. Nutter.
When he sees Lily in the hall the next day her small, lily-white hand reaches out to grab at his arm. "I told you to be careful, Scorpius. You're simply mad about him," her voice is soft and chiding, much to Scorpius' surprise. "But you always win. You always survive." When he blinks, she's gone.
Not that this was anything special to Scorpius, of course.
(except it's Albus, so it kind of is)
not the way you'd imagined it
on a balcony with champagne lips
but in a pantry against the pancake mix,
you had your New Year's kiss.