A/N: Beater 1 for the Ballycastle Bats. No prompts beyond writing about a character holding resentment or anger towards someone they love. I (finally) finished the Showtime series Penny Dreadful (it's really good - go watch it) so it may or may not have some effect on how I write this. The poem is by William Wordsworth, Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood. I feel like I've been missing out on the AU train so here is a bit of my own AU where you develop markings on your body with pain.
A single field which I have looked upon,
Both of them speak of something that is gone
Albus Severus Potter had been many things in his relatively short life. A Slytherin Beater, a brother, a son, and as of recently, an ex-kinda-boyfriend.
Even thinking of everything that happened in fifth year stabbed at his gut.
Albus hated it. Everything good - all the funny, ridiculous moments of fifth year - got overwritten with the stinking, pervasive shadow of resentment and hurt. It made him feel ungrateful, immature, and most of all - like a victim.
He traced the darkening lines across his stomach with the careful tips of his fingers, lightly pressing in fear that he might smudge or spread the delicate lines. The swoops and dashes that converged in an ugly knot across his skin had been growing steadily darker over the course of the Summer. He sat heavy on his hunches as water from the shower head above rained own. Water streamed down his short cropped hair and into his eyes.
Blinking hard, Albus shook his head. Water droplets clumped in his eyelashes. Sometimes it was hard to tell what was tears and what was water. Albus hated the tears, he hated the confusion, and most of all, he hated the energy-sapping feeling, a perpetual ache, in the pit of his belly.
A tugging sensation kept his head down and his feet heavy.
Exiting the shower, Albus tightened a towel tightly across his waist. Looking down at the increasingly more prominent mark on his lower torso, Albus retied his towel around his ribs.
Albus breathed the moist fog of the bathroom in and out, thankful for the condensation beading on the mirror. His reflection was obscured. Seeing his entire body - his face connected to his lines - only served to feed the blackness. His hand twitched for something - or someone - to curse.
Altering the designs upon his skin was impossible - millions of people, witch or wizard, tried and failed. Only a fraction of the global population had been contaminated with Mordred's Curse before the wizarding population caught on and started to ward against it. Lily had been shielded but Albus and James had not been as fortunate.
Albus had never gone as far to label his relationship with Scorpius. After so many years in the spotlight, he supposed both Scorpius and himself were just too tired with semantics to care. Love is love; Albus never pushed the issue.
He liked knotting his fingers in thin blonde hair, burrowing little homes for his hands in green sweatshirts, and the feeling of a solid block of warmth beneath his arms.
Their parents were courteous but maintained a tumultuous relationship. Albus made the executive decision back in third year to hide their relationship - friendship or otherwise. Scorpius never argued. Albus always had the sense that he disagreed but Scorpius never voiced his dissent.
What else would you call late night talks, locker-room rendezvouses, and knowing absolutely that you have someone who knows and accepts you.
Best friend?
Close confidant?
Boyfriend?
Apparently Albus had missed something, looked over some obscure yet glaring sign.
If they were never together then it's okay that they never broke up?
Albus swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth, rewinding the last time he saw Scorpius in his mind. Nothing had seemed "off". He didn't get any warning signs, just a hopeful promise to reunite after Albus returned from his break in Albania. But Albus hadn't heard from his supposed best friend in weeks, months. Every letter was returned unread. Scorpius pointedly avoided his eyes when they saw each other across a shop in Diagon Alley.
Scratching at the side of his face, Albus retreated into his room - more specifically his bed - while shaking water out of his hair.
Walking into the Burrow, Albus let the familiar earthy scents of a place that irrevocably represented home flood his system. His pants were too tight and too short - a consequence of his growth spurt. His shirt itched at the seams and across his stomach.
Albus was awkward and gangly and heartbroken. But for a happy moment, he felt okay.
He smiled when his (many) uncles clapped him on the back and congratulated him on exceeding both his older brother and father in height. James, to his credit, only smirked lightly. With a roaring laugh and blinding smile, he punched at Albus' shoulder. "Still a snake," he said with his characteristic good nature.
Maybe it was because he felt so miserable for weeks and he was finally back in civilization but Albus couldn't help the sense of looming dread that hit him at dinner.
He was right.
Desert was an awkward affair.
Rose brought her new boyfriend.
The family was shocked. Albus' uncle almost fainted. Scratch that, Albus almost fainted.
He met Scorpius' eyes once more - like that disastrous day in Diagon Alley - and could see the happiness (and the sadness) in them. Scorpius was an easy read much like he was sure Scopius could instantly take stock of Albus' tired eyes, slumped shoulders, and mismatched clothes. It hurt that Scorpius had obviously taken Albus' absence more lightly than he Scorpius'. The stubborn fluttering of his heart hurt more. His own body and mind betrayed him. Each excited thump, pumping blood into his system and making his body warm, happy, felt like defeat.
Albus had been foolish. Used. Discarded. He couldn't shake the rotting feeling in his limbs, the sharp barbs that rested on his tongue, much like he couldn't shake the scalding warmth spreading through him: the affection.
The lines burned deeper, darker, and twisted, tugging on Albus' skin. He wanted to grab them, tear them out, and hold them up before Scorpius' face just to see his stupid reaction. To see some of the hurt he felt for weeks pushed away and onto Scorpius. The black lines would still stuck to his bloody skin. He'd rip out his entire torso to be free of those lines. The blood would drip down his fisted hand and flow along his forearm.
James might beat Scorpius up. Maybe after seeing Albus' pain, Louis would jump in too.
Fantasies. Just fantasies.
Scorpius mouthed: "I'm sorry, talk later" but Albus had long looked away and retreated, out of the brightly lit dining room and into the dim hallway.
With any luck, both Scorpius and Albus would be eaten by one of Aunt Luna's crazy imaginary beasts. Consequently, Albus then wouldn't have to face the blonde in classes next week.
The sunshine is a glorious birth;
But yet I know, where'er I go,
That there hath passed away a glory from the earth