It was like someone had wrenched out a part of him.
He'd hidden, of course; there was no way he could stand to face Albus after the party. The curtains on his bed had remained charmed closed for almost twenty four hours, with Scorpius finally venturing out only when he was dry-heaving on an empty, gas-filled stomach, and his bladder threatened to burst inside his body. He'd snuck along corridors, checking around corners, feeling almost physically sick with dread at the possibility of bumping into Albus on his way to the kitchens. The relief that washed over him when he finally reached the kitchen and begged the elves to let him eat something was short-lived, however, when he'd sat down to his meal and promptly burst into tears. The House-elves asked what was wrong, but he couldn't tell them. He could hardly speak.
His meal went largely uneaten, and he'd quickly made his way back to the safety of his bed, to lie undisturbed for a further eighteen hours.
The weekend ended, and Scorpius woke early on Monday morning to the sound of his fellow dorm mates getting ready for class. He could hear the shuffling of feet on carpet, and the rustle of fabric against skin, but he didn't move. He couldn't see himself going anywhere today. He felt absolutely drained – as if he'd had the life sucked out of him. He frowned as he listened to Al pick up his bag from beside the bed and make his way towards the door. It was strange, but as hurt as he was, and as much as he regretted his words at the party, he found himself feeling angry at Al. Angry for what, though, he wasn't entirely sure.
Was he angry that Al had been so obtuse? He could hardly blame him for that, though. Scorpius had only recently realised what those feelings were, himself – he couldn't expect Al to be a mind-reader. Was he angry at Al's lack of response? But then what sort of response had he actually been expecting? Perhaps he was just projecting his anger at himself onto Al because it was easier to justify it that way? Why should he be angry at himself? He was the one hurting, here. He was the one who'd lost a friend. He was the one feeling like he'd never be able to get out of bed again. It wasn't his fault.
He sighed even as he thought it, and rolled over, pulling the covers up over his head and pretending he was somewhere else.
He made it all the way to Thursday before the pain of not studying finally got to him. He was sure he was suffering withdrawal, and he wondered how much homework he'd missed out on. Nobody had thought to bring him anything, or tell him what they were meant to be doing. In fact, nobody had spoken to him at all these past few days. He'd gone nearly a week with virtually no human contact, and nobody seemed to have missed him. That was a depressing thought.
He pushed himself out of bed, got ready, and made his way down to breakfast. He spotted Albus instantly, sitting by the door, picking at his food and occasionally turning to talk with Michael Gratski. He stood in the doorway for a while, then made his way purposefully to the far end of the table. Breakfast was quiet and Scorpius ate undisturbed before heading down to the Dungeons for potions. It wouldn't be too bad, he thought; he'd had potions class while he and Al had been avoiding each other before. He could get through this. However, this time there was a slight difference. Before, he'd been the one avoiding Al – he'd called the shots; this time… well… this time Al was the one avoiding him.
And it was more than that.
Al wasn't there when Scorpius pushed open the door and stepped into the classroom; something that Scorp was thankful for. He chose a table at the back and sat next to the same Ravenclaw boy he'd worked with several weeks before. He unpacked his books and shoved his bag under the table, keeping his eyes downcast, as if he thought someone might question his choice of seating if he made any sort of eye contact. The boy beside him was silent, and Scorpius wasn't sure if he was relieved or unnerved. He suddenly wondered if anybody knew what had happened at the party. The thought hadn't occurred to him at all, but there was every possibility people had overheard. He looked up and around the room, his heart creeping its way up his throat as he surveyed the chamber and all the individuals in it for any signs of… of…
He didn't know. And nobody appeared to be paying him any notice. They were all talking amongst themselves and looking through books. The door flew open and Scorpius almost jumped out of his skin as Professor Strock strolled in, carrying a wooden tray, on which were several dozen small phials.
"Right," said Strock, placing his tray onto his desk. "Today I thought we'd do something a little different than usual. As you can see, I have brought with me today several bottles of potions ingredients. I have some ground scarab beetles." He lifted up one phial to show the class before putting it back down. "Armadillo bile." He raised a second phial. "Lionfish spines and Jobberknoll feathers." The last two bottles he raised together, before walking round to stand beside the desk. "These ingredients can be used in various combinations to create different potions. They are the main ingredients to several of the potions we've studied so far this term, along with other items you will find in the cabinet at the back of the class. I want you all, working on your own, to produce one of these potions for me by the end of the lesson. Record your progress and findings, please. This will be important for the homework I'll be setting."
There was a pause. "Well," said Strock, gesturing to his wooden tray. "Come and collect your ingredients, then."
Everyone got up and made their way to the front – Scorpius joined the queue last, thankful that there would be no working in pairs or groups today. He took his phials back to the table and flicked through his notes. There were several potions to choose from, he already knew that, but it was just a case of identifying which would be the most challenging. He glanced over at the Ravenclaw boy's book and saw that he'd chosen one of the easier options – as, he assumed, had most of the others. Albus probably would have, too.
He flicked to the page on wit-sharpening potion and went to fetch some ginger from the cupboard.
He worked in silence, and was glad for the distraction the task provided. He'd sliced his ginger root up finely, dropped it into his gently simmering cauldron, and was about to write down a note on the temperature of the water before the door opened and Albus stepped into the room, looking sheepish and mouthing a silent apology to the Professor.
"Take a seat, Mr. Potter," Strock said, glancing up from his book. "I'm sure Miss Bluehover will be happy to fill you in."
Scorpius looked back down and kept his eyes on his book, pointedly not looking up as Albus noisily pulled up a chair next to Isabelle Bluehover and unpacked his bag.
The lesson seemed to move incredibly slowly. Scorpius found himself purposefully trying to take his time, constantly looking for a reason not to glance across the room. He shuffled slightly to the right, hiding as best he could behind his cauldron as he alternately took down notes and spent several long moments just staring blankly at the tip of his quill. Finally, the lesson came to an end. Scorp's potion had been finished for a good twenty minutes and he'd been running out of distractions. He quickly packed up his bag and headed for the door, making it all the way to the other side of the room before some small, stupid part of him made him look up.
Al was looking directly at him, and their eyes locked for just a fraction of a second before Al quickly looked away again.
Scorp's throat constricted, and he clenched his jaw painfully as he all but threw himself from the room.