Sequel to the "Offering" prompt. Takes place some time during Scorpius's seventh year and Lily's fifth.
Prompt: "Phenomenon"
As a Malfoy, Scorpius liked to think, or at least pretend, to be above many things other boys his age did. Playing pranks like that insufferable James Potter, for one, came to mind. And indeed, in quite a few cases he was—he never had a detention, which his mother loved to boast about, he never slouched off on his homework, and above all, girls failed to have a great effect on him (not that boys did either!). Maybe it was because he grew up with a female cousin nearly attached to his hip or that his parents' friends had many daughters that he was forced to play with. When it came to dating, he could waltz up to a girl, cool as could be and ask them out, or in some cases shoot them down effortlessly. He called it a gift.
There was however one insanely embarrassing thing that even Scorpius couldn't get away from—his own brain and its cruel tricks. Otherwise called wet dreams.
He blamed the Greengrass blood for it. (Until he remembered that that would mean his mother…well, after thinking that disturbing little mental image, Scorpius had had nightmares for a week.) But no matter where the disconcerting trait came from, truth was there was no way to avoid such dreams. He took up putting silencing charms on his bed curtains each night after one very close call that nearly woke up the rest of his roommates. He didn't dare go ask Madame Pompfrey for a dreamless sleeping potion for the fear she'd actually get the truth out of him.
Tonight just happened to be one of those unfortunate nights—he could tell the instant he started dreaming. The dreams didn't start off the same way but the looks in the woman's eyes—no doubt it was a woman, not one of his fellow classmate girls—was all the same. It bespoke of hunger and it never failed to make him smirk. It was rarely the same person twice and he never recognized her but each time, the same lustful look was in her eyes before she lay beneath him, her hands everywhere and that burning look. He could never get past that look.
Tonight was different however; something was off about it. He couldn't put a name to this new feeling that he saw in this one's eyes but for once he felt the same burning want. This woman ran her fingers through his hair but it was she who was smirking. 'Look at the pretty prey I caught' her expression said, even as she pressed her lips to his throat. Their clothes disappeared in the way clothes always seem to vanish in dreams and he realized she had him pinned on a bed.
He could barely string two thoughts together as she began to ride him. Not that thinking was high on his list of priorities at that moment; her fire, (hers? His? Their fire?), was consuming him alive and all he could see was that smirk on her face as she made him pant. No matter how he touched or moved, she was resolute in her pride. I want to make you beg, he whispered to her.
You'll have to catch me first, she answered.
He blinked, and realized she had freckles just before he climaxed.
Scorpius shot up so fast in bed he nearly gave himself whiplash. He panted harshly and was glad he remembered the silencing charms he'd put up. For a moment, he let himself try and catch a breath before he grabbed the box of tissues and his wand from his night table to try and clean himself up.
Freckles. That's a new one, he thought with a thick blush as he cleaned up. Then again everything about the dream was different than usual—the woman, that look in her eyes, her smirk, her looks, and then she had spoken to him. None of the other dream women had spoken before, none of them really had any personality either. That was…different, he decided. He wondered what brought the change on when he remembered something.
Frowning, he reached under his pillow and drew out a folded yellow handkerchief with the Hufflepuff badger emblazoned on it. L.L.P. was stitched on in curvy, connecting letters near the corner of the folded fabric. He had found it early in the day when he had been rummaging through his trunk looking for a pair of socks. He had stuffed it into his pocket quickly before the other Slytherin boys could ask what he was doing with a Hufflepuff handkerchief of all things; later on, he had hid the handkerchief under his pillow and then forgotten about it.
"You can keep it. Grandmum Weasley will just make me another. Merry Christmas." He recalled the words Lily Potter had said to him that day, nearly four years ago; he'd been rather unhappy and she'd managed to catch not only acting like a moody whiner, she'd also caught him with a bogey hanging from his nose of all things. He'd nearly died of embarrassment on the spot—to be caught by a Potter…under those circumstances…it was nearly too much.
He gazed down at the handkerchief. The youngest Potter didn't really feature into most gossip, she seemed to fly under everyone's radar. Not that her brothers helped matters much—James, while he had been at school, was always up to something, and Albus just seemed to find himself in trouble's way without much trying on his own part. Lily Potter still had the same straight red hair and freckles she'd had at eleven if he remembered right, but she had grown tall and slender unlike her more curvaceous cousins.
Freckles… he thought dazedly, not concentrating on anything but then he blinked.
You'll have to catch me first, she answered.
…all he could see was that smirk on her face as she made him pant…
Her mouth quirked up. "You have a bogey hanging from your nose."
Scorpius looked at the handkerchief with a dawning sense of utter horror on his face.
Lily Potter had freckles and red hair. The dream woman had freckles for sure and he strained to recall what hair color she had had.
It was a good thing he put those silencing charms up—the loud explosion of curses and shouts of frustrated horror was nicely muffled and not a one of his roommates heard him.