Two paintings later, it is clear to Scorpius that he has to maintain his newfound burst of artistic zeal. And apparently that can only be accomplished by stalking Rose Weasley, which he refuses to do.
His friends don't understand why he insists on inviting her each time when they end up in screaming matches. He doesn't know why she keeps showing up. It's not like she has a career riding on this, after all.
But she does, looking hesitantly hopeful that first time, then practically shocked when Nathaniel lets it slip that Scorpius, not Albus, suggested they invite her to join their nights out.
Scorpius is almost sorry to crush that hope. Only almost - because he knows there's no way they'd actually get along. He thought she knew better too. So he keeps on needling her and taking her bait and painting more than he ever thought he could. Thank Merlin he's started drawing things other than Weasley; he was almost offended on her behalf at the intensity of his father's relief when he saw Scorpius's doodle of a cafe. But while he's been able to expand to other subjects, his heart's not in it and his hands only begin to twitch when he's with her. A repulsive thought, but he's come to terms that it's for the best.
Albus is quietly reproachful, telling Scorpius he won't stand for it and drawing him and Rose back from the point of no return on each occasion. Then why doesn't she stop coming, he counters once. To his surprise, Albus turns red, mumbles something about how he doesn't want to get into it, and turns away. Afterwards, Scorpius just brushes off Albus's pointed looks and reassures him that it's only temporary (dear Merlin, please be temporary).
The secret shameful thing he's been hiding is that…he looks forward to it. Just a little. Not just the process of creating a new work, but the verbal spars with her. Say whatever you want about Rose Weasley (and he does, frequently), but she's not boring. And Scorpius's days are a little less monotone when she's in them. Nathaniel has backed off on pushing Scorpius to ask someone out, and Estra comments with a knowing look that he's been livelier than he's been for some time. Ugh. He hates how well his friends know him, and he loves them for it. Albus has taken the head in sand approach and refuses to discuss Rose with Scorpius anymore.
It's become something of a pastime, finding what holes to poke in her armor. He used to be fairly good at getting under her skin back at Hogwarts, but that was due to boredom. Now his goal is much more important and his efforts show.
He's sitting across from her at a bar when it strikes him as odd how he knows exactly what drink she's about to order. They've only just arrived so everyone is still getting settled in and they haven't had a chance to talk (bicker) yet, so he takes the opportunity to study her.
Painting her has changed how he views her—the way the light brings out the red in her hair, how expressive her face can be, the lines in her hands as she gestures. She raises an eyebrow at him, and Scorpius realizes he's been staring too long trying to figure out the exact shade of blue in her eyes.
"What?" she says defensively. "You can't even wait until you get your Dragon Scotch to find something wrong with me tonight?"
He smiles slightly at that. He and Rose aren't friends in any sense of the word. But they know each other far better than they have a right to.
"I thought I'd get the Fairydust Refresher this time actually. See what the appeal is."
"You better not ruin my favorite drink, Malfoy," she threatens.
The purple shimmering liquid is so sweet he chokes on his first sip.
"Isn't it delicious?" She challenges him.
"Repulsive," he sneers. It's too easy from there.
He settles into a new routine but one where he's not bored. They continue pushing, he continues painting.
Until one time. When Albus isn't there to pull them back and he brings up a particular comparison with her mother that's just meant to cut shallowly. When he goes too far and her mouth trembles and eyes turn shiny.
He sees a flash of hurt across her face and a lip bite meant to hide how her mouth had begun to wobble. He hesitates for a moment before he pulls back and looks away, pretending to be following the conversation next to them instead to allow her a moment to collect herself.
He didn't make her cry, he tells himself. But he hides his shame in deep blues and blacks on canvas that night.
She ignores him the next two nights, but fires back the third.
Rose Weasley is, he hates to say it, beautiful. And she is terrible (he says that one a lot). Those two things make her a hell of a muse, but Scorpius can only be tormented for so long and he cracks.
The canvases are arranged along the four walls of his studio on easels. Scorpius sits in the middle of the room, surrounded by his works. They are beautiful. They are terrible.
He's poured so much work, so much emotion into each one. And he is so fucking trapped by them. He can't swallow the lump in his throat this time.
Albus finds him there three hours later. His face is dry by then, but Scorpius knows his eyes are red with exhaustion and tears. Albus crosses the room, taking care to avoid the three canvases that are burnt, shredded, punched to bits on the floor. (Scorpius is desperate to escape, but he hasn't lost it just yet. He's not about to destroy all of his recent works in a fit of rage.)
"I just want to paint something else. Anything else." His voice is hollow.
"I know." Albus sits next to him and places an arm around his shoulder.
"I don't think I can."
"You will."
Scorpius wants to argue that he cannot. While Albus's conviction in him is steady and loving, it's stifling at times. But Scorpius is tired of arguing, so he follows when Albus pulls him up to take him back to his flat.
"Look at him go." Nathaniel is in awe watching the player make several dramatic loops and dives above them.
Nathaniel, a born-and-bred Tornados supporter, is insistent that Luke Cahill, a rookie quidditch player from Ireland with inflated stats on goals, will be the Tornados' saving grace this season.
"Fancy tricks with no stability or stamina," Rose says.
"He led his team in the junior league in goals last year!"
"Barzan on his team was doing all the work of getting the Quaffle from one side of the pitch to the other. Cahill just happened to be there to score at the end. Barzan had 47% of all the assists on that team last year, Cahill had 34% of the team's scoring." Rose is confident. "They're not as cutthroat against their own teammates in the junior league, but in the Tornados? You think the other chasers like Cooper are going to be feeding him those goals when they can just make them directly? Without others on the team making him look good, he's not going to keep up those stats."
"Come on. Scorpius?" Nathaniel looks to him, a sure bet of support against Rose.
Scorpius weighs the instinct to oppose her in every facet of life with what he knows to be the correct response. Even a broken clock like Weasley is right twice a day.
"Actually…"
It's different arguing with her rather than against her. Her usually obnoxious smile when she's won a point feels much less pretentious now when he's obnoxiously smirking right alongside her. It's impressive to see her at work. When it's not against him, of course.
"I think I've figured out what's worse than you two fighting," Nathaniel groans. "It's you two getting along."
They both pause, flicking their eyes toward each other then immediately turning away. Rose mumbles something about it getting late and Scorpius has to control his grimace. Getting along? One good interaction in 15 years does not forge a friendship, much less a truce.
They're at a coffee shop in early autumn when Scorpius looks out the window and pauses. The leaves falling just so, the woman on the bench in the yellow coat… He pulls out his notebook that he's been carrying out of habit more than use the past few months and starts framing the figures.
He doesn't notice the table has fallen silent until Rose breaks it.
"You know, it's rude to ignore everyone and start doing your own thing at the table. Your posh pureblood family didn't teach you?" she asks pointedly.
However she thought the rest of the table was going to react was wildly off base.
Estra—who, while not particularly close to Rose, had previously gotten along with her well enough—glares at her so vehemently that Rose shrinks back slightly in her chair. Nathaniel frowns at her, and Scorpius can see Albus elbow Rose's ribs.
Scorpius smirks down at his paper where he's smudging the lines with his finger. That had backfired spectacularly on her. Slightly embarrassing how proud his friends are at seeing him draw again, but he supposes their concern is…touching. Though it'd be nice if they could all ignore it.
"Some people actually appreciate an artist at work. Your philistine family passed along those views to you?"
He frowns at his paper. He really should go back to his studio for his colors; the black and white from his pencil aren't the best for this shot.
"Albus and I are from the same family," she grumbles, but doesn't push back further.
Once he catches her laughing without the usual air of tension around her (he's seen it from a distance while she's with her family and at work so he knows he's not the sole cause of it). He fills half a sketchbook with ideas from that image alone. Again, he can't bring himself to say it's anything more than 'not bad'. But it's something more than he had 3 months ago, so he'll take it.
Draco views the paintings thoughtfully now instead of with his initial intensity when Scorpius tells him this. "I think it's safe to say it's becoming something more than you had 3 years ago when you were at your best." He holds a hand up at Scorpius's glare. "In my opinion. Art is subjective, after all."
Scorpius rolls his eyes at that last sentence. He'd prefer his father take his preachings about his field to heart rather than as weapons to throw back at him. "You know my best was when I was in Florence last year. Objectively. And this is not my best."
(It is.)