Music I listened to while writing : Le Dernier Jour du Disco - Juliette Armanet
_

Chapter 8 : Disenchantment

A few months ago, at the Blue Salon.

A disaster. That's how the memory stood in Scorpius's mind. A disaster.

Scorpius had accompanied Dorian to the opening of a new nightclub.

The Blue Salon, an elegant venue with a white and deep blue decor, featured a bar, a dance floor, and three adjoining rooms where lovers of gambling and rare objects could face off over cards. To spice things up, all guests were required to wear a dark blue mask, ensuring anonymity and avoiding any potential scandals.

Dorian had quickly vanished into one of the adjoining rooms where a high-stakes card game was being played, determined to spend a considerable sum.

Having no interest in gambling, the evening promised to be deeply boring, but Scorpius wasn't in the mood for fun anyway.

Nott was there to play cards, and he was there to get drunk. That was probably the only thing that allowed him to forget what had happened to him.

He found a secluded, discreet corner to observe the small anonymous crowd without being seen, comfortably nestled in soft blue cushions, a drink in hand.

He had let his mind drift when a conversation caught his attention. In an alcove near him, two security guards were discussing a particular visitor.

James Potter was there. Incognito. However, the management had been informed to prevent any crowd movement if the information got out. And now Malfoy knew, and he scanned the masked men in the room but didn't spot Harry Potter's son.

After his fourth glass of Firewhisky, a drink he rarely got to enjoy in the Muggle world, Scorpius noticed a handsome boy leaning against the bar, alone.

His vision clouded by alcohol, he nevertheless recognized the young Potter. Driven by boredom and a hint of curiosity, he tore himself from the couch, adjusted his mask properly, and crossed the room to sit on the young man's left.

"Hi," he said without preamble.

"I'm drinking alone," the young man replied curtly, not even glancing at him.

"Is that your way of telling me to get lost?"

Potter turned towards him, about to nod, but upon seeing Scorpius, he seemed speechless.

Malfoy stopped breathing. Had he been unmasked so quickly?

But James smiled, a shy, slightly embarrassed smile.

"Sorry. I rarely get to be alone, so I'm savoring it. But you can stay."

"Oh, how generous," Scorpius retorted.

Potter let out a small laugh as he brought his glass to his lips. Apparently, he wasn't put off by Malfoy's bad temper.

He must be used to people kissing up to him; this must be a change, Scorpius thought.

"I reacted a bit harshly," James explained, losing his abrasive tone. "I forgot…"

That you were wearing a mask, Scorpius thought. Of course, he must spend his time fending off fans.

"Are you that popular?" Scorpius asked, draining his glass and signaling the bartender for a refill.

James shrugged but didn't answer.

"What are you famous for?"

"Nothing at all," James said with a sincere smile, his brown eyes locking onto Scorpius's. "The truth is, I'm nobody."

Scorpius smiled too.

"So, 'Mr. Nobody,' how do you manage to stay out of the spotlight when you're not wearing a mask?"

"I have a not-so-glorious technique. Usually, I pick a girl for the evening. Just to have a shield, a kind of sign that says, 'He's taken, back off.'"

Scorpius remembered that the newspapers loved to flaunt the eldest Potter's many conquests.

"That's sad," he heard himself say, despite himself.

Potter grimaced and sighed wearily. "Don't feel sorry for them. They get their moment on the front page. That's all they want."

"I wasn't talking about them," Scorpius murmured. The alcohol dulled his senses. His voice seemed barely audible. Potter stared at him, his pupils tracing every one of his features with tenderness. "You must feel lonely."

His own gaze studied the face partially concealed by the mask. But the warmth blurred his mind. He could only make out the dark, shiny irises and the auburn hair. Such dark, beautiful eyes. Full lips that seemed so soft. His heart clenched, pounding furiously in his chest to the point that he struggled to breathe.

Scorpius didn't say a word and gently wrapped his arms around the startled boy's neck.

"What are you...?" he heard the young man murmur, surprised.

And Malfoy smiled before pressing his lips against his, leaving a chaste kiss before kissing him again, tracing the line of his mouth with his tongue.

The world ceased to exist; nothing mattered except the warmth of the boy in his arms. He felt the young Potter respond to his kiss, parting his lips and brushing his tongue against his.

A shiver ran through his body, and he moaned in pleasure, loving this new softness. He felt hands on his hips, massaging them. He pressed closer to him, deepening the kiss as James slid his hands down his backside.

It was at that moment that Scorpius stiffened, his breath catching. He had gone too far, and the alcohol could no longer suppress his memories.

Under the touch of his hands, he felt nausea rising in his throat. He wanted to focus only on James, but he couldn't bear the disgust his caresses stirred in him.

It was too soon to forget and to heal.

Breaking the kiss, he tried to push the young boy away, who clung to his body.

"Wait, no, don't touch me like that," he murmured, pushing Potter away as he kissed his neck.

But the young man didn't listen and gently pushed him onto an empty bench to lay him down.

Scorpius panicked.

"I told you to let go of me, Potter!"

And the blow came. He didn't realize he had slapped him, yet James bore the mark of his hand and the fine scratches from his nails on his cheek. But he didn't seem to feel the pain of the strike. He stared at Scorpius.

He had called him "Potter."

Suddenly, James leaned towards him to tear off his mask, and in his panic, Scorpius raised his hands in front of him. A magical jet shot towards the boy. Uncontrolled, the spell missed him and shattered the bottles behind the bar.

Taking advantage of the screams and James's shock, Malfoy rushed to the cloakroom.

James's voice reached him as he grabbed his coat from one of the hangers.

"Don't call the Aurors, it's fine, I'll pay. Just give me a second."

He had crossed the door and the porch stairs when a hand grabbed him by the hair, pulling him back before ripping off his mask.

In the street, in the freezing cold, Scorpius saw the unmasked face of James Potter glaring at him with fury, his eyes burning with anger as he recognized him.

He violently grabbed his wrists, pulling him towards him before slamming him against the club's wall, towering over him.

"Damn it, Malfoy, what are you playing at?" he spat, squeezing his wrists even tighter.

Scorpius whimpered in pain but didn't answer. He had nothing to say.

He looked at the angry man before him, who was staring at him with dark eyes. He was so beautiful, and Scorpius felt bitter, realizing he could never be with him.

"That monster" had destroyed him to the point that he could no longer bear the touch of another man, despite his desire for the boy who was bruising his wrist.

It was so unfair!

So since he couldn't have him, he wanted James to hurt.

Aware that all eyes were on them, curious onlookers who had come out of the club or passersby surprised by their altercation, he looked up at the boy, gathering all the disdain the Malfoys were capable of and said in a contemptuous voice.

"You believed it? Really? Oh, Sweetheart... You're pathetic! A Potter will never have a Malfoy. And you can die trying."

With a kick to his leg, he brutally freed himself from James's grip, and ignoring the boy's cry of pain, he fled, leaving the young man behind.

He ran without stopping, his lungs burning. He knew no one was chasing him, but he kept running, in a futile attempt to escape himself.

"What a fucking disaster…" he muttered.

(End of memory)
_

Room of Requirement, now

Lying on the bed, Scorpius felt warm.

Red sheets… What a questionable taste...

This Room of Requirement was truly incredible. It became whatever the person who summoned it needed most. And in this case, James had needed an isolated room to make love to him.

The walls were covered in red tapestries adorned with gold threads. The floor was polished wood, and a grand, imposing fireplace housed a fire, the only source of light that bathed the room in a soft glow.

James was kissing his shoulder, but Scorpius was too exhausted to push away his caresses. He stared into the fire, focusing on the flames licking the stone walls to keep his mind blank.

James was particularly affectionate after "making love," though the expression was inadequate to describe their activity.

Their arrangement had nothing to do with love.

It had been more than a month since their "pact"—as he called it—began, and James had kept his promise.

The insults had continued, but no Gryffindor had dared to lay a hand on Dorian anymore. Scorpius supposed that James's defense of Dorian had annoyed quite a few of his dorm mates, including his friends, who hated Dorian with a passion. But no one wanted to oppose the Gryffindor captain, much less the eldest son of the "Great Harry Potter."

No one suspected the reasons behind James's change in behavior, and a "relationship" between them had never been considered because they completely ignored each other outside of their secret meetings.

Scorpius closed his eyes. His breathing was becoming less ragged, though his heart had not yet calmed and was pounding in his chest.

"You know I'm not going to give him any special treatment," James murmured, his lips still grazing Scorpius's skin.

"I know," he replied sleepily. "I just ask that you be fair and honest. If Dorian makes the trials, let him join the Quidditch team."

James chuckled softly, letting his fingers glide down the boy's bare back.

Scorpius had initially been surprised by this tenderness from the young Potter, who never showed any brutality toward him, making the experience almost pleasant.

The first time, he had been paralyzed, unable to resist or participate, and James had been so tender that it left him trembling.

It was in this same Room of Requirement, though that day, it was white and blue,like the Blue Salon.

(Memory)

He hadn't said anything. He had seen a certain surprise in James's eyes. The young Potter had probably thought he was more experienced and had been taken aback by his innocence.

But the desire that inflamed his body had pushed aside the consciousness that might have made him change his mind.

Scorpius hadn't moved as James took him, lying still on his back, crushed by a foreign body. James had held him tightly against him, his head buried in the crook of his neck, lovingly kissing his throat and shoulder, sighing into his ear.

He had turned his head, directing his gaze to the blue and white roses arranged in a crystal vase on a small table near the bed. He had focused on the silky, unique petals while his lover's moans of pleasure echoed off the stone walls. His own lips, parted and trembling, let out no sound that might have comforted the ego of the man nestled between his thighs.

It was James who had summoned the room, who had imagined this large bed with white satin sheets and midnight blue taffeta cushions.

Upon entering this room, Scorpius had been surprised and hurt by the elegance of the place, especially since James had imagined this setting for him.

A delicate gesture from the young man who had bargained for his body.

And especially those roses. He had found them beautiful, those cold, soft flowers. He had immersed himself in their icy color to forget the shameful warmth rising within him, matching the pleasure that numbed his body with each of James's thrusts.

In the end, when his body had surrendered under the caresses and delicious thrusts, he had brought his hand to his lips, biting his palm to stifle his own moans as his pleasure joined James's in a final ecstasy.

James had remained huddled against him for a long time, trembling. Scorpius had wondered if he had fallen asleep, but it didn't matter. Those roses were truly beautiful.

When James had lifted himself up, leaving his body, a feeling of emptiness had filled Scorpius. Potter had sought his lips and kissed him gently, then stood to retrieve his clothes from the chair. He dressed in silence. When he turned back to the bed, he saw that Scorpius hadn't moved. The young boy's eyes were still fixed on the roses. His palm bore teeth marks that had broken the skin, and a thin line of blood had run down his skin, staining the white sheets.

But Malfoy didn't care.

He had watched James walk over to the small table where the vase of flowers stood and take a white rose.

He had walked over to the bed and placed the satin rose in Scorpius's wounded hand before leaving without a word.

Scorpius had remained still for a moment, staring at the rose from James still in his hand. He hadn't known why he had cut the tip of his finger on a thorn and sullied the pale petals with drops of his blood, but he had felt a sense of peace.

Because now, the rose resembled him.

(End of memory)
_

And once again, he found himself in that room with James, who decided the time and place of their "meetings," as well as the decor, which changed with each encounter.

Scorpius didn't know why, but James never asked for quick, ecstatic encounters in a classroom or an isolated spot, as he did with his occasional girlfriends. He insisted on meeting in the Room of Requirement every time.

The heat in this room was stifling. The fireplace really wasn't James's best idea. Scorpius stood up, pushing away the hand that was still tracing over his skin. He picked up his clothes scattered on the floor and got dressed.

"You're not staying?" James quipped, feigning hurt.

Scorpius turned to look at the auburn-haired young man, lying naked in the crimson red sheets. He knew James enjoyed mimicking the sweet phrases that women liked, fully aware of how inappropriate they were for their situation.

"Of course not," Malfoy replied, buttoning his shirt.

James let out a knowing chuckle.

"You've got time," he added with a yawn. "No need to rush off like that."

He stretched before curling up against the soft mattress, showing no desire to leave.

"I need to meet your brother at the library," Scorpius explained, sitting back on the bed to put on his shoes. "We're working on a Charms project together."

"He seems to like you."

"We get along," Scorpius said in a detached tone.

He hated talking about Albus with James and felt uneasy whenever Al mentioned his brother. He felt the mattress shift as James moved closer. His fingers played with his hair, sending tingles of pleasure through his scalp.

"He wants the same thing I do, you know?" James murmured, gently tugging on the blonde strands.

"Will you do what I asked?" Scorpius quickly responded, turning toward him and ignoring his remark.

Potter sighed and nodded. He fell back onto the mattress and draped his arm over his eyes, shielding them from the light.

Scorpius watched James for a moment, hesitating. He wondered if this situation—James's demands, his attitude toward him—was his own fault. Potter had blamed him for what happened during their first encounter, and Scorpius knew all too well that he had been awful that night and had hurt him.

It was only now, as James made him pay for it, that he realized just how much he had hurt him.

As the memory washed over him, he left the room.

He slammed the door of the Room of Requirement and hurried down the corridors of the seventh floor. He should have been at the library over twenty minutes ago, and he didn't want to explain to Albus why he was late.

What was happening with James was his secret, a part of his life at Hogwarts that was his alone. In those moments, he detached from everything; it was the only way to make the situation bearable. Especially since it wasn't as loathsome and disgusting as he had imagined. He wished he could hate those moments, but he couldn't lie to himself. He didn't seek out these encounters; he would never have thought to provoke them, and he didn't feel sullied when James initiated them. But during their time together, Scorpius could almost escape.

He almost wished that James were contemptuous and violent; it would have allowed him to hate those moments and avoid being hypocritical or self-disgusted.

But as soon as he left the Room of Requirement, he forgot everything. And he even managed to convince himself that none of it had happened. He could enjoy the real moments, the ones he spent with Albus.

For over a month now, he and Albus had been spending time together, becoming almost inseparable. He felt incredibly close to the boy and appreciated his natural enthusiasm, his sharp humor, and, of course, his pleasing appearance.

But Albus scared him.

They had grown too close, too quickly. Scorpius didn't even understand how it had happened. Before talking to him in that restaurant, he had never thought about Albus or paid him any attention.

Oh, of course, he knew a lot from what he had read in the newspapers, but there were so many lies about him in those same articles that he didn't believe any of it.

What was clear was that, unlike him, Albus had avoided the media like the plague, or at least he had crafted an image of a boy without problems to emerge unscathed. According to the newspapers, he was a boy without a story, wise, conscientious, and honest.

The perfect son of Harry Potter.

And yet, Scorpius didn't think that image reflected the real Albus Potter at all. There was great strength in this boy, but the Slytherin Prince carried a deep unease within him, masked by his constant willingness, though he loved isolation and anonymity.

A disastrous anger was hidden deep in his heart, and Scorpius enjoyed provoking his fury, simply because he alone could do so.

At first, he found it amusing to drag young Potter into the same abyss that imprisoned him and to show him the dark, unknown side hidden within him. But it had been... far too easy to bring out his anger. And Scorpius realized that, like him, he was hiding bloodied wounds and that his personality was just a façade.

They spent nearly all their time together, so they soon realized that their personalities were an explosive mix. They alternated between affectionate moments and violent quarrels, all while maintaining a burning desire to be together.

For a while, Scorpius had felt the need to test his affection, pushing him to the limit with disdainful words, provoking his anger through reckless actions and gestures of defiance toward other students—all situations where Albus had to intervene to prevent things from getting out of hand.

But when he understood that Albus was starting to crack for real, an unfamiliar panic overwhelmed him, and a silent scream echoed in his mind: "Don't leave me."

He clung to the boy, holding him close, and rested his forehead against his, but he didn't ask for forgiveness. He waited for Albus to forgive him for his schemes. Which, as always, he eventually did.

When he entered the library and saw the young boy with green eyes waving at him, he found himself smiling. He still wasn't used to the way his heart swelled every time he saw his friend.

Albus had taken a table off to the side, knowing that Scorpius preferred discretion, just as he did. He nudged the chair opposite him with his foot for Malfoy to sit down, but Scorpius chose instead to take the chair beside him. He sat down, moved closer to the young boy to wrap his arms around his waist, and rested his head on his shoulder.

He loved Albus's scent; he found it comforting. It was like coming home after a long journey. He could have stayed like that for hours.

Albus smiled, continuing to write. Scorpius's affectionate gestures toward him were rare and always sudden. Most of the time, he shunned all contact.

For a moment, he wanted to ask where he had been and what he had been doing. But the words stayed stuck in his throat.

After the shower incident, Scorpius and he had grown very close, but a barrier of silence stood between them, with that ever-present warning hovering above them: "Don't ask me anything." Scorpius never explained himself. And he never apologized, either.

Albus had accepted that, thinking that the young boy would talk when he was ready. But it had been over a month now, and this silence was making their relationship unbearable.

He wanted to know.

He didn't want any obstacles between them because their relationship had become deep, and Albus wondered what place he held in Scorpius's heart. He was starting to know what he meant in his own.

"Do you have any ideas for the Charms assignment?" he heard Scorpius murmur.

His breath lightly tickled his neck, sending shivers of pleasure down his spine.

"Not really, I worked on the Potions essay while waiting for you."

Scorpius lifted his head and looked at the boy's notes.

"I've almost finished that essay," he said, pulling the parchment from Albus's hand, interrupting his writing. "I'll give it to you tomorrow."

"And in exchange, you want my Transfiguration essay," his friend sighed with a resigned smile.

"You've got it," he said, pulling his things out of his bag.

"You should try working on that subject, you know," Albus said, nervously tapping his quill against the inkpot. He knew that Scorpius hated talking about it, but his level in Transfiguration was genuinely concerning.

"It's not that I don't want to work on it, it's that I can't."

Albus didn't press the issue. He believed him. After all, he watched closely the young boy's reactions when he entered the classroom. It seemed like Scorpius had to exert superhuman control not to flee the room. Between trembling and erratic breathing, it was clear that Scorpius was making a great effort to focus on McGonagall's explanations.

"Can you remind me of the Charms assignment?" Scorpius asked, pulling Potter out of his thoughts.

The young boy flipped through his notebook for a moment and finally quoted:

"Give an object new and unexpected properties."

Scorpius frowned.

"Lupin could have been even vaguer," he grumbled.

"Believe me, if Teddy gave us such a vague and simple instruction, it's to allow us to come up with original ideas."

Malfoy sighed and began flipping through his book. Albus hesitated, then finally said:

"We could work for an hour and then head out to the field."

"The field?"

"For the Gryffindor tryouts," Albus explained, shrugging. "Dorian is trying out as a Chaser, right?"

"Yeah, it would be a way for him to fit in with his house. Quidditch players have a special status. But... I didn't think you'd go. Can the captain of a rival team attend tryouts?"

"They won't like it, but who cares," Albus said, smiling. "They can come to the Slytherin tryouts at the end of the week. By the way, you should try out too. You're a great flyer, and you'd make an excellent Seeker."

"No, we've talked about this," he said, keeping his eyes on the pages of his book, carefully avoiding looking at Albus. "I don't want to draw attention to myself. My name is already well-known enough. I just want to be left alone."

Albus nodded and didn't push further. Scorpius longed for a peace in his life that was denied to him. Like him, he was watched, and every action sparked a wave of unbearable rumors.

Just their closeness fueled numerous rumors, though Albus's reputation somewhat dampened the excesses. But Malfoy's appearance and attitude still sparked desire and jealousy, or irritation and anger among some students.

And these disastrous feelings often manifested in shoves in the hallways or threats.

It was probably for that reason that Scorpius had once confided to him that he wished he could be invisible.

Albus had thought it was just an offhand remark, but he had decided to show him his father's Invisibility Cloak, and they had spent an entire Sunday walking around the castle amidst the students and in the gardens outside. And while they were sitting on a bench in the school courtyard, covered by the cloak that hid them from the world and everyone around, Albus noticed that Scorpius's eyes were shining with unshed tears, yet he seemed tense. He had understood the feelings overwhelming him because he, too, had wished to remain invisible forever. He had put his arm around his shoulders, and together they had waited for the sunset.

"Why don't we enchant a stool to walk and serve as transportation?"

Albus snapped out of his thoughts and focused on Scorpius, who was trying to come up with a project for their class. He thought for a moment and shook

"Why don't we enchant a stool to walk and serve as a means of transportation?"

Albus snapped out of his thoughts and focused on Scorpius, who was searching for a project idea for their class. He thought for a moment and then shook his head. Scorpius sighed loudly, clearly frustrated by the lack of imagination and motivation that seemed to dominate in the library.

"Or how about a drawer that makes the objects inside it invisible?" he suggested after a moment of reflection. "A kind of secret drawer that only the person who placed the objects inside can see?"

Albus sighed as he closed his book.

"You don't like that either?" asked Scorpius, who was starting to lose patience. He was the only one working.

"It's a really pointless process."

"What? My idea?" Scorpius responded softly, growing irritated as he tapped his nails on the wooden table.

"No, all of it—this project and this class. What's the point of enchanting objects to give them new properties? Look at my grandfather, all he did was make a car fly or enchant a washing machine to scare garden gnomes. But there's nothing complicated or interesting about it. I feel like I'm wasting my time."

"You're wrong."

Albus turned to Scorpius, who was staring at him with a serious expression.

"Enchanted objects can be extremely useful," he said slowly. "The hard part is finding properties that are truly ingenious, and that's the most challenging aspect. It's about imagining a situation, sometimes improbable, where an enchanted object could be an advantage."

He placed his left hand in front of Albus. On his index finger was a silver ring that Albus was now very familiar with, as Scorpius never took it off.

"This ring belonged to Dorian's mother," he explained, spinning it around his finger with his thumb. "She crafted it herself and engraved her son's name inside. Then she enchanted it so the ring would always return to the person whose name is inscribed inside. It's this ring that led me to Dorian."

Scorpius averted his eyes and continued:

"I was coming back from the fair with my parents, and on the way home, I noticed a shiny object on the cobblestone road. It was this ring, except at that moment, it was surrounded by a blue glow. I picked it up and said the name inside the ring. And the ring immediately flew out of my hands, emitting a bright silver light. It looked like a little shooting star. I don't know why I followed it, but I ran after it, ignoring my father's calls. The ring disappeared down an alley, and when I entered, I found a little boy lying in his own blood, his face slashed."

A slight shiver ran through Scorpius's body. It was clear that the memory of the wounded child still frightened him.

"The ring had returned to his finger, too small to wear. He must have lost it when he was attacked. I knelt beside him and took his hand. I thought he was dead, but his skin was warm, and when I touched him, he opened his eye... the one that wasn't damaged. He tried to speak, but he couldn't. My father arrived, and we took him to the hospital, then to our home. Dorian gave me this ring when he came to live with my family, so I could find him wherever he was, if he was in danger."

Albus remained silent for a moment. Despite the harsh revelations about Scorpius's past and his meeting with Dorian, Albus felt almost happy, because Scorpius had finally opened up to him and shared a memory. It was the first time, and perhaps a significant mark of trust from his friend. He swallowed hard and reached out to place his hand on Scorpius's, but the boy turned sharply toward him, cutting off his gesture.

"And no!" Scorpius interrupted. "We're not using this ring for our Charms project."

Albus laughed softly. The thought hadn't even crossed his mind, and Scorpius probably knew that, but this was his unique way of putting a stop to emotional moments.

"Okay, then come up with a better idea, Einstein!"

"Who's Einstein?"

"No idea," Albus said with a shrug, reopening his book. "My Aunt Hermione calls us that when we're being smart-asses."

End of Chapter 8


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