Music I listened to while writing : Dark Paradise - Lana del Rey

Chapter 12 : The Mistreated Body

Scorpius nervously bit his lip as he arrived in front of the Room of Requirement, at the time specified on the note James had left him. He had left Albus in the library, promising to be back for dinner.

This was the last time—he had promised him. But as he walked down the dark corridor, hating the sound of his footsteps echoing on the cold stone in the darkness, Scorpius felt a knot of dread forming in his stomach: the fear of consequences.
Hiding things rather than rebelling, rather than confronting, had always been easier for him—or rather, it suited his nature. And yet tonight, he had to learn to refuse, to say no, and to face the anger of a man stronger than him, alone, without Dorian, without Albus. Because neither of them must know.

He turned the corner, slowing his pace, and stopped when he saw James standing before the hidden door. He was staring at the wall, expressionless. For a moment, as he looked down at the floor, he seemed sad. Scorpius didn't know why, but it made him nauseous—not out of disgust, but out of absurdity.

He walked towards Potter. At the sound of his footsteps, James looked up, all traces of melancholy gone. He was smiling. And Scorpius hated that.

Potter seemed to study him for a moment, and a fierce gleam appeared in his eyes, so intense that the young Malfoy wanted to flee. A dragging, rocky sound echoed, and the wall of the 7th floor wavered, shifted, and transformed into a secret door so familiar to both lovers.

When they entered the magical room, Scorpius hesitated. The space looked so much like the Gryffindor common room that, for a moment, he feared being caught by a student with James. The paintings were different, the couch more worn, and, most notably, the room wasn't messy, unlike the Lions' quarters.

He felt burning fingers push his hair aside, baring his neck. Lips pressed against his throat. Hands slipped under his arms, encircling his waist. He was pulled against a hard chest. He felt James's lips on his temple, then slowly descending down his neck. Fingers tugged at his hair, and the mouth kissed the bare skin above his shirt collar.

"This would have been our setting," James murmured, holding him tighter, "if I weren't so angry with you…"

In a whirlwind, the room lost its borrowed, furnished appearance. The red tapestries slid off the walls and vanished, the flames died as the fireplace disintegrated, the floorboards stretched, swelled, then crumbled into dust, leaving the floor bare and the stone exposed. The walls also took on the grayish hue of the castle's bricks.

In the middle of this empty, cold room stood a wooden chair, crude, without adornment.

Scorpius's throat tightened. He broke free from James's embrace and turned to face him, frightened. The man looking at him terrified him; his eyes were too dark, and his mouth bitter.

"This is for what you said the other night. For insulting us. Haven't you learned anything…? I thought you understood that you had no right to look down on us. Who do you think you are…?"

His fingers dug into Scorpius's arms, hurting him.

Scorpius pulled away and stepped back, shaking his head. No, he didn't want this. The thought of sitting on that chair made him sick. He would have preferred Potter to beat him rather than endure this. James was closing in on him, towering over him with his larger, much stronger frame.

"Don't talk about us like that again," he growled in a hot breath, so close to his face that it brushed against his cheeks.

Then he kissed Scorpius roughly, wrapping him in his powerful arms, pulling him, almost carrying him, towards the chair.

Irritated, Albus glanced up again at the clock in the Great Hall. Scorpius was late. More than late, actually—he had missed dinner. He had left him outside the library, a silent excuse in his eyes as he walked away to a place where Potter apparently had no place. And the big hand of the library clock had ticked away the minutes like a relentless mockery, reminding him that he had no idea where Scorpius was spending this precious time, or with whom…

Tired of mashing the food he couldn't eat with his fork, Albus let his utensil fall, landing heavily on the wood before dropping to the floor. Without making a move to pick it up, he stood up from his seat, pushing the bench back and jostling some of the students seated there, then walked down the aisle of the Great Hall.

As he reached the door, his eyes caught sight of the blonde-haired boy descending the stairs. He seemed out of breath. His cheeks were flushed, his hair tousled, and his lips red and swollen as if after a heavy kiss. Albus didn't know why, but his appearance disgusted him.

"You're late."

"I know, sorry."

"Whatever," he replied bitterly. "Have you seen James? He's late too. We were supposed to meet tonight for Quidditch after dinner."

"No."

Scorpius blushed, and his eyes avoided Albus's.

"Did you run?"

"No, why?"

"Your cheeks are pink, and your hair's a bit damp," Albus said, running his fingers through Scorpius's hair, brushing his neck.

Scorpius tensed and tried to pull away from his hand with a sharp movement.

"Sorry…" Potter hesitated for a moment and asked, "Did everything go as you wanted?"

Scorpius held back from lowering his eyes. He had nothing to say. He hadn't planned on staying in the Room of Requirement so long, but James hadn't wanted to let him go.

James had eventually given in to his shameful panic and had abandoned the idea of treating him like a rag doll, perched on a wobbly wooden chair.

He had laid him down on a bed of scarlet feather cushions and made love to him twice that night, crushing him with his body against the soft, makeshift floor, leaving the imprint of his fingers on his fragile sides.

When it was over, when James had pulled out of him and he had finally opened his eyes, he had wanted to talk to Potter, to overcome the fear that was making him nauseous and tell him it was over.

But his gaze had met that of his lover, and again, he thought he saw the same sadness that had seemed so strange to him earlier. It was quickly replaced by a gleam of anger, so different from the soft lips that suddenly pressed against his. He had pushed him away and wanted to speak to him again, but James had coldly told him to leave.

And Scorpius hadn't hesitated, grabbing the few clothes that had been stripped from him and dressing hastily, he had left the room, leaving James sitting on their bed of feathers, staring into the void.

But now, standing in front of Albus, he regretted his escape. Because deep down, nothing had changed, had it?

"I'm going to the dormitory to get my books. Meet me in the library when you're done. Okay?"

Albus felt a surge of anger as Scorpius changed the subject again, refusing to answer him. He was about to retort when he saw James coming down the grand staircase, heading toward him.

"Now you show up!" he exclaimed, noting his brother's relaxed stride. "We need to plan the training and competitions! What have you been doing!?"

"It's fine, I'm here now, and what I was doing is none of your business!"

The tone was harsh, without the teasing lilt that so often colored the young man's voice. A dark mood weighed on his features.

"You're right," Albus replied. "What you do with the first girl who comes along is none of my business, but at least be on time."

James gave a sneering smile, eyeing his brother up and down with contempt, then turned on his heel. Albus stood frozen for a moment, watching him walk away, surprised by his coldness.

"I'd better go," he said, turning to Scorpius, who was still standing beside him, tense. "The planning should take an hour at most. I'll join you in the library after."

"Fine," Scorpius murmured, still staring at the floor, clearly eager to leave.

Albus watched him climb the Grand Staircase, aware that things were slipping away from him again. But he was already late himself and hurried to the classroom designated for the captains' meeting, trailing after James.

"Ah, the Potters, glad you could finally grace us with your presence!" exclaimed Kate Davies, looking up from the scrolls where four quills were scribbling away.

As the two brothers approached the meeting table, the Ravenclaw captain halted the quills with a flick of her wand and handed each of them a parchment schedule.

"We started without you after your first half-hour of being late."

"Perfect," James exclaimed as he slid into one of the empty chairs, "since Ravenclaws don't exactly shine on the pitch, at least they're good for something. Scribbling away suits you well."

Kate flipped him off, to which James responded with a wink. Her cheeks flushed, Davies continued, pointing her wand at the calendar that Albus was examining:

"The first match will be Gryffindor versus Slytherin and will take place next week. It's a public trial run that doesn't count for the championship. The following week, the other two houses will face off. The third and fourth matches will be determined based on the winners of the two friendlies."

"Why are our teams the first to compete?" asked Albus, raising his gaze to the brown-eyed girl. "Did you not draw lots?"

"We would have drawn lots if you hadn't been almost an hour late," Reese Smith chimed in. "But since you took your time, we figured you were ready and that your teams didn't need two weeks of training. Makes sense, right?"

Annoyed, Albus was about to respond, but James cut him off:

"Don't worry, little brother, after all, it's just a friendly match."

"A friendly match in front of a crowd is never just friendly when it comes to you lot,said Smith, putting on his orange-striped scarf. "Try to keep the pitch in decent shape."

"Wait, what are you doing?" Albus exclaimed, watching the two Quidditch players gather their things.

"We're leaving," said Kate, grabbing her bag and following the Hufflepuff captain. "We're done here. If you don't like the schedule, send us a note."

She paused as she passed by Albus:

"Congratulations on becoming captain. I look forward to playing against you."

Though her tone was haughty, her smile was warm and full of promises as the dark-haired girl sized up the young Potter. His gaze lingered on her red, full lips as Kate's hand rested lightly on his shoulder, reassuring but too caressing to be innocent, slowly brushing up to his neck.

"Charming..." Albus smiled, watching the girl as she exited the room.

"Their teams aren't worth much; they have to assert themselves somewhere," Albus said, turning to his brother, realizing that the young man had missed the entire exchange with Kate. "They grumble behind the scenes, and we crush them on the pitch. It's fair play."

James studied the schedule for a moment. "The first match Gryffindor versus Slytherin is in a week… That's a short time to train your team, especially with a new Seeker."

"He'll be ready. He's talented."

"Hmm. Who would've thought he'd be so skilled."

"I knew."

"That is, if he even wants to play," James said, still wearing his contemptuous smile. "You forced him to try out, didn't you?"

"He tends to isolate himself, and I don't think that's good. He's my friend, and I did what I thought was best for him. Even if it seems selfish, he's made for this team and for this position."

"Your friend..."James repeated, grimacing as if the word displeased him. "He has a peculiar way of showing it. From my point of view, you're more his puppet than anything else."

"Your point of view doesn't interest me. Especially when it comes to Malfoy. You've hated him since he arrived at Hogwarts. But you know nothing about us. So keep your remarks to yourself. Scorpius and I are fine together, and that's none of your business."

He was aware that his voice was rising. He was arguing too forcefully, as if trying to convince himself. He felt frustration creep in like the words on his tongue. Because Scorpius told him nothing. He was his friend, but he told him nothing, and it made Potter sick, deeply sick.

But he didn't want James to know that. "And even if, as you say, I'm his puppet, he's mine too."

James's eyes widened at these words, and Albus continued: "It's true, I forced him to play because I wanted the best players for my team. I want to win. For that, I need him, and he accepts it. Scorpius and I are going to win the cup this year."

"It's a nice hope, but we're better. And then..." He turned to his brother, licking his lips. "It's always easier to win when your family is cheering you on from your team's stands."

Albus stiffened, stunned, as if seeing his brother for the first time and hating his reflection.

The boy he had always admired, despite their rivalry, now appeared to him in a new and frightening light, like a monstrous and cruel insect.

During his first match on the Slytherin team, in his second year at Hogwarts, Albus had cried in the locker room when he saw that no member of his family had bothered to sit in the Slytherin stands. His eyes were still red when his father joined him backstage to congratulate him, despite his defeat. He had feigned indifference that day, but not enough to convince Harry. Since then, it had become a tradition, the arrival of the Great Harry Potter in the locker room, after every match, to encourage the Slytherins. A great comfort for Albus, as no one else came.

"So you know. You know how much it hurts me that Mum refuses to cheer for my team, that our family is against me, just for a Gryffindor tradition."

Albus had shouted, despite himself. The anger was swelling, disastrous.

James swallowed and looked away from his brother, dark. Redness crept up his cheeks. Albus couldn't tell if it was from anger or shame. He grabbed his collar, pulling him close to make him look at him, just like when they were children and James would ignore him on purpose until he cried.

"You know and you even brag about it? Does it amuse you to do this to me?"

With a sudden movement, James stood up, pushing his brother back into the chair, which nearly tipped over, and headed for the door.

At the threshold, he stopped and said in an almost sad voice to the boy who wasn't looking at him: "Forgive me. But you can't have everything."

He closed the door behind him.

Arriving in the Slytherin dungeon, Scorpius went straight to the bathroom, kicking off his shoes and throwing them across the room before turning on the cold water tap in the shower. He grabbed a fresh bar of soap, constantly replenished by the house-elves, and began scrubbing his skin and clothes with a frantic, jerky rhythm.

When his shirt and pants were heavy with soapy water, he removed them and rolled them into a ball on the wet floor, then vigorously scrubbed his skin and hair. When the cold water started to make his head ache and his muscles numb, he decided to get out, wrapped himself in a towel, and left the bundle of clothes in a corner of the bathroom, where Hogwarts' small servants would eventually find it.

If he listened to himself, he would throw away every piece of clothing James had touched.
He dressed and grabbed his Charms, Transfiguration, and Herbology books, along with rolls of parchment—his and Albus's—that he would copy while waiting for Albus to return from his meeting.

Thanks to Rose's influence, Albus often got ahead on his essays and assignments, which was a great advantage for Scorpius, who preferred to do things at the last minute.

Anyway, he had no desire to think tonight. Simply copying the exercises would be enough. He didn't have the energy for more.

With a blank, cold mind and arms full of books, he hurried through the already darkened corridors that led from the dungeon to the library.

"Hey, little girl! Walking around without your protector now?"
At these words, Scorpius tensed, anxious, but relaxed when he saw who had spoken. He sighed, exasperated.
"Oh, please, Goyle, just go away. I've had enough idiots for today."

He tried to pass by Kyle, stepping around him, but the other boy slammed a heavy hand onto the books Scorpius was holding, knocking them to the ground. Scorpius looked at the scattered volumes and parchment, then glared at Goyle, whose bloated face was split by a nasty grin.

"Go on, pick them up," Goyle sneered, shrugging his shoulders innocently.

Scorpius eyed him with disdain, refusing to lower himself in front of the pureblooded boy and end up at his feet. Despite his racing heart, his face remained calm as he reached confidently for his pocket. Goyle saw the move and grabbed his wrist, twisting it until Scorpius dropped the wand he had just seized.

"No, not like that," Goyle growled, still gripping Scorpius's wrist tightly. Scorpius gritted his teeth in pain, refusing to groan. "Get on your knees and pick them up."

The pressure on his arm was so intense that Scorpius nearly collapsed, and as his legs buckled, he lashed out with a kick to Goyle's shin, making the other boy release him. Scorpius took the chance to run, but his hair was grabbed, pulling him back until he nearly lost his balance, one hand against the wall.

Goyle blocked his path.
"You and I have a score to settle, don't we? You insulted my mother, didn't you? Called her a bitch, is that it?"

Scorpius felt his breath quicken as he scanned the corridor discreetly from right to left, searching for an escape or the sound of approaching footsteps. Curfew hadn't yet been called; the corridors couldn't stay empty for long…

"What? Who are you waiting for?" Goyle asked, approaching slowly, imposing. "You want to call for help, is that it? Go ahead, scream, call Potter!"

He chuckled at Scorpius's anger.
"You need that family's help to defend yourself, just like your father! You're a coward, just like him!"

"Watch it, Goyle…"

"He should be in Azkaban with the rest of the Death Eaters. But the Great Potter testified for him. It's pathetic, but it saved his skin, and he was able to sire a whore like you!"

Scorpius lunged at him, enraged, but found himself easily slammed against the opposite wall, the cold stone pressing into his skull and back. His head throbbed, and for a moment, he couldn't see. He clenched his jaw, stifling the scream of pain that threatened to escape his lips as Goyle's hand closed around his throat, the other pressing painfully on his shoulder, crushing the bone.

Half-dazed, he tried to see again.
The heavy, panting breath of the other boy was on his face, and a sharp smell of sweat reached him. Through a haze, he saw the malicious, hateful grin on the face so close to his own. It hurt.

"Look at you, so easily subdued, so weak," Goyle growled deeply, his fingers digging into the tender skin. "Where's that Malfoy arrogance now that you're in my hands? Beg me to let you go. Beg me, Malfoy."

His vision finally cleared, and he recognized the glint in his assailant's eyes. He knew it, that perverse spark that narrowed his pupil.

Desire. That cruel, violent, and pathetic desire that Malfoy had learned to hate—he saw it in Kyle's eyes now.

Instinctively, Scorpius placed his hands on the sides of the boy, gently pushing him away, then slid them down to brush his hips. At the touch, Goyle gulped, trembling, and Scorpius felt the boy's erection grow against his thigh. Nausea rose in his throat, but he didn't show his disgust. Slowly, he moved one hand up to the boy's face, brushing his cheek with his fingertips. Goyle flinched at the cold touch, then calmed, accepting the caress.
"This is what you want, so come on," Scorpius's eyes seemed to say.

He cupped Goyle's face in his hands, pulling him closer, and the grip on his neck eased. Scorpius waited, and as the boy leaned in to kiss him, he turned his head and sank his teeth into the boy's fleshy cheek.

The taste of blood filled his mouth as the boy's scream of pain rang in his ears. He kept his canines embedded in the flesh as Goyle tried to pull away. Then came the pain, a knee driving into his lower abdomen so violently that he screamed too, half-choking on the blood that slid down his throat. He fell to his knees, and a kick to his stomach sent him rolling onto the ground. He thought he heard curses, but he couldn't understand them.

Another blow, and Goyle forced him onto his back, straddling him, suffocating him, then began to punch him. Scorpius fought back. But for every weak, clumsy blow he landed, he received three in return. He managed to protect his face, but the punches rained down on his ribs, making the supple bones crack.

The punches stopped. Silence. Only the sound of their ragged breathing echoed in the deserted corridor. And over his crossed arms, Scorpius dared to look at the boy who straddled him, this grotesque, sweating figure, with arms too muscular and a fat belly pressing against his own, crushing him. He was pathetic.

And Malfoy realized he wasn't afraid. Despite his body vibrating with pain, despite the threat of this stronger boy who straddled him, he wasn't afraid. He had feared the pain, the pain that James or others might have inflicted on him—the prospect of blows on his too-thin body had frightened him.

But now, he knew that the pain of the flesh could be endured, more than that of the heart. He wasn't afraid anymore. Despite the sharp pain in his sides, he felt like he could finally breathe better. He smiled, and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, pooling in the hollow of his ear. Goyle stared at him, his fist still raised above his face, panting, his face flushed.

"Stop smiling, Malfoy, or you'll get it even worse!"

"Go ahead. Hit me, Goyle! It's the only way you'll ever touch me."

He saw the hideous grimace that twisted Goyle's face as he prepared to strike. A sharp pain shot through his skull, he felt his jaw break, and he was blinded. He thought he heard someone calling his name, but now everything was dark.

At the Hogwarts infirmary...

They asked him to open his eyes, but when he did, the light hurt him. Everything was white, and the room smelled of damp linens and menthol ointments—an unbearable scent. The cool sheets irritated his aching skin, and it seemed difficult to breathe. Someone squeezed his hand and spoke to him softly.

He loved that deep, gentle voice. He wanted to hear it again. He turned toward the sound and opened his eyes once more.

Amid the blurry shadows, he glimpsed two bright, steady emeralds. Focusing on them, he managed to make out the face that held those incomparable eyes.

Albus was by his side, and the fingers holding his hand trembled. Scorpius wanted to smile to reassure him, but a sharp pain shot through his jaw.

"See, I can defend myself without you," he mumbled weakly.

He saw Albus shake his head, smile sadly, and felt his hand squeeze his more tightly. Scorpius felt so weak. His eyes were already closing.

"It's the potion making you sleepy. Madam Pomfrey gave it to you so you wouldn't feel pain." Albus's fingers slid reassuringly over his arm. "You're going to sleep, and when you wake up, you'll feel much better, you'll see."

Potter turned toward the still figure near the door.

"James, can you let Dorian know?"

"No need," Scorpius whispered, but sleep overtook him. In the darkness, he heard a door closing and drifted off to sleep.

End of Chapter 12