Yay! Look, I came second in this week’s sortinghatdrabs
It’s especially happy-making because the winner, l3petitemort
, wrote an amazing
entry (and deservedly won both First Place and Mod’s Choice.) I am really pleased, because I’ve been weirdly neurotic about this week’s entry.
I actually wrote a different entry for this week’s competition, in which Harry quite seriously had ‘furies and sorrows’ in his heart. And then I scrapped it, because my attempt at actual emotion wasn’t working, and went for the snark. Title:
Someone Should Introduce Him To PlaceboWord count:
‘Scorpius Malfoy knew he was different. The rest of his year – the rest of his school
- was insufferably teenage.’Warnings:
teacher/student, predatory older man, affectionate mockery of a certain kind of teenagerDisclaimer:
The boys belong to JKR, even though I’m often much nicer to them than she is.Author’s Notes:
This was originally written for sortinghatdrabs
. The prompt was Hay en mi corazón furias y penas (In my heart there are furies and sorrows)...
Scorpius Malfoy knew he was different. The rest of his year – the rest of his school
-- was insufferably teenage. They cared about nothing but Quidditch, and who was going out with who, and stupid, juvenile practical jokes in which salamanders exploded, and everybody thought it was a hilarious use of a Weasley firework instead of horrible abuse of an animal.
But Scorpius wasn't like that. He listened to music intently, and found personal meaning in each of the songs. He contemplated his soul. He read poetry in the original Spanish
. He'd sit in one of the darker corners with a slim, enigmatic paperback, and watch the others scornfully over the top of it.
Once, Anastasia Stroud had come over, and asked him what he was reading. Her voice was light and sweet - like the cakes Scorpius' mother served at her soirees. They were lovely, but melted away on your tongue into nothing.
Scorpius gave her a severe look. “I’m reading Quevedo. It needs concentration.” He stared ferociously down at the print until she drifted sadly away.
At the beginning of Scorpius’ seventh year, Harry Potter became Hogwarts’ Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Scorpius’ father had had him driven from his Auror post after certain facts (which Scorpius didn’t know, despite efforts to find out) about his private life had come out.
Scorpius would generally have scorned to be interested in any celebrity who elicited a fascination as light and fluffy as popcorn from his classmates. But Potter was interesting; he had some dark secret that had forced him out of a job he loved, to hide in Scotland. He had a dark past, had lost people, had a thousand-yard stare that only emphasised the deep colour of his green eyes. And Scorpius’ father would vastly disapprove, which only made him more appealing.
So after their second lesson – a lesson full of meaningful eye contact, although Scorpius wasn’t quite sure what the meaning was
-- Scorpius approached him and asked for private help with his Patronus. “I find it hard to sustain happy thoughts for so long,” he explained, and hoped Professor Potter was intrigued.
Apparently so; because after a silent moment, where Potter looked rather startled, he seemed to come to some decision. He smiled slowly, and put a warm hand on Scorpius’ shoulder, massaging slightly. “I’d be happy to.”
Shuddering on Harry’s cock later that night, aching but blissful in his loss of virginity, Scorpius knew he’d finally found someone who understood that he was an adult.