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I have this theory, you see. It’s pretty simple. It goes like this: if Professor Victor wasn’t a controlling psychopath, my life would be a hell of a lot better.
(Alternatively: Fuck the seating plan and fuck Albus Potters eyes)
It’s not that I’m overly simplistic or anything. I know that the quality of my existence shouldn’t, logically, hinge on where (evil) Professor Victor decides to seat us all. It’s just that it does. It really, really does.
It began in first year.
(Seriously. Fuck Professor Victor)
I’m just standing here, all awkward and too-long limbs, not exactly the epitome of Malfoy elegance, when I’m bombarded by (very pretty) green eyes and close proximity and a broomstick to the face.
There’s a boy on me. He’s shorter than me, decidedly scruffier, and lying on my chest. I’m on the floor and this blinking boy is just lying there, looking dazed, and not even moving or saying sorry or anything. Rude.
And I just stare at him. Because he is on my chest. And not moving away.
Ahem. Okay, this kid must have concussion or something. I very pointedly just gave him the ‘what in the world do you think you are doing?’ glare. I perfected that off Grandfather. In the mirror. It’s foolproof.
And he still hasn’t moved.
The cheek of it.
I shove his chest and he seems to realise that lying on top of me, staring at me and looking dazed and stupid and (cute) frankly idiotic is not the socially acceptable thing to do. He scrambles up and I try to follow gracefully. I will have to concede my failure in doing that.
Look, it’s not my fault that my limbs grew faster than I managed to learn coordination. It was just. Biology.
The boy blushes, seems to realise that there are quite a few (idiot, nosy, mean-spirited) people stood pointedly sniggering at the debacle. This will not do.
I glare at the boy, at the boys broomstick, at the floor for good measure, and then at the surrounding audience. And then I try to exit stridently instead of flouncing.
I may possibly have failed at that too.
I (stridently) walk to Transfiguration, hearing the boy yell apologies after me. Pfft. As if I have time for (that had been yellow trimming right?) clumsy Hufflepuffs.
I have better things to do. Like learning and maintaining an air of general aloofness. It’s very tiring if I do say so myself.
I trip only once on my way to Transfiguration. This is most definitely a victory and completely the fault of my robes. (Completely) Anyway, I do trip rather spectacularly if I do say so myself. I’m very fast at recovery and I’ve perfected the ‘ I’m above the petty human notion of embarrassment, you earthlings’ attitude.
I find myself the first person in the Transfiguration classroom. (Ha, beat that Granger-Weasley. Who’s under prepared now?) There’s a middl e -aged teacher sat at the desk with his feet propped up and his eyes closed. There is also a newspaper on his face. I find this rather strange.
I’m rather shocked when he seems to sense my arrival and simply points at a piece of parchment spellotaped to the front of his desks.
I scan the seating plan for my name, spot it, and shift to the desk allocated as mine. Then I decide to spend the next ten minutes thinking useful and illuminating thoughts ( could I get mum to send me more of those detective books? I’m almost finished the last one and they’re absolutely riveting. Is detecting a viable career choice? Maybe I could ask father…. I wonder what colour eyes this professor has under the Daily Prophet. Green eyes are nice. Mmmm. Green eyes…. Wait. Shut up ) because I’m deep and profound like that.
That’s probably why I don’t notice other people slowly trickling in. You see, I’m generally incredibly observant and not self involved or dreamy at all ( so take that Granger-Weasley. I would be an awesome detective) and so it’s odd (and really, really annoying) that I don’t notice the boy from broomstick-gate timidly take the seat next to me.
Or notice when he says hi to me. Twice.
So really it is completely unnecessary for him to be poking me so hard. I mean, ow. ( wow he’s so strong I bet he could play Quiditch- shut up, idiot) I glare at him.
He tries to explain that he’s very sorry, as he should be, to have tripped me up earlier and I try to stop focusing on his ( eyes) complete idiocy.
I tell the boy, apparently called Al ( stupid name. But cute. Wait. Shut up), this and he becomes offended by my very mature and adult frankness.
Some people just can’t handle honesty.
(….. do you think he’d be our friend if we apologised nicely. Wait. Shut up. We don’t want to be his friend! He’s rather nice though…. Nice eyes. Since when does eye colour equal adequate companionship? Since when did having a conversation with yourself equal sanity? I’m completely sane! Wait, why is he looking at me like that? Does he think my eyes are nice too? He has nice eyes…….)
So it is quite literally the first lesson of my second year and Albus ‘ I’m awesome, bow to me’ Potter is already pissing me off. His stupid (eyes, mouth, delicate eyebrows…) personality has already reared it’s (kind of lovely, why doesn’t he want to be my friend?) boring, irritating Hufflepuff head.
Bleugh. Potters are utterly dull and that’s just a fact I have to admit. His stupid brother who (I find oddly attractive. Wait. Why do I find James Potter attractive. Am I- No. Shut up) I find to be the most repulsively obnoxious Gryfindor (the worst house, if I do say so myself. so just take that Granger-Weasley) to have ever existed ever, is still better than the unfailingly nice, simpering, weird looking (in a very attractive way) Potter currently sat beside me.
Unfailingly nice, that is, to everyone but me.
I could be Albus Potters best friend if I wanted to (I do I do I do) He’s so nice he’ll practically be friends with anyone. I bet he doesn’t even have a proper audition system in place. How does he even know who to be friends with (me me me) if anyone’ll do?
(anyone but you)
(that was cold)
(the truth hurts, self)
(ohmigod shut up)
I blush as Professor Victor, who spends half of our lessons with a newspaper over his face so can hardly talk, tells us to stop flirting and get back to work.
We were not flirting.
(do you think Potter would want to flirt with us if we did our hair differently? Maybe he has a thing for brunettes?)
(Oh my god. Shut up. I’m insane)
(I do not want to flirt with Potter)
(very much)
There is a possibility that Potter is saying something to me. He’s waving his arms all vehemently and his face has gone all read. I’m not listening. I’m too busy thinking about (the way his eyes sparkle when he’s angry and maybe he blushes when he’s flustered? And would he be flustered if I just, you know, leant over this stupid table and kissed him until we both died of lack of oxygen?) Christmas.
Yep. I’m just thinking about Christmas. The most wonderful time of the year. I should probably be doing Transfiguration or following the lesson objective or actually knowing what the lesson objective is but I’m completely happy here thinking about (Albus Potter’s eyes) tinsel and (his lips) snow and (what would he do if I just, totally kissed him or something) the birth of Jesus Christ. And mistletoe (how can I strategically place mistletoe above our head…)
Just, general Christmas-y thing s really.
Through the daze I hear Professor Victor yelling at me.
(I should probably stop thinking gay thoughts about Albus Potter)
(Ha. I’m not gay)
(Wait. Shit)
The goblet that I’m currently meant to be transfiguring some how, explodes and both Professor Vector and the (beautiful, stunning, sexy) idiotic Albus Potter start yelling at me.
(double shit)
So now that I’m a devastatingly handsome (or at least I will be when I’ve grown into my features, as mother tells me ) third year, I have to be mature. Face facts.
Be unflinchingly honest with my self and with the world because mature, devastatingly handsome third years don’t (pretend they’re straight when they’re very, very not) don’t pretend to be something they’re not.
So this is it. This is the day where I finally admit it to myself.
I, Scorpius Hyperion (that is such a shit name, do my parents hate me) Malfoy admit that I’m-
Um.
( coward?)
That I’m- Ugh.
(in complete denial?)
I’m (fuck it) gay.
Phew. I’m glad we cleared that up. I mean, maybe Transfiguration wasn’t the best place to decide to be mature and adult and say my deepest (really, deepest? can’t think of anything else you would rather die than admit?) secret. Maybe I shouldn’t have said it out loud. Albus Potter is looking at me with his mouth agape (sexily) and Professor Vector, who was by chance passing by, says that’s nice Malfoy, do some bloody work and Albus just keeps staring at me in shock. But I said it.
I’m gay.
(yeah. Whoop. Now go and tell your father that )
(shut up)
I have a sneaking suspicion that Albus Potter is being awkward around me.
And it wouldn’t bother me except (oh my god is he homophobic? How will we two star crossed lovers ever fall in love then!) that it’s completely throwing off my Transfiguration game.
Which has always been very strong and not at all a lost cause ever since (sadistic) Professor Victor decided to seat Albus Potter next to ms.
(Well. That was just blatantly wrong)
It’s all concern for the fine craft i so dearly appreciate.
Of course.
(Okay maybe it’s a little bit about the homophobic/star crossed thing)
There is a possible case to be made that I’m too blunt. I realise this as I glare at Albus Potter, waiting for an answer to my question. More like a demand.
Okay. More like an accusation.
Do you have a problem with my sexuality you homophobic twat?
(omg I didn’t mean to say that please love me I’m sorry)
And so maybe it’s the last lesson of the year and I should just leave it. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that so loudly that everyone is now staring at us.
Maybe I shouldn’t care so much about whatever his answer is. (but maybe I love you a little bit you gorgeous prat. Please, please don’t hate me)
He’s kind of just staring at me. Like, expressionless. Which is better than one of the many alternatives. At least he isn’t punching me. I’m not quite the extravagantly disproportionate lanky bastard I was three years ago, but no one would ever bet on me in a fight. And Albus has muscles (omg his muscles)
Scorpius Professor Victor warns without even bothering to take the newspaper of his face shut up and work.
I conveniently develop selective hearing. Albus (sexy motherfucker) Potter is still staring at me, eyes wide.
Of course not! he whispers. He makes an odd movement, as if to reach out an touch me, but aborts. I sneer at him I should hope bloody not and turn away (in a strop).
(oh thank god I love you I love you you beautiful human being love me back)
I flick my want at the ball of steel we’re meant to be Transfiguring. It catches fire. Albus yelps and glares at me.
(I love you, love me back)
By the time it’s fifth year and Valentines day, I’ve spent enough hours in front of the mirror perfecting a look of casual indifference (which isn’t girly or anything so fuck you Granger-Weasley and fuck your archaic gender binary bullshit) to be pretty damn sure that Albus (beautiful human being that he is)Potter could never know I was in love with him even if he looked really, realy hard. No more blushing for this Blonde bombshell. And yes, I’m totally a bombshell and no one can deny it ( except, apparently, for Granger-Weasley, his stupid cousin and Albus mother effing Potter) or pretend that this isn’t the first time in five years where the words lanky and malnourished couldn’t be attributed to me.
I’m attractive and totally better and no longer blushing.
(except for when Albus’ shirt rides up a little and oh my god)
So now transfiguration isn’t an hour of being unable to form words and hating fucking Professor Victor for never changing the seating plan even though it’s been like five years now and fourth year had been the year of spending ten minutes in the bathroom trying to calm the fuck down after every class. Now. I am suave.
(and now it’s only five minutes of deep breathing so there)
It doesn’t matter to me one bit that it’s Valentines day and Potter still hates me and only really talks to me when I blow something up and is totally the reason I have ever lost my Patented Malfoy Cool for even a second (with just. His. Eyes) and I’m totally alone. But I’m alone and suave.
(so fuck you)
Except that when I walk into Transfiguration that morning there is a girl sat in his seat and she has her lips on his lips and her hand intertwined with his hand and oh.
(please. This can’t be true. I can’t do this)
(just fucking love me back)
Later, when they ask me for my testimony, I’ll say it was a shifty looking Ravenclaw that set the table on fire.
And her hair.
(the bitch)
Potter is staring out of the window and I am staring at him. It’s nice. He seems distracted which basically means I get to stare at him until the bell rings and wakes him out of his stupor.
(thank you Merlin for lecture lessons too dull for Potter to pay attention)
I’ve spent a solid twenty minutes staring at the (oh my god I’m dying) curve of Potter’s jaw or the way (how. Just, how) one strand of hair is gracing his cheekbone and it’s al very, very lovely, before Professor Victor remembers he is the devil incarnate.
He’s all are you an idiot, Malfoy and tell me what I just said and if staring at Albus’ face is more important than your O.W.L’s why do you come to class.
To which, with a blush that I will go to the grave swearing was out of anger, I stupidly respond how else would I stare at Potters face, sir.
And it’s really fucking stupid.
(but ohmigod is Potter laughing ohmigod)
I’ve never been particularly happy about having an August Birthday. I’mbasically a year younger than everyone and it mostly sucks. Except, apparently, it really is the best thing ever.
(I love my parents for having sex at inconvenient times because actually they’re genius es and I love them now always)
It’s apparition tests and it turns out that out of the people who took Transfiguration as a N.E.W.T ( why the fuck did I take Transfiguration) only two of them didn’t have birthdays earlier than the cut offline. Albus ( oh yeah that’s why I took it) and me.
Fucking fate or what.
And then Professor Victor had taken the newspaper off his face and seen them both and had gone fuck and scowled. Then he’d walked to the blackboard and written Lesson Objective; Don’t kill each other or wake me up and then had slammed his office door, yelling don’t skive behind him. I thought that had been ironic.
And so here they were. I’m being totally suave about it though. All ugh Potter and such. He’s just kind of gaping at the board.
(oh my god he hates the idea of being alone with me so much he’s gone into shock)
I wave a hand in front of his face and he blinks rapidly. I try really hard not to find it endearing. Ugh Potter, are you alive? (love me love me love me) He kind of just looks at me like he wants to cry.
(oh my god he hates me) I try not to cry too because (I think my heart is broken) I’m feeling a little bit rejected and all.
Do you want to talk, or something? I say. Then I realise that I’m meant to hate him or harvest an epic detestation for him or something equally dramatic that’s so far from the truth it’s actually funny so I had a snide Potter .
He just blinks at me. If I hadn’t spent six years creepily stalking his every move and finding out everything I possibly could about his (awesome) personality, I’d be desperately reconsidering my love for him. (except he puts an extortionate amount of sugar into his tea and always grimaces when he sips but has three cups per breakfast anyway and I once heard him say it was for caffeine which is stupid and lovely and I love him)
Are you going to form words I says because it sounds appropriately Malfoy and i’m just family orientated like that.
Potter just gapes and then he gulps and then he grabs his bag and bolts for the door ( and everything feels like decay and rot and shit things) leaving me feeling distinctly upset.
Which is when Professor ( I enjoy fucking with kids) walks out of his office and glares at Albus’ empty chair. He rolls his eyes and looks pointedly at me and says sorry that kid thinks he’s straight, do some homework or something and what.
(what)
I’m a seventh year and I’m leaning against the table in a manner that most definitely says I don’t care that you’re straight because I’m cool, see. Professor (evil bastard that he is) Victor is ten minutes late and al eight Transfiguration students are in varying states of rebellion. Mainly they’re just not sat in their allocated seats.
I’m leant against our desk, flirting with Thomas Lester with all my might. Albus has his eyes burning into the back of my head I can feel it (is he jealous oh my god is he)
Thom is beautiful, all caramel skin and dark eyes, and if I wasn’t irrevocably in love with my (probably, pending further investigation) rival I would probably go for him. But right now I’m using all my Slytherin evil and every Patented Malfoy Charm trick I can think of on him in the pursuit of jealousy.
I’ll feel guilty about it later.
And maybe I go to far and lean into Thomas’ kiss even though it’s my first and it should most definitely not be in a Transfiguration class room (oh my god oh my god) in the pursuit of fucking jealousy but I’m an idiot. Patented Malfoy Idiot. So Professor (fuck you fuck you fuck you) Victor waltzes in and is all Malfoy stop swapping saliva with Lester I think Potter might break something.
Which is just wrong (and is Albus blushing. Is Albus Potter actually fucking blushing) and also I’m pretty sure it’s technically not fucking allowed.
(but Albus is blushing so maybe I don’t hate Professor Cruella de Victor as much as I should)
I spend the rest of that lesson avoiding Thomas’ eyes and stealing (long, lovesick) glances at Albus.
And then I’m packing up and by chance or fate or divine intervention, me and Albus are the last ones left packing up and Albus grabs my upper arm and crashes his lips against mine and says so you know what a real kiss feels like and then leaves.
Professor (how the fuck did you get this job anyway) Victor lifts the Daily Prophet of his face and says well fuck.
(I love you I love you I love you)
It’s my last Transfiguration lesson and I’ve most likely failed my N.E.W.T because I don’t think I’ve ever paid attention in a transfiguration lesson ever. I was too busy hating and then hating but actually loving and then loving Albus Potter to care how you turn a goblet into a dove (See, Granger-Weasley. I care about so much more than just myself. So ha). There are just more important things, frankly.
I’m not even paying attention right now. I’m staring at Albus’ lips and thinking about a week ago. He’d been shorter than me because I was stupidly tall and he’d reached up and gripped my shoulder and-
Malfoy. Pay attention one fucking time please. I look up to see Professor (fucking observant) Victor glaring at me in exasperation. I can’t help grinning at him. He sighs. Right, fuck it. Go and enjoy life or something he says and there’s a moment of shocked silence before everyone rushes to acquiesce and I have my bag in hand before he adds Malfoy, Potter, sit down.
Then he glares at them, grabs his Daily Prophet and says, before leaving the room in a cloud of exasperation and irritation and tailored robes the fucking sexual tension has been going on for years. Sort it out, idiots.
I stare into the air, agape, and am utterly surprised when I feel it bubbling up to the surface. The Patented Malfoy Bravery.
I love you I say.
(I love you and I don’t care any more. I’ll love you forever whatever you-)
I love you too, he says. He kisses me.
(oh)
I have this theory. It goes like this: If Professor (evil incarnate but I guess he’s okay) Victor hadn’t been too lazy to change the seating plan for over seven years, my life wouldn’t be so fucking good.
(Alternatively: Albus Potter forever and ever and ever)