when he finds out that his motherâs sick itâs the last straw
thatâs why his fatherâs been gone all summer why his mother has been pale and withdrawn. itâs not because of what he had fearedâ corruption, greed â something incurable and dark that would tarnish the family name
itâs something far worse
his mother is all fine china now; easily broken fragile pale as bone
and he wonders how he could have been so ignorant
he had loved rose and he had lost her out of the same fear that had poisoned his feelings towards his family. he had at once felt and burned and broken and it had been too much. he had known what it meant to be in love and unable to and he had known what his name did to hers. so he had left her.
// do you love me? she had asked, her voice rising, when weâre in public, you pretend like you donât know me. itâs like you donât even- care.
so i have to know. if this is even worth it at all. do you love me, scorpius? are you even worth my time? because i- i love you, i think. and iâm prepared to wait. i am. for whenever youâre ready. but i have to know that one day you will be.
in the silence after she had gone, he  had crumpled on the floor,
he had whispered to her back, âi think i doâ
in the bottle of firewhiskey he had tossed back with jax, he could see his future for the first timeâ clearer than anything he had ever had before.
he was crying now. he had cried before, he was certain, but had it ever been like this? had the pain ever been real or just self-imposed? the ideas of what he wanted his own or someone elseâs? how had he missed it? how had he been so blind?
he had been loved but could not return it. he had been
he smashed the bottle into the ground and bled, the broken glass cutting into his fingers.
âat least you have a family who loves youâ they had whispered after he had told them what happened
âyou are my family,â he had looked up, eyes bloodshot, mouth still dribbling from his own sick.
they didnât speak for a long time, âi knowâ
his mother is in her bed and he is kneeling by her side. her hand is cold in his own and he tells her everything â like he has not done since he was a little boy. without her glamour charms, she looks like a child.
âwe have always done our best to try and hide you from all the terrible things in this world,â she says, âi guess we failed.â
âi chose this life. i knew what it meant. how other people saw your father and his family. but i took one look at his eyes and i could only see one thing.â
she pauses, she wipes her eyes, âmy future, scorpius. i saw my future. i saw you, happy and free. and in that moment, i knew that no matter what anybody else thought, that i loved him.â
âyou never got that choice. you were born into this. we tried to shield you. we tried to- what iâm trying to say is-
âitâs not too late, you know. for any of what you wanted. for- rose.â the name sits awkwardly in her mouth.
âif you love her and you can see your future with her, then damn all the odds. you are my son, scorpius, and i am telling you that no matter what your father did or his father did, you do not have to pay for anybody elseâs sins. you owe it to yourself to be happy. and take it from me, you donât have as much time as you think.â
âbut thatâs the problem. i donât think my future is hers. maybe it will be, but not today or tomorrow or the week after or even in a year. iâll just slow her down. and i need to- take it slow.â
the week after his mother dies, scorpius malfoy leaves the wizarding world. he leaves his position in the company to jax, his possessions to his father and his heart behindâ not forever, he says. one day, he will take them all back, he says. they will be waiting when he returns, they laugh.
he doesnât know if he ever is coming back.
he sets out with his wand, his owl, six changes of clothes, a healthy amount of muggle money and the complete works of shakespeare, a picture of his mother when they lived in france pressed within the pages. Â
he finds he uses the first thing less and less.
he finds himself in london then paris and barcelona, the place where he grew up in bordeaux and then to a sleepy little city in america where it rains almost everyday.
a girl stops him, asks him out for a cup of coffee.
but more importantly, he applies for the open position at the coffee shop at the end of it.
and even more importantly, he gets it.
the boss calls him rich boy when scorpius talks. when scorpius makes the single worst cup of coffee that the man has ever drank, after they both spit it out, the boss hires him on the spot.
âno preconceived notions on what a good cup is,â the man belly laughs, âi can teach you exactly what i want out of my cup of coffee.â
scorpius gets the feeling that not many people apply.
the girl is a regular and they become- friends. she brings all her first dates to the shop and he makes her the same drink every time. she drops off a book of chaucer to him and he quotes it back at her. he grows his hair out. stops using the vision correction charm and starts wearing glasses. in the flat that he bought with tip money, he reads nabokov and hemingway and gatsby and homer. he never used to drink coffee and, for the most part, still doesnât, but he can draw a perfect leaf out of cream he puddles on top. and thatâs as much magic as anything heâs used to.
his hair is messy. it hasnât been like that for a long time.
sometimes, it feels as if the slow start of a smile creeps on his lips. its like sunshine almost. like a thousand tingles tapping his spine, shaking his bones. in the space between his tongue and the roof of his mouth, he can feel a hum.
in fact, he misses it more than anything.
he knows that this is not where he was meant to be. he doesnât need magic anymore, not like he used to, but its still a part of him. he needed to take a break from it, take a breath, pause, but he dreams of a world where he can live in both halves of it.
but thatâs not possible.
for what? even he doesnât know.
until one day, a girl walks into the coffee shop and orders the most caffeinated thing on the menu in a voice he knows all too well.
he has dreamed about her voice. dreamed about where she has been and all the places she will go.
heâs not looking at her. sheâs not looking at him, but he knows who she is.
âmy name is-â she starts, but he interrupts.
and for the first time in ages, he knows what happens next.
discoholicmusic
dededos
blakekathryn
origamiaround
dailybridgerton
annaxmalina
tangentwithtanner
