Sharing Fragments Of Yourself. How Brave, How Desperate
James actually uses the bracelet. It surprises him that he does. He thought he’d just pretend he couldn’t feel the slight weight on his wrist, but it’s impossible. The leather bracelet burns like fire every time James feels the familiar feeling of panic set into his bones. So, before he even realizes it, he uses it, whispering his location into the coin.
Again three weeks later and a month after that.
Malfoy comes every time.
He sits next to him on the floor, hand on his back, voice steady as he counts breathing patterns.
Sometimes he holds James when he cries.
They never talk outside of these instances. Once the panic attack is done and Scorpius is sure James is fine, they go their separate ways.
The few times James falls asleep and wakes up in the Slytherin’s dorm room are left unmentioned.
Still, something is different. As the last few months of his third year pass, James finds his gaze following the other boy more and more. He starts noticing things and eventually makes a list of all, that he notices.
Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy always carries at least one book with himself, often more.
Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy is always put together. He is dressed properly, shirt tucked in and perfectly ironed, chin up, back straight at all times.
He doesn’t drink tea in the morning, instead, he prefers coffee he brings to the table himself.
He doesn’t talk much, even when he’s sitting with a group.
In truth, Scorpius sits alone most times. At breakfast, lunch and dinner Albus mostly sits with him, but otherwise, the boy is by himself. But he never seems to mind, never even looking at the people around him, gaze instead fixed on whatever it is he is reading at the moment.
It’s then, that James starts noticing the other people. Specifically how they act around the blond.
In the best-case scenario people would simply distance themselves when he comes around, sitting somewhere else, away from the blond. Others though were crueler. Making disgusted faces at the sight of the boy, whispering. Worst case, people talked to the boy. Evil comments, mockery, and accusations followed him along with the judgemental stares.
James didn’t know, hadn’t known that things were that bad.
Of course, his group had often taunted the boy before, but James hadn’t realized everybody had all the time. He thought it was simply one or two stupid jokes occasionally, but this… this was horrible.
And so he keeps following the boy with his eyes, observing a life so different from his own.
It’s after the next quidditch game that things take a turn.
Gryffindor against Slytherin.
A big deal.
James wakes up already feeling the familiar weight on his chest that always comes with everything surrounding Quidditch. But there is no time for that now.
The game goes well, they win with almost 200 points ahead of Slytherin.
The afterparty in the common room is booming. There are ribbons hanging from the ceiling along with fairy lights. Someone even sneaked alcohol in and everybody dances to the loud music.
Yet James can’t find any joy in it. The air is thick in the room and his shirt is sticking to his body uncomfortably, because of the heat. So he swiftly leaves the common room and sneaks into the library.
The poetry section at school wasn’t great, he will admit, by now having gone through almost all the books that were there. But still, it is comfort to him nonetheless.
It was hidden away, towards the back of the library, since no one had any interest in reading poetry in their free time. Well, except for him.
What James wasn’t expecting as he makes his way to the section, was for there to be someone already there, sitting in the little nook under the lowest shelf.
Scorpius…..
…..reading Goethe?!
James scoffs, insulted by his choice, “Goethe, really?”
The other boy flinches, surprised by the sudden interruption.
Once he recognizes James though he relaxes again, which is a reaction James rather not think about, Scorpius relaxing at the sight of him, and answers with a raised brow “Why not? You got something against him?”
The words leave his mouth before he can even think about the implication of what he’s saying “ He is highly overrated if you ask me. They call him the best of all the German poets but truly I consider him to be only slightly above average. The entire “Sturm und Drang” movement has so much potential, that he didn’t take advantage of, instead being incredibly repetitive.”
The surprised look Malfoy gives him shut him up, reminding him that he wasn’t supposed to like or care about poetry.
“I didn’t take you as the type who likes poetry” the blond starts “ Who do you prefer then, if Goethe doesn’t suit you?”
The words, again, leave him before he can bury them, which really, he should learn some self-control “Schiller,” he confidently says “the way he speaks of freedom is so much more genuine than anything Goethe wrote. In “The Start of a New Century”, for example, he uses a beautiful vocabulary that feels deeply human and liberating.”
It is again Malfoy’s surprised face that stops his monologue, but this time the blond boy is smiling. He seems even impressed, one would say.
“I don’t read much poetry” he then admits “but I would like to do it more. My mother taught me how to analyze such works, but I haven’t done it in a long time. Do you… maybe have a recommendation on what to start out with?” he asks unsure.
James should say no. He really should. But no one he knows has ever even said the word ‘poetry’ much less shown interest in reading some. So no one can blame him when he starts listing down every collection he knows, that could be enjoyed by a beginner.
Half an hour later James is still talking, sharing fun facts about the authors and critics of certain works, naming his favorite titles and his least favorite. And the whole time Scorpius looks at him, pays attention to him, making James forget all about his delicately crafted image until he says “It’s nice to see you so alive once. Up till now, I thought you were an empty shell. Nice to know there is something you truly bleed for.”
The statement halls in the dark and empty library temporarily knocking the breath out of James’ lungs.
“I don’t… I-“ he starts, panic seeping into his voice.
“James, there is nothing wrong with liking poetry. I, for one, think it’s impressive how much knowledge you have about the subject. And seeing your passion is truly mesmerizing. I’ve never seen you like this before. Do you only read poetry?”
James doesn’t say anything for some time. Scorpius though continues reading through the book James had passed him. He shouldn’t he really shouldn’t, but the library always felt like a safe space for secrets. And so, James breaks the silence “I… like reading classics. Collections of short stories also, but… but poetry is just…it-” he cannot find the words to explain how reading poetry makes him feel. “It’s like-“ he sits up, frantically moving his hands to bring his point across, “-when I read my first poem, the way it described things, feelings, the world. It just.. felt like so much. I never felt something so strong, so colossal. I couldn’t get enough of it. Poetry is an art and when I read it I- I feel like I am art too. The more poetry I read the more the world around me becomes art too. Trees become rivers of memories, water is liquid crystal and- and- yeah that’s it, that’s all the metaphors coming to me right now.”
He got carried away again, he thinks, mentally kicking himself, but when he meets the other boy’s gaze, there isn’t judgment, instead, it looks more like fascination.
“The world you live in sounds truly wonderful James. I hope that by reading what you have given me, I might see some of it too. I will tell you once I have finished the books. Maybe we can talk about them together.”
Two weeks later, Tuesday after midnight, they meet in the poetry section again and talk about poetry, art, and words for hours.
These meetings soon become a weekly occurrence.