Our lives alibis

Chapter25: Over and over

POV Albus

I trit the invitation card between my fingers, a little nervous. The fine rain is piercing my bones. I feel alien in this neighborhood of Soho where normal-looking people, like me, detonate in the landscape. I walk the streets with a strong desire to turn around. I could Apparate directly but I prefer to approach slowly, smell the air of the neighborhood.

I see an illuminated shop window in the distance, the only point of light in this street. It must be there. A cab passes me, splashing me, and he stops in front of the gallery. Three people come out, distinguished laughter, high heels, with black glasses. In November ? Do you frequent the jet set now?

Decidedly, I think I was wrong. I decide to turn back but I feel a hand on my shoulder:

- Albus? What a surprise ! are you going to the Scorpius exhibition? asks me, hilarious, my father.

- Um yes. You too ?

- Yes. Draco must be there already ... It's not that I understand much about art, but I promised Draco to come, he adds in a low voice.

He gives me a bright smile:

- So, do you see Scorpius again? Are you friends again? It's great, I'm very happy.

His sincerity is warm to my heart, but I do not want a misunderstanding:

- Not really. But I got an invitation, so ...

He frowns. Does he feel the sinking in perspective? He squeezes my arm, and we walk side by side toward the entrance. Can not go back, now.

I extend my invitation to a malabar who scrutinizes me suspiciously. I'm missing out, in the scenery. Not the right jacket. Not the right shoes. I try to look jaded, like, "I'm above that," but he thinks I'm a failure, definitely.

We enter the gallery, beautiful, illuminated, chic. Your apartment more glittering. Large spaces, spots everywhere, haunting music. Morcheeba. Over and over.

People are turning on my father, as usual. He smiled gently, as usual.

I am nobody. I am used to it.

A splendid blonde sticks a glass of champagne in my hands, and I take refuge in a corner of the gallery, without really taking a look at the paintings.

Flashes crackle, probably some celebrities of the week that I do not know. Everyone seems comfortable, and the comments on the paintings fuse. Relevant, without a doubt. I sip my glass, trying - with success - to blend in with the decor.

Rupert goes to me:

- Ah! You have received my invitation, well. And you came, very good. Awesome, no?

- Yes, the canvases are ... beautiful.

- No, I'm talking about the guests. The press secretary really did a good job.

I guess, randomly.

I do not know even famous guests. I think I do not quite understand the issues of the evening.

- I hope it will happen soon, he adds. You have not seen it ?

- Who ?

- Scorpius. He's not here yet. This morning he decreed he would not come. If you knew what it was painful, he adds with a sigh.

- But why ?

- Saying too much pressure. Nothing to say to the journalists. Heartache. If he already plays the divas at his age, it promises. It's annoying, the press will not wait long. Oh ... excuse me, he said, moving away quickly.