Must Have Done Something Right / Scorbus

Chapter 2 / The Life and Times of a Queer Boy

Scorpius frowned and leaned in closer to the mirror. Yep...smudged again. His right eye looked as if he had been punched. Promptly, he removed the ruined eyeliner and tried again, holding the pencil steady and forcing his eye to stay still. His face was almost pressed against the mirror, and his breath was fogging up the glass. Finished, he stepped back and observed. Not too much, but just enough to make his eyes stand out. He didn't want to appear like some of the emo girls in third year, Merlin forbid.
Charming his blonde hair dry, he reached for some of his specially made potions, promising sweet-smelling and soft hair. Scorpius sifted the stuff along his scalp, and then brushed, evening it out. His next victim was gel, which he poured into his awaiting hands. That too, he applied to his pampered hair, styling it to look messy but attractive—the same look that Albus Potter achieved just by sleeping and waking up. He scowled at such luck.
The final touch before getting dressed was to apply cologne, which was specifically chosen to complement the smell his hair omitted. That done, he observed his appearance and deemed it satisfactory. He was glad to have finished his morning routine before the other boys bombarded the bathroom. They usually forced him out anyway, refusing to do anything in the bathroom with him around.
He turned to leave and saw Matt Morion heading to the bathroom. Steeling himself for any name-calling, Scorpius was surprised he passed by with only a grunt. Still, he lowered his carefully made-up eyes and shuffled past.
"What the hell, Malfoy?" Matt shouted.
Scorpius turned to see the bigger boy holding his make-up kit, which he had forgotten on the vanity. He blushed red.
"Don't leave your feminine products where we can see them," he threatened, as he thrust the case into Scorpius' chest.
Scorpius mumbled an apology before the bathroom door shut in his face.
He made his way over to his bed, which was furthest on the end, between the wall and Albus Potter's bed. Potter was the only member of his dorm that he remotely liked, simply because the boy wasn't repulsed by him. They had actually even talked once, albeit briefly, but it was still a civil conversation. Scorpius supposed he should be grateful for even this strained alliance.
With a quick glance, he noted that Potter was blearily blinking, obviously awoken from Matt's yell. Scorpius couldn't help but take in Potter's bed-hair, thinking that it looked quite nice. He suddenly wondered how badly he would be incriminated if he commented Albus on it, but shut the thought down. The boys would probably be scared that he was getting too close to them with his 'gay-ness'.
Before Potter was fully awake, Scorpius had already turned away from his musings and shuffled through his trunk finding something suitable to wear beneath his school robes.
"Morning," Albus mumbled between barely open lips, before sliding off the bed.
Scorpius turned to reciprocate the greeting, "morning," and found he couldn't take his eyes off Albus, who was stretching and walking over to the loo. With blushing cheeks, he tried to avert his eyes from the half-nude boy. It was difficult, especially when Albus' broad back looked as if it had been sculpted, and because this was virtually the only glimpse of any male he ever got in this school, as all others were determined to steer clear of him. Albus Potter, obviously, wasn't.
He took a final look of Potter's shoulder blades shifting, and muscles moving, before the closed bathroom door denied him more.
Scorpius blinked, took a breath and returned to his trunk, forcing the memory of out his mind. What a stupid thing to dwell on, he thought. As much as he loved Hogwarts, his classes and his teachers, he sometimes couldn't help but wish he was out of there already. Because the chances of him finding anyone to love in this place was slim to none.

Scorpius was furiously scribbling notes, hanging on to every word of Professor McGonagall. Transfigurations wasn't his best subject—last year's OWLS proved that; it was the only subject he didn't achieve an O in—and he was determined to try harder this year, in preparation for his NEWTS. At least, he wanted to best Rose Weasley, with whom he had engaged in a silent battle of marks. Undoubtedly, the two of them were their year's top students intellectually, and Scorpius was intent on getting higher marks than her. He spared a glance at her quickly, a couple of rows in front, and saw her head bowed and her right arm shifting as she, too, wrote notes. This spurred him on, and frowning, he jotted down McGonagall's words.
"Now students, Conjuration is a new branch of magic we will be exploring this term. It is usually left to be taught until sixth year NEWT classes, as it is oftentimes difficult to grasp and perform. We hope you have achieved the level of magic and maturity"—she paused here to glance at a group of boys at the back of the class, including Potter and the rest of his Quidditch team, who were misbehaving and very obviously not paying attention — "to begin this art."
A worried crease framed McGonagall's brow, while Scorpius frowned.
Sixth year and they still can't shut up in class. Don't they know that the NEWTS are around the corner?
"Before we begin the theory of Conjuration"—here, the class audibly groaned—"I'll perform one of the more simple spells."
Scorpius looked up and watched intently, as McGonagall lifted an empty glass, pointed her wand to it, and clearly said, "Aguamenti." Immediately, the glass was filled with water.
Whispers of surprise and excitement floated through the class, and despite and lack of outward appreciation, Scorpius was looking forward to such magic as well.
A snort, loud and clear, was heard from the back of the class. Twenty heads turned to see who it was.
"What's so difficult about that?" came the haughty voice of Paul Rockwell. "It's just water," he scoffed. Scorpius knew he was one of Potter's crew, and also knew Rockwell despised him. He dearly wished McGonagall would make a fool of him.
"Is it, Mr Rockwell?" the Professor asked. "Well, I daresay you could show us then." She indicated for him to come to the front of the class. Scorpius saw Rockwell's smile falter and inwardly cheered for McGonagall. He may be a Slytherin, but he could appreciate wit, even from a Gryffindor.
Rockwell walked to the front, wielding his wand. His every step was cautious, as if frightened McGonagall would transfigure him into a candle or something. Scorpius thought he would look better as one.
"Now, Mr Rockwell," said McGonagall, giving him the glass, empty once more. "When you're ready."
Scorpius could tell that Rockwell thought McGonagall wasn't going to make him go through with it, and saw his face change to slight panic when the glass was handed to him. Rockwell glanced up at his friends in the back row, but no one offered support. In fact, Scorpius saw Albus Potter with a smile on his face.
Rockwell cleared his throat and shook his wand briefly. "Aguamenti," he said. Even he sounded unconvinced. And for good reason, as absolutely nothing happened. The class giggled.
"Aguamenti." He tried again.
Nothing.
More giggles.
McGonagall stepped in to offer advice. "Perhaps if you swished your wand a little."
"Aguamenti!" he said, swishing.
Immediately, the cup he was holding transfigured into water, wetting his hand and the front of his uniform. Some landed directly on his crotch. Scorpius laughed loudly with the rest of the class.
Heedless of the rest of the class' ruckus, Rockwell's menacing glare turned and faced Scorpius directly, quelling his chuckles.
"Piss off, Malfoy! Let's see you do better, you fag," he sneered.
Scorpius' cheeks burned then, and he lowered his gaze, not wanting to maintain eye contact. The rest of the class was silenced too, their eyes training onto Scorpius.
"Mr Rockwell! Apologize this instant," McGonagall demanded.
He did, though sarcastically.
"Detention, Mr Rockwell. Every night for the next two weeks," she said sternly, eyes burning holes into the boy.
"Professor, I've got—" Rockwell began.
"Not a word. I don't care that you have Quidditch to play or essays to write, you will be in detention. Is that clear?" she asked, the epitome of gravity.
He nodded in the silent classroom. Scorpius, his heart pounding wildly and his face heated like an oven, kept his head down. He didn't feel detention was enough for those low lives. But what could he do? If he told the Professors of the things they said and did to him outside of class time, they would make the rest of his time at Hogwarts a nightmare, and he wasn't sure he could deal with that. Rockwell calling him a "fag" was bad, but not the worst. Still, what he wouldn't do to hit those boys. He didn't understand what he was doing wrong, other than live his life the way he wanted to. Scorpius often toyed with the idea that his bullies harbored secret gay tendencies, thus provoking their anger to be directed at him. Whatever, even if it were true, as if anything would come of it. Scorpius had lost count of how often he heard the boys in his dorm stay up late and share stories of their latest female conquests, adding notches to their bedposts. Even Potter joined in on their disgusting talks, but he only ever talked of his girlfriend. When he did talk, it was always "Mel this" and "Mel that". Scorpius, who had known of his preferences from a young age, would rather not hear of the details of heterosexual sex, but his silencing charms were terrible.
Scorpius looked up and saw the boys in the back row, giggling and slapping Rockwell's back, as if he was a hero for insulting Scorpius. Apparently, the idea of two weeks of detentions was not enough to keep Rockwell's proud smile off his face. He accepted their pats with glee.
Scorpius looked at Albus, his last hope in that group. He flushed with happiness and something else—he wasn't sure what—when he saw he wasn't congratulating Rockwell like the rest of them.