Working Through the Rest

The Library Again

I place the books down on the table, a little harder than I intended to, and Scorpius flinches slightly, not looking up.
"Sorry," I mumble, sitting down.

He doesn't reply as I unscrew the lid on my ink bottle, dipping my quill in. I start writing slowly, trying to form words while concentrating on not looking at Scorpius. Normally when I sit down like this, I keep glancing at him and he eventually moves away. I don't want that to happen today.

For a while, nothing happens. We sit, working separately, and nothing changes. Until I look up to see Scorpius, staring somewhat blankly at whatever he had been writing. Both his fists are clenched tightly, and he's dropped his quill. Droplets of ink are now splattered across the parchment he was writing on.
"Are you okay?" I ask quietly, despite myself.
"Of course he isn't," someone calls from the other side of the room. "His guilty conscience has finally caught up with him."

Scorpius doesn't move, apparently ignoring the taunt. I stand up, walking over to its source. Unsurprisingly, it came from Zack Alderton and, fighting great temptation to roll my eyes; I stop in front of him.
"Leave him alone."
"Oh, sorry," Zack smirks. "Does that hurt his feelings"

I don't reply, turning around and walking back to the desk where Scorpius and I were sat. Except Scorpius, and all of his things, are now gone. There's no note, no sign of where he went. I sigh, closing my books and packing them into my bag. He used to leave a note when this happened. He used to wait for me.

Used to. He hasn't for weeks. Not since this – whatever this is – started.

Zack watches me as I leave and I do my best to avoid his stares. It's not worth it. It's never going to be worth it.

*

The walk back to the Common Room is a long one. Every step I take is slow and heavy. Part of me wants to find Scorpius and just tell him what his silence is doing to me. Because it has been weeks and I don't understand how he can keep isolating himself.

And at the same time, I am dreading the moment when I snap and talk to him or he talks to me. Last time, when it wasn't one of us causing it, we argued for the first time. I don't want to know what might happen this time.

I don't want to argue with him again, because watching him in pain like that was beyond terrifying. Knowing that I caused him that. He was right when he told me that I was a terrible friend, and I'm glad he did, because I can see now. I can see myself outside of my own eyes. It's just that he's no longer here. Not really.

I don't see Scorpius once I've muttered the password and pushed the Common Room door open. I walk towards the dormitories, wiping the sweat off my palms. I shouldn't be scared, but I am. I shouldn't be, but I am. I should know everything will be okay, but I don't.

The hangings around Scorpius' bed are closed, but they're wobbling, and there isn't a draught, so he hasn't been in here long. I sit down on my bed, putting my books down beside me.
"I'm here," I say quietly, "if you need me."

Unsurprisingly, there isn't a reply and I lie back, closing my eyes slowly. I've just about managed to stop the flashes from entering my mind when I shut my eyes. The silence, constant and unbending, doesn't make it easy, but I manage it for the most part.

It doesn't seem to matter how many times I try to remind myself of what happened, putting it in perspective is always the hardest part. It's not difficult to remember that I probably got Craig killed. It takes effort to remind myself that she kidnapped us and tortured Scorpius. Although, thinking about it, that was something I could have stopped if I'd just been a little bit braver.

But I wasn't, and now Scorpius has barely said more than one word to me in weeks. Because I fucked up so badly. This is my fault, isn't it? It's my fault she hurt him. It's my fault he doesn't want anything to do with my. So this is what I deserve.

I sit up again quickly, blinking back tears. I can't let my thoughts spiral. Things will go beyond hell if I let myself spiral. So, I look across to Scorpius' bed.

The hangings are no longer closed. He has gone, but there is a note on his pillow. I stand up, walking over and picking it up. And as I read, my heart starts to crack inside my chest. Hundreds of suggestions and ideas fly into my head, trying to make sense of it. Except there are too many and I yell out, forcing them to stop. I need to think slowly, clearly. It doesn't matter why Scorpius is in detention with Professor Slughorn, not right now anyway. The fact remains that he is. And he didn't tell me.

And all I can do is wait for him to come back.