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SAUDADE
02: THE START

One year after my graduation I met Scorpius again. I'd heard all kinds of stuff about him, even saw him around a couple of times. But that was mostly in the papers. I hadn't actually talked to him in two years. I suppose he came round the Shell Cottage often to meet Louis, but seeing as Louis and I were never really on friendly terms (he told everyone I was frigid, I told everyone he had an erection deficit – that sort of thing) I naturally wasn't invited to these get-togethers. I was still interested in him, though, from a distance, in a detached way, so I tried to keep up with what he had been doing.

This wasn't hard.

He hadn't been doing much at all.

I mean, he did have a job at the Ministry (a good one, even). He wasn't failing at life. He just wasn't having any long-lived relationships to speak of, didn't get engaged, didn't have a baby (in or out of wedlock). In his free time, he basically just mucked about, hanging around with some blokes or good-looking girls, getting drunk (a bit too) often in fancy, expensive bars. Of course I know this is perfectly normal behaviour for a twenty-year-old, and it's not that I think getting hitched and making babies is the only way of getting ahead in life. I guess what I wanted – and to some extent, expected – was a sign from him that he had finally stopped moping over the absence of my cousin.

Alas.

I did not see that sign.

All in all, what I'm trying to say is, I wasn't exactly surprised when I ran into him at a bar at 1 at night, even though this had never happened before. I think the surprise was all on him. Not because I was out of place – this was a cool bar, a posh one, where all the trendy and young and good-looking people went – but because of the state I was in.

As it happens, I was drunk and alone. And bitter. Very bitter.

So he kind of cocked his head and approached me with an actual swagger.

"Lily?"

"Yes. That is my name," I said, and tried to smile to make it seem less rude.

"Well," he smirked (he always smirks), "fancy seeing you here. It's been a while, hasn't it?"

It had been a while, but he hadn't changed much, save for his green Hogwarts uniform. His hair was still as blond, his posture still as straight and tall, his face still as perfect. He was wearing a dark blue oxford shirt with casually rolled up sleeves, beige trousers (with, of course, a Slytherin-buckled belt) and dragon leather shoes.

I was drunk and eighteen and stupid.

I thought, you look like the man of my dreams.

He sat down on the barstool next to me and ordered two shots of Blishen's Firewhiskey. I looked over his shoulder to see where his friends went, but couldn't locate anyone.

"My mates went to another bar. I got sidetracked when I noticed you through the window," Scorpius explained, picking up my confusion. He downed both shots immediately and then ordered another one for me. "Sorry. Needed a drink. Though you look like you do too."

"Cheers," I mumbled.

I was secretly warmed by the thought of him leaving his friends for me. In a flash I felt fifteen again – insecure, naive, not in the know of how to handle this gorgeous, smart, and arrogant boy in front of me, but happy to get his attention nonetheless. This was one of Scorpius's worst qualities: he always managed to reduce me to a lesser, more self-conscious version of myself. It happened at the bar (even though he wasn't trying) and it would happen many times after that.

"Please do elaborate on your dire state, Lily," he drawled, giving me the shot glass and ordering yet another two. "I admit I am both fascinated by the lack of your usually chipper voice and also hammered enough to forget what you're about to tell me tomorrow."

"You're not that hammered," I pointed out – though I saw that he was quickly reaching that particular way of being – and drank the shot. "And anyway, why would I tell you?"

"Misery loves company?"

I saw that as a valid argument, since my brain was muddled. And thus, I elaborated on my dire state. "Today, my boyfriend of six months kindly explained to me that he was shagging someone else."

"No!" Scorpius emphatically exclaimed. "That is just... brutal."

"Humiliating is what it is!" I replied, feeling the fresh wound of mortification throb somewhere in my chest.

Admittedly, I wasn't completely heartbroken. I was, but only kind of. Niall was rich and good-looking and seemed nice, but since that last quality went out of the window rather quickly and the first two aren't everything in life, he didn't turn out to be such a catch after all.

(In retrospect, I hadn't been heartbroken about Niall at all. Heartache was a feeling I had yet to endure truly and deeply.)

"Well, I'm sure you'll find another pretty boy to add to your collection soon," Scorpius said, raising his glass.

(If only I had known.)

"I think that was every bit as insulting as it was comforting," I responded, raising mine too, "but thanks." Then, because I no longer possessed a sense of social decorum in the face of love-related debasement, "Why are you trying to be comforting? It's unlike you."

Scorpius leaned in closer. "Confrontational questions, huh?"

"I know you don't really like people, in general," I shrugged. He smelled nice. "I mean, I know you try to mask it for some people, but really, I can see right through you."

He grinned. "Can you?"

I exclaimed, "You're Rose's best mate. That in itself is proof enough!"

Now, that wasn't my best move, bringing her up.

He stopped laughing. He didn't pull away, physically, but I saw the flicker in his eyes, the flicker of regret, the flicker of anger, the flicker of acute love sickness. And maybe I didn't recognise the look for what is was at that moment – because I didn't know Scorpius that well, and for all I knew he was over her – but I did recognise a significant change.

Fortunately, or unfortunately (if you will), that was also the moment someone decided to use the deserted karaoke bar.

"Oh no, no no no," I shrieked, partly swapping the sudden uneasiness away and partly genuinely irritated, "I hate karaoke."

Scorpius acknowledged my attempt and went with it. He recovered quickly, schooled his features back into amusement, commented, "It's not that bad."

"It is," I said forcibly, glad for the opportunity. "Not up for discussion!"

"Oh come on," he tried. "I'll sing a song for you!"

And this just about clashed with everything Scorpius was.

Scorpius was cool. Scorpius was cold, even. If Scorpius belonged anywhere, it'd be on the outskirts of Scotland, with its cutting winds, grey skies, and continuing rain. Scorpius did not belong in a bar where karaoke was fine, and he most certainly did not belong on a stage where singing karaoke songs was fine. I knew that. I was one of the few people who did, actually. Which was why, for the first time that evening, I smiled with honesty.

(In hindsight, this hit me extremely hard. Later, in my bed, this would run through my head, over and over again, like a mantra. I'll sing a song for you, I'll sing a song for you, I'll sing a song for you.)

However, I spared him the embarrassment.

"I would, just saying!" Scorpius held up both his hands.

"Why would you, though?" I asked, judgingly. "I mean – karaoke, really?"

"I like it," he said, defensively.

"But why?"

"There is something..." he looked at me pensively, "so very uninhibited about it. Exhibitionistic, almost."

"Or," I said pointedly, "you're just always drunk enough to enjoy it."

"Or," Scorpius mimicked, "or..."

"Or what?"

"I need another drink for this."

"For what?"

Scorpius called the bartender. He drank one shot and gave another to me.

"Or I just like karaoke because I like Rose," he finished, then, catching me off guard once more. "Rose likes karaoke. We used to sing karaoke together all the time, and sometimes she wanted to sleep with me after."

I froze a bit. I had not seen that coming and did not know what to do with it.

When I had encountered Scorpius in the kitchen, years prior, he had been composed. Sad – but composed. Just like always. That moment, though, he was different. He was a little frantic: he ran his hand through his hair twice in one minute, sighed heavily, looked so, so lost in just a snap second. As it turned out, Scorpius lost social decorum in the face of love-related debasement too.

"You're drunk," I stated, eventually.

"I am," he confirmed. "Bartender!"

"Scorpius – "

He drank another shot. Gave me one as well.

"Lily," he sighed again, "I understand your pain. That guy who left you, well, he's just a dick. You have a right to be angry with him. But you know what, I am left too – because, she just left, without much ado. And I have nothing to be angry about," rattling, he was rattling now, "because she didn't have to fucking consult with me or anything. I'm not her boyfriend. I'm just her friend. I'm just a friend she can leave behind whenever she feels like it. And you know why, on a very basic level, that is? You know why that is, Lily?"

I said nothing.

"She doesn't love me."

He gazed at me straight, glassy eyes and all.

"She does," I whispered, still taken aback, still not knowing what to do and feeling inept.

"No, no," he shook his head, "she doesn't. Just like that guy doesn't love you."

I flinched.

He repeated, "I understand your pain."

And then – this is seriously what happened – he kissed me.

Out of the blue.

As soon as registration hit me, I pushed him off. He was a bit unstable on his barstool, nearly fell off for a moment. He restored balance instantly, however, and touched my arm with what was almost a loving gesture.

"Lily," he said, no trace of a smile, gaze unfocused but earnest, "Why do I keep telling you the truth?"

His hand found my hand.

"Scorpius," I said, "I don't know if this is the kind of comfort I want."

(Later, I realised how I didn't know anything back then. I didn't know whether I'd loved Niall, I didn't know why Scorpius was kissing me, I didn't know if we had a connection or if I was just making stuff up. Maybe I just wanted to get laid and that is why I let him touch the curve of my spine without pushing him off for a second time.)

He leaned in closer, "Are you sure?"

(And this is the moment that made me hate myself in all the years to come.)

"I don't know what I want," I whimpered.

He slipped off his barstool, said quietly in my ear, "You bring out the truth in me."

He kissed me again, and I let him.

Not much later, I ended up in his clean, soulless apartment, and checked in for what would become a long, excrutiating love affair.

It wasn't romantic. There was nothing pretty or emotionally deep about it. He didn't look me in the eye, nor did he caress my cheek or tell me I was the most beautiful woman alive. The love we made wasn't love at all – not at that point (maybe not even at any point) – but something raw, something unrefined. Something produced by two unhappy people that were either sad because they missed a vital piece in their life (Scorpius) or because they had just been dumped (me).

The way everything happened fit the situation perfectly. There was a desperation about the whole ordeal that appealed to me greatly – he didn't care and I didn't want to care. I was living out my teenage fantasy in a terribly warped way.

I forgot Niall for at least twenty minutes.

Scorpius probably remembered Rose the whole way through.