Scorbus One-shots

[AU] Artistry

It wasn't easy being home-schooled.

There was no friend to talk to, or share answers with when it came to lessons. There was no walking around in hallways and greeting other people. There was no drama to listen to, nor was there any activity to be held. There was nothing exciting - none at all. Everyday consisted of the same, dreary routine of waking up, taking a shower, having a breakfast and waiting for the teacher to arrive. Then there was the nerve-racking period every time the tutor asked Scorpius a question when he was in reverie, expecting him to come out with the answer right away. He was a student with the brain, all right, but people can't simply expect him to behave like Google.

The last time Scorpius ever went to a real school was when he was eleven, right before his family moved out, due to his father's constantly changing job. He'd had real friends back then - he was fairly popular, even as a kid. Now he wasn't certain anymore, even if he still contacted with his old friend, Polly Chapman. Still, growing up, Polly became more distant. All in all, Scorpius didn't have any friends left.

Not that he minded. He wasn't entirely concerned about his social life - he wouldn't mind at becoming a social misfit. Every week, after he was done with his lessons, he would simply go out and visit his father's art gallery at the museum not far from his house. There was something about art that captivated him, even if he and his father were artists themselves. There was always something beguiling, as though an artist's flair was perpetually replenishing with new expertise. Sometimes, Scorpius would stand in front of an artwork - be it a painting, a mural, a sculpture - and his fingers would trace the outlines of it on the fabric of his jeans, much to his vagueness. He would caress his fingers on sculptures, feeling the angles, fitting his fingers into the indentation, touching the detailed work as though he was the one carving it.

All in all, the art gallery had become his second hang-out location - if not, his company - ever since he had the authorisation, set up by his father so he could do whatever he pleased that related to art, as long as he stood by the regulations. Ever since then, he was always making something for the museum. He mostly sculpted, and his work would be displayed every month, along with the works of other artists. So far, he was the youngest artist in town to ever make an exhibition. "He hasn't even had his 'A' Levels yet" he'd heard his father talk to a tourist once the previous year. "And this is already his job."

Scorpius couldn't object; he loved his job.

This year, however, very few artists exhibited their works. Even if there were some, their creations were mostly almost the same. "We need a variation," Scorpius' father had said a few months previously. And he knew well that it would be futile if he participated. His father had his point; the museum needed newfound, something that they hadn't tasted before. It wasn't that the town was lacking artists. As a matter of fact, if Scorpius could make a speculation, it would be that the artists were merely covert, seen as nonentity.

That was how he volunteered to search, much to his father's gratitude. He honestly didn't want his father's current position to flunk, not when he had already lost his wife, thereby Scorpius his mother. Scorpius had used a variety of resources, ranging from the internet to letters, searching for artists who were willing to make a showcase - he even offered them posts. It was true; his father needed employees, and was willing to offer a post to anyone who had the aptitude, be it a minor or an infant.

Scorpius hadn't been fruitful for the past five months, however. And he felt awfully guilty, as though it was his upmost priority to be searching around for artists. "Don't burden yourself, Scorpius," his father kept assuring him whenever he came home, fruitless and apologising.