Hello. I hope you enjoy my latest attempt at fanfiction. I've been away from the site for about a year, but now I'm back with a new account, and I've really enjoyed writing this-I love "The History Boys" so much! I hope you enjoy reading it. Review if you like, and I'll update as regularly as I can. Thank you. Much love xxx

I do not own The History Boys, or any of the plays, songs or books here mentioned! xD

"So," Hector leaned back in his wooden chair, hands folded neatly over his chest. His eyes swept over the eight youths sat before him before dramatically glancing up at the small metal tin residing on a shelf above his head. "What joyous revels have you lovingly honed for me, mes petits garçons ?"

"Oh, oh, oh!" Timms waved a chubby hand in the air in a pantomime of mock-earnestness. "We've got something for you, sir. There's no way you'll get it," he said, with a cunning glint in his eye. He beckoned to James Lockwood, who was rolling his eyes and swearing under his breath, clearly not so earnest to perform.

"That remains to be seen, you arrogant little tart," Hector sighed indulgently, waving one regal hand. "Let's have it, then. Chop chop,"

Timms sprang to his feet and marched confidently to the front of the classroom, followed reluctantly by Lockwood. They stood before the remaining six boys, who displayed varying degrees of interest. Akthar remained buried in a copy of Plato's Republic, while Crowther and Rudge watched intently, grinning in anticipation of Timms' upcoming showcase, which was sure to be comedic. Donald Scripps politely smiled, one eye on Lockwood-but the other on his friend David Posner, who's large, appealing eyes were fixed straight forward, mousy head leaning on his pale little hand, which was supported by his sharp elbow on the desk. Before Posner slouched the carelessly handsome Stuart Dakin, who gazed unfocusedly out of the window. Scripps shook his head, giving a small sigh-poor old Poz, staring wretchedly at the back of Dakin's shiny head of dark hair as if it were the Creation itself, the first sunrise. Scripps recalled the detailed account Dakin had subjected him to that morning; a crude, boastful story of his latest efforts to get into Fiona's pants. He grimaced. Love Dakin as he did, he could be one complacent fuck.

Never in Posner's rosy eyes, though. With a pang of pity, Scripps made to jab his friend in the back and offer some whispered word of comfort, but Lockwood had assumed his rehearsed position, peering concernedly at Timms, who had assumed his character, leaning on the piano, one hand clutching his heart.

"I might not be alive in ten years!" he declared in a falsetto voice, fluttering his eyelashes. In the back row, Rudge and Crowther snorted.

"Yes, but you will be. You'll have children," Lockwood reassured him, a hand on his shoulder, his voice of an equal pitch. But Timms pushed him away, his other hand flying melodramatically to his forehead.

"I can't think about ten years!" he exclaimed, wailing like a woman. Hector smiled, head tilted to one side, while Crowther chuckled.

"You haven't got the speeds anyway," Lockwood consulted an invisible newspaper. "So I'll send you to these two, shall I? You haven't been to any other agency? Just so we don't get crossed wires. Now Jeanine I want you to get one of these jobs, alright?" He showed the swooning Timms a "job advert" sternly. "If I send you, that means I'm putting myself on the line for you. Your presentation's OK, you look fine, just be confident and go in there convinced that this is the best job for you and you're the best person for the job. If you don't believe it, they won't believe it."

Timms looked up at Lockwood, eyes wide. "Do you believe it?" he almost begged.

Lockwood regarded him kindly. "I think you could make me believe it if you put your mind to it,"

Sniffing, Timms gave a small smile. "Yes, all right." He squeezed Lockwood's hand-then burst into boyish laughter as Hector and the other boys began to applaud. He took a theatrical bow, smirking triumphantly at Hector, while Lockwood, glad the farce had ended, looked longingly back at his chair. "Clueless, sir?"

The old teacher sunk further into his chair, looking excessively satisfied. "Do you children think I have gotten slow in my old age?" he pretended to accuse the performers. "Did you think I would not instantly recognise Caryl Churchill's Top Girls?" Timms cried out in dismay, as the rest of the class erupted. Hector chortled.

"We thought it was obscure!" Timms protested. "We thought-"

Hector sighed, eyes fixated upon the ceiling. "Dear lord, send me some boys to teach who are not ignorant little trollops! Now be seated, my children," He reached over and whacked the griping Timms lightly with a book, and then Lockwood for good measure as they made their way back to their desks, before addressing the class "Our revered headmaster, in his omniscience, asks that I evoke a discussion regarding one of the many issues that plague you troubled youths. However, I believe that you are in no need of further education concerning excessive alcohol consumption or, worse still, clear instructions on how to become riddled with sexually transmitted diseases," Some of the boys smirked. "Pray you fill this next half hour with some useful endeavour, and then we shall have music to end," Opening his leather-bound weapon, he settled, a contented smile still in place, and began to read.

The bulk of the class busied themselves with textbooks, paper and Biros, intending to devote this snatched thirty minutes to revision. Dakin, however, yawned and stretched widely, before slumping down upon his desk and closing his eyes. Scripps tutted, grinning whilst grappling in his bag for a battered copy of Elton's England Under The Tudors. He wondered at how happily Dakin could discard his sleep and, by extension, his education for a shot with the lovely Fiona.

"Poz?" he hissed to the smaller boy. "Poz?"

Posner reluctantly tore his gaze from Dakin to face him. In his eyes lingered the mists of sadness they always held, especially when in the company of Stuart. Scripps' heart ached for his poor, hopelessly devoted friend, as it often did-and at the same time, he felt a pang of frustration at him, which he repressed in his benevolence. Posner's soft, Pre-Raphaelite features had arranged themselves to show he was listening.

"You still down with doing the one we practised?" he asked, deciding to grill him later, when not in earshot of their peers. Certainly not in the presence of Hector; though Donald would be sincerely amazed if their receptive teacher had not noticed, considering his obsession with poetry regarding unrequited love, that one of his pupils was openly, embarrassingly, head-over-heels in love with another.

Posner blinked for a moment-then understood. "Y-yes, that would be…fine." He glanced at the sheet music just visible in Scripps' bag, eyes still hazy, and not at all eager.

"We could always do a different one," Scripps said tactfully. "I have Get Happy in my folder, I think. You like that one," he encouraged him, as if appeasing one of his little sisters.

"No," Posner said, resigned. "I think it would be…therapeutic…to sing the first one,"

"Alright," Scripps offered him a final, friendly smile, before opening his thick, tattered book and beginning to read.

"Come, Maestro, let us bask in the subtle delight of your piano and the full glory of your forte," Hector finally gestured for Scripps to come to the old piano that stood in the corner, with a smile. Hearing Posner stand up near him, he made his way to the stool, setting up the manuscript paper on the familiar wooden stand. He glanced up at his singer, who had stood as usual just behind the corner of the piano, half obscured.

"Okay?"

Posner nodded, pink, cat-like tongue moistening his dry lips. He glanced at Dakin, who had sat up a fraction straighter to hear the music. Posner's Adam's apple rose and fell in his throat.

"So what shall you regale us with today, Messrs Scripps and Posner?" Hector had removed his glasses and replaced his book, leaning back and relaxing. "Will it be Jazz, or Folk, or perhaps Musical Theatre -or God forbid it, this so-called Grunge?"

Scripps snickered, along with most of the other boys. "Folk, sir. It's quite a pretty piece,"

"Performed today by a pretty duet," Hector offered Scripps the smallest of winks. "Well, in your own time,"

Trying to brush off the latest and possibly creepiest of Hector's comments, Posner clasped the top of the piano and Scripps positioned his deft fingers on the cold keys, ready to play the opening bars. He counted in with his foot, and then played the short, melancholy introduction before Posner began, a little uncertainly, to sing, his innocent, trembling tenor filling the classroom:

"She's like the swallow that flies so high

She's like the river that never runs dry

She's like the sunshine on the lee shore

I love my love and love is no more,"

Looking up to check on Posner, Scripps noted as always how his eyes were glazed over as he sang meaningfully, lost in the music-but also thrust into the spotlight in the presence of Dakin. Donald could see why he had been reluctant to sing a song about doomed love.

"'Tis out in the garden this fair maid did go

A-picking the beautiful primrose

The more she plucked, the more she pulled

Until she got her apron full,"

Scripps chanced a backward glance around the remaining assembled boys; Rudge half-listened, eyes cast down, while Crowther and Lockwood swayed slightly to the haunting melody. Timms was smirking, as he always did at Posner's sincerity when he sang, but Akthar looked serious as he listened. Dakin leaned lazily backward, frowning slightly. He ran one hand through that thick, shiny hair, which Scripps guessed was the reason for Posner's increased feeling as they entered the third verse, grasping the side of the piano.

"'Twas out of those roses she made a bed

A stony pillow for her head

She laid her down, no words she spoke

Until this fair maid's heart did break…"

Scripps did not need to look up to know that Posner would be singing this to Dakin, wondering if David himself was even aware that he was. He sighed quietly, imagining David dying willingly in silent tears, heart shattered by the careless Stuart…before quickly expelling that image from his mind. He shook his head, wondering why he thought such weird thoughts sometimes. He persevered with the intricate piano accompaniment, knowing that Timms would now not be the only one smirking at poor Posner.

"She's like the swallow that flies so high

She's like the river that never runs dry

She's like the sunshine on the lee shore

I love my love and love is no more…"

Posner's final note lingered in the air, finally resonating as Scripps softly intoned the last chord. Hector began the hearty applause, his eyes slightly clouded. "Most heavenly music! It nips me unto listening, and thick slumber hangs upon mine eyes…" He allowed himself a quiet moment of contemplation, rubbing his eyes, before charting the classroom for the answer to the question he did not need to ask.

"Pericles, sir," Akthar stated loudly, as the bell began to ring, signalling the end of the day.

"Well done, Akthar. And very well done to Posner and Scripps," The musicians smiled at their teacher, who continued: "A beautiful arrangement that is, of a most compelling song. The piano part does not stand merely as an accompaniment to the vocal line; it is a melody in itself, making the song not a solo for a voice, but a duet between singer and pianist. It would have almost been more fitting for young Posner to sit and Scripps to stand up and be seen!"

Posner was slightly put-out as they gathered their books along with the rest of the boys. "Why doesn't he like me?" he murmured to Scripps in the rumpus.

"Come on, Poz, he doesn't not like you…" Scripps began comfortingly. "You're just too-"

"Now, who goes home?" Hector addressed the class as a whole. Each pupil suddenly became far more interested in the contents of their bags.

"Crowther?" Hector tried.

"Can't, sir," Crowther answered, with a smirk. "Got rehearsals,"

"Lockwood?"

"Can't, sir. Going into town,"

"Ah, Dakin," Hector's eyes fixed determinedly on the handsome boy. "You will come, won't you?"

Dakin rolled his eyes, his back to Hector. "Okay, sir," he sighed. "Why not,"

"Excellent, excellent," Hector smiled earnestly. "I shall see you on the forecourt in ten minutes," As the teacher exited the classroom, the other boys shot a grateful look at Dakin, who's pleasure at the sudden attention outweighed the distaste for his lift home.

"You are all indebted to me," he said, with a look of mock-horror. "I'm horny as fuck-might get a hard-on because of the vibration, and Hector will cry with joy," There was scattered swearing and laughter as Dakin headed for the door. "Bye, losers."

Scripps glanced at Posner-who predictably stared breathlessly after him.

"You know, you shouldn't stare so at Dakin," Scripps said delicately as he and Posner left the iron school gates amid the throngs of teenage boys in uniform. "He'll get sick of it eventually,"

Posner shrugged, eyes downcast. "And?"

"He might…say something. To you," Scripps prompted. "That you…wouldn't like…"

"At least then he'd talk to me first," Posner sniffed, with the air of a martyr.

Scripps sighed. "I just don't want you to get hurt, mate."

"Oh, Scrippsy…" Posner moaned, eyes misting over again. "He hurts me simply by being close. And by not being close. I don't know which pain is the more bearable…"

Coughing awkwardly, Scripps tried to formulate a constructive response, before giving up. "Still don't know what you bloody see in him," he said, gruffly, trying to lighten the mood. He thought of the way Dakin boasted about his exploits with Fiona. "I mean, I love him and all, but he is a massive twat,"

"That's just the issue. I love him,"

The boys at school jokingly declared their undying love for one another regularly; indeed, Timms had proposed to Crowther with a Haribo ring just that lunch time. But the way Posner said it, which such reverence, sincerity, devotion…Scripps almost believed him. He nodded understandingly.

"When you love someone…" he began carefully. "Their…their flaws only highlight their perfections…make them seem even more perfect than they already were."

Posner paused, looking up at Scripps with spaniel eyes. "You're right,"

"I know…" Scripps unlocked his bicycle and mounting it. "I'm always right, O Small One," he said, fixing his grin back in place. "See you, Poz,"

"Thank you. For everything,"

Scripps looked down at his friend. So pure, so hopeless, so completely beside himself, his wholesome eyes shining with innocence. He thought of David's sweet red heart beneath his school shirt, barely held together by thin threads, thumping with love for Stuart Dakin.

"Take care, mate," Scripps rode away quickly, leaving Posner alone.