Title: Ardor Animorum

Author: AristideCauquemaire

Pairing: Scorpius Malfoy/James Sirius Potter

Rating: M for grown-up language and sexual situations and themes.

Warnings: original characters; slash, non-consensual situations

zoe: Thanks for the review :) Don't be too sad, stories need to end lest they shrivel up and die pitiful and inglorious deaths. I hope this chapter cheers you up - it sure cheered me up when I wrote it :D

FlowerSpaceship: So sorry, I'm not a sequel person ^^; (Remember, Ardor was actually once part of Calor. It's not a true sequel in that sense, although I hope that making it a 'new' story didn't strike anyone as stupid and superfluous...) I just feel that the overcoming of the obstacles – the ones we create ourselves, mostly – is the most interesting part of the way to 'romance'. After that, there's just nothing else for me to write about :'D I suck at relationships irl myself, so I don't know how to frame them in fiction, either *sigh*. I'm currently working on a massive beast of a story together with my beta-reader and friend Nia... Sprawling, wordy and brimful with angst and darkness, just the way I like it :P I hope I can finish it before my future catches up with me.
Recommendations: If you actually go over to skyehawke (the archive in which you can find A Thousand Beautiful Things), I can recommend anything by Duinn Fionn, NovemberSnowflake and Calligraphy. Their stories are insanely good.
Re:Mariella: I think she might not even notice the shirt – the wet stain on his trousers and the content glow on his face would probably distract her from such details (remember, she doesn't have the brewer's brain...). But you can bet she's relieved as heck that Scorpius finally stops his whining and whingeing :D
Oh, you're German, too! :D Dann hätten wir ja auch auf Deutsch kommunizieren können... Huh. Too late now I suppose ^^; Thank you for all your reviews and your enthusiasm, love!

Also, thanks to ihrtryoma for the review, to ThePureEvil for favving/following this story, and to giganemo for favving Calor. (I assume/hope you'll come through here at some point...)

Here we are, at the end of all things. Enjoy, one last time!

/

Chapter 11

/

Somehow, Scorpius survived the pre-Christmas exams. Mariella had been partially right: managing his running workload was more difficult because he had to reconcile it with assisting in the dungeon, but dropping Runes had helped a lot. Plus, after Scorpius had relentlessly needled him with questions, Potter had given away tiny morsels of advice about the exams he himself had taken only a year ago. With that, he even got through Transfiguration all right. Not that McGonagall would ever let it show.

He then survived the Christmas holidays although his aunt plus husband and his two obnoxious cousins Queenie and Laurel had stayed over at the Manor for three whole days. Incidentally, they were fifteen and twelve, just like Albus Severus and Lily Luna were, and Scorpius' respect for James Potter and his saintlike patience grew a whole lot. At the same time, he was ever more grateful for being an only child.

After returning to Hogwarts – for the actual last time, this time, Scorpius realised when King's Cross Station vanished behind the bent again – classes and hours in the dungeon resumed as if there hadn't been a break at all. Even the Transfiguration lessons with Ms Sullivan were the same, a seamless continuation of classes with Professor McGonagall. He hadn't thought that young, pretty, genial-looking woman to be capable of taking the exact same hard-line approach as the dour old headmistress, but she was. Like a perfect clone. Scorpius' antipathy towards her quickly mellowed from personal to professional. He ended up asking Shrew for more one-on-one- studying and help with Transfiguration homework, eventually bribing him successfully with the pin-up picture of Annabelle Warren on her broom.

Potter was uncommunicative as ever – or, as Scorpius now preferred to think of it, so absorbed and focussed that he lost the ability to speak because multitasking was his one true weakness. He barely seemed to register the holidays, or that he had been gone, or that he was back, but rather ticked off potion after potion in that green notebook of his, and kept on tweaking that wolfsbane that was still simmering in its miniature copper kettle, dead set on getting it right this time around. It made Scorpius think of the car engine he had seen in the trial lesson for Muggle Studies, which he ended up not electing. Potter was all effortless power and grace, a symphony of parts moving, seemingly tirelessly, in perfect harmony, unswervingly toward a single goal. Most days, he seemed to be running on determination and bottomless enthusiasm for potion-making alone. He never took lunch or dinner or toilet breaks, none that Scorpius noticed anyway. It seemed that he never took breaks at all.

It made the little moments in which this machine stuttered all the more precious.

Scorpius had caught him looking twice since the day he had left the dungeon wearing a wet, cold pair of trousers and a dry, warm shirt. And since those glances had been so very sneaky, he imagined that there had been several instances in which he hadn't noticed him watching.

If it weren't for those moments, Scorpius might have thought that their relationship had been purely, entirely professional now, and would forever be. All they ever talked about, if they talked at all, was potions- and school-related. There was always more than an arm's length between them, if not an entire brewing room. The hierarchy of their arrangement didn't feel so steep any more, and just about every ugly word had been said already, so the explosive potential was gone. They certainly weren't Master and slave any more - if they ever had been, that was. On normal days, Scorpius qualified their relationship as that of senior student and assistant; on good days, he tentatively considered the word 'friends', even though it came with a mile-long footnote. There were no emotional outbursts, and because Potter had made it a habit to be doubly strict on workplace safety, there certainly was no more nudity, semi or otherwise.

Scorpius often wondered just how much time he would need, and just how patient he was supposed to be. Or if he had just said that. Or if he had changed his mind in the meantime and had simply forgotten to tell him. If Professor McGonagall would announce, in the very last bit of her two hour farewell speech, that James Sirius Potter had brought his apprenticeship to a successful conclusion and would now go on to study under Potions Guru Fuckknows in Wherever, and that he had, in fact, left earlier the same day to catch his portkey.

When he dared to ask Mariella about it – Hogsmeade again, after two large glasses of whiskey to muster the courage – she had slapped him in the back of the head and just said, "Moron." So he had resigned himself to this comfortable but increasingly dissatisfying stalemate and did the only thing he could: he waited. And tried to catch more of those small moments that made his heart race with hope.

/

It was a Sunday in February, the last day of a brutal brewing weekend. Scorpius was just done with the ingredients closet inventory – the last item on his mile-long to-do-list – and folded the rackety stepladder with some effort, then shoved it under the desk with the powders, sands and granules.

When he got back up and turned around, Potter was standing in the doorway.

After jumping, once and briefly because he hadn't heard him coming at all, Scorpius immediately noticed the curiously dark expression on his face. There was a wrinkle between his eyebrows and the muscle along his jaw was working visibly.

That was odd. Although it had been a long day and hard work, everything had gone fine and according to plan and schedule. The two potions, both marked with "13 out of 17 flasks in difficulty" in the Advanced Potion-making Quarterly, had come out perfect. He wasn't supposed to be displeased about anything.

Scorpius cleared his throat when silence prevailed for many seconds. "Uh, yes?" he prompted stupidly because he didn't know how to stress 'Did you want anything?', 'Did you need anything?' or 'Can I help you with anything?' without it sounding like an allusion to something inappropriate.

That was one of the rules of waiting, of stalemate. No allusions, ever. The rules were made of iron.

Potter appeared to be chewing his own tongue or the inner lining of his cheek and still said nothing. It reminded Scorpius of that time on the Quidditch pitch, when Potter had come to him with the first rude note. He remembered being endlessly annoyed that Potter was still so cool and composed and hadn't said a word.

Which was really weird because the Potter standing in front of him was clearly anything but cool and composed, even though he still didn't say a word and didn't move too many muscles. Behind the silence, Potter was like a boiling cauldron and he could see it plain as day.

"I... think... I'm done for today," Scorpius said in a conversational tone. "I completed the agenda, at least. You told me the tincture will simmer for two more days, maybe three because of the sea salt concentration, so I left the jar with the beeswings out for now, you know, to balance it out if you must. I put all the other stuff away, though," he started counting on his fingers, "filled out the lists, cleared and cleaned the tables, wiped the boards, swept the floor, did the inventory, made sure all the jars are label-front, double-checked the acids, the corrosives and the volatiles... so... I'm done."

Because it had been a weekend, and because the potion was basically finished after two days except for the simmering, Professor Smith had approved of their using the regular potions classroom for this one. It meant sweeping and cleaning everything – even the stuff they hadn't dirtied, used or so much as looked at, like the front desk which Scorpius had spent two full hours polishing yesterday – but at least he didn't have to run the stairs. Fucking worth it.

Potter still said nothing. He got as far as opening his mouth but snapped it shut again with a glower. Scorpius sighed softly, figuring that there wasn't any way to extract his thoughts from him by force, either – another rule of the stalemate, not that it mattered much because he had no idea how that could be accomplished – so there wasn't much of a point in waiting.

He took two steps toward the exit – and toward Potter, inevitably – and prepared to slither past him. The closet door wasn't exactly wide but there looked to be a way to get out of it even without touching him, should he not be willing to move. All it would take was a little bit of bending. Luckily, he had never been burly or inflexible.

The most important rule of the stalemate: No touching.

However, Potter reached out with his arm, grabbed the doorframe and thus blocked the path. Decisively.

Scorpius stopped in his tracks and huffed, slightly irritated. "What is it, now?" he asked, looking up at him even though James did his best impression of seventh-year-James-Potter-walking-by-sixth-year-Scorpius-Malfoy-on-the-corridor. Which meant that he was looking – frowning – around the closet and anywhere but at him.

"Potter, I want to go to sleep," he all but begged. "I've been up since seven thirty, with the early Quidditch training and all. It's already past seven now. I barely had time for dinner because of this here, and there's still homewo-"

"Why did-?" Potter interrupted him but didn't finish.

With interest, Scorpius noted a certain redness blooming on his usually pale cheeks. "Why did who what?" he asked quietly when James refused to continue.

James craned his neck to look behind himself, as if there were any risk that they weren't utterly alone in the classroom – and as if there was a super-secret conversation going on here that no one was supposed to overhear. If only, Scorpius thought wistfully. In moments like this, James Potter's reticence was really a bit of a challenge. Being patient was hard when one had been patient for so long on an unsteady diet of little morsels to give you hope.

"I don't know why the chicken crossed the road, either," Scorpius tried to joke with a lifted eyebrow, "if that's what you meant."

Potter still said nothing. If anything, his glower deepened.

"Look, I can't answer a question you don't ask." He sighed, then started guessing. "Is it about the tincture? Or your next project? Ingredients? Time schedules... again?"

He knew that the preparations for his final N.E.W.T.s would soon become a bit of a hassle to plan around, and that the apprentice's schedule in Potter's green notebook wasn't forgiving, either, the last few potions on that list the most devilishly complicated ones to date. They were working very well together now – like a pair of engines – but Scorpius knew that the seventeen days lost to the meltdown in October last year were still heavy on James' mind. Smith hadn't been joking when he said that his brewing plans were 'very demanding, mentally and physically'. Maybe even a little too ambitious, even though James was absolutely determined and really, really good at potionmaking.

Nonetheless, Scorpius was getting a little desperate. It was late, and as pleasant as it was to overtly look at James – from the front, even! - standing in the doorway like a Grecian guardsman, he did want to get back to the Slytherin quarters soon, get the rest of his homework done for tomorrow, cram just another half an hour for the DADA quick exam that would probably happen tomorrow morning because Professor Finnigan was a cruel, cruel man, and maybe, if he was really lucky, go to bed before ten thirty.

James drew breath, then closed his eyes and asked, with audible strain in his voice, "Why did you-" And then it all just came out at once. "Whydidyouputitinyourmouth?"

Dumbfounded for full ten seconds, Scorpius stared at him as James' face grew redder still.

"I don't- understand it. I-I just don't," he stammered.

Now that the dam was broken, words practically rushed out of him, falling over one another. Scorpius wondered just how long they had been pent up in there. It certainly sounded like it had been forever.

"It's disgusting, why would you do that? That's not normal to even- How do you get that idea in your head to take someone else's-...? I mean, you're a guy. Why would you-? It's unsanitary and-"

Scorpius wondered if the banana he had eaten during a short break had anything to do with this. In any case, he hadn't realised that James had seen him eat. Then again – his glances were really surreptitious.

James shook his head in a frustrated gesture, then stretched out his hand when he thought of something. "And then you wrote that note and I did that spell when I tried to find out who the sender was but it burnt up in the process and- and it just told me that it was sincere, and- Who does such a thing, and then likes doing it? Why-"

Scorpius pressed his lips together, but to no avail. Giggling laughter broke free and bubbled first through his nose, then through his mouth, until he was genuinely laughing out loud. The sight of Potter, flustered, somewhat cross, his face endearingly red, only made it worse.

Still chuckling, in a daring mood, he reached out and caught the front of Potter's robe. Thereby breaking the first law.

He pulled at it – much gentler than Potter had last pulled at his – until Potter gave in and hesitatingly stepped towards him, over the threshold into the ingredients closet.

He then switched sides with him – sliding past and accidentally brushing his shoulder – turned and pulled the wide-open door shut by the heavy brass handle so that the deserted Potions classroom and the entire rest of the castle were locked out. He even turned the key. The lock clicked with a reassuringly solid sound.

The privacy of the ingredients closet was absolute. The air was immediately heavy with a certain type of nervous anticipation. Scorpius felt it, a sweaty heat crawling up his neck toward the roots of his hair. He wondered whether the magic was in the confined spaces themselves, or if it all depended on the person with whom he shared said space.

James frowned and looked past him. This time, however, Scorpius felt that it wasn't because he didn't want to look at him, but because he wanted to look at him too much.

"Malfoy-"

"Don't."

Their eyes met and no more words, which just tended to confuse people anyway, were necessary.

James had backed up against the old desk with the powder jars. They rattled delicately when he curled his fingers around the edge of the desktop.

Scorpius came closer until it didn't take half an arm's reach to touch him. When he did touch him, lightly brushed his hand against his arm, he could hear his breath catch in his throat, he could hear him swallow nervously. James' eyes went a little wide.

He remembered being overwhelmed by James Potter once. It had taken him a thrust of his hip and a helpless moan to make Scorpius shake in his boots the way he did now – and all it had now taken him was a look and that unconscious hitch of his breath. He didn't know if this meant that it was getting better or worse. Maybe both.

His fingers slid up his arm, across his shoulder, to his neck, finally touching skin. He felt the stubble there, and the throbbing in the artery just underneath the skin, and the warmth. With the back of his fingers, he caressed his jawline, the side of his face and his temple.

James exhaled a shivering breath and, in a conspicuously rapid movement, lifted his own hand to tightly press Scorpius' palm against his cheek. When he slightly turned his face and touched his lips to the tender spot on the base of Scorpius' wrist, Scorpius started to shiver along with him. Goosebumps rolled up and down his entire body, every hair stood on end.

So that's what it feels like, he thought. That's what it feels like to actually be touched by James Potter.

The shiver in his heart that he had constantly be carrying around for months now and which had lain dormant for a while, patiently waiting, grew in magnitude until he became a little dizzy with pleasure when he imagined how that mouth would feel in other places of his body.

They stood like that for a moment or an eternity or both, but it was too short a moment still. Scorpius went to rake his fingers through his hair, all over his scalp to the back of his neck, and then again, and again because James' eyes glazed over so nicely when he did. And because he could.

Then, he reached out with his other hand to touch his waist. And continued from there.

James went "Ahh", his body jerked as if he had got an electric shock, and his face flushed even deeper.

When Scorpius finally managed to catch his eye again, he smiled at him. Innocently at first... but then not. James swallowed, hard, when he saw it.

As Scorpius slowly went down on his knees before him, he suggested with a breathy voice, "You know you can close your eyes if you want to."

He didn't.

/

/

~~ F I N ~~

Told you I'm a sucker (heh!) for happy endings. :D

Man, I had sooo much fun writing this. I hope you had the same while reading? Thank you, in any case, for staying with this story for so long. Write me a review if you have the time :) If you log in I promise I'll reply.