Time sank on Albus like a lead weight. He'd just passed his birthday and, rather than being happy about it, it only reminded him that OWLs were now three months away. Easy enough, one would think, but a good dozen people had already been sent to Madame Locke for tonics and Vanessa Stodge had almost not returned after Christmas Break at all. James had only failed History of Magic, but his only E was in DADA and he had no Os to speak of. He needed an O in Potions to take it next term, but no one doubted his abilities. Unfortunately, for the several possible career paths he was considering, a P History of Magic would be fine, but he'd need an E in DADA, Care of Magical Creatures and Transfigurations, as the teachers all required as much, and it'd be nice to have an E in Charms if he could help it. Two years ago he never wouldn't guessed he'd care for more than a pass in his OWLs, like his brother, but apparently wanting to do more than Quiddich caused some problems.

If he thought on it logically it would occur to him that he was actually a quite clever wizard, and ahead of a good portion of his classmates. Neville Longbottom assured him that, despite his fumblings, he would certainly test well enough to pass. Astronomy was hard to learn wrong with someone like Scorpius about, and Oliver and Percy's gift helped. His skills in potions were natural, he'd received exceptional hex and counter-hex abilities from his parents, inherited his grandmother's beautiful charms work, and if everything went as it was, he'd be an animagus before his twentieth birthday- like his grandfather. Headmistress McGonagall, though retired for a handful of years now, was an old friend of the family's, and he intended to ask her to tutor him next summer, and to convince Scorpius to learn with him. That aught to get him a NEWT, as well, so that would be out of the way and he wouldn't have to go through this again in two years.

The workload grew heavier and, as he struggled beneath it, he was forced to practice his harp only a half-hour a day, and two hours on saturday, with their lesson sunday- then a half-hour every second day, practicing still during weekends; soon he only put in an hour a week, and a short lesson, and he practically felt himself getting rusty, fingers softening eversoslightly. He often rubbed his fingers, staring at them in melancholy, during class, until someone nudged him or the teacher called out coldly to him and he'd realize he was missing ten minutes of notes which were probably important.

History of Magic was the worst. Despite four years of spending the class like decades of students before him, in a daydreaming daze or outright sleeping, he tried his best to stay awake, taking tedious notes, tears of frustration building beneath his lids on the longest days. He felt oddly and sickeningly alone in it, despite the time he spent studying with either Scorpius or Rose. He'd even exploded at his excitable sister once or twice when Lily tried to get his attention while he was particularly absorbed in a problem during lunch, and despite heartfelt and repetitive apologies she would storm off either angry or crying and he felt far worse. (He shared with her any of the goods he received from Scorpius' mother, which increased in frequency as he got worse.)

Neville asked him to stay after class one day, and spoke to him in a low and sweet voice, smiling pleasantly and keeping a firm hand on the teenager's shoulder. He gave him an unknown herb to chew on. It tasted like mint and patchouli, and made him feel quite calm and clear-headed for as long as the juices were still in his mouth. The Herbology teacher had recommended that he take only one a week or so but, needing the feeling, he chewed them at each meal at first, and then with increasing frequency. When he went to ask for more, the man refused with a soft sigh. The effects would make his concentration without them worse if he took too many, and- like any tonic- he'd build up a resistance. He came away defeated, and sank deeper into stress-fed despair.

The strangest thing happened one night, at the end of April- Scorpius and he were on the Malfoy's bed, the heavy curtains drawn around them and wand-light hovered over them. A muffling charm had been cast on the thick green velvet, because the noise of their roommates was driving Albus mad. It was past eleven, maybe past midnight, and Albus couldn't seem to recognize the vine that Professor Longbottom had given them to study, despite flipping through A Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi at least six times now. He threw the book against the headboard, missing Scorpius' bowed head by inches and screamed, tearing up his empty parchment, before curling up on the spot, shaking. He noted the sound of shifting only in the very back of his mind, and jerked a moment later.

Albus' head shoot up, and he stared at Scorpius with wide eyes, mouth slightly open, as though he'd forgotten how to control his own jaw. It wasn't the slightly crinkled frown Scorpius was looking at him with, white-blue eyes steady and scrutinizing; he'd gotten used to getting that look in the past few years, whenever he said something particularly clever. The cool fingers on the back of his neck, applying light pressure to the tense muscles there- those were new. "Scorpius..?"

The offending hand moved back to the lines of text, Scorpius' gaze lingering on the smaller Slytherin before returning to his notes. "When one's spine is strong, one cannot lose their head."

He shot the adolescent a withered look, but the other boy didn't seem to notice, as usual. Sometimes these supposed reassurances made him feel worse. With a groan he returned to his studies, though he had no desire to continue.

He thought of the touch the rest of the night, analyzing it carefully. The fingertips had been rough, as he'd expected despite their appearance. Their temperature was lower than they should have been, marbleized, but he hadn't been much surprised by it. They seemed to have lessened his fever, despite the short length of contact.

There wasn't much to think about, but he mulled over it again and again until he realized that he'd been staring at the same page for a strange length, and that Scorpius was watching him with an expression of faint trepidation, boring through him.

He looked into pale eyes and sucked in a breath. "Headache. Tired. It's not helping. Look, I'm going to sleep. I'll study tomorrow, right? Okay." He ran his fingers through his hair nervously and gathered his things, tossing them onto his trunk as he slid off the bed and to his own. "Goodnight."

He felt Scorpius' eyes following him until he drew his curtains.

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I'm still a few chapters ahead but I haven't written the next one in two and a half week. uh. ....expect delays. October's the worst month. If I'm not done with posting 6th year by the end of November, feel free to deluge me with complaints. (No, seriously. It helps. Go ahead.)