Title: A Helping Hand, or A Hogwarts Bathroom Ballad

Author: AristideCauquemaire

Pairing: Scorpius Malfoy/Albus Severus Potter (kind of...)

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

Warnings: slash, slightly non-consensual situations (later on), original characters (recycled because BKstories and I like them a LOT)

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Thanks to BKstories for reviews that make me grin! I hope you got my replies.

Okay, folks. The moping commences. (FYI, in my stories, moping is like foreplay...) Stay strong, and, if at all possible, enjoy! ^-^

~Chapter 8~

~20 days left~

"Come on, Malfoy. You can't stay holed up in here all day," Albus groused, slinging a scarf – the one his cousin had made for him, Scorpius noted – around his neck.

"Can, too," Scorpius replied, a bit more waspish than needed.

He could already see and hear this conversation unfolding in his head. Albus insisting that he come with – after all, the weather was straight up delightful after days of dreary frost, and they were going to the Quidditch pitch to see Madam Hooch and Professor Flitwick put up the spell that would warm the air under an invisible dome, melt the icicles off the hoops within a day or two and thus make Quidditch training possible again by Tuesday, February 1st, the day after tomorrow. The Slytherin team was even scheduled for Tuesday evening. This trip was almost like a tradition. Lloyd Christopher, their current team captain, normally used this trip as a pre-training pre-briefing. Attendance was implicitly requested.

This time he, Scorpius, would refuse to go.

Albus would ask why even though he already knew the answer. Just that he couldn't accept it because of denialism and stuff.

Scorpius would grumble unintelligible stuff under his breath.

Albus would ask why again, a tad more annoyed than before.

Scorpius would tell him that Tiffany Collins and Gemma Reedy and Tami Patil would be there, and the girls from the other three house teams as well, and that he just didn't want to be in a situation where he was surrounded by them.

Albus would roll his eyes dramatically and groan and call him paranoid and delusional and tell him that he was quickly running out of patience with this... thing he had going on in his head that all the females of Hogwarts were horny for him and out to get him.

Scorpius would grumble again, bite his tongue and absolutely not tell him that this would – hopefully – only persist for twenty more days, and that he had never been hornier in his entire life, and that the mere sight of a girl's form – no matter whether it was from the front, the side or the back – was enough to give him acute pains in the middle region.

After a venturesome trip to the library yesterday evening (he had avoided all the usual routes to get there and back again, each trip had taken more than twenty minutes and had led him through corridors he wasn't sure he had ever seen before) he now knew that this pain was quite normal, as well as the certain stickiness in which he now often woke. His body had started to take matters into its own figurative hands and finished him while still in deep sleep. This was almost reassuring, biologically speaking, as it showed him that he was not... well, not defective, generally speaking... but it did nothing to take the edge of the psychological strain he felt throughout the day.

Eventually, Albus would get angry and leave before words would be said that could not be taken back.

Scorpius sighed. He wanted nothing more than to forestall this conversation, so he added, when he saw Albus opening his mouth, "I've still got stuff to do. Assignments. That DADA essay, especially. The test on Monday was pretty bad." Because the person he normally relied on in that type of situation had still been 1/3 hungover. "And I need to read up on the Vanishing Potions bit again. Smith mentioned that they would be in the exams and I can already tell that Mariella didn't get it and will rip my head clean off if I prove unable to explain it to her."

"Scorp, you've done all that yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that," Albus said with an accusing tone, crossing his arms before his chest. "In fact, by now you've done enough writing assignments, and reading assignments, and additional reading assignments to last you the rest of the year."

Scorpius pressed his lips together. True. Not that he had learned much, per se. But he had been sitting there looking into a book.

Albus huffed. "Damn it, Malfoy. What's going on with you?" When he didn't receive an answer, he said, "If you told me, I could help you." After a pause, he added, "Like, really told me. Explained. So that I could understand it."

There were just some things Scorpius felt he needed, he had to keep to himself. Especially seeing that he didn't know whether Albus, in the hope of actually helping him, might go to Rose afterwards or possibly directly write a letter to his aunt and uncle – and Scorpius imagined a chain reaction, how this knowledge would rapidly spread through the entire Weasley and Potter family (which it hadn't yet, apparently, fortunately, amazingly enough) until one day soon, Hugo Weasley would get up from his freshly acquired spot at the Gryffindor house table, point a finger at him over everyone's heads and start laughing like that Nelson on The Simpsons-

He shook his head vehemently. Albus took it as a 'no', huffed again and said, "Fine. Alright. I'll tell Lloyd you've got a stomach bug or something." Without another word or hesitation, he was out the door, leaving Scorpius alone in the dorm that had already been evacuated by all the other boys who were out enjoying their Sunday or the sun or both.

Rubbing his forehead in an annoyed gesture, Scorpius closed the DADA book on his lap with a heavy thud and leaned his head back against the mattress of his bed. He was sitting on the floor between shoes, various bits of previously worn clothes, Quidditch magazines and parchments with scribbles from classes on them, rather enjoying the messiness of it which his mother would have-

His mother! All at once he remembered the letter he had received an hour ago at breakfast. He had shoved it into his cloak pocket and almost forgotten about it because he had been busy dodging Constance and Briony.

He fished the envelope out of his pocket, ripped it open, breaking the wax seal which showed an elegant hawk in flight, and pulled out the letter.

My dear Scorpius, it read in his mother's flowing script,
How are you faring these days? Your father and I
haven't had word from you in two weeks, and even
your letter from the 16th was rather terse. By the
by, your father and I are fine, thank you for asking.

He pursed his lips and mumbled, "Sorry, mum." He had been quite self-absorbed.

He has been on the continent on Thursday and re-
turned to me in a good mood, full of stories about
the blue skies and sunlight and all those luxuries
the people on the continent don't have to do with-
out for five months every year. Thus I believe our
next holidays will likely be spent in Italy rather than
Sweden.

Speaking of Italy, the boots I sent you two weeks
ago were signed by that Italian player, were they
not? I hope you're not an avid fan of hers. I hear
she plans on retiring from the sport soon.

Scorpius hadn't heard of this although he knew that Antonia Guarda had been planning on marrying her girlfriend for quite some time, and he knew that Italian role allocation would probably call for one of them to stay home to cook, clean and watch future kids once the knot was tied. Given that said girlfriend was a high-ranking politician in the Italian Wizarding government, prone to walking around in sensible flats and power suits, it was likely that Antonia would pull the shorter straw there. She was already 46 years old anyway, so maybe the time was right, too.

I also hope, his mother now got to the actual point of the letter,
that Rose liked them, and that she appreciates
them and what they stand for... even though she
apparently does not appreciate you.

Scorpius grimaced and mouthed an 'ouch'. When she phrased it like that, it was still a bit cruel. Accurate, but cruel.

Before you ask, Hermione Granger has been so
kind to let us know that her daughter has put an
end to your friendship. I am sorry, Scorpius, I
truly am. (And so is your father, even though he
doesn't know how to articulate it over his inappro-
priately great relief. I swear, one of these days I'll
drag him to therapy so he'll get over his issues with
those people.) From the birthday present to the
way you worried about her when her parents paid
their visit I could tell that she meant and probably
still means a lot to you.

Scorpius scratched his neck and skimmed ahead to see whether the rest of this letter would be what he feared it would, then sighed when he found his fears pretty much confirmed.

I hope you remember what I told you that day
during packing, because it is still true now. I wish
nothing more than for you to find a companion
who will not leave you out in the cold just because
the situation is a little complicated.

Understatement.

As such, I think you could almost be glad that things
happened like they did because, to me, it certainly
shows Rose Weasley's true colours. She is a friend
for fair weather at best and not, in my opinion, de-
serving of your fondness.
At worst, she's just doing it because she likes being adored by you, and because that adoration coincides with your tutoring her in Potions for zero return service, Scorpius added mentally, figuring that Rose's parents hadn't briefed his parents on the details of their daughter's "dumping" him. Maybe they didn't even know, maybe Rose hadn't told them. In any case, his mother's words rather sounded like she was tentatively trying to cover all possible heartbreak-bases.

I dearly hope that all that's been happening over
the past few weeks will not make you bitter or frus-
trate you to the point of losing faith in the very idea
of love. I know you are impatient at heart, and that
circumstances

Charming euphemism.

are difficult

And yet another understatement.

and that the pressure is probably very high.

She was referring to Shrew, no doubt. The Shrewsburys and his parents were friends, and his mum invited Angela Shrewsbury, Bob's mum, over for tea on a weekly basis so they could exchange gossip and cooking recipes or something.

Mrs Shrewsbury had kept her informed on the relationship status of Bob, which had switched from 'eternally single' to 'in the kind of relationship that will last forever' when he had finally dared to ask Talia Creevey out to the Yule Ball half a year ago, which had made him the first boy in their dorm to have and maintain a relationship that was deserving of the title.

Scorpius would be lying if he said that he hadn't been, or wasn't, jealous, and that he had often felt a pang of loneliness when he had seen them together. Not to mention that Talia, a seventh year Hufflepuff girl, was really quite cute.

And once again he wondered whether mothers were just genetically predisposed to know and comprehend these things about their children – better than they themselves did, no less – or whether his mum was just special and possibly freaky in the way she understood him. He had never mentioned his take on Shrew and Talia to her, or what it had done to the dynamic in the dorm, and still she just knew.

In any case, I just sincerely wish for you to stay
hopeful and positive, and – possibly, if it's not too
unearthly – consider talking (or writing) to me
about... everything, if you so wish. Knowing you,
you probably haven't told anyone else about this,
not even your best friend.

'Not for lack of trying on his part,' Scorpius thought, suddenly ashamed of his basically telling Albus to get lost.

Remember that you are not alone in this, that
you don't have to be. Remember that I am here
for you.

With love (and sincerely not
trying to embarrass you,)
Your mother

He reread the letter once more and, with a look to his bedside clock, decided to reply right away. It was only just ten a.m. and he wouldn't go anywhere else today, so he might as well. And anyway, this letter deserved a hasty reply.

He began with broad inquiry about her health and his father's actual dealings in Italy, of all places, then continued some general info, about the weather and Quidditch practice beginning again in two days, and on how things were going in class, alluding to but not directly telling her about his failure in the DADA test last Monday (including a tacit vow to do better next time, of course). Only in the last few paragraphs did he mention Rose, but then quickly assured his mum that, although the whole thing was pretty unfortunate, he certainly was far from bitter or frustrated with love because of her.

He was bitter and frustrated with absolutely everything because of that damned spell, a.k.a. "the difficult circumstances", but he didn't write her that. She probably knew anyway. He also did not mention the details of Rose's Acquaintance-speech, or that it had all been a sham from the start. He didn't want her to worry any more than she already did, and he didn't want her to think that he was a lousy judge of character. (Although she probably also already knew that.)

He closed the letter, somewhat cheesily, With hope (I swear), and stuffed it into an envelope which he then placed next to his alarm clock so he would take it with him to the Great Hall tomorrow morning.

When he was done with that, he tried to focus on the DADA book again, but failed. For some reason that surely had to do with his mother's words in her letter, his eyes kept glancing over at Shrew's bed, more specifically, at the framed photo on his night stand that showed Shrew and Talia slow dancing on the Yule Ball.

In all the confusion about his libido, actual feelings – the likes of which he had had, not too long ago, for one Rose Weasley – had got lost. He suddenly registered how none of the girls he found both hot and frightening had ever caught his eye before all of this, and how none of them really affected more than just the numb spot in his loins.

And then, for the first time, it occurred to him that this must be true the other way around as well. It was very likely that Parkinson and Bagman, Cattermole and Macmillan, Goldstein and Patil, that none of them had ever wasted a single thought on him that went above "acquaintance", "study partner" and "fellow housemate" - until the moment he stepped into their sight and they turned into cats in heat. They all were probably confused about themselves and their behaviour and embarrassed every time he was out of range again.

That realization made him feel lost as well, especially in the area inside his ribcage, and then he suddenly felt sleazy and dirty.

"Goddamn it, mum," he murmured to himself and sighed, pulling his legs up and burying his face in his knees. As if circumstances hadn't been difficult enough yet.

/

/TBC (tomorrow)