I can't deny, I LOVED reading all your reactions to the last chapter and how much you all couldn't stand Larry ;o) keep in mind that the events of that chapter happened in January of 1911, and now we jump ahead an entire year later. I wanted to touch on something here that for anyone who has ever been bullied in any way I think can relate; it's amazing, isn't it, how bullies can easily forget it seems, the pain they inflict on others? And yet those who are bullied can remember it? You'll see what I mean. Also, I don't know when students who went to Cambridge in 1912 would have graduated (be it after four years or what time of year) so just assume that this is set sometime *before* that ceremony takes place. Thanks again for reading!

The Graduate
February 1912

He's spent a bulk of the evening in the billiard room, grateful that none of the other men have followed. He wants solitude to stew with his thoughts. He can't abide hearing his father mutter yet another praise about Patrick, future Earl of Grantham, and soon-to-be Cambridge graduate. Yes, well done Patrick; everyone's golden boy, the apple of Lord Grantham's eye, and the son Larry's father never had but always wish he wanted.

He snorts, and shoots a ball into the corner pocket with a loud snap.

"Patrick?"

He stiffens at the sound of her voice, and quickly straightens his spine and squares his shoulders as he faces the door and sees her peek inside.

"Patrick? Are you—oh! Oh, it's you, Larry…"

He stares at her, his eyes briefly falling from her face down her body.

She's changed. The cursed spots that once littered her face have begun to fade. She still has a fuller figure, but her curves are not off-putting. No…they actually make her look rather…luscious. And it cannot be denied, she is rather pretty. And only fifteen! What will she be like when she makes her debut?

Indeed; perhaps there's hope for her yet?

"He's not here," he answers, offering her a smile. "I believe he's still in the dining room, with your father and mine."

She nods at this, her face giving him no expression, and then turns to leave. But before she does, he calls out to her. "You look lovely, Sybil!"

She pauses and looks over her shoulder at him. He expects to see her blushing, but is surprised to see her eyes filled with suspicion. "Why? Because I didn't stuff my face with pudding?"

His brow furrows in confusion. What is she talking about? They didn't have pudding at dinner. But she doesn't bother to explain; she turns on her heel, her curls bouncing as she goes.

Minutes later the door opens again, and this time the very person Sybil was looking for enters, looking both tired and irritated.

"Hail the conquering graduate," Larry mutters, lifting his brandy glass in mock salute.

"I should have retreated with you," Patrick groans.

"Is being showered with praises that horrible?"

Patrick rolls his eyes. "I'm hardly the first to graduate."

Larry just drinks his brandy. True, Patrick will not be the only one to graduate from Cambridge this year. But the only celebration he imagines his father throwing is one of relief that he managed to achieve it and not disgrace the Grey name.

"What was that thing your father kept talking about at dinner?"

"What thing?"

"Something about an early graduation gift."

Patrick sighs, turning red, slightly. "He's taking me to New York, in April."

"New York?!" Larry stares at him, unable to hide his jealousy

Patrick nods…and looks a little smug when he adds, "And we'll be traveling on the Titanic!"

Larry is seething, and quickly shoots a ball into the corner pocket, imagining it's Patrick's head. Lucky bastard.