WARNING: this chapter contains descriptions of a sexual nature. If you don't like it... I don't know quite how you managed to get up to this chapter in the first place, but anyway, you probably won't like it. Just a heads up :)

Chapter 12: Let Me Help You, Dammit

~Albus~

I was rapidly reaching the conclusion that waking up to a memory that brought a smile to the face was the best way to do so. And Friday morning, a week into the new term, was no different. It was stupid, and pathetic, and a little bit horrifying, but I found that, yes, in spite of all of that, I did quite enjoy waking up to memories of Scor.

Particularly of fucking Scor. Yes, that usually led to a rather pleasant awakening in and of itself.

It had only been a week since we'd first slept together. One single week, and yet it felt like so much longer than that. As though I'd been with Scor for so much longer. With my eyes closed, lying on the quilted blankets of my bed, I could paint a perfect picture of Scor on the inside of my eyelids; his sharp features, his straight, patrician nose and slightly raised eyebrows, platinum blonde curls and the faint quirk of a derogatory smile playing across his lips. I had rapidly come to the conclusion that, had I to describe my ideal of a physical man – and more importantly, one with which I was attracted to – it would certainly take the form of Scor. How did no one else realise he was drop-dead gorgeous? Or did they realise and just somehow manage not to drool over him? Maybe the reality was just hidden beneath the cold, humourless exterior that basically forbade the initiation of friendship.

But I loved it all, even that studiousness that gave way to seeming disregard sometimes. Because it wasn't really cold; it was just Scor. And I loved that about him too. Even more than that, I loved the little features that bubbled half-hidden beneath the surface. A wickedly sarcastic sense of humour, a deep thoughtfulness that drove mirth completely from his face, a condescending exasperation for anyone with the foolishness to display their idiotic ignorance of common knowledge before him. All of it. I loved it.

And I was very aware of the fact that I was probably bathing in the warm glow of infatuation and that it would just as probably be pretty short lived. I've heard of the honeymoon period, after which the endorphins die down in intensity and quite often the relationship with it. But who cared? I liked to think that Scor and I would surpass that expectation of conclusiveness. And besides, if it was to happen it would be an eventuality. Somewhere in the far-distant future. For now I woke up and smiled, and that was something close to a miracle itself. Smiling had once been a bit of a trial for me, what with my wonderful gift of childhood anxiety and all that.

Truthfully, I hadn't expected all that much to change. Between me and Scor? Yeah, the physical side was a change. A pretty big change actually, considering how frequently we revisited that intimacy after that. Looking at the upstanding figure of Scor from afar, I doubt anyone would pick that he was quite so enthusiastic for sex. I personally would have considered it something of an impossibility for him to even squeeze time for recreational pleasure seeking into his schedule; Scor took way too many N.E.W.T subjects, and from what I'd been able to deduce managed as much by living on about five hours of sleep a night.

I couldn't manage that. Mum always used to say I slept so much because I'd never slept very deeply. Give me at least a solid eight or I'm a zombie the next day.

Not Scor. No, somehow Scor managed to find time for us on top of everything else. That in itself was surprising and vastly pleasing. I'd reconciled myself to the fact that we'd probably be keeping it pretty low key for our seventh year, putting a plug in further developments and dabblings into the unknown. It was part of the reason I'd wanted us to just try something on the night before school resumed; I felt like if we didn't then, it wouldn't have happened. After all, I was dedicated to my studies. Sometimes. At least with the ones that counted. Scor? He was on a whole new level. Nerd was never a more appropriate label; I was fairly certain he recited spells in his sleep and became ambidextrous purely so that he could write two different essays simultaneously.

Once more, I underestimated my new boyfriend – and hell did it sound good to call him that.

He mustn't sleep. That's all I could presume; not a wink of sleep, at least in our first week back at school. Because every night we found ourselves back in the Room of Requirement and reliving and exploring the glory that had been the consummation of our relationship. Experimenting is one word that could be used for it. Falling helplessly into the moment, unable to claw ourselves free until physically exhausted and bathing in the sheer bliss of the glowing aftermath was another. Scor was… really into it. I had no idea he'd have such a profound inclination, such a prominent… sex drive, for want of a better description. And I personally couldn't be happier for that little discovery.

I couldn't keep my hands off him, not when we were alone in that room. I couldn't help but want to touch him, to unveil every inch of his achromatic skin, so pale it was nearly translucent. There was so much beneath the heavy school robes that was hidden from the world, so much that everyone was missing out on; Scor was well-built if not quite broad, but such a simplistic description was nothing compared to the reality. Long limbs perfectly matched his long, elegant fingers, the faint shadowing and firmness of the muscles in his arms, his chest and torso, the tightness of his thighs. I would hardly classify quidditch as being a physically demanding sport, but I was almost considering reassessing my opinion after taking a look at Scor. Or maybe that was just because he was a Beater.

It was a blessing to be given the opportunity to simply explore him for myself. A blessing not solely for me, apparently; Scor seemed just as intrigued in his own exploration as I was, and though I would hardly consider myself quite up to the same standard as he, it was certainly gratifying to be the focus of such an enraptured gaze.

Infatuation. It had to be. But whatever, I'd enjoy it while it lasted.

I supposed I could have expected that. At least a little bit, somewhere in my mind I surely must have considered the possibility that after the first time we had sex that it would become… um… demandingly recurring. I guess I also should have expected to find it increasingly difficult not to stare at Scor during class, not to let my mind wander to subjects very far removed from course material, and to be the victim of many jabbed elbows from Rhali when she noticed I'd drifted off, or the fondly exasperated sighs of Ozzy as he rolled his eyes at my following blushes. God bless Ozzy, he was actually happy for me even with all things considered.

I could even have expected Scor to be a little bit the same, even if not to the degree I was. And, surprisingly, he was. That first week back at school certainly saw Scor less obsessively fixated on his studies that he had been the previous term. He actually lifted his head from his parchment a couple of times in our Transfiguration theory lesson to glance at me briefly. It was almost as though the world had been tipped on its axis.

What I hadn't anticipated was the degree to which Scor would consider our relationship to shape everyday life.

The day after we'd had sex for the first time, I struggled to pull myself from the clinging quilt covers of my bed. We'd parted ways in the wee hours of the morning with the thought that our absence from the dormitories would not go unnoticed. It had been regretful, to say the least, and I'd admit that it did take quite some time to actually part for the exchange of kisses and obvious reluctance on both our parts. Pathetic, yes, but it was that memory as much as the sex that drew a smile onto my face the moment I woke up. A smile that persisted through my wavering descent into zombie drowsiness – I'd only gotten about three hours sleep, so my first day back was shaping up to be a trial itself.

Hauling myself from my bed at the third repetition of my bellowing alarm clock – I intended to peg it at James' head for gifting it to me the past Christmas next time I saw him – I fumbled my way into my school uniform. The tie was a lost cause in the face of my sleep-lax fingers, so I forwent it entirely. Glancing around the room, I noticed that two of my fellow housemates had retreated to breakfast already, with the third – Xander, unsurprisingly – still abed. I knew for a fact he had double Charms with me first up, so there was no way he should still be asleep at – I glanced towards my alarm clock – eight-sixteen.

Rubbing the grit from my eyes and struggling to breath through an unending yawn, I wobbled over to his bed. We had a system, us Hufflepuffs: should anyone still be asleep after eight-fifteen, it was the duty of the last person in the dormitory to haul that sleeper out of bed. Unfortunately for me, the other two traitors had already fled the room. I knew they'd purposely left before our cut-off time; their scurrying retreat had been my primary incentive for getting out of bed in the first place.

"Xander," I called into his ear, leaning across the bed to reach his half-buried head. "Oi, Xander. You gotta get up, mate, or you'll be late for class."

There was no reply, so I prodded him with a finger. "Xander. Hey. Get your arse out of bed."

It was probably the prodding that did it more than my words. The cocoon grumbled something that sounded like, "oof arma goad," and wriggled further beneath his blankets.

I sighed, rubbed my eyes once more with the heel of a palm, and with little ceremony reached across the bed and smacked the crown of my housemates head. Only a tuft of hair remained visible. "Third time, Xander. I've done my duty, now you it's up to you. Get up now, or you'll be late."

Three's the charm. After three attempts, I was no longer obligated to chivvy him from bed. He knew it too, the bastard, because a moment later, with the sound of a mountain troll clambering from its midday siesta. Slipping into my shoes and fumbling for my wand to urge my laces to tie themselves up, I glanced over my shoulder to see him heave himself to sitting. He looked like a sunflower with his blonde hair sticking up all haphazardly around his head. Awake, though. At least I thought he was.

"Morning, lovely," Caesar chirped from my bedside. He was proudly presiding over the room from atop his cage and gave me a wolf whistle as I scratched at the back of his neck before chittering idly.

"Good morning to you too," I replied. "Want some breakfast?" Flitwick didn't mind if the parrot came to class with me, which was good because I doubted I'd have the time to drop him back to the dormitories after passing through the Great Hall. I suspected the little Charms professor actually quite liked his antics at times. A good thing, too, because Caesar had decided that yes, he was in fact coming, and fluttered in a pathetic attempt at flight to my shoulder.

"Can you grab me some toast?" Xander asked as I passed him towards the exit of the room. Or at least I think he said that. "Campbell garb knee tost," was what it sounded like but I was practiced at making deductions from such mumbles.

"Yeah, sure," I replied. Because there was no way he'd make it to breakfast on time and I wasn't that cold-hearted. Or at least not today. My zombie-self had actually receding slightly, remarkably, in the memory and warm glow of the previous night with Scor. I was actually looking forward to the day, to seeing him especially, even if it would mostly be from across the Hall or as a silent seating partner. There was almost… yes, I thought there might have been something approaching a spring in my step as I exited the Hufflepuff common room. A smile was definitely inching its way across my face.

What do you know, miracles did happen.

The Great Hall was pretty packed by the time I entered, most people awake and mobile for at least half an hour and merely awaiting the beginning of class. I fell into one of the few spare seats at my house table. Caesar was grumbling his satisfaction at my shoulder, taking the slice of apple I snagged and offered him and crunching with his customary messiness. I settled to picking at my own bowl of fruit and yoghurt; it was vegan, I knew for a fact, as years of experience had taught me. It was discernible from the simple look of it, if not the fact that everyone else steered well clear from it. Bless those little house elves, though, for catering to my picky needs.

I'd made my way halfway through my bowl when I found myself quite abruptly and unexpectedly in the company of a fellow breakfaster. Pausing with my spoon half lifted to my mouth, I felt my jaw sag open for an entirely different reason.

Okay, so I was a loner. Everyone knew it, completely disregarding my friendship with Ozzy and Rhali. No one even really spared me a second glance when I sat down at the table for breakfast, except for maybe Julianne from my year who fluttered her fingers in a wave. That could have been just an attempt at flirting with Dillon at my side, though. I wasn't entirely not sure.

So yes, my surprise was already sparked at the notion of anyone sitting next to me. I was usually the one that sat next to whomever, and it was always a matter of practicality; I had to sit somewhere. I was rendered speechless and frozen when that person wasn't even from Hufflepuff and casually picked up an apple to bite with more elegance than should be possible when partaking of such a fruit.

"What… are you doing?" It was at least a solid minute of staring before I managed to force my words out, before I managed to work my jaw into pushing words from my tongue. The entire time Scor simply stared back at me, munching on his apple with a small smirk on his lips. No greeting from him, of course. He seemed to be quite enjoying my silent stupor.

"What do you mean by that?" Scor replied with false innocence. For it was very definitely false. I wasn't the only one staring at him in surprise. The Hufflepuffs around me similarly wore expression of varying degrees of bemusement, evident from raised eyebrows to rapid blinking to murmured words of confusion exchanged to neighbours. The fact that Scorpius Malfoy the Ravenclaw Prefect was sitting at the Hufflepuff table wasn't particularly noteworthy; I knew for a fact that Lily was now spending most every meal at the Ravenclaw table in her pursuit of sixth year Leon McGrath, and dotted across the room were various examples of people doing exactly the same. It was the fact that Scorpius Malfoy was sitting next to Albus Potter that was striking up the incredulity.

The gossip of the papers from weeks before was a thing of the past. Scor and I had barely had the chance to see one another over the holidays, so there was hardly fodder for the media from eyewitness accounts, let alone photographs. That didn't mean that people didn't still know about our accidentally public kiss. There'd been more than a few suspicious glances directed both our ways the night before by the scant few people we'd encountered from the station to the castle. Of course there had been; Scorpius was the son of the world-renowned LeFay Connected and the heir intended, and I the son of Harry Potter who, despite being the reputable Director of the Auror Department in the DMLE, was still most recognised for saving the bloody world. We'd done nothing particularly ourselves, but the very nature of our familial connections ensured that our relationship would be noted and fixated upon by the masses.

I hesitated to call my fellow students 'masses'. I'd like to think that, as the up-and-coming generation of new wizards and witches, we were all above the media-driven exploits of our elders. Apparently bad habits rubbed off, though; my shoulders were hunching under their sidelong and often direct stares before I even realised what I was doing.

I glanced at Scor, keeping my voice low. "I mean, why are you sitting next to me?"

Scor paused mid-bite and arched an eyebrow. "Am I not allowed to sit next to my boyfriend?"

My spoon clattered into my plate with an unfortunate splutter of yoghurt. Caesar chortled on my shoulder as though he was genuinely amused as I blinked rapidly and wiped a streak of the stuff off my cheek. "You… you shouldn't just –"

"Call you my boyfriend?"

I was glad I wasn't holding my spoon anymore because I would have dropped it again. Boyfriend. Yeah, he was my boyfriend. I was quite satisfied with the fact, actually. But saying it loud enough to be heard? And it was heard. Very definitely from the buzz of whispers that sprung around us.

I didn't like whispers. More than that, I hated the speculations, the questions. As though the whisperers were actually wondering at the validity of Scor's words despite them being Scor's words about Scor.

"…did he just say…?"

"I think he said…?"

"…so it's true that…?"

I dropped my gaze down to my bowl. "Yeah, I guess. It's not… it's not a bad thing or anything, but…"

Scor was silent for a moment. I couldn't raise my eyes to meet his, but I feared the worst. Was he upset? Did I hurt him with not wanting everyone to know, foolish and impossible as the idea might seem? I just didn't want the world to know about my personal business.

No, more than that. I didn't want the world to speculate about my personal business. Because, though I strove to keep my secrets secret, it was often a counterproductive pursuit; covert activities simply manifested gossip like shit drew flies.

"Does it bother you?"

I finally managed to glance up at Scor's face. Nervously, because I wasn't sure what I would see, and the thought of seeing him hurt… well, that hurt me. But Scor didn't appear fazed in the slightest. If anything, it was mere curiosity, thoughtfulness, that spread across his face.

I pursed my lips. "You calling me your boyfriend?" I shook my head as Scor nodded his affirmative. "No, that doesn't bother me so much as… as… I don't like everyone talking about it."

"You mean the speculation?"

It was as though Scor had peeked into my mind and seen my thoughts exactly. "Yeah…" I muttered, picking idly at my fingernails. It was a stupid tick, one that I tended to resort to when I was uncomfortable. Or shitting myself from nerves.

"So if they actually knew we were dating for certain then it wouldn't be so much of a problem?"

I glanced sidelong at Scor again, at his thin, slightly raised eyebrows and that persisting curiosity. He was hinting at something and I didn't quite know what yet. "I suppose."

"It would be better just to clear things up?"

Oh. That's what he was getting at. The thought caused my stomach to take a turn. "Um… that would depend on how you went about 'clearing things up'."

Scor nodded his head, clicking his tongue a couple of times thoughtfully. I peered at him warily, knowing his silence was far from meaning that we'd reached the end of the conversation. My suspicions were confirmed a moment later when he bodily turned to face me.

"Then forgive me for this. I know you don't like PDAs or giving any sort of performance, but it might just be better this way." And without another word, he reached towards me, wrapped a hand around the back of my head, and brought our lips together. It was a brief, chaste kiss, barely more than an exaggerated peck, but it was very definitely a kiss.

I was frozen, even when Scor pulled away a moment later. He gave his customary reserved smile, as though I weren't currently embodying a statue's immobility, and when he spoke it was with deceptive loudness. It seemed to ring across the muted chatter of the hall. "Then, we'll just let everyone know for certain that you're my boyfriend. And I'll be sitting next to you at every mealtime. That's what boyfriends do, right?"

The nod I managed to give was barely a jerk of my chin. I was not one for openly displaying my affection; in private, certainly, but in front of everyone? No way. Definitely no way. There was a reason I lived as a shadow in the halls of Hogwarts.

I had come to realise, though, that Scor was quite comfortable with expressing his thoughts and intentions when he so wished. Most commonly that took the form of his opinions in class, but it wasn't too much of a stretch to presume that this expressiveness was present in his relationships too. I didn't know if he'd done so before – he said he'd dated Winona Winfrey for a while a couple of years back, but I couldn't for the life of me put the two of them together in my mind, despite knowing at the time that it was happening – but I could definitely see Scor as being the sort of person to hold his girlfriend's or boyfriend's hand if he wanted to and dammit, he'd sure as hell look justified in doing so. No one would think to question it.

Except me.

I didn't finish my breakfast. It was a struggle not to jump to my feet and flee the Great Hall. I kept my gaze fastened on my bowl, because if I didn't I would be glaring at Scor, or my housemates, or everyone else in the vicinity who thought they had the right to be talking about me, Scor, and our business. Well, glare or start hyperventilating like an idiot. Either one.

Scor evidently saw my dilemma. He took remained at the table long enough to for it to seem as though his standing were not a product of the prior situation, deliberately took one more bite of apple and rose to his feet. I glanced at him sideways as he paused beside me, tilting his head in question. "Coming?"

I couldn't have scrambled to my feet faster if I'd tried, and it was actually more me than Scor that led us from the Hall. I'd like to think it was my imagination that the conversations rose in intensity as soon as we stepped from the room, but I thought it was just wishful thinking. I didn't pause to ascertain the reality of the situation, however. Without pausing to ensure that Scor was still with me, I set off for our Charms class.

We'd barely passed down a single corridor when Scor spoke up. Of course he did; Scor wasn't one to leave something hanging when he'd made his mind up about something. Avoid the situation? Sure, he'd demonstrated his skills in that regard quite nicely. But never when he'd made his mind up. That just wasn't Scor.

"You're angry with me."

I stumbled to a stop. Taking a measured breath I turned slowly to face him. Scor's face was still thoughtful, but there was a sad cast to it now that tugged at my heartstrings. Angry? No, I wasn't angry at him. On the come down from near descent into a panic attack, sure, but not angry. I sighed. "No, I'm not angry at you."

"You'd have a right to be," Scor replied with a shrug. "I know you don't like drawing attention to yourself. I just figured it was better to cast a quick Episkey then let the rumours grow in crooked."

I pursed my lips once more. Damn him and his regret. It got the better of me. It actually served to calm me down a fair bit, too. I didn't feel the need to tug at my hair nervously and the urge to pick my fingernails off had substantially dwindled. "I know. You're right. I just –"

"Hate the attention?"

I snorted. "Hate is a bit of an understatement. But I'm not sure if you'd really, you know, understand that."

"Why not?" Scor frowned. There was a touch of indignation to the expression, but he was doing a good job of concealing it.

Shrugging, I raised a hand to scratch at Caesar's head. Anything to fiddle with in my awkwardness. "Just that I figure you're sort of comfortable with the attention." I paused, letting my eyes drift towards Scor. "Aren't you?"

Scor paused only a moment before nodding, ceding. "I don't know if 'comfortable' is the right way of putting it, but it doesn't bother me so much. Not really. Not as much as it does you, I don't think."

"Yeah, that's what I figured."

"Sorry about that."

I wasn't feeling even the slightest bit angry anymore. A little disgruntled, yes, but Scor had his intentions in the right place. "You don't need to apologise. Like a Band-Aid, right?"

"An Episkey," Scor corrected.

"I believe Muggles coined the term before wizards assimilated and adapted it."

"Episkey charms have been around longer than Band-Aids."

"Get off your pompous high horse, Scor, and admit defeat." I kept my tone flat and bored, but couldn't help a smile cracking onto my lips. Scor replied in kind, and an instant later it was almost as though the incident in the Great Hall hadn't happened. Almost.

"I promise, I won't do it again."

"What, kiss me?"

"Yes."

I frowned in mock sternness. "I bloody well hope you're lying. I'm more than prepared to dump my boyfriend if he's not even going to kiss me."

It was Scor's turn to snort. He rolled his eyes, smirking. "I meant in public."

"I knew exactly what you meant," I replied, my grin cracking through an instant later.

"Of course you did. And believe me, there is absolutely no way that I would be able to prevent myself from kissing you in private."

"Is that so?" I murmured coyly. I folded my arms across my chest as Scor took a step towards me, lifting my chin slightly, a little petulantly.

Scor was smiling now too, though his lips spoke a different story entirely. "Very so." There was a hungry glint to his eyes. "After last night, I think what you're asking is the greater impossibility."

"What exactly do you mean by that?" I wasn't an idiot. I knew what he was suggesting. Still, it was fun to pretend.

"I mean," Scor's voice was low, had acquired a huskiness with remarkable speed. "That it will certainly be a struggle to keep from kissing you in public more than anything else." And, with a glance around us at the empty corridor, Scor made good his intentions and wrapped himself around me in a kissing embrace.

I didn't mind. I didn't mind in the least, now that we were alone. I wasn't bothered by Caesar's indignant grumblings on my shoulder, and I was hardly even embarrassed when we ended up sneaking into Charms class to the sound of old Flitwick's exasperated sigh. I found my high to be enduring for most of the rest of the day in fact; that I'd entirely forgotten Xander's toast that morning and was subjected to his puppy-dog eyes until lunchtime, or that Rhali seemed unable to withhold her smirks as Scor and I fell into adjacent seats didn't faze me in the slightest. My good humour lasted up to and past the conclusion of the day, and was rekindled with a fiery spark when the two of us found ourselves drawn like a magnet towards the Room of Requirement that night.

If only the good times could last. But that would be just too perfect, wouldn't it?

The first calamity to fall was the reality of our studies. Granted, we were in seventh year so if there were ever a time for professors to be piling on the workload it would be now.

Did they really have to do it quite so drastically, though?

By the end of our first week, I had resigned myself to the fact that I was really, really going to have to knuckle down and study. Really. The quartet of essays I'd been assigned on Friday were just the cherry on top of a sundae of reports, diagrams, annotated descriptions and textbook readings that my entire year had been assigned in the week following Christmas break. I did believe that even Scor was a little intimidated by the sheer magnitude of what had been left to us. Ozzy wore a permanently mournful expression whenever he held a quill in his hand, while Rhali just looked disgruntled. Disgruntled and indignant, as though she questioned the very nerve of the professors to assign us such a flood of homework.

I admit that I didn't do well under heavy workloads. I realise that sounds indulgent, but I seriously didn't. And the more work that piled on top, the worse it got. It was a pretty typical situation for senior students, was sure, but that knowledge didn't soften the reality of the situation in the slightest. I'd heard about the breakdowns of seventh years, the panic attacks and mania surrounding exams. Last year there was a bit of a frenzy around the Defence practical exam when a boy had a minor trip into insanity, blew up a spell in his own face and fled in a fit of terror into the Forbidden Forest. It took the professors three hours to find him, drag him out and calm him down.

Yes, it did happen. And I'd always sort of expected myself to succumb to some sort of anxiety attack along the way. Most likely in the actual exam, too.

The more work we got, the more tightly wound I felt myself become. In the entirely illogical and redundant way that panic instils itself, the longer I committed myself to my homework the higher my stress levels climbed. I found myself spending about as much time simply concentrating on my breathing, trying to ease my rising headache as I hung my head over parchment in a secluded section of the library as I did actually writing. It was a process; it did happen sometimes, and was part of the reason why I tended to dedicate myself wholly only to one subject at a time. Any more than that and… I just didn't have the time to work through the process.

Scor worked alongside me a lot of the time, and his calm collectedness, even with the intensity and almost unnerving focus of his study habits, helped remarkably. Call it role model material if you would, but far be it from realising the own inadequacy of my own study methods, I actually felt a more motivated to push myself harder. That motivation surprisingly actually managed to dampen the threatening headaches and the anxiety pounding in my temples. If only Scor knew that such a tactic was so effective, he wouldn't have had to waste so much time last term pussy-footing around encouraging me, Rhali and Ozzy into greater dedication to our studies.

Rhali was there as often as not, too, grumbling all the while. As was Ozzy, and he at least lacked the barely audible cussing and savage jabs of the quill that Rhali deemed essential in completing her work. Ozzy had always been easy going, and while his own nervousness over the upcoming N.E. was still apparent it was hardly as overwhelming as my own, as Scor's, even as Rhali's – she would deny within an inch of her life that she was worried and yet was demonstrating a remarkable turnaround in her attentiveness in class. Ozzy just didn't have the passion for his studies, nor the overall inclination. I thought it might have be because he didn't have any clue of what he wanted to do with his marks; I was pretty much committed to my Herbology and Botanical studies, and there was no doubting that Rhali would do something in mathematics.

Ozzy didn't have that. And while it might have seemed sad, I had to wonder, for he was far more relaxed, at ease even, than any of the rest of us. When he watched me sit back from my parchment, put a hand to my temples and practice my breathing, his stare was always accompanied by a gentle words to the effect of, "Don't stress yourself so much, Al. If you fuck up, what's the worst that could happen? It's not liked it's the end of the world. There are other ways to get into doing what you want if you can't take the most direct route".

That was so typical of Ozzy. His words were entirely sincere because he believed them whole-heartedly. And he would always offer comfort to his friends if we needed it. Even with the incident of what happened over Christmas hanging between us. That was so typically Ozzy as well. He was… incredible in that regard. I'd worried briefly that the confession of feelings and the realisation of the impossibility of their reciprocation would drive a wedge between us. It hadn't. Ozzy had very slowly and deliberately stated that he didn't want it to. That it was for that very reason that he hadn't told me in the first place. And, other than the occasional sad glance that I almost missed every now and again, it was. It was exactly the same.

Did that make me a horrible person for feeling relieved? There was certainly a heap of guilt settling itself comfortably on my shoulders but… thank God. Really, I didn't know what I would have done if I'd lost Ozzy as a friend. We no longer shared a physical relationship, but the emotional bond between friends was something I cherished far more than ever our intimacy and I couldn't bear to lose that for my own foolishness. I was greedy like that. Selfish and greedy. Thankfully Ozzy didn't mind.

Yet even with all of that, even with Scor's unwitting motivation and the camaraderie of Rhali's similar distress, even with Ozzy's sincere attempts at consolation, it was probably my Harproot that maintained my sanity the most. Blessed Harproot; I loved my sleep, but building stress always drove me towards a little bit of insomnia. With my Harproot, though, I was actually able to put aside those worries for a little bit and sink into restful and recuperative slumber.

I was using more of it than usual. I knew that, was aware of it, and was similarly aware that it was probably a problem that I'd need to get a hold of soon. Harproot wasn't addictive, not like Muggle drugs in that it drove a subconscious mental and physical pursuit for more. But the effects… yeah, they're a little addictive. A little. I could see how someone could become overly dependent upon them. Hell, I'd experienced it myself before and was determined not to fall victim to such habits again. It was just for now. Just briefly, to get me through seventh year. I'd be lying if I said it wasn't my main crutch.

So yeah, studies were being a bitch. But they weren't the only problem that arose in that new term. The second one was a matter with Scor, and in some ways it was definitely harder to deal with because I couldn't deal with it. It was Scor's problem, and there was little I could do other that offer an ear to listen to complaints. Of which he gave precious little.

It started with a letter. On the morning of our second Monday, an impressive snowy owl, like the ones my Dad kept – a massive cohort of them for some ungodly reason – landed gracefully upon the table before Scor. The Hufflepuff table, I might add. Scor had made good his pledge and was now sitting beside me for breakfast for the sixth day running. The whispers were still present, still fizzling in the air, but they seemed almost to be growing weary of the consistency of our actions, even after such a short time.

I paused in the act of peeling my orange and raised my eyebrow at Scor questioningly. I was certain that his family used eagle owls, and knew most of the owls his friends used by sight by now too. No, I'm not a stalker, even though I knew how that sounded. I just noticed the ones that frequently visit him in the Hall. That's all. Nothing more.

Scor caught my eye and offered a shrug. Placing his toast down and dusting his fingers of breadcrumbs – by God, how can someone make such a gesture look so bloody elegant? – he untied the letter from the owl's leg. The bird didn't wait for a reply, not even for titbit of reward, but spread its wings and launched itself into the air to disappear amongst the rafters a moment later.

Scor was already snapping the envelope open and running his eyes over the one-page letter he'd extracted from within before I dropped my attention back towards him. I watched his face as he read, and so bore witness to the progression from initial curiosity to confusion to indignation and finally blatant vexation. When he refolded the letter and slipped it into the pocket of his robe, his jaw was clenched tightly and he looked ready to spit fire.

"Something wrong?" I kept my voice quiet, denying any potential eavesdroppers their inclination to listen in. Not that I presumed there would have been any, but you never could be too careful. Or suspicious. People were weird; they fixated on the most trivial matters as though they were gold mines.

Scor had his eyes trained unseeing on the table before him, evidently deep in thought. That, or he was trying to split the polished wood with a single glare, I wasn't sure which. At my words, however, he glanced towards me, pushed a very noticeably forced smile onto his face. He shook his head. "No, nothing's wrong. Just a business associate."

I frowned. Business associate? What, of his Dad's? Scor wasn't even part of LeFay Connected yet, and though I knew from him that he was attempting to network already, surely there shouldn't be business associates contacting him. As in, for work. Bloody hell, he was only seventeen – little baby, he was younger than me by nearly four months – so they shouldn't be getting on his back yet, should they? Surely not.

Scor didn't speak any further on the subject. In fact, he seemed to want to leave it entirely untouched, so I didn't prod or pry. I didn't nag him with questions, even though I was curious about what had so annoyed him. I didn't like people butting uninvited into my business, so I could hardly expect him to be forthcoming about his own.

The letters kept arriving, though. Scor adopted an expression of annoyance at each one, though none quite so blatant as that for the first letter. Not because he was any less frustrated though; if anything, I could tell he was getting more irritated with each delivery. He just hid his reaction better.

They came consistently, every morning at breakfast and sometimes more than one. Scor would snap open the waxen seal, scan the contents of the letter, refold it, and put it into his pocket to remain completely unacknowledged for the rest of the day. He didn't comment on them and I didn't ask him; it was obviously something he was resolutely attempting to ignore, so I didn't push him into revealing more on the subject than he wanted to. Even if it did so obviously leave him seething.

I felt terribly sorry for him. As if the stress of upcoming exams wasn't bad enough. It was all I could do to offer my presence as support, provide a distraction when necessary, and to draw him so deeply into those distractions that he couldn't possibly think of anything else at the time. I would consider myself rather put out if he was, actually.

Not that he appeared to be. In our visits to the Room of Requirement, as with those to the Niche, Scor seemed to take the opportunity to simply let loose. I was a little relieved at the fact. I remembered all too well how rundown he'd appeared at the beginning of first term. It wouldn't do him any good to push himself to that extreme again.

The letters didn't solve themselves, though. They just kept coming, and I didn't think I was exaggerating when I suggested that there were more coming every day. It was even starting to annoy me. The real clincher, however, came at the end of our third week.

When I came down to breakfast on Friday morning, Scor wasn't in the Great Hall. That in itself was suspicious. Scor was an early riser. A ridiculously early riser; he confirmed in a casually off-handed manner one day that he averaged about five hours of sleep a night because he got up early to study. I entirely believed him, because every morning as I walked into the Hall he was sitting at the Ravenclaw table with books spread around him, completely ignoring his fellow diners. It was uncanny, though; as though he had a sixth sense, Scor would always look up from his studies at my entrance, immediately pack away his books and join me at my table for a shared breakfast.

Talk about consistency. And dedication. Lots of dedication.

Friday morning saw no Scor at the Ravenclaw table, however. He wasn't at the Hufflepuff table either I noted after scanning the room. I realised what I was doing a moment later and, shaking my head self-deprecatingly, took myself to my own table. How easy it is to fall into new habits. I wasn't even the one that initiated our public display of boyfriend-like behaviour, and yet there I was feeling very definitely uneasy at the prospect of diverging from our newly acquired norm.

As it turned out, I had reason to be uneasy, or at least surprised. Scor didn't show up for the rest of breakfast, and he was remarkably absent from both the morning's Potions and Defence lessons. Which was a shame because I knew for a fact that he was really looking forward to brewing the Wit-Sharpening Potion we'd been working up to. I found it quite to my liking myself, though mostly because I came out of the class smelling quite refreshingly of ginger.

It was late afternoon by the time I finally saw him for the first time that day. Ozzy and I were heading down towards the Great Hall for dinner when, by perfect chance, Scor nearly collided into us coming though the front doors of the castle. From outside.

We all stumbled to a halt, exchanging startled blinks for a moment. Ozzy was the first to respond, physically shaking himself and taking a step towards the Great Hall. "I'm gonna get some dinner. Steak tonight and all, you know?" He gave me an unreadable stare that I returned with a quizzical one of my own before disappearing through the double doors.

Odd.

Although, not so odd when I turned my attention back to Scor.

He looked terrible. Not in a sick way, or an exhausted way. He didn't look to be saddened or mournful of anything in particular. No, as the momentary surprise faded from his face, Scor's expression fell into one bordering on fury.

I unconsciously took a step away from him. Which is terrible – I was supposed to be supportive of my boyfriend and all – but he looked terrifying. Baby troll level terrifying, who was nothing if not infuriated at missing his morning breakfast of newborn babies. With deliberate grounding I reversed that step and edged to his side. "Scor?"

Pale blue eyes turned towards me. They visibly sparked with anger, though it was gratifying to see it didn't appear to be directed towards me. I kept my expression open and as neutral as possible as he struggled to reply coherently. "Hi Al." Then nothing.

Well. This would get us nowhere. "Scor, what's wrong?" I paused, then frowned. "And where were you today?"

Almost before I'd finished Scor loosed something that sounded almost like a growl. It was so startling, so unlike Scor, that I was rendered momentarily speechless. Not that it mattered, for my question seemed to be enough urging for Scor to continue.

"I… I was at a meeting with my father. With some representatives from our Spanish branch who are looking to expand into Portugal. I…" He paused. A muscle twitched in his cheek, a sign I knew meant he was absolutely spitting chips. "My father thought it might be beneficial for me to accompany him."

We fell into awkward silence for a moment, Scor glaring daggers at his toes and me fidgeting from foot to foot in an attempt to urge my brain to think of some reply. "Oh…" I muttered. So eloquent of me. I swallowed. "And that's… you didn't want to go?"

Snorting loudly – I was still getting used to the strangeness of that sound coming from him – Scor tipped his head backwards and raised a hand to squeeze at the bridge of his nose. He looked physically pained, but a moment later his shoulders sagged slightly and he gave a bitter laugh. "It's not that I didn't want to go. It's beneficial for me to meet these people, to get to know the men and women I'm to be working with and, eventually I guess, leading. But…"

I let the pause extend for a few minutes. A few very long minutes. "But?"

Shoulders sagging even further, Scor finally dropped his hand from his nose and turned his gaze towards me. He didn't look quite so angry anymore. "But it's fucking shit!" Nope, I was wrong. He was still angry. "I didn't… I mean…" He growled again, snapping his head sideways to glare towards the half open doors of the Great Hall and folding his arms across his chest. "It took me out of school. That meeting, something that happens once every bloody month, took me out of school for an entire day. I hardly have enough time as it is to study, and to add this on top of it?"

I didn't know what to say, not in the face of Scor's anger. My family didn't really get angry exactly – no, that's wrong. Mum and Lily could get angry, but it's always quick to rise and quick to deflate. Dad, James and me, we do our best to keep out of the line of fire when such instances arose. I personally didn't really get angry. Upset, sure, but not really the ranting anger that Lily pulls on a regular basis. And maybe because I didn't experience it myself, I didn't know how to deal with it. Something urged me to speak, however, though I didn't know if Scor even realised I still stood beside him there. He didn't seem to be talking to me anymore, just raging. "And you… didn't actually want to go?"

Sighing, Scor shook his head. "Like I said, it's not that I didn't want to go. I mean, Father asked me if I wanted to go; he didn't force me into it. But how could I say no? This sort of thing is as pivotal to my future as my studies are. If I was going to pass up such an opportunity, how could I actually claim that I'm dedicated to my future at Father's company? And not only that, but it was educational for me. Damn me, but it was. It's just…"

And finally I understood. It clicked in a moment what the problem was, and like a dam unleashed I felt as though I'd reached a new understanding of Scor.

I'd always sort of suspected that he didn't feel entirely committed to joining LeFay Connected. No, uncommitted wasn't the right way of phrasing it. He didn't seem confident with his decision. I got the impression that it stemmed from some misguided sense of inadequacy, which was completely irrational because I couldn't think of someone more perfect for training to becoming the CEO of one of the Wizarding worlds most prominent businesses.

In that moment, though, I realised I'd been wrong. Scor lacked confidence in his decision, yes, but it wasn't because of any feelings of inadequacy. Or at least I didn't think it was. No, what dawned on me was that Scor… I didn't think Scor actually wanted to join his Dad's company at all. He was obsessed with pushing himself into the mould of an entry-level employee, but even so his heart didn't seem to be behind his actions. And the reason, I was beginning to understand, was because it was very decidedly filled with something else.

It should have been obvious. Scor loved potions, loved Potioneering, with a passion. More than that, though, he in an avid studier. Not like me; other than for Herbology, I studied because I had to, to get the marks and to pass my classes. Scor, though; he seemed to genuinely love the act of learning. He chewed through books faster than my Auntie Hermione, and he so obviously enjoyed drinking up knowledge that I was surprised it had taken me so long to put the pieces together. Scor was rarely more verbally animated than in our debates in Alchemy, and in History of Magic he was one of so few that actually asked Binns questions in class that he was practically the sole audience. If that isn't indication enough, I didn't know what was.

And this meeting, this dominating commitment drawn from his future workplace… "It's taking you away from your studies, huh?"

At my words, the last of the tension tightening Scor's shoulders slipped away. With a sigh, the anger faded with it, leaving weariness in its wake. Scor slowly turned his gaze towards me. "It sounds stupid, doesn't it?"

I shook my head. Stupid? No, it wasn't stupid. I couldn't fully empathise exactly, but I managed to a degree. I hated it when I had another commitment that got in the way of my Wednesday afternoons with Neville in the greenhouse. I could understand that at least. "No, it doesn't." I paused, considering. "Tell me about it?"

Scor stood immobile for a moment, staring at me unblinkingly. There was a hint of awkwardness to his stance that I attributed to the consideration of 'sharing feelings'. From what I could gather, most people didn't really like doing that sort of thing. But slowly that weariness grew in his eyes to replace. I felt another upwelling of sympathy for him and, because we were alone and it didn't bother me in the slightest in such a situation, I stepped towards him and wrapped my arms around his waist. There was a brief moment where it was only I partaking the embrace before Scor folded into me in return.

From that evening onwards our routine changed a little bit. Just a little bit. The owls still came, and Scor still enacted his morning ritual of repressing his annoyance at the scraps of elegantly scripted parchment, but after that we talked. I learned a lot about people I'd never heard of before, and some more about those I knew by name as Scor released his frustration over the nagging of his future work partners and the clientele that were already flicking him for attention. He talked mostly, while I listened and offered my commiseration to him for being the unwilling recipient of so much whinging attention.

I liked to think I helped. I thought I did. Scor didn't snap like he had the day he took off from school; no more swearing from his squeaky clean mouth. We talked in privacy, sometimes just sitting. We spent more time studying, and kept up a welcome habit of intense yet relieving intimacy that I personally thought did us both a world of good. Never the two habits at the same time, of course. I don't think even Scor ever considered taking a break from studying to fool around, and he somehow managed to entirely remove any thoughts of his obsessive academic habits from his mind in the instances when we did.

It wasn't getting better. I doubted that it would. But I at least liked to think that the situation wasn't getting worse. Seventh year students hardly needed the extra strain.

Scor didn't exactly snap the next time he went off campus for a meeting. No, it wasn't snapping exactly. But it was definitely a change from the norm.

He told me this time when, a little over a month into our return to school, he got a letter from his father suggesting it might do him good to sit in on the February Directors meeting. Something to do with witnessing the inclusion of the latest and highly controversial bill to be passed in their halls, which sounded far less impressive when Scor talked about it than I think it actually was. Surely that would be interesting, right? At least to the right person?

When he returned that evening, he wasn't angry. I met him in the Entrance hall at six because that was the time he said he was coming back. Much and all as I would rather avoid being the sole witness to his anger, he was my boyfriend and support through the good and the bad was what we were supposed to offer one another, right?

I was sitting halfway up the stairwell leading to the eastern wing of the castle, idly flicking through my phone in wait. The mechanics of the device weren't quite as effectively protected by the Rune inscriptions in a place so magically potent as Hogwarts so I tried not to use it and risk burning them out, but Scor was already late by about half an hour and I was bored shitless.

When the front doors opened I glanced up immediately. Scor strode through the doorway, eyes trained on the floor and the picture of composure. Except that I knew in an instant that he was anything but. There was a whipcord-like tension tightening his neck, his face, his shoulders, and the careful neutrality on his face was disrupted every other moment by his eyes darting sideways to glance at something that wasn't there.

On edge, I'd call it. Which couldn't be a good thing.

He noticed me waiting for him only when he'd crossed half of the Entrance Hall. As though magnetised, Scor's feet redirected him towards me. He jogged slightly up the steps, the echoes of his footfalls ringing off the stone in the empty Hall, and paused before me.

He wasn't angry, that much I could see just by looking at him. No, there was something else there, a roiling emotion in Scor's eyes that was only made apparent when they turned directly towards me, meeting my own. It was almost… confused? A little bit frustrated but mostly… something else. "Scor…?"

Opening his mouth, Scor took a breath before clamping his jaw shut again. He shifted in place, casting a glance over his shoulder as though agitated. I rose to my feet, frowning. "What's wrong? Are you alright? How did it go?"

Scor didn't reply immediately. He cast another glance over his shoulder before turning back to me and drawing a slightly shaking breath. "Al, do you mind if I, um…" He trailed off.

Sweeping the frown from my face, I gave him a small smile. "Sure, Scor. Whatever you need." I didn't know what he wanted, but I was certain, absolutely certain, that I would give it to him if I could.

Scor evidently heard the sincerity of my words. His expression, that roiling in his eyes, settled infinitesimally into gratitude touched with a strangely heated light. I didn't get a chance to discern more, however, for with a sharp nod Scor was jogging up the steps past me again, slipping his hand into mine as he passed and tugging me along behind him. I followed compliantly.

We didn't go far, which was good, because I was hardly a runner. Not even a jogger. Along a fairly unused corridor, seemingly at random, Scor stopped before an unremarkable door, nudged it open and pulled me inside.

It was a room we'd used before. For Alchemy, actually; one of our theory lessons about two weeks ago that I'd never been in before or since. Small enough that a class of anything more than ten people would be hard pressed to fit, it had only a large, central table roughly square in shape and ringed by chairs that actually held a modicum of comfort for classroom seating. There was a blackboard at one end of the room beside the sole window and… and that was all I got to make out before my attention was forcibly diverted.

He'd heeded my wishes, Scor had. He didn't perform PDAs, not since that first 'announcement' day at the beginning of term, even though I knew he probably would have liked to every now and then. It was just a suspicion, observed from the sideways glances and occasional brush of fingertips that were too brief to be noticed as anything but a passing motion. But when we were in privacy, he made up for it. And I was more than happy to follow suit.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind us, Scor was wrapped around me in a very familiar and admittedly quite appealing hold. His arms locked around my shoulders, pulling me against him, and I barely caught my breath before his lips fell upon mine. An instant later our tongues were coiling in a heated caress that mimicked the motions of Scor's hands on my back. Holding – more like grasping – and urging me backwards further into the room with stumbling steps.

All of it, everything, was rougher, faster, more feverish, than I was used to. Ozzy and I had always been up for experimenting, and that included its own array of strange situations and approaches but it was never quite like how Scor was acting. Never all that directive or domineering. Ozzy just simply wasn't one to make overt demands. It wasn't in his nature.

I couldn't deny though, that, unfamiliar though it was, I certainly found this novelty arousing. Especially as, until now, it had generally been me who was in control of our intimate encounters. This newness made my blood race.

I bumped blindly into the central table as Scor urged me across the room. His hands were all over me, tugging demandingly at my tie, at my robes, reaching for my belt before I even had the presence of mind to attempt the same in return. We didn't actually manage to shed any of our clothing, not from either of us, before I felt Scor's hand slip down the front of my trousers, his hand wrap around my length.

My breath stuttered at the flare of sensitivity that shot instantly through me. Tender skin shivered and sprung to life under Scor's touch, almost painfully good in the firm gasp of his hand. I wasn't complaining, though. For though it was almost painful, it just felt altogether too good as well.

It was awkward, the jerking motions uncoordinated and slightly manic. Scor himself was in a frenzy of sorts, hair falling uncharacteristically into his eyes, those pale eyes bright and fevered, and face dropping towards me every second to press hot kisses against my lips, my cheeks, my neck. I found myself, for the first time, solely the recipient of his ministrations. My thoughts were sparking, becoming cloudy, and I didn't even have the presence of mind to attempt to return the favour of my own hand. It was all I could do maintain my footing, to keep a grasp on the lapels of Scor's robes and prevent my knees from buckling.

Warmth flooded my groin and I panted in gasps, the building pleasure and my hardness between Scor's fingers rising with a speed almost too fast to bear. Until all too soon his stroking abruptly stopped. I unconsciously let out a very pathetic-sound of distress, which, blessedly, I don't think Scor even heard. He was focused, slipping into the same state of concentration that I'd witnessed when he became engrossed in his potions study, yet this time it was tinged with heat and that frenzied wildness. With capable hand, he directed me to spin around, urging me forwards slightly until I fell back across the desk.

I caught myself on my hands, panting with legs trembling, and glanced through heavy eyes over my shoulder. Scor had his wand out, pointed at his palm and I could hear him mutter "Oleumus" in a gasping rasp. Liquid pooled in his palm and I had only a moment to feel a sense of satisfaction that he'd finally actually gotten around to casting the spell himself before he slid up behind me and pressed himself to my back. I could feel his arousal nudging me through my trousers, nearly as hard as my own.

Scor fumbled in motions that I couldn't and didn't need to see. The sound of a belt buckle unfastening, the rustle of clothing, the tug of my trousers being drawn down my legs. The feel of the open air against my thighs, against the heat between my legs, left me quivering with the sensitivity of my own skin and leaning heavily upon the desk. Until Scor slipped his slickened fingers into me and then all I could think about was the feeling of those lovely, lovely fingers.

The thing about Maghdarg's Brew was that, while it did take away the need for active preparation, it could be a very disconcerting experience for someone who'd never felt anything like it before. Personally, I wouldn't recommend it for a first timer, even if I swore by it now, simply because the feeling of arousal and the knock-on effect of ones body magically being unravelled in an entirely different area is an experience in and of itself. Ozzy never really got accustomed to that.

Me? It took a while, but yeah, I would say I was used to it now. More than used to it, I think it would almost be stranger not to feel the effects of the Brew every time I got turned on. Which might sound weird to anyone else, but whatever. Because I actually liked it. Just as I liked being taken, more so even than doing the taking myself. It just… did it for me.

So Scor's fingers, even as a precursor to the actual act, were a major turn on. One finger, two, three; he didn't last for long, didn't need to for the effects of the Brew, and I was quite happy for the fact. I didn't really need it. And when those fingers were removed and replaced by his hardness, thick and hard and slick with it's own fluids and lubrication, I groaned aloud, nearly folding onto the table before me.

I'd never had sex in a classroom before. Never on top of a desk either. So alongside Scor's newfound leadership, it was a riot of new experiences for me. Which would usually leave me unnerved and frazzled, but I was too caught up in the moment for anxiety to even catch a hold. Scor slid into me quickly, more quickly than usual. It was a little painful; I could only appreciate the fact that I was as aroused as I was, because apparently his needs weren't all that rational when it came to considering the practicalities of the situation.

He bottomed out with a groan that I found myself mimicking in a muffle, my forehead pressed against the desk. Only the sounds of our pants filled the room, loud in the otherwise dusty silence. Until Scor started moving, and the slap of skin on skin that accompanied the reiteration of groans overrode that quietness.

The feeling was intense. Even without my hardness pressed between myself and the desk, rubbed achingly each time Scor thrust into me, the very feel of Scor inside of me, the thickness of his length sliding against my inner walls and triggering little sparks of sensation would have been intoxicating enough. And then, when he established a rhythm of sorts, Scor shifted his angle slightly and by God…

He was uncannily good at finding that spot.

I cried out in a hoarse voice, closing my eyes and revelling in the pleasure growing rapidly within me. My hands clutched at the top of the desk, scrambling for anything to stabilise myself as Scor grasped my hips and pounded into me again and again, hard and fast and driving onto that point that caused my knees to tremble like a newborn colts. Had the desk been absent, I would surely have crumpled to the ground.

It was so… it was so…

Scor's pants sounded heavily in my ear, closer in a way that told me he'd curled himself over the top of me. I hardly had the presence of mind to consider his pose. My mind was a hazy ball of mounting pleasure, of passion, my own breaths coming fast in tandem to the jerks of my body. It was all I could do to take the pleasure that Scor forced upon me. And take it I did. Gladly.

In an almost embarrassingly short time I found myself coming hard and fast, the strain at my groin having built with incredible speed and ferocity and demanding release. I cried out a warble of ecstasy, my fingers digging painfully tightly into the desktop as dampness seeped into my shirt. Scor groaned lowly in response, his thrusts jerking faster and faster, losing the rhythm he'd developed as a sense of urgency took its place. I was only just gaining a modicum of mindfulness, struggling for breath, when he snapped his hips forwards one last time and the feeling of warmth and wetness flooded into me. I wouldn't lie, it wasn't the most pleasant of feelings in the world, but in that moment I could hardly care. The tingles of oversensitivity darted through me as Scor jerked and shuddered, bathing in the folds of his own pleasure.

Ragged breaths sounded right beside my ear, catching and releasing in gasps even harder than my own. I turned my head slightly as I felt Scor drop his head onto my shoulder. His arms released my hips and instead fastened themselves around my waist, a tight hold that was in some ways more intimate than sex. Our breaths unconsciously synched up, and together we lay in the aftermath of intense passion, struggling for recovery.

Finally, Scor made the admirable effort to push himself upwards and I felt his flaccid length slip from me, leaving a discomfortingly wet emptiness in its place. His warmth retreated from my back and, taking the unspoken suggestion as it was offered, I pushed myself onto my elbows and attempted to straighten. Only to have my legs nearly fold beneath me, wobbling like jelly.

Scor was there, blessedly, to catch me before I face planted, though I did nearly succeed in just dragging him to the floor with me. His arms locked around my waist and held me steady as I managed to encourage my legs into doing their duty.

"Sorry," Scor murmured. His voice was nearly muffled mute by my hair as he pressed his lips into it.

Frowning, I drew my head away to glance up at him. The frenzied intensity I'd beheld but minutes before had faded, leaving only a sex-mussed and hazy Scor in its wake. Which was entirely appealing to me – because God was he gorgeous; he could wake up the morning after a bender and jump straight on a runway – but I doubted he'd be alright with letting anyone else see it. I reached up and combed my fingers through his hair, fixing the tussled mess. "What are you apologising for?"

Scor sighed, closing his eyes and shaking his head. "I kind of lost control there."

"And?"

"And I didn't mean to force you like that."

Sighing my exasperation, I took a firm grasp of Scor's blond locks and turned his head towards me. "Hey," I grumbled when he wouldn't open his eyes to look at me. Almost sheepishly Scor peeked his eyelids open. "If I didn't want you to, I would have let you know, yeah? Come on, Scor, I'm not a helpless invalid. I'm more than capable of letting you know if you're being a pushy bastard."

Scor gave a bark of laughter, which seemed to surprise him if his following expression was any indication. "Yeah, I can imagine you would."

"Damn straight. So don't you go thinking this is all about you and what you want." I pursed my lips, striving for an impression of indignation rather than the reassurance I was really intending. "Because I'm allowed to enjoy myself just as much as you are. I get just as much say in the matter, yeah?"

The guilt on Scor's face was slowly fading, replaced by a small smile. I took that as a personal triumph. "Yeah. Yes, I hear you. I'm just… at the moment…"

"Yeah, I know," I offered soothingly, reinitiating my ministrations to Scor's hair. In the dopey state he was in, I doubted he'd have the presence of mind to do it for himself. And tired out by our exploits as I was, I was the only one around to save face for him for when we exited the classroom. "I really do know, Scor."

I did. We all went through our rough patches, and though I'd never experienced what Scor was going through I knew that much at least. Just like I knew that simply offering support when he needed it was probably all he want. Scor was the sort of person that could only accept his problems as being fixed when he fixed them for himself.

"You alright? Want to talk about it?"

Scor sighed heavily, shifting to hold me with just a tad more tightness. hummed slightly under his breath before replying. "Talk? Not right now. No… I'm alright. It was… I'm alright. Sorry, don't know what came over me, I just –"

Leaning in to press a kiss onto Scor's lips, I silenced him. He accepted the unspoken suggestion easily and as I leaned back and offered a smile of my own, the one he returned was slightly more genuine this time. I'd like to think he looked at least a little better than he had when he returned back to school that evening. Sure, Scor might be the one that had to sort out his problems, but I'd be waiting there on the sidelines for whenever he needed me. That I was certain of.