Discard the bloody parcel discreetly and go on with your life.

Taking a brief detour, you cautiously creep through the dormitory halls (students are allowed to go in the halls after curfew as long as they have a reason and don't linger) and find a rubbish bin. Whipping your head back and forth to make sure no-one has been following you, you bin the bloody thing and step lively back to your room.

You return and find Gillian looking at you with interest. She's... well, you feel a bit of an odd kinship with her. Though she's VERY tall, just a few hairs and an inch shy of six feet, she has a slightly boyish build to her, with narrow hips in relation to her shoulders... her chest was a little fuller than yours but still on the low end of average. Just looking at her didn't make you start thinking of sex like it did with some of those other young women - and right now, that was a good thing. Spending a few minutes with her calmed your pounding heart and soothed your shock and embarrassment.

Gillian seems to intuit that you're feeling a bit off, and starts asking you about how "things" went. Taking her meaning, you sit down on the bed next to her and, knowing it'll excite her, decide to start talking about some of your recent sex-capades. When you let her drag out of you the fact that you shagged a fellow you'd scarcely spoken with until your second class of the day in a public place, Gillian started bouncing up and down on the bed with excitement and clenched your hands in hers excitedly. You realize that despite the lack of privacy, having a roommate is nice just for one of life's simple pleasures - gossip. And with so much sex going on, there's never a need to center the conversation around dull things like schoolwork.

Fortunately though, Gillian is a bit less crass about such discussion than Winnie, with her talk of numerical ratings for sexual prowess and dragging you into desperate attempts to look as available as possible. Gill is just tickled pink to hear THAT you have 'done it', and in what places, and counters with how her boyfriend, another Leontes by the name of George Coriolis, was trying to talk her into doing more adventuresome things too. Apparently, when the first term started winding down, groups of students started organizing elaborate sex-parties with many participants. She says that IF she does end up in such a thing, she would feel safer if you (and maybe a date of yours) were to come along. You're pretty sure she is using "safer" as a euphemism for "less embarrassed on account of sharing the guilt". You still consider it.

Over the next week and a half, you find yourself regrettably falling into the same snares and pratfalls as your first week. As you were warned, the pace of magical and academic instruction ramps up, and when you manage to impress a professor as you did with Mrs. Travers, it seems like that just encourages them to push you further and faster. Much to your disappointment you end up discovering that spells and techniques involving erotic activity are NOT an every-day occurrence in the classrooms; and when they are, reality ensues as you're usually not picked to demonstrate. You suspect that at least some of the professors actually delight in getting their classes libidos all wound up and then sending them off with insincere imprecations to "be safe" during their free time. But there was so damnably little of that free time! From your interactions with the other students it seems that this is just a natural feature of second and third year studies, a taxing grind until you get to the more relaxed upper level seminars that more often center around experimentation and long-term projects. Of course, if you weren't constantly tempted to experiment with conjurations and curses above your level of competency you might make steadier progress - but then you'd be a boring Beavertail, not a courageous Leontes! You're getting a bit more into this house pageantry than you expected.

What's worse, the campaign of harassment against you doesn't cease, though it continues to simmer at a low level. Shoes going missing, books getting mysteriously soaked. A few more invisible trips. This is so persistent that you're starting to think it might not be another student, but a ghost or demon or some-such thing. But then again, that Samara Grover girl was acting so oddly - you haven't ruled out the possibility that it's her, even though she doesn't share any classes with you so it'd be extraordinarily difficult for her to manage.

At last, the week-end rolls around again. You're caught up enough that unlike some stuck playing catch-up (Draconians are the worst offenders) your next two days are open. You haven't yet really squeezed Albert very much for academic favors - your most challenging stuff has actually been in other subjects, most notably history, where he has little expertise. It is evening now, on Friday at the end of the third week of the term. Boarbristle is having an effect on you and you're now the kind of woman who notes, at a time like this, that it's been almost a fortnight since you had sex. Fortunately, Gillian is gone often enough that you can manage on your own when your imagination gets you too excited to resist.

A postal delivery arrives from a helpful housemate who volunteered for this duty. There's a letter from home - almost insultingly short and boilerplate hopes that you're doing well. You suspect that your parents are taking advantage of having you out of the house to go partying every night themselves. They married very young, in their late teens, and you're the second oldest of five. You and your three younger sisters are only a year or two apart a piece and all spent a lot of time at boarding schools. Mother and father were all always more concerned with quantity than quality time, it seemed. There was also a note from your sister Katya who just turned 18 wondering if you'd recommend having her sent to Boarbristle too. You... weren't so sure about that.

Then there were two simple folded notes from other students. One was from Albert Cordwhistle of course, one of half a dozen you'd got since meeting him. He was a bit clingy and insecure, and just wanted to talk and talk endlessly - thank goodness there were none of those awful talking-boxes that non-magical people used here at Boarbristle or you'd never have a moment's peace! Sometimes he was amusing, sometimes he was a bore. Since you hadn't approached him for any more 'private time' yet he seemed to be getting antsy he was doing something wrong and was reminding you of your plans to go to Turnbuckle tomorrow. You set the note aside; you'd consider it.

Aside from that was a note theatrically dressed up with a dab of perfume and a lipstick smooch on it from Chen. You snickered - it was a little corny, but a girl as glamorous as her could make that work. She reminded you that Minervals sponsored a theatre troupe that put on plays on the weekends. She said that she suspected you'd find this one especially interesting and said that you and any friends you cared to extend an invitation to were invited, though the free ticket was just for you and any others would need to pay admission.

Settling in and changing into your bedclothes, you considered which FRIEND you should spend Saturday morning with.