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("They're not serious, are they?"

"I heard it happened during a Charms Club meeting. Him, in Charms Club. As if!"

"Oh, please, she was probably spying on him at Quidditch practice.")

He caught her arm in the hallway, a smug grin firmly in place. "Skip Herbology, meet me in the common room?" he said suggestively, eyebrows quirked in a way only he could pull off.

A smile spread on her own lips involuntarily. "Yeah," she replied, and nothing more needed to be said. He pecked her on the cheek, and they walked their separate ways. Neither looked back, neither made fantasies, neither held back a giggle.

("Who do they think they're kidding?"

"I didn't think either one of them dated people."

"They're not together. They're just not.")

"How was Potions?" she asked him cheerfully, discarding her robes on the floor. He'd have taken them off in seconds anyway, just like he was unbuttoning her shirt now. It wasn't like this was class, anyway.

Definitely not class.

"Professor Goodall is an asshole," he said with a shrug, pulling his own shirt over his head like it was nothing. "It was fine."

A first year who'd probably forgot his book trailed out of his dormitory with eyes so wide it was a miracle they didn't fall off. She flashed him a winning smile, and he scampered off, accidentally dropping his textbook on the stairs. She doubted he'd come back for it.

Now they were alone for sure, no prying eyes to stop them from doing whatever they wanted.

So they kissed briefly, put their respective shirts back on, and proceeded to work on their Care of Magical Creatures essays.

("I bet he got paid to do it."

"Yeah, it's obvious."

"Oh, look, they're holding hands...")

The story had been picked over so many times, and had been embroidered in so many places, that nobody was quite sure what the truth was anymore. Actually, they were pretty confident no one had known the truth to begin with. No one had been there, and she was pretty sure no one would have believed it if they had.

He slipped her a piece of Drooble's Best Blowing Gum during Defence Against the Dark Arts. She grinned knowingly and popped it in her mouth. She could hear from the chewing sounds in front of her that he had one for himself, too.

("Listen, Emily Bernstine swears she saw--"

"Emily Bernstine's about as reliable as the Quibbler."

"How come she can get him and I can't even get Louis Weasley?")

He leaned across her desk seductively in Ancient Runes, peppermint breath hot on her cheek. "My ink bottle ran out," he informed her huskily. "Do you have an extra one?"

She fished one out of her bag and passed it to him. He nodded politely and said, "Thanks." He turned away and didn't look her way for the rest of the hour.

Which was fine, because she didn't look at him, either.

("They don't even act like a couple!"

"They're a couple?"

"Didn't we establish that they can't be a couple?")

She woke up one morning in completely the wrong bed, and very confused as to how she got there. Then she saw the Wimbourne Wasps poster and remembered where she was. Her Care of Magical Creatures book was still open on the floor, next to a certain boy's slumbering form.

She tossed a sheet over him and went to her own dormitory for a shower. She was pretty sure the sixth year boys wouldn't appreciate having a girl infiltrating their ranks.

That or they'd enjoy it just a little too much.

("It's like they're doing this on purpose!"

"Wait a moment... what if they are?"

"They're not. They can't be.")

"You'll be coming round my place in the summer, yeah?" he called down the table from where he sat with his friends. Seven girls whipped their heads to look at her simultaneously, all with identical expectant looks on their faces.

"Of course," she replied smoothly, not looking up from the cutting job on her sausages.

The girls waited until he was gone to bombard her with the questions, the most prevalent being, "How the hell did this happen?"

"You know, I honestly don't remember," she said, and all seven faces dropped into identical looks of disappointment.

("You want a piece of Drooble's?"

"Sure... you know, I really hate the green ones. I've seen too many bowtruckles cough up lettuce to appreciate anything green anymore."

"I know, it's disgusting. Hey, do you have that essay for Hagrid's class done?"

"We got it yesterday and it's not due for a week. No one has it done."

"Do you want to work on it with me?"

"Call it a date.")


This was inspired by Staff Challenge 7 (Harry Potter Quote Challenge), though I don't think it will be an official entry :P We'll see.

The quote, "The story had been picked over so many times, and had been embroidered in so many places, that nobody was quite sure what the truth was anymore." comes from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, page one of the US hardback. It belongs to J. K. Rowling, not me. :)

Also, this is my first story posted as a TA! And my first fluff ever!

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