A/N: Hey, Lacrima here with my firstest ever fanfic. I feel simultaneously proud and dirty.
But anyway, this idea came to me when conversing with Lege, and I felt the need to write it (because she totally didn't bribe me into it...). It's Crabbe/Goyle, as you may have already figured. But to what degree... you shall have to wait and see. May or may not end up being more serious than I'm used to writing, but lets run with it and see.

Oh, and obviously, I own nothing of the HP franchise.

Chapter 1

Alone in the cold, stone-walled room, a hulking figure sat on the edge of his bed. He sighed as he stared at the four-poster bed opposite him, its open emerald hangings revealing it to be empty. Once again, there was no Crabbe.

Gregory Goyle, for it was only him who would possibly be missing Crabbe in his absence, stood up and crossed the room to a jug of water sitting on the other side of the room. Simply for something to do. His best friend was currently locked away in professor McGonagall's office for remedial transfiguration, as he was every Friday night. Stupid teachers, actually caring how Crabbe went in his studies. Not like the Dark Lord cared how many N.E. a student had.

Hehe, N.E.W.T. Goyle sniggered. It was funny because it was like "newt". And, you know, wizards like newts, or something.

Anyone else would have gotten tired of the joke, but then again anyone else would have been quite a lot smarter than Goyle.

Goyle stopped laughing just as abruptly as he had started. It was Crabbe who had pointed out the pun to him, but there was no Crabbe to laugh with him now.

The door of the dormitory burst open, and in strutted four individuals. Goyle glanced up and recognised them as two of his dorm-mates, Blaise Zambini and Theodore Nott, who had two girls draped over his arms. One was Pansy Parkinson, and the other Frances somethingorother. Or was it Freda. Who cares. Both were wearing ridiculously short skirts and skimpy tops, leaving very little to Goyle's unimaginative imagination. As if to compensate for this large amount of viewable skin, the girls had caked their faces in as much makeup as was physically impossible, and were draped in jewellery. Both presumably believed they seemed unbelievably attractive in this state.

"Goyle, we're going out. You want to come?" Nott asked. His attempt at looking dignified in a set of finely tailored dress robes, as well as the fact that he had Pansy attached to him, confirmed that he was trying his very best to slip into their ex-friend Draco Malfoy's shoes, who hadn't returned to school after the Easter holidays. Nobody was very impressed by this. Except for maybe Pansy…

"Goin' where?" Goyle replied.

"Pub. Hogsmeade. Rocky And The Red Caps are playing live at the Three Broomsticks. You in?"

There was a pause. "Nah. I gotta write a Charms essay."

"Since when did you care about homework, Goyle?" Zambini enquired from the doorway, suspicious. "I was under the impression that your work ethic was 'no assignment is good assignment'."

"Since he said that if I got another T in my work he'd keep me in all Sunday for super… supervi… watched revision. For the rest of the term."

"Ooh, harsh…" Nott muttered. "So you're not coming?"

Goyle shook his head.

"Oh, what a shaaame," Pansy said, sounding anything but sad at this news.

"Maybe next time, eh? Send Git-wick our love." The four filed out, leaving Goyle alone once again.

After waiting about ten minutes, Goyle stepped out of the dormitory and peered into the common room to check that they'd left. There was no-one taller than a third-year. Content with this, Goyle went back into his dormitory, pulling a long brown overcoat over his robes and donning a hat, before leaving the Slytherin Dungeon and making his way through the dark corridors to leave the castle. He hadn't technically lied about having an essay to do, since he did. He just didn't feel like doing it. Sure, Flitwick would give him extra lessons, but who said he was going to attend them?

He passed into the Entrance Hall with out any incident; the only person he had seen was Amycus Carrow out on patrol, who had nodded at Goyle as he passed. Man, being a Slytherin, especially a seventh-year, had its perks around here nowadays. If a Griffindor tried to wander around after curfew as Goyle was doing, they'd be on a different plane of existence before they could say "I'm a pussy muggle-loving embarrassment to wizardkind".

Stepping into the chilly night air of the grounds, Goyle smiled. Then grinned. Then started giggling. By the time he was walking down the broad path that led to Hogsmeade village, he was in fits of laughter.

Git-wick. It was like Flitwick, but he was a git. So it was funny…