A/N: Written for:

• the Favourite Character Challenge on HPFC

• my sister's challenge: Use mathematical terms in a HP fanfic without mentioning Arithmancy or Maths. These terms have been italicised.

Setting: 1995-1996

IMPORTANT NOTE: This story is NOT a part of my canon compliant decayverse series.

. . . ...

Variance

Ignore me, for I am just the narrator in this silly, silly tale of a huge teenage crush, an uncontrollable attraction, a mistake and above all - the tentative beginning of a friendship.

I will begin now.

Before Romilda Vane had turned thirteen, boys had been nothing except strange creatures with snot running down their noses and cuts and scrapes on their knees and elbows from playing too much football, cricket and quidditch for her.

But after she had turned thirteen, it had been an entirely different story.

Now boys were sweet and funny and charming and people to be around with. People to dream and fantasise about. People to snog. And shag. (Perhaps after turning fifteen?)

Now she had an eery nervousness whenever she approached the same human beings whom she had earlier deemed as 'strange creatures' in the back of her mind. The degree of nervousness varied from boy to boy and she could most certainly say that she was the most nervous around Harry Potter. She was so nervous and so damn shy around him that she could not even look in his general direction without making her cheeks flame.

Thirteen year old Romilda had a crush on the Boy Who Lived. A pretty big one at that. It was so enormous and so large that it had swelled her affections to such an extent that in her heart she was sure that what she was experiencing was more than just a mere crush.

More than anything else, she wanted Harry Potter to notice her. She was desperate to get into his good looks and be with him. And it seemed that that was not happening anytime soon. So, what did she do?

Tried to stalk him to the best of her abilities, obviously.

Her friends teased her about her obsession with him, but she did not mind. She had to get Harry Potter for herself. She would go mad if she did not.

It was pathetic, really.

Yes, Romilda was very determined in achieving whatever she pursued for she put her mind, body and soul in it, be it divination or watching quidditch, and chasing Harry was at the top on the list of her pursuits.

So yeah, she was very, very sure that she would get him someday, one way or another. But she also knew that day was pretty faraway right now, taking in account the fact that Harry not as much as threw a small glance her way. It was going to be a long time before Harry could become the beloved boyfriend of her dreams.

In the meanwhile, she had to quell her desires of constantly looking at him somehow. One day, while she was descending the staircase in the Owlery, her cunning mind narrowed upon a solution - Colin Creevey aka the School Photographer aka Harry's Biggest Fan.

Also known as me, the one who is telling you this tale.

But that is a moot point, anyway.

So now, where was I? Ah, yes, Romilda dear had just thought of contacting me. You may ask, "What the hell did she want from the likes of a person like you?"

Rest assured, you will get your answer shortly. Let me resume telling the tale.

So that evening, she cornered me outside the abandoned, ancient classroom that Professor McGonagall had graciously allowed me to use as my darkroom and said, "I need to ask a favour of you," and I asked, "What?" in an unimpressed, tired tone.

"I need you to give me some of the photos that you have of Harry."

Subconsciously, my hand came to rest upon my satchel, which had been hanging tautly by its string upon my shoulder. I had kept most of my photos in it. This situation had an air of surreality about it, sort of.

"May I ask why?" I countered after a brief moment, in the same, unimpressed tone as before.

Her pink lips turned into an unpleasant frown as she moved her hand to remove the hair falling in her eyes and she gave me a most resounding, icy glare.

"I just need them, okay?" she scorned.

"So that you can make a shrine out of them in your bathroom stall, right? Go show your anger and vanity somewhere else, Vane. It's going to have no effect on me. None at all," I told her coldly.

In a sudden and rapid movement, she blinked twice with those large, dark eyes of hers.

"I'll pay?" Her voice came out like a squeak.

Wow, I thought. She's rather desperate, isn't she?

"You will?" I raised my eyebrows.

"Yes. With kisses on the cheeks," she suggested very boldly.

My eyes nearly leaped out of their sockets.

"What, like in that fairytale in which a princess takes unique objects from the castle's pigsty keeper in return for kissing him? You're mad, you know?" I finally managed to whisper.

"Mad enough to snag Harry? Yes, I am. Now, are you accepting my offer or not?"

"I don't know...it's a strange offer, after all," I murmured as I fidgeted with my long, bony fingers.

But she had not been listening, because the next thing I knew was that Romilda had leant in closer and stood up on the tips of her toes before giving me a quick, little kiss on the left cheek. The moment she did so, my skin heated up right from the point of contact to the extremities of my body and I felt strange; you see, I had never been kissed by girls before and the few affectionate, sisterly kisses from my cousins hardly counted.

She had pulled away rather hurriedly and by the brilliant flush on her cheeks I could guess that this had been a brand new experience for her too, but the blush had vanished as soon as it had come, and with it, her surprised demeanour got stowed away too. Instead of the shyness, a smirk came to rest upon her face.

"Meet me in the Library tomorrow at six in the evening with his photos," she ordered, highly sure that I had accepted her offer.

Of course I had accepted it. I think the blushing and the aghast expression on my face had betrayed my chivalry and let her know that I was not going to turn her down.

After all, who was I to turn down kisses from a girl? A beautiful girl at that.

I smirked back at her.

Fine, two can play a game.

The next day, I was highly excited about what was to occur in the Library that evening. In my excitement, I did not even mind the blast-ended skwerts that Hagrid was making us work with. In my excitement, I forgot about Umbridge's decree that required students of opposite genders to remain in opposite directions. Oh hell, I just could not bring myself to care about it. In my excitement, I forgot that my Potions essay on the properties of the Draught of Peace was supposed to be three and a half feet long, instead of just three.

I was moderately good at the subject, so Snape gave me an 'A' and a terrifying glare instead of my usual 'O'.

Oh, and he took ten points from Gryffindor.

Stupid Snape.

Anyway, the day could not have passed more slower for me than anyone else in the School.

As soon as the clock struck five fifty-five, I grabbed my satchel and dashed like a madman towards the Library.

She was waiting there in one of the darker corners, far away from Madam Pince's strict gaze, her hands listlessly turning the pages of an old book. As soon as she saw me standing awkwardly by myself near the entrance, she beckoned me in a discrete fashion to sit beside her.

I did so.

Soon after that, she began going through my collection, keeping aside the photos she found the best while I flipped through the pages of an old edition of Hogwarts: A History, trying to look sophisticated and not flustered.

By the end of this thing, she selected ten photos and I got led to a quiet place in between the bookshelves where she kissed me thrice. On the cheeks, of course - just like she had told me.

Her lips were firm on my skin, and forgive me for sounding clichéd here, but they did feel like rose petals.

Truth be told, it was quite an ordeal standing there, forced to be motionless because the fragility of the situation cried out loud for it to be like that. Every muscle and sinew and bone in my still body was silently screaming in protest, telling me to push her against the nearest shelf and kiss her forever.

By the end of those brief yet wonderful moments, I was breathless and I think she was too.

She muttered her thanks and rushed away before I could do anything.

Romilda did not talk to me after that incident in the Library for about a year. And it wasn't like I was dying to talk to her.

I wasn't.

By this time, you must be thinking that I was attracted to her. Yet again, I am forced to repeat my words:

I wasn't.

Intrigued, perhaps, because of her dubious ways of working and the distinct feeling of her being hellbent upon winning a boy who did not even glance in her direction. But I was not attracted, and of that, I was sure.

Anyway, moving on...

1995 rolled over to 1996 and the school year was over before the students realised. Their summer holidays went by quickly, spent in dread and fear of the changing atmosphere prevailing in the wizarding world, and before they had known it, they were standing on Platform 9¾ and waiting to alight the Hogwarts Express.

I saw Romilda on the platform and her eyes met mine. I don't know why, but I distinctly remember gulping in air.

I had hoped that she would come to meet me once we had reached Hogwarts, but she did not. Instead, I watched her from my place in the corner as she talked with her noisy friends in the Common Room. I watched as all of them eyed Harry. I watched as she turned around and caught me watching her. She grinned before whispering something to her friends. Then she stood up and made her way towards me. I was startled by this sudden change in her attitude. Why was she approaching me out in the open? Why was she not doing it the way she had first done it? Wasn't it supposed to be done secretly?

The vicious grin never left her lips as she came and sat beside me. Boy, I was glad that Dennis was not with me at that moment. He would have drilled right into my head with a barrel of ill meant, implying sort of useless questions.

"Hello, Creevey."

"Hello," I murmured, halfheartedness lacing my voice, for I knew that trouble was to follow. She winked at her friends before speaking again.

"Creevey, I need you to brew a love potion for me," she told me.

My eyes widened on their own accord. Even though I had known beforehand that this girl was going to throw trouble my way, I had never expected this level of atrocity.

"And why will I do that?" I said through gritted teeth.

"Because you're the best at Potions!" she gushed, and I think she had been hoping that her statement would please me.

Not that it did.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Harry and Hermione talking with each other. I felt somewhat nauseated.

"No. No way I am doing it!" I almost shrieked after a short while.

"Oh, come on!" she simpered. "You know you want to." Romilda leant in closer and I grew highly uncomfortable. "We'll have a meeting in a Library," she whispered. Her dark eyes were sparkling with mischief.

I felt my cheeks grow hot.

"No," I somehow managed to utter. "I can't do it. Order one of the Wheezes' ones instead. I have heard Twilight Moonbeams is an excellent one."

"B-but it's too expensive for me!" she spluttered. "You're the best that I could possibly contact. Creevey, you're my only hope."

Something about that last sentence had evoked a will to help her within me. This was because, one - the sentence had made me remember one of my favourite movies, and two - she had spoken it just so damn earnestly.

I knew that she was a halfblood, but I could still not have fathomed whether she had referenced Star Wars intentionally or whether it had just been the emotional rush of the moment.

Later I would come to know that it had been very, very intentional. Very Slytherin of her indeed.

Anyway, let's get back to the story...

So I was thinking that I was Romilda Vane's Obi Wan. But that would have meant that I was like a father/mentor figure to her. And I was certainly not that.

No, I was her Han Solo.

Okay, wherever had that come from?

Fingers snapped in front of my face, breaking me out of my confusing reverie.

"Have you decided?"

"Yes," I sighed. "I'll do it. Just give me two months time to plan and execute, will you?"

"Of course, anything!" she breathed.

Later that day, as I sat in the Library, thinking over an old Potions volume, I wondered how the hell I was ever going to do it.

•••••

It was the end of November when the two of us stood facing each other in front of an old classroom. The corridor was silent and somewhat dark and the rustle of the wind rushing through it made the place sound haunted. We could see the darkening purple sky through the large windows as the night descended.

"Here," I said as I handed her the vial, "it's done, girly."

She took it daintily, careful not to drop thing and in a quite swift motion, Romilda stuffed it inside one of her robe pockets.

"Thank you, thank you so much! Now, how many do you want?"

"Minus one, Vane" I muttered.

"Minus one? Seriously, what does that even mean?" she deadpanned.

I thought what it meant and why I had uttered it. As you already know, I was intrigued by the younger girl, and although I was trying to deny it for a dreadfully long time, in my mind I knew that I had been attracted to her ever since she had kissed me in the Library. That dark corridor where faces were only half seen was tempting me to act upon that attraction.

I moved a step forward and surprisingly, she did not back away. Then I leant in so close to her that my breath washed over her face. I could spot uncertainty and confusion in her eyes. Internally, I was terrified of what I was doing.

"Haven't you ever studied a little about numbers, Vane?" I murmured with a smirk. "Wouldn't it do you good if you took a break from your standard deviation once in a while and did something that provides some variance? Think about it."

Her eyes widened and suddenly, I came back to my senses.

What the hell was I doing?

I stepped back before I could do something stupid such as grabbing her and then proceeding to kiss her senseless.

Do you know what did I do instead of that?

I turned around and ran away, the noise of my loud footsteps ruining the silence.

Call me cowardly if you want to but I think that that course of action had been the best thing to do at that moment.

An hour or two after that unforgettable meeting, I was still breathing heavily as I entered the Great Hall for dinner. A lot of people were already seated at the table and I went about finding my brother. During this process I saw that Romilda was chattering with her friends at one end of the table. I rushed away from her before she could notice me standing awkwardly by myself and sat with Jimmy Peakes and Dennis at the other end of the table.

And so the times went on. Days went past and I did not approach her to talk or explain myself.

In the meanwhile, other interesting things happened in my life and around me. I got an invitation to become a part of the Slug Club but I declined politely, citing prior engagements. Professor Slughorn did not look convinced, but he let me go.

The event that I call 'The Great Ron Weasley Debacle' happened a few days after that.

To think that it had all started because of a love potion brewed by me... To think that an innocent person could have had died because of a moment of weakness of mine...

I was angry.

Oh no, I was furious.

While standing on the entrance to the Infirmary, I had seen the state Ron Weasley had been reduced to and I was going to set that girl straight.

As soon as I got in through the portrait hole, I marched up to her group of friends and demanded to know where she was.

"And why do you want to know?" one of them sneered at me.

"You know damn well why." I lowered my voice before speaking again. "You all plotted to make Potter lovesick for one of you. Each of you spiked at least one of those chocolate cauldrons in that packet, thinking it was lottery. Don't you dare play the fool with me!"

The one who had sneered at me earlier was about to speak something, but she got stopped by a blonde girl sitting beside her.

"Don't," she told her while sending a warning glance her way. Then she faced me. "You'll find her by the Lake."

I nodded and exited the Common Room with fast steps. I broke into a run when I reached the staircase.

She was standing right on the edge of the pier when I reached the Lake. The photographer within me said that Romilda's black hair contrasted rather nicely with the white, snowy background. I did not listen to his useless chatter.

It was very, very cold and as I neared her, I saw that she was standing out in the freezing Scottish winds in her full-sleeved white shirt and grey skirt, wearing just her Gryffindor scarf and grey, knee-length socks for warmth. The Lake's water was murky and swirling since the ice layer had been cleared away that morning only.

I did not know why, but all my fury dissipated upon seeing her like that.

Silently, I went and stood beside her. I noticed that a few tears had left their trails upon her cheeks. She did not turn to see me, instead she continued to peer into the mysterious depths of the Black Lake as if trying to find some deep meaning in those swirling waters.

"I know you've come to scold me," she spoke suddenly, breaking the tension filled silence.

Without permission from my mind, my hands gripped her hands on their own accord. Her head snapped up and her eyes met mine for the first time in many days. I rubbed her palms to warm them up.

"I-I had come to do that only. But that can come later," I admitted, "Right now I just want to take you back inside. It's freezing out here - you could get pneumonia."

"But I can't face them! I know I won't be able to."

"Oh, you'll face them fine enough. Gather your wits and pick up the pieces. Come on Vane, we have got work to do."

She smiled as I wiped her tears away and led her towards the Castle.

. . . ...

Thoughts?