Prompts: hugs and kisses, congeniality, unaware

"Three seconds."

"Three seconds?"

"Three."

Hannah bounded, giggling, onto Susan's bed where the auburn-haired girl was rifling through a scrapbook with excitement akin to reading the final pages of a murder mystery.

"And you pulled away first?"

Hannah nodded, and looked expectantly at Susan who had reached a page entitled 'hugs and kisses' and was pausing dramatically.

"The three second hug. Likely to be used upon parting," (Hannah's head bobbed up and down ferociously) "if a hug lasts three seconds it can mean one of two things:
1) Those involved are good friends
only (both are likely to leave the hug at the same time), or-" Susan paused again and turned her eyes to her friend who looked as if she might collapse with anticipation. "-or 2) both participants are enjoying the hug and want it to last longer."

Hannah rolled over, titters tumbling from her lips by the dozen.

"What does that mean, Susan?"

"It means, Hannah, that you get to do the test again."

It was surprising that the other girls in the dormitory had not yet complained about the various high pitched noises issuing from one Hannah Abbott. Perhaps, after three previous years of hardcore giggling, they had become resigned to wearing headphones at any time past eight o' clock and were oblivious to the excitement.

Hannah sat beside Susan as she flicked past the impressive collection of magazine cuttings detailing exactly how to interpret letters a boy was sending you (Don't blame the owl, Rosalind Patriche), how to evaluate physical contact (What's the difference between a hug and a cuddle?, Edith Ember-Cumber) and how to get him eating out of the palm of your hand (Tricks of the Trade, Isadora Aphroditus). Finally, they reached a page bordered by several varieties of hand-drawn hearts: some sparkling, some pulsating, all pink.

"I've made some changes since last time," Susan told her as Hannah peered at the assessment she was supposed to be applying to herself with the intention of evaluating her romantic chances. The series of questions compiled by the girls after weeks of poring over agony aunt pages and spying on couples around the castle had been dubbed the test with the promise 'we'll find a better name later', but in all the stresses of teenager-dom, this matter had been brushed to the side to make way for concerns regarding breast sizes and the amount of make-up it took before it looked like you were trying too hard.

"Animosity? Congeniality? Merlin, Susan, you have to be a Ravenclaw to decipher this!" Hannah pointed an incredulous finger at the list of factors with which to rate her current relationship with her crush.

"Don't look at me, I'm not a Ravenclaw," Susan replied, and this time she joined in with the giggling.

One high-score, four potential variations on 'good morning' (each getting progressively more seductive) and several experimental hairstyles later, Susan and Hannah sat cross-legged on Susan's bed, deep in discussion.

"We'll have to make sure we get to breakfast before him."

"He always gets there at seven thirty on a Sunday," Hannah assured her companion. Then her face fell. "That means we'll have to get up early."

"Stop moaning. It'll be worth it when you're married."

Hannah giggled.

xXx

As Ernie Macmillan clambered into his four-poster and considered whether to have fried or scrambled egg for breakfast the next morning and whether he should make homework sessions with Hannah a weekly thing, he was blissfully unaware of his every future move being hypothesised and responses to it being thoroughly planned in the next dorm. What he did know, however, was that forbidding Susan from coming with the pair of them to the library had significantly reduced the quantity of that terribly high-pitched laughter that only teenage girls seemed able to produce. Ernie thought he would be able put up with it if there was no egg at the breakfast table tomorrow, but if there was one thing he did not stand for, it was giggling.