Charms

In first year, Charms meant learning how to make a pineapple dance across Flitwick's desk. It wasn't particularly difficult, but the red haired girl managed to learn how to do it a good twenty minutes before he did, which annoyed him to no end.

He put slime in her hairbrush for her trouble.

In second year, Charms meant sitting behind the red haired girl and sharply tugging on the thick braids which hung down over the back of her chair, making her yelp in surprise.

She got him back with a well-timed jelly-legs jinx.

In third year, Charms meant sitting in the back with his best mate and snidely mimicking the red haired girl every time she raised her hand to answer a question. A part of him knew it was immature, but she was such a little madam sometimes that he felt it was justified.

He felt a little bad when she glared. Just a little.

In fourth year, Charms meant watching the red haired girl out of the corner of his eye until she looked at him, at which point he would pretend to be looking somewhere else entirely. Foolproof, that was.

It earned him a few swift kicks under the table, and a number of odd looks on her part.

But also a rare smile.

In fifth year, Charms meant leaning back on his chair and ruffling his hair so it looked like he'd just stepped off his broomstick. It also meant talking in a loud voice and always being bored with everything. He knew she was looking at him.

Perhaps, he thought, he was on to something. But when he asked her out, she said no.

In sixth year, he spent most of Charms wondering why she wouldn't go out with him, what he was doing wrong, and why he had wanted to go out with her in the first place. He doodled all over his notes and didn't pay much attention.

Later, in light of everything that happened with his friends, Charms didn't seem so important. He didn't do very well that year.

--

In seventh year, Charms meant watching the boy with the messy black hair and trying to figure out what was different. It earned her a number of odd looks on his part.

He asked her for help on his essay. Everyone knew she was good at Charms, he said. He was falling a little behind, and he promised that he'd really appreciate the help.

She said she would.

--

They started to work together. Working led to talking, which led to smiling, which led to laughing. And for once, it wasn't awkward. It was even friendly. It seemed that they had more in common than they had thought.

Then she kissed him. Or he kissed her. It didn't matter. They kissed. Suddenly, all the stuff that they had done to each other over the years made a little more sense.

When he asked her what had changed her mind, she smiled.

'Just chalk it all up to your boyish charm, Potter.'

If anyone can tell me why I wrote this, they deserve an e-cookie. It's 6 in the morning and I haven't slept. (Aha, maybe that explains it, she says.) Anyway, here it is.

Review me if you want. Just a short piece to regain my sanity after an all-nighter. I'm writing a lot of fluff lately.