So it turned out I was way sicker than I thought I was, hence the lack of action on my part. But I'm not dead, which is the important thing. And I'm mighty close to being completely recovered. Woo.

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Give me a rose to show how much you care

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There's the kind of love where you can tell a person that you love them and there's the kind of love where you can't. I love Frank. I love him in the way that I love Lily. I could walk right up to him and say, "Hi Frank, I love you, how are you today?" I could never say those words to Sirius, not even jokingly. They'd mean something completely different. They'd mean something more.

Frank has had a minor crush on me since Second Year when I pushed him in the lake because he ate my last chocolate frog. Don't ask me how being pushed into a lake equals romantic attachment. I've never understood the irrational minds of the opposite sex. He's painfully shy about 'the crush' as it's commonly referred to. He's never brought it up and neither have I. I'm excellent at ignoring things that cause me discomfort. Apart from the odd anonymous valentines present, his crush doesn't interrupt with our friendship.

What's wrong with Frank you may ask? Absolutely nothing, but maybe that's the problem. He's nice and friendly but not annoyingly so. He's sweet but not sickly. He's funny but not obnoxious, like Peter is. He's smart but he doesn't count Mathematics as a recreational activity, like Remus. He's good looking but he's not arrogant, like James. He's mischievous but he's not dangerous, like Sirius. He's the perfect middle road.

But I don't want the middle road. Logically, I know I should, but logic or choice for that matter doesn't ever factor into this equation. Frank's safe and comfortable and an all round good guy. But my disobedient heart wants the one who's reckless. The one who makes me feel physically ill when we're in the same room for too long. I want the detached one that doesn't give a toss about anything or anyone, including me. What I really hate are those trashy multiple-choice quizzes in Witch Weekly. Finding the right person all seems so simple on glossy magazine paper:

Your perfect match gives you a token of his affection, it is:

A) A bunch of flowers

B) A box of chocolates

C) Perfume

D) A love note

You ponder over it for ages as if the choices are so drastically different. I might circle D. A love note, because it's a simple heartfelt expression of affection. But the honest answer is E. a blank crumpled ball of parchment that Sirius has pegged at my head. I'll keep it too. I've got an entire chest full of them stashed under my bed. Sirius' torn ink blotted scraps are my pathetic excuses for a love note. Even more pathetic is when I try to convince myself that the scrunched up paper balls aren't rubbish but rather Sirius' attempt at making me origami paper roses. The most pathetic thing of all is that Frank has anonymously given me A,B,C and D yet still I don't want the nice suitor. I crave the bad one.

These troublesome thoughts twirl around and around endlessly in my mind like the doll on the music box as I squat behind the statue of Lachlan the Lanky. What am I doing down here? I'm sure as hell not enjoying the view, especially since a pair of knobbly knees has just obstructed it. I don't have to look up to know who it is, I can tell from his polite stance. Yes, he even stands politely.

I remain ridiculously motionless, pretending to be in one of those muggle dinosaur movies where the dinosaurs can only see you if you move. But Frank's not a dinosaur. He's seen me and he's not budging. I pound my head repeatedly on the refreshingly cold statue. Maybe I'll knock myself out before he tries to talk to me. I thump my head against something squishy and open my eyes to find that Frank's slipped his hand there. He's crouching down on my level and he's sporting a good-humoured grin. Worse luck.

"Lottie, are you hiding from me?" He's stifling a laugh and it's infuriating. Where's a lake to push him in when you need one?

"Of course not, what makes you think that?" I reply, trying to lean casually against the statue while still squatting, as if to prove I'm not hiding but just rather just having a breather.

"Because you've been avoiding me all week. Before you deny it I'd like to point out that on Tuesday when I tried to talk to you, you ducked into the girls bathroom and didn't come out for two hours."

"I was dealing with some womanly issues—" I mouth suggestively but Frank cuts me off.

"On Wednesday you jumped out of a first floor window when I walked up to you."

"The corridor was too crowded, I get claustrophobic—"

"On Thursday," he presses on unwaveringly, "I heard you yell 'QUICK LILY, FRANK'S COMING, HIDE ME! Before you dived into a random Charms class." He pauses this time giving me a chance to retort but no matter how skilled a sweet talker I am, I can't worm my way out of that one.

"The Seventh Years told me you managed to con Flitwick into let you staying for the whole lesson. How'd you manage that?" He's practically rolling on the floor with laughter the lovable idiot. I'm glad he finds it so hilarious that I've been avoiding him like the plague. Why can't he ever get angry? Or at least mildly annoyed?

"I told him I had a free period." Frank waits patiently for me to elaborate. "And I said I wanted to capture his vivacious teaching skills on paper, in a portrait. I told him he was my artistic muse." Frank collapses against the statue, a cute snort highlighting his sniggers. "It was pretty funny," I admit truthfully. "He kept striking random poses."

"So you actually drew a picture of him?"

I answer by extracting a piece of parchment from my bag and showing him the drawing of a stick figure Flitwick.

"It didn't take very long to do," I say, gesturing to the small figure, "considering he's vertically challenged." Now Frank genuinely is rolling in the aisle with laughter forcing students passing by to leap over his giggling body. People are staring. I don't care, I'm used to it, but I can see what they're staring at. Frank the Prefect isn't the type to roll around on the floor and make an exhibition of himself. That's more Sirius' department.

"How did you find me?" I ask suddenly, abandoning all attempts to skirt around the fact that I'd been hiding from him. I thought my hiding skills were stellar. Apparently not.

"Locating spell," he answers simply. If he were Sirius he would have first pretended that he found me by the 'pure animal magnetism that draws us together.' Eventually he'd admit to the spell, then brag about how clever it was for a good ten minutes. There I go again comparing someone to Sirius. I'll often be in a conversation and all I can think about is how would Sirius react? How would Sirius be standing? How would Sirius hold his quill? (In case you're wondering he holds it loosely, allowing the fluffy feathers to tickle his nose as he stares off absent-mindedly into space).

"I know why you're avoiding me," Frank says solemnly. Oh goodness. Here we go.

"You're nervous about our date." In the name of Cornelius Fudge did Frank just say date?

"Uh…sorry?" Words can't do justice to my confusion at this moment.

"Haven't you heard Cherrywood? Apparently we're an item. The whole castle's talking about it. So when was I going to be informed of our blossoming romance? On the honeymoon?"

This is why I've been avoiding Frank all week. This very moment. Can you imagine if the person you had feelings for pretended to go out with you in order to make somebody else jealous? I don't even want to begin to imagine, it's torturous just being the one made jealous. Time to do damage control.

"Frank, I'm sorry about that, I don't know why I said it. You know what I'm like, I can be imaginative sometimes and James was hassling me—"

"You mean Sirius was hassling was you." Finally I meet his large ochre eyes. He's not shattered or disappointed like I was afraid he would be. In fact, he's laughing. Who knew I was such comedian?

"Lottie, you don't have to explain. I know how things are between you and Sirius." Lucky you Frank, I sure as Fudge don't.

"Maybe we should give the Three Broomsticks a miss," I suggest tentatively.

"Oh come off it Cherrywood stop worrying about my delicate feelings. I had a crush on you when I was thirteen. Get over it! I have."

I bite my lip to prevent myself from bringing up the Valentine's poems etc. over the years. Yes they were anonymous but I know Frank's handwriting better than I know my own, seeing as he's the one who often ends up writing out my homework for me. He ploughs on anyway and saves me from the temptation.

"You're really conceited, you know that?' Frank dons a kind smile. "Anyway, bailing on the Three Broomsticks isn't an option, unless you want to pack up your trunk right now and relocate to Hagrid's Hut?"

It's a widely known story how in Third Year I broke the record for the longest period without handing in a scrap of homework. McGonagall threatened me with expulsion by suggesting I ask Hagrid if he would need an assistant anytime soon. So I handed in my résumé to Hagrid. I was just having a laugh but ever since Hagrid keeps asking if I know how to handle a cross bow.

'"I guess you're right. I do need a good homework session at the Three Broomsticks. If Lily comes we should get through it all rather quickly." Frank looks at me with the kind of disapproving outrage that is a Prefect speciality.

"Joking! Joking! I know you're only going to help. I don't really expect you and Lily to do my homework for me."

But I'm hoping they might. You can't blame a girl for trying. In the merry making atmosphere of the pub they might get fed up with my procrastinating and just whip quickly through it all. It's a devious ploy that has yet to fail.

"So, have you by any chance debunked that silly rumour about us going around?"

"The one you started?" Frank laughs. "Is what you're really asking me, does Sirius know that it's bollocks?" I tilt my head in a way to say don't be ridiculous but I end up knocking my head on the statue by accident. Frank gives my forehead a comforting pat.

"Don't you worry your pretty little head. I've gone along with the charade for your sake because I know Sirius would never let you live down such a desperate lie." Desperate. I'm going to completely ignore the use of that word.

"So far when I've been asked if 'the rumour' is true I haven't answered. I've just smiled suggestively. You proud?"

Frank is beaming mischievously and I immediately feel guilty. It's one thing for me to lie; my first words were "I didn't do it," after I knocked over mum's gazillion year old antique vase. Frank on the other hand feels immoral if he tells a girl her hair looks fine when it really looks like an electrified bird's nest. This is why Lily doesn't want me to bring Frank into my games. I've already started to corrupt him. But he does seem to be genuinely unbothered by participating in the charade. No words can express my relief that he doesn't still harbour feelings for me. Crushing Frank Longbottom's heart is the eighth deadly sin, punishable by immediate death and burning in hell for all eternity.

"Frank! You cheeky sod. You're not allowed to lie! You're a disgrace to the sacred prefect institution!" I push him over playfully so that he's obstructing the corridor again. He bounces up grabbing my hand and heaving my body over his shoulder. I hang there limply. He's stronger than I am. Resistance is useless.

"Frank. What are you doing?" I ask calmly.

"You reminded me that I'm neglecting my prefect duties. First order of business, return Miss Cherrywood to History of Magic, which she's been 'forgetting' to attend for the last week."

"How do you even know these things?"

"I'm a prefect, it's my job to know!"

That's it. Resistance may be useless but I'm not going to be dragged back to that prison cell of boredom without putting up a good fight. I kick and pound Frank ferociously until he tickles me into submission. I don't think I would have noticed Sirius if I wasn't so attuned to his dangerous scent.

A contrasting whiff of spicy smoke and lolly sweet syrup tickles my nose. My gaze finds him standing silently in the entrance to a secret hallway; his face half obscured by a hanging tapestry. And I just have to walk pass him literally hanging off his friend's shoulders. He's visibly jolted and I can see what it must look like. Talking, laughing, rolling around in the corridor with Frank. When Sirius and I go out with people we rarely actually talk to them, as bad as that sounds. And they certainly never make us laugh.

I can tell by the way he has halted mid step, still holding the side of the tapestry up, that not only does Sirius believe I'm going out with Frank, he really thinks I like him. My stomach squirms uncomfortably as his eyes darken and lose their playful twinkle. I should feel victorious but I don't. This isn't a win. It's a loss. Maybe it's the greatest loss of all.