Wren felt that saying 'what do you want, Durinson?' would be bloody repetitive so she just glared at him. Considering they were still in the Great Hall full of students, and they had already started attracting attention. He was looming over her, bloody hell, the top of her head hardly reached his clavicles, and she gave him an askew look. She properly hoped it didn't look like she was making eyes at him. Fuck, he was fit, the even skin, piercing blue eyes, and that nose… She gulped under his studying look, and then he grinned widely.

"Shouldn't we find some secluded corner to chat, love? You probably don't want to do it in front of all school, not to tarnish your impeccable reputation by associating with the manwhore such as myself," his tone was sarcastic but light, as if saying that he himself cared little about his reputation.

"And leaving with you would help my case how?" She bit back, and immediately regretted even answering him. He guffawed, and she thought she should've kept her gob shut. He suddenly leaned to her ear, and if she were a cat, fur would immediately stand up at her nape.

"Would you like me to pretend to drag you out of here by force?" He purred into her ear, and his breath brushed her helix. He moved back, slowly, obviously stretching it, and she skewed her eyes. She saw the corners of his lips curve up, and then his nose brushed her cheekbone. She jolted, and she thought she heard a soft chuckle. He was playing her and doing a jolly good job. She suddenly felt livid.

"Say what you want and sod off," she sneered through her teeth, and he straightened up looking at her down his long nose. Damn his nose.

"I can help you keep your private classes with Professor McGonagall." He spoke quietly, so that the students at the nearest table, who were busy pretending to not stare at the two of them, didn't hear anything. Although they probably heard a squeak that she emitted. She clasped a hand over her mouth, grabbed his sleeve, and started dragging him out of the Hall. He was chuckling, but she didn't give a shite.

"Hold your horses, love, I know you are in anticipation..." He announced loudly in theatrical voice, and half the Hall looked at them but she didn't care.

She pushed him in some closet, he was still chuckling throatily, and she closed the door behind them and pulled her wand out lighting it up between them.

"What do you know, Durinson?" He was grinning, odd shadows dancing on his face, and she just realised they were pretty much squished together in a narrow space. She didn't bloody care. She lifted the wand and pretty much poked the tip of his nose, "So?"

"I know that you are taking additional classes with Professor McGonagall, and I know that tomorrow my father will make an official announcement which will pretty much conk out your little private sessions of being awesome in Transfiguration." She made sure the relief she felt didn't splash on her face. He didn't know anything.

"So will yours, with Longbottom and Slughorn, so I don't see why you look so chuffed," she hissed back at him, and he gave her one of his big cat grins.

"I'm so chuffed, my darling," he made big eyes at her, "Because I know how to keep mine. And the hours I volunteer in the Hospital Wing helping the poor and the sick," his voice was sing-song, and she rolled her eyes.

"Yes, yes, you are pretty much Harry Potter of our generation, the martyr and the saint. Get to the point, Durinson!" He guffawed, and she shushed him. The last thing she needed was someone to decide to check the noises coming from this closet.

"You are a bossy little thing, aren't you?" He slightly tilted his head and gave her a predatorial look over. Whatever, he could help her keep her classes!

"Alright, what do you want in return, Durinson? I know you want something." He knew she was in his power, she could see smugness washing over him, but surely he wouldn't…

"Go out with me to Hogsmeade this weekend, a nice little date, just like the one you had with Anderson the second weekend, butterbeer and such, and on the way back I'll tell you how you and I are going to continue our academic endeavours." He was looking directly in her eyes, his lips slightly smiling, and she weighed her options in her head.

She didn't have much to lose. To withstand one date with him was no problem, he tended to grab her hand and stuff, but besides that he didn't cross any boundaries, and it's not like she was agreeing to anything more. Slag or not, he was still respectful and they would be in a public place. It's not like he would drag her in a dark back alley behind the Three Broomsticks or something.

Everyone would know, on the other hand, and most would assume that he shagged her at the end of that evening, but who cared?! What was important was her classes and consequently her career. And nothing, fucking nothing would stand in her way! If she had to bash on through everyone whispering behind her back that she was yet another daft cow to spread her legs for him, she didn't care.

"OK, I'll do it," she glared at him, "But I need you to swear to me." He smirked.

"Would you like me to swear the Unbreakable Vow?"

"Don't be a plonker, of course not. Maybe just some smaller spell, a jinxed parchment you'd sign," her mind worked quickly, and she was recollecting the spells she knew that could work, "Say, if you break your promise, you get covered in spots, or maybe your nose grows purple, or..."

"Leary," his voice was suddenly firm and assertive, and she froze with her mouth half open. He picked up her chin with his long index finger and made her look into his eyes, "You have my word that at the end of the date I'll tell you how to keep your classes." His eyes were cold and tense, and she exhaled.

"OK, if you give me your word, I accept." His face immediately lost its hard expression, and he smiled from ear to ear.

"Ace, I'll be waiting for you in the Entrance Hall at ten. Don't be late." He opened the door and disappeared. She closed it behind him deciding she didn't mind another five minutes in the dark dusty closet. Her cheeks were burning, and hands shaking. What the bloody hell had she gotten herself into?

The day was rainy and cold, she pulled on her oversized military jacket, the dullest grey jumper, old and faded, braided her hair, no makeup, no accessories. She agreed to go through this, but no one said she was supposed to be enjoying it. It was ten, and he was late. Students were walking by her, and with every minute she was feeling worse and worse. She suddenly clearly imagined that he wouldn't show up, just to humiliate her, just to prove his point.

She saw Auggie and Thea going down the Grand Staircase, and she wanted to scream and run. She hadn't said anything to Thea about it, they hardly communicated since she broke it off with Auggie for the second time, although the bloke himself seemed rather fine with it. He gave her a wave, and she felt her cheeks and ears burn. They had broken up, she had nothing to feel guilty about!

And it's not that there was anything between her and Durinson! He wanted to parade her in front of others in Hogsmeade, fine with her, he would get yet another notch on his bedpost in the eyes of other students, she would get her classes.

"Hey, Wren, going to Hogsmeade?" Bilbo's voice shook her out of her stupour, she stood, pressing her back to the wall, hiding the lower half of her face behind the collar. Bilbo was standing in front of her, smiling sunnily, a hat with a funny yellow pompon and a long orange scarf. With every fiber of her bloody soul she suddenly wished it were him she was going to the village with, just a nice walk with a mate, talking about classes, nice and…

"Are you chatting up my date, Baggins?" Durinson's sarcastic voice came from behind Wren, and she tensed. Just as she predicted a second before he moved, his arm went around her shoulders, and she dropped her eyes to the floor. She really didn't need to see the disappointment that was surely splashing in Bilbo's eyes.

Fucker, tosser, the next thing he should have done was to run around her and pee on her so everyone knew he had claimed his stake. Wanker. Baggins mumbled something incoherent and sprinted away from them. She stepped back from the Durinson prick and threw him a cheesed off glare.

"You really didn't need to snub him like that," she realised she was shaking, her voice an enraged hiss, "Everyone will see us in the village anyroad, no need to humiliate my friends in addition of dragging me through the dirt." His eyebrows hiked up, and for a moment his face wavered. The lips set in a tense line, and he drew his thick black eyebrows together.

"Dragging you… I didn't realise that is how you see it..." His voice was quiet, and she pouted at him. If he was now trying to make it look like she had gone out with him voluntarily, he was setting himself up for a disappointment. He stood in silence for bit, but then his lips twitched and his wankerish smug expression was back, and he looped his arm, "Shall we?" She stepped closer and pushed her hand through his arm. He looked down at her with an unreadable expression.

"Where are you mitts, Leary? It's brass monkeys there." She jerked her face up and stared at him. She was indeed always cold, it's just… not something she'd expected from the wanker.

"I forgot them in the dormitory..." Why was she bloody mumbling and explaining herself? He sighed as if exasperated, and grabbed her hand in his. He intertwined their fingers, she felt every inch of skin that was pressed to his scorching palm, and pushed their clasped hands into his pocket. He was wearing a stylish Duffle coat with toggle buttons, soft, of rich dark navy blue, and the pocket was silky inside.

"Hide the other hand, Leary, we wouldn't want your extraordinary right one to fall off, do we? We can't let such talent in Charms get arsed up." He gave her a white toothed grin, and she obediently pushed the other hand into her pocket. She just needed to survive this date, she kept on repeating to herself, just one bloody date. After all he just wanted to show everyone that even this one hadn't escaped him. Whatever. She didn't care much for her reputation anyroad.

He was walking confidently, and she was shuffling after him. He kept on gently tugging at her hand, spurring her, and she was slowly getting more and more cheesed off.

"I am sorry I was late, I was getting the list from my nephews," his tone was amicable and light, and she clenched her teeth. She was not going to let him make a muggins out of her, she kept her gob shut and just walked. He suddenly laughed warmly. "Blimey, Leary, you are really nippy, aren't you?" She glared at him, and immediately scolded herself. Not looking, Wren, not looking! Bugger, he looked good. The waves were loose, thick and luscious, tucked behind his ears, a few run away curls on the sides of his face, curlier because of the manky drizzle in the air, colourful striped scarf around his neck, and his eyes were smiling. "What did the two weans do to you? You are not even going to ask what they wanted?" He was playing her like Wintringham played his lute, but she had seen his nephews. No one was hard enough to ignore the two dotes. She sighed and gave in.

"What sort of list did your nephews give you?" She made sure she sounded as cheesed off as she felt, but nothing could arse up his good mood apparently.

"Well, the sweets of course," he pulled a parchment from the other pocket, still holding her left hand firmly in the warmth of his right one, it was hot and dry, and so bloody pleasant that she considered chopping her own off, she wouldn't be able to forget this feeling, and he started reading. Damn his voice. Damn his too low for a seventeen year old git, velvet, musical voice. Fuck. "Fizzing Whizzbees, two each, Glacial Snow Flakes, package each, Crystallised Pineapple, one box, Mice Pops, three each, and what is the most interesting I am supposed to pay for these from my own pocket. There is no justice in this world!" He dramatically shook the list in the air and then pressed it to his forehead, faking deep sadness, and Wren realised she was laughing at his joke only when it was too late to take it back and her eyes met his sparkling blue ones.

Bloody hell, she was in trouble. She had properly and irrevocably cocked up.