"It was just a game of gay chicken," Dean complained loudly, tenderly prodding his now swollen jaw as Sam peered around a corner in the Hufflepuff wing. "I don't see what you're getting so uptight about."

"We're brothers," Sam snapped, pulling their homemade EMF meter from his pocket. "And it's bad enough I'm getting mentally undressed by a girl who probably can't say the word 'sex' without inserting an 'm' into it. I can only stand so much sexual harassment in one day." He fiddled with the dial on the meter.

"Can I help it if you're so smmmmmexy?" Dean asked with a deep growl.

"Shut up," Sam ordered as the EMF detector suddenly went wild.

Immediately Dean's game face was on, and he reached into his back pocket for a vial of salt. "A read out like that, there must be at least a half dozen ghosts in here."

As the words left his mouth, a white, translucent figure floated past them, down the hallway. Dean snatched the EMF away from his brother and shoved it into his pocket, while pulling a short metal rod from the inside his pant leg.

Sam pulled a set of iron-tipped brass knuckles from his coat pocket, and slid them on, flexing his fingers.

"Look," he muttered as they moved swiftly and silently down the hall after the ghost, "it's just that it makes me feel uncomfortable, okay? I mean, it could be a real thing. One of us being sexually attracted to the other. We were raised in such weird conditions. We have a really close relationship. We're both really good looking."

"You got something you wanna share with me, Sammy?" Dean asked slyly, casting a grin at him.

"What if I did?" Sam replied, hand digging in his pocket for his own salt packet. "Would it be so funny then? Would you want to go around kissing my neck and making comments about my ass? Would you feel the same way?"

Dean stopped short and turned to give his brother a long, considering look. Sam straightened and looked down at his brother in silence. They stared at one another, until Sam felt his brother's questioning eyes finish burning their way through his body.

"Dude, I think that ghost is wearing a dog cone of shame," Dean said finally.

Sam turned to look. But the hallway was empty. He turned back to Dean.

A transparent, round face with dark eyes, and orange bow-tie and a maniacal grin was there instead, and it let out a cackle of glee as Sam howled and flung himself backwards.

"Oh FUCK," Sam gasped, and threw the salt in his hand at the apparition. But it had already disappeared, its haunting laughter still ringing in the arched stone ceiling of the hall.

Dean's face was covered in some kind of gooey, melted cheesy substance, and he was furiously trying to wipe it away. "Christ, motherfucker got it in my eyes," Dean hissed. "Burns like a son of a bitch."

"Hold on," Sam said, grabbing Dean's hands and pulling them away from his face. "You're going to make it worse if you rub at it." He pulled Dean's outer shirt off him and began to wipe the goo off his face in long sweeps. "This smells bizarre. And familiar."

Dean shuddered. "It smells like our motel rooms and dirty socks did when we were teenagers."

Sam choked on a laugh as he realized aloud, "Oh my god, it smells like that ghost sprayed your face with–"

"SHUT UP!" Dean sputtered.

A voice came echoing from somewhere in the hallway. "Two muggle brothers came to Hogwarts! Two muggle brother smell like pig farts! Two muggle brothers hunting a demon! Two muggle brothers covered in s-"

"Get it OFF!" Dean roared.

Hermione leaned against Ron, looking wistfully at her notes. "Do you see it, Ron? Do you see his penmanship? It's so perfect."

"Does lovesickness often cause seasickness?" Ron sniped to Harry. "Because I feel bloody nauseous."

"I think the only real side effect is herpes," Harry said vacantly, staring across the Gryffindor common room. "Do you see Fortunata's eyes?"

"Oh forget her eyes," Hermione sighed. "Who even cares. They're not hazel, and sparkling, and…" She heaved another sigh. "Absolutely perfect."

"You're atrocious like this," Ron griped, and moved away from her, so that she teetered on her feet for a moment before righting herself. "Sandy's probably almost forty, anyway."

"Sam," Hermione corrected him. "And he's in his late twenties. Maybe earlier thirties."

"Still too old for you," Ron retorted.

"Seriously, she keeps turning away, but I think there's something wrong with them," Harry said. "Same with Oliver's."

Ignoring him completely, Hermione stamped a foot and said, "Relationships with large age differences happen ALL THE TIME, and who are you to judge whether or not two people are meant to be?"

"Well it's a crime for him to date you, for one," Ron pointed out. "He would literally be breaking the law if he took you out to dinner. For another, he's obviously shagging Denny."

"Their eyes look black to me," Harry said, now with a slight panic. "Do you think they're black?"

"They're BROTHERS!" Hermione said shrilly. "I don't care what Neville thinks he saw, he's a cotton-headed ninny-muggins who can't even remember to tie his shoelaces in the morning. You ought to learn to control yourself, Ronald Weasley, and not go spreading lies about other people!"

"Spreading lies?" Ron gasped, scandalized. "It's not a lie if someone saw it, besides which, we were all there when they snuggled on the floor of Transfiguration! That's not a rumor, that's what we all SAW with our own eyes! There's something wrong with those two, I should know!"

"That's not what you said to Neville when he was telling us about it!" Hermione snapped.

"Guys," Harry said softly.

"What?" Ron snapped. He paused, suddenly realizing that the common room had gone silent.

And that thirty pairs of black eyes were focused on them.