"Oh, there you are," Jefferson said as Belle finally emerged from the girls' dormitory and into the Ravenclaw common room. "Come on, I've been waiting."

Belle looked reproachful at his impatient tone. "I couldn't find my textbook," she said, holding up her copy of A History of Magic.

"Come on," he urged, pulling her by the arm.

"Just go without me, if you're so worried about being late!" she snapped, jerking her arm free.

Jefferson dropped his jaw indignantly. "Go without you? Belle, we're a couple now! We can't be separated! Not ever! Are you mad, woman?"

Belle gave an unwilling laugh. Ever since they'd arranged to go to the Yule Ball together, Jefferson had insisted they behave as ridiculously as the other couples: every time, she entered the room, he would beam at her and greet her with an overenthusiastic, "Belle!" ; if they walked together in the halls, he would laugh obnoxiously as other giggling couples passed; and when she tried to detach herself from him, he would go down on his knees and wail, "Don't leave me!"

The first few times, everyone thought it was funny. But once they caught onto the fact that he was mocking them, they all stopped laughing.

They walked down the stairway together, as Jefferson had become accustomed to. Ever since Neal had asked Emma to the Yule Ball, they'd spent more and more time together, leaving Belle and Jefferson to their own devices. But it was all right: now they had even more time to discuss their new favorite topic: O.W.L.s.

"So, I asked Snape about it, and he said that he hadn't the slightest idea what potions they would test us on, so it was better we learn all of them. Of course, I was planning to anyway, but…" Jefferson heaved a sighed. "He's so unhelpful. I just hope there's not too much theory-work on the Potions section, I have such a hard time remembering which ingredients have covalent binding agents."

"Oh, I hate binding agents," Belle groaned.

"Well, I don't think anybody likes binding agents," he said reasonably. "But at least the ionic ones are…"

He trailed off as they both stopped, staring as Victor Whale turned the corner in vividly lilac robes. Howling laughter followed him and as the got closer, they saw why: everything—everything— from his tie to his shoelaces, was lilac. He was glaring straight ahead, muttering under his breath, his lilac robes billowing behind him as he strode past. As they walked on, they saw Killian Jones laying on the floor, laughing hysterically.

"They have a strange friendship," Jefferson said, watching him with raised eyebrows, as they continued walking.

"Why do I think Jones is responsible for Whale's robes?" Belle said dryly. "Mind you, I don't know how he managed…he's dreadful at Charms."

"Probably did it the Muggle way," Jefferson shrugged. "Or maybe he's got a hidden talent for prank spells."

"Maybe," Belle mused, sounding unconvinced. "Somehow I doubt he's clever enough for that. Most Quidditch players are even stupider than Quidditch is."

Jefferson stopped dead in his tracks, staring at her in horror. She glanced over her shoulder, looking surprised.

"Oh, I didn't mean Neal," she said quickly. "Neal's obviously not—"

"Are you suggesting Quidditch is stupid?" he thundered, causing several students to turn their heads and stare at him. How dare she! She knew his dedication to Quidditch, having implied his devotion was reaching pathetically high levels. She had seen his shrine to the Tornadoes. She had listened to him, Emma, and Neal discussing Quidditch matches feverishly, analyzing every move by every playing, debating the merits of this team versus that team. And she sat by him nearly every school Quidditch match, while he wore his (admittedly ridiculous) large Ravenclaw hat, listening to him scream at every move made.

"Jefferson," the she-devil said gently. "Don't get upset—Jefferson!" she said exasperatedly as he stalked past her. "Stop!"

"WE ARE BREAKING UP!" he hollered, so loudly that everyone paused in what they were doing to stare at them. Even Jones had stopped laughing and was watching the scene with raised eyebrows.

Belle rubbed the corners of her eyes. "Not now," she said tiredly. "Please not now—"

"Don't talk to me!" he said, turning on his heel dramatically. She sighed heavily and hurried after him.

"Jefferson!"

He stormed into the History of Magic classroom, and slammed his bag down on his desk. He glowered at her when she walked in, looking impatient.

"I'm sorry," she said, sliding into the seat beside him.

"I don't want to talk to you."

Emma, a few seats over, turned her head. "You two okay?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It's just our first couples'-spat, don't worry about it," Jefferson said moodily. Emma raised her eyes to the ceiling and went back to trying to make her textbook tap-dance.

Belle huffed angrily. "You're impossible!"

He buried his head in his arms. "You hate Quidditch," he said in a muffled voice.

Belle didn't answer. He lifted his head to peek at her: she was taking out her notes, studiously ignoring him.

"Belle," he tried.

She checked her quill, tapping it against her finger.

"Belle."

She smoothed her parchment, straightening the sheets.

Jefferson let out a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry," he said. "But you know how I feel about Quidditch."

"And you know how I feel about Quidditch," she said tartly, lowering her voice as Binns began his lecture.

Jefferson pulled out his quill and started taking notes about yet another goblin rebellion in the 1800s. He could see Emma out of the corner of his eye, concentrating on controlling a small purple flame dancing in mid-air.

"…Ragnok the Resilient chose to attack using a spearhead formation. Now, the Ministry at this time forbade the use of attack spells against inferior magical creatures, but as it was stated in the hearing that followed the incident, which species can be defined as inferior…?"

"Belle."

"I am trying to learn about Ragnok the Resilient if you don't mind," she said irritably. "I don't have time to argue with you about the Chudley Cannonballs."

He closed his eyes, forcing himself not to correct her. "We won't talk about Quidditch, I promise."

"What do you want, then?" she sighed tiredly.

"What did Jones want the other day?" he asked curiously. It was something that had been bugging him, especially since Belle insisted on acting so secretive about it. Emma and Neal had battered her with questions the whole rest of lunch, but she had just shook her head and said, "No. I said I wouldn't say anything."

Jefferson had chosen to take the more delicate approach: he'd spring the question on her randomly, hoping to startle her into answering; all he accomplished was a disapproving frown and a firm, "Go away, Jefferson."

"Why do you keep asking me that?" she hissed.

"Because you're not telling me."

"Why do you need to know?"

"Belle," he said in an injured tone, "we're a couple. We can't keep secrets from one another!"

"Shh!" she said, looking toward Professor Binns. Jefferson pulled out his wand, and muttered, "Muffliato."

"All right, go on," he said eagerly, motioning for her to talk. Belle twitched her mouth back and forth a few times.

"Fine," she relented. "But you can't tell anyone—not even those two," she said, jutting her head toward Neal and Emma.

"Won't breathe a word," he promised. "Now, come on."

She looked around guiltily for a minute. "He asked me to help him with Charms."

"Oh." Jefferson felt slightly disappointed. "Is that it?"

"Yes," she said, frowning. "Sorry, not dramatic enough for you?"

"Well…" He tilted his hand back and forth. "It's a bit lackluster, yeah."

"Sorry," she said shortly, going back to her notes.

"No, no, don't get offended. I'm just saying, I thought it was going to be something like, 'Belle, I've killed a hippogriff, help me hide the body' or something." Jefferson picked up his quill again. "Why'd he ask you for help, anyway?"

She frowned at him. "What is that supposed to mean?"

He shrugged. "Well, if I were Jones, I'd have asked the best person in our year."

"Right," she said dangerously. "And he did."

"No. He asked you." He glanced at her darkening face. "Don't get angry, you're still the second-best."

"You think you're better than me?"

"Frankly, yes."

"Oh, really?" she said, her voice turning shrill. "Care to test that theory?"

"Mmm," he said absently.

"Wizard's duel. Next Hogsmeade visit."

"All right," he said, frowning at Emma's purple flame, which was dancing closer and closer to Ruby Lucas's braid.

"And make sure you stock up on your defensive spells, because—"

"Right, yeah. Aquamenti!" he shouted suddenly, sending a jet of water at Ruby's smoldering braid. Ruby shrieked, covering her head with her hands, while Binns plowed on, not noticing the scene before him.

"…Augustus Pensky legally defended Ragnok before the Wizengamot Council, even though later that year he would found the Organization of Goblin Restriction…"

Belle glared at him as he gave her a self-satisfied smile and stowed his wand away, ignoring Ruby's furious look in his direction. "Is that supposed to be impressive?" she snapped.

"Just doing my civic duty," he shrugged. "Why, are you impressed?"

"Not really."

"Good. If you were, that duel would be too easy."