why don't we just DANCE

[bran]

Bran had a problem.

He wasn’t the type of guy who could, er, easily talk to girls. Maybe a couple were okay. Like, okay, he could sort-of talk to Roxanne Reid, because she was in his house for the past six years and she wasn’t as bad as some people. Narcissa Black was in his house and year too, for instance, but she was a bit of a bitch (Bran thought, anyway) so he tended to avoid her. See, with some girls, he could say passing sentences to, or he could answer questions if they didn’t require too much contemplation. “Did you do last night’s homework?” required only “yes” or “no”, as did “Can I borrow your book?” and “Do I have something in my teeth?”

See, those were okay. And, okay, he wasn’t completely inept at talking to girls. If they talked to him first, he could almost have a normal conversation. His side would always be short and quiet, with as little words as possible, but it’d be okay.

Starting conversation with a girl was another matter entirely.

On that particular day, Charms had been a terribly boring class. They had done no practical work, settling instead for taking notes the entire time. Even Professor Flitwick hadn’t been particularly chatty, which was rather unusual. Bran had only taken a couple notes, settling instead for doodling in the margins and daydreaming. Most of this stuff was in their textbooks, so he’d just read it later to study it. Bran’s memory was something that made him rather unusual, even at Hogwarts. After looking into it a little to satisfy his own curiosity, he’d reached the conclusion that he had an eidetic memory. A doctor hadn’t confirmed it or anything, and he didn’t really wanna go see one because he was afraid they’d do a bunch of tests or something. If there was one thing Bran really hated, it was needles. And, you know, being treated like a lab rat or something. No thank you. In any case, with his particular memory, he didn’t have to read a passage over and over to get it into his head. His highest grades came from tests with straight-forward answers, where he basically regurgitated the textbook or notes back onto the parchment. That was all just memory work; he did have trouble with the written responses, or anything where he needed to form an opinion, because he really didn’t have a way with words and everything got jumbled on the page. He’d actually been confronted about his unusual test scores in his early years; it was easy to think that Bran cheated because of the sometimes vast difference in marks. But no one could prove anything, and he wasn’t really wanting to share that his memory was just really good, so nothing could ever be done about it.

In any case, a boring class gave Bran time to look around at the rest of his classmates. The Slytherins were in with the Gryffindors that day; Roxy and Clementine Knight were sitting together, both looking as stunning as ever. Sam Raisz was fast asleep with his head on the desk and a drool spot marking the page. That Wendy girl was actually sitting far away from that bloke she’d been sleeping with (Bran may not have had many friends, but he knew the gossip going around school), so either they weren’t sleeping together anymore or they were having some sort of tiff. Right ahead of him sat Maylene Bell, who looked like she’d rather be outside than in. Bran couldn’t blame her. The weather looked quite nice for early March, and class was so dull today that even he wanted to be outside.

After much, much too long, class ended and Flitwick dismissed them all. Bran, who’d taken to daydreaming in the last ten minutes, only noticed when his classmates were getting up and heading to the door. He gathered his books, placing them neatly into his bag, and waited until the people behind him had passed before rising to his feet. It only hit him as he heard excited, loud voices from the halls that this was the last class of the day and they were free to enjoy the sunshine while it lasted; smiling, Bran started for the door, his spirits perking up a bit. He was passing May’s desk when he glanced underneath it and saw a textbook on the floor; picking it up and opening it, he saw that it was hers, and she’d forgotten it after class.

Ah. Shit.

And this was Bran’s problem: he had to give May her textbook back, because… well, because he should, really. He could have left it for her, but he’d picked it up, and Flitwick had seen him do it, so he couldn’t just put it down and pretend it never happened. He had to actually go up to Maylene Bell and get her attention so that he could give her the textbook and walk away.

… Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

Er, if he could get her attention easily enough. Which might be easier said than done, because May was popular, he knew. And she was Quidditch captain. And. Oh god. Okay.

No no, he could do this. It really wasn’t hard. He was just making a bigger deal out of it than he needed to. He was not a wuss. Not today. He could talk to a bloody girl, no problem!

He clenched his free fist in determination, clutching May’s textbook under his arm as he started off down the hall. He could see her retreating back as she headed down the corridor with her friends. Right. He’d just go up closer and say her name—

“May! Halt!”

… He really just shouted that across the corridor. Oh Merlin. Kill him now.

MAYLENE BELL

[Maylene Bell]

The way May worked in school was very simple, really. She got excited over practical work, loved to wave her wand around and wasn’t put-off when things didn’t go the way they were supposed to. She did her homework by timing herself and reaching an objective when she was done with a piece of work. She neither studied nor paid rapt attention in class, and her way was the only way that really worked. So in classes like these, when what they were supposed to do was take notes and attempt to learn from a textbook instead of interactively from the teacher, she was as present in mind as Professor Slughorn would be during a reading of Keats’s poetry. Of course she did take out a piece of parchment, her ink, a quill, and sat next to Julien, nodding along to what Flitwick was saying about the assignment until he’d finished speaking and disappeared behind his desk again. A pile of books stood in front of him and May had to lean all the way over her desk to catch a glimpse of the side of his head around them; this was fantastic. See, May was kind of…easily amused. Although one wouldn’t say easily distracted, she definitely became entirely too focused on things with little importance when she thought them amusing enough, and before she knew it, she was having a contest with Julien on who could light more balls of parchment and keep them floating in the air over their desk.

After she got an itch on her side and her wand arm flailed a little, causing the balls to drop onto her desk and sent her materials flying to the ground while she avoided setting fire to the classroom, they decided it was good idea to call it a tie and find a safer way to entertain themselves. Still snickering, May leaned over the side of her desk to grab the rest of her parchment rolls and a spare quill that had tumbled over the edge and set them back on top of it. The hem of her robe that fell over her right wrist a little was charred, and she quickly scraped it off with the tip of her wand as well as she could before giving up. Instead, she grabbed some notes from her bag and splayed them out in front of her, motioning for Julien to look over at what she was doing.

See, May was kind of under a lot of pressure right now.

Not in general, really, and she wasn’t the type of person to get stressed out or anything like that, but right now wasn’t the best of times as far as relaxation went. She usually let things roll off her shoulders easily, but this time it wasn’t that simple. See, Gryffindor was playing a Quidditch match against Ravenclaw in only a few weeks—she didn’t care if those weeks made up months or not—time, and it was, most definitely, the most important match of the year. If they didn’t beat the Ravenclaws by at least 230 points—if she’d done the math right, which it was quite possible that she hadn’t but a number around that—then they had no chance of getting to the final match for the House Cup, and it’d be between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. And really, the Hufflepuff team wasn’t even that good now that Lyle was taking a break from the sport, but they’d still managed to win both of their games this season, and beat Gryffindor 250-0. It had taken all of her willpower not to let the entire team drown themselves in the showers afterwards, including herself. She was pretty sure Cross had been about to go bash Gideon Prewett’s head in if she hadn’t called a team meeting. Either way, this match was vital for them, if they wanted to make it. She would not let her team to another loss in her final year at Hogwarts.

So what she spent the rest of the class doing was listing the new strategies they’d been playing out in practices lately and using a spell she’d found in Quidditch: The Mastermind to make the little red dots move around the piece of parchment. Ravenclaw played defense, most of the time. They focused on their Keeper, so they had to find a way to increase their offense, and she’d been meaning to try out a new move with the chasers that she discussed with Julien during the rest of the hour until the bell rang and she had to stuff the parchment back in her bag. “I’m thinking of adding practices on Fridays, too,” May mused out loud to Julien, pushing her chair back and slinging her bag over her shoulder while she walked out of the class. Spotting Kieran leaving a little ways ahead of her in the hallway, she cupped her mouth and called out louder, “That includes you, too, Sullivan! No hot dates this month.

[/color]” Chuckling a little, she glanced back to wait for Alice before moving again, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Are you in as much pressure as I am right now?[/color]” she asked her friend, giving her a look. “I know I’m not the biggest fan of cheerleading but we are going to need all the support we can get in the next game, so you guys better step up your game.[/color]”

Then a voice called out from behind her to halt.

Skidding to a stop, May raised her eyebrows and turned around to see that sixth year kid, Bran, on the other side of the corridor. Her smile widened on her face and she laughed a little before shoving at Julien’s back lightly. “Go on ahead, I’ll catch up with you later,[/color]” she told them both, nodding and moving back a couple of steps, going against the student current and bumping shoulders a little before stepping in front of him. “What’s up, squirt?[/color]” she grinned, reaching up to nuzzle the top of his head with her knuckles. It was just so tempting. His cut looked so fuzzy all the time, she couldn’t resist.

And the way he looked like he was facing Voldemort himself was adorable.

[/color][/blockquote][/blockquote]

[bran]

Well. Bran had succeeded in getting May’s attention, at the very least. She was coming toward him and he was just standing there stupidly, having frozen to the spot when she started his way. He found himself actually making eye contact as she drew closer, which was probably why he didn’t see her hand in his peripherals until it was right above his head and – good lord, she was ruffling his hair. Or what was left of it, anyway, after he’d had it buzzed off over holidays. His brain seemed to shut off, and for a moment he found himself unable to find actual vocabulary in his head to tell her just why he’d shouted at her to halt, of all things.

“Er… Squirt?” he managed, cocking his head to the side. Well, it was a sentence, at the very least. Bran didn’t think he was much of a ‘squirt’, though. Not that he was the tallest guy in school, but he definitely wasn’t short. Average-height, he supposed, and he was taller than May, so ‘squirt’ wasn’t the most appropriate nickname. Then again, this was Maylene Bell, Gryffindor Quidditch captain, extremely pretty girl who probably didn’t know how amazingly pretty she actually was, so she could call him whatever the hell she wanted, as far as Bran was concerned. Bob. Or Franz. Or… Bucko. Squirt would do, if she wanted to call him Squirt.

… The thoughts were just in his head, and he knew there was no way for May to hear them, but blimey, he was embarrassing himself. He already felt his cheeks getting warm; being around pretty girls, and having them focused on him, always made him blush. All right, he needed to stop acting like a stupid prat now. May was friends with Alice, he knew. He and Alice got along all right – mostly because of their shared love of comics, but whatever. He could talk to Maylene Bell without buggering it all up.

“Nevermind, uh… You have a book. I mean, you forgot it. Back in the – Flitwick. I mean, In Flitwick’s class. Under the desk. So I picked it up, and here it is, here you go, and I wish I was uh, better at this, or elsewhere, but here.” He practically shoved the book at May, wincing a little at the impact and blushing as his knuckles brushed her ribcage. “Shit, um, sorry, I didn’t… take your bloody book, will you?” Oh, great, be rude to her, that’d fix everything! He’d never had to face the wrath of Alice before, but he was pretty sure hurting one of her friends would put him on her shit list. He’d seen Alice when she was excited about things, and he sure as hell didn’t want to see her pissed. Excited was scary enough.

Bran released the book, but apparently too soon since it fell to the—well, it would have hit the floor if it hadn’t bounced off May’s foot first. Cursing under his breath, Bran dropped to his knees (quite literally, too: his robes billowed around him as he went down) and grabbed the book with both hands, pushing himself back up just as fast and was just grateful he didn’t bonk against May’s chin or nose or something, since this was already enough of a catastrophe. Finally standing up straight, he took a deep breath before holding the book out for her and actually waiting for her to take it from him this time. “Er… okay, here. Oops.” He gave an awkward chuckle and pushed it into her hands a bit.

“Hope I didn’t kill your foot.”

Because that, right there, was the epitome of intelligence.