When the new Transfig professor had started ragging on Naomi, Connor had stayed quiet, amazed that the old geezer had it in him to get hung up over something like that. From right off the bat the man had seemed pretty harmless—if a little stiff, kinda deaf, and way biased against Slytherins. Getting on someone for fidgeting, though, was a bit much… But he had kept his mouth shut because this was Ny the fogey was dealing with. He wanted to see how it’d turn out without his, ahem, help.

And so sleepy blue eyes had widened and widened, until his jaw had gone slack and the boy found himself watching the dark-skinned girl whisk his roommate away.

When Ronnie and Kelvin got their wands, though… well, that had settled it. There was no way Connor was gonna stick around after that. -Not that he was afraid losing points or anything—ha, no—but listening to the old man ramble on about shite while Torret and O’Doherty racked up some seemed a bit much to deal with on the first day of class. Not to mention he was sorely tempted to-

heh

-twirl his wand, too. (Man, he was awful, even in his own head…) So yeah—of course he’d absconded, under the guise of a trip to the loo after fobbing his stuff onto Kelvin. A telling take care o’ me stuff, mate later, Connor had cheerfully strolled out of the classroom and never came back. Now he was dawdling in the Great Hall, spending the last few minutes of Transfiguration outside its fusty classroom and weirdo teacher, all in hopes that he’d snag one sharp-tongued Slytherin in particular before she swept off to God-knew-where.

Thickly glazed with boredom, the Ravenclaw’s eyes traveled from head to head, wandering all over the hall as fingertips drummed impatiently against the table. Urgh, where was she? Or was Sandusky really that much of a stiff that he’d release them exactly at two-?

He caught sight of dirty blonde hair and brightened.

“ ‘Ey, Ward!” he called out, obnoxiously cheerful and loud as he pushed off the bench. Clearly he cared about any of his other classmates catching hanging out in the Hall… or their professor, for that matter. All swagger and smiles, Connor sauntered up to the girl, his shoulders thrown back and his hands tucked in his pockets as he grinned down at the girl’s scowling expression. “Glad t’ see you made it outta Transfig alive. Is Kelvin with you? No?”

Briefly, he craned his head, as if it was completely necessary to put another inch or so over the girl—on top of the couple he already had. When his fellow Ravenclaw failed to make an appearance, he shrugged and looked back at her. Ah, well, he’d catch up with him later; he still needed his shite for History, after all. Anyways~

Connor threw a long, spindly arm over her shoulders and pulled her tight against his side, all friendly-like and still grinning. “How was class, love? What other fun, amazin’ things did I miss?”

Ronnie knew there would be no repercussions for her stupidity in Transfiguration. From her family, anyhow. Huck would most likely tease her about it and Penny would find it crass and ridiculous, but Veronica just couldn't bring herself to care. And neither, she knew, could her parents, who were still plenty shaken by the events of the summer between her mother losing her job and stupid Huxley getting his ass beat in a shady alley.

She sat silently through the rest of class, all her things packed (well, except for her wand, which sat neatly on his desk- the bastard.) and her face impassive. She had a very hard time taking punishment from a guy who didn't exactly command respect. She was sure that taking their wands had been a way to try and assert himself as being in charge, but it didn't ring true for her, regardless.

And then it seemed like half the bleedin' class up and left.  Ny and Connor. And Blake. Kind of. She wished she'd thought of it first. The awkwardness of trying to remain aloof was starting to wear on her.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she scooped up her bag and strode briskly out of the room, not making eye contact with a single soul. Was it that she really cared about being punished? ...Well, no. That was almost the whole point of her idiotic gesture. At the time- and trust her, she knew it was stupid- she had figured that if she made enough of a horse's ass of herself, Sandusky would simply forget to take Kelvin's wand.

He hadn't.

She flipped a clump of frazzled blonde hair away from her face and was attempting to get a mid-day eating-my-feelings snack when a familiar voice rang out-

"'Ey! Ward!"

A quick, hitched breath escaped her. As it always did when she didn't prepare herself for the sound of his voice. Connor Todd. She composed herself again and let her face sink back into a scowl. "What do you think you missed?" she said, shoving the strap of her bag into his hands. The Great Hall felt like a damn oven, though she could have guessed that it was just her red face tricking her into feeling overheated. Once she was shed of her burden she stripped off her sweater and loosened her tie. Better. She was sure she looked like a mess, though, with her hair tousled and her shirt sleeves rolled up and her face all flushed.

"What are you doing right now? You wanna find somewhere quiet?" she asked, her big slate-colored eyes looking somehow innocent and utterly sinful at the same time.

At the sight of that flushed, too red face, Connor grinned a soppy, shit-eating grin. Urf, she was hot—like, all the time. Tucking her bag under an arm, he leaned in close again, leering leering leering the way only a fourteen-year-old boy with girls on the mind can. “I dunno,” he drawled, gently poking away a stray lock of hair from her face. From under heavy lids, blue eyes positively gleamed; it was the kind of shine that had made more than a few knees lock ‘n tremble—as well as some brotherly knuckles pop warningly. “What’s tha point of findin’ somewhere quiet if y’ can’t stay quiet?”

Personally, he’d never been the hushed-mouth type himself.

Then, quick as a blink, Connor closed the distance—just enough for him to flick her cheek with the lightest of licks—and snapped his head back, revealing a smirk that’d taken a turn for the cheeky. “Ye should prolly cool off first, though,” he told her, his own eyes mirroring that innocent look she’d been giving him just moments before. “I know dogs loll ther’ tongue out an’ pigs roll in mud~”

   

Her eyes followed his hand as he brushed her hair aside. His fingers felt a little tingly on her face, the way menthol cigarettes felt in her lungs. The way they made her melt.

He was insufferable, really. The worst day of the year so far- though it was in fact the beginning of the year- and here he was making her already red face a million times redder. She tried to make a frustrated huff noise at him, but all that came out was a hitched hic sound that- much to her chagrin- gave away exactly how flustered she really was.

"Are you trying to say I remind you of a pig, Connor?" she smirked a little. Shit. She didn't want to smirk. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction. Shifting her hips to put her weight on her other foot, she folded her arms. "If that's the way you're going to treat me, I might as well just go back to the dorms and hang out with myself."

The leer came back in a flash. “If y’ seriously thought that was a threat, yer seriously mistaken,” he said, grinning impishly at her. Veronica Ward could huff ‘n puff at him all she wanted, but Connor knew better; her little hiccup hadn’t gone amiss. “I can think of a number o’ things all by meself.”

Oh, yes, the mind of a pubescent fourteen-year-old was a truly filthy place to be.

“Bu~t…” Stretching his arms above his head, Connor let out a great, exaggerated, tonsil-flashing yawn and draped one over her shoulders. There was no denying it—though he was as subtle as a rooster in all its symbolic glory (and was sometimes just as irritating), the boy was as smooth as a Veela’s bottom and twice as charming. “Since ye asked so nicely, I guess I can spare ya some time. Can’t be lettin’ my favorite girl fall into bad company-” which, to be fair, begged the question if there was anyone actually worse than him, “-after all.”

He tweaked her nose then, scrunching up his own as he made a noise that sounded a lot like an oink. Any resulting squeals or pinching on her part would only be rewarded with that cheeky bastard grin. “Where to, then? Th’ courtyard, or…”

With his arm around her shoulders and her bag slung over his, he was already steering her—gently—down the hall.

Ronnie had half a mind to shrug the boy's arm off her shoulder, if only to prevent his hand from finding a too-convenient resting place, which she was absolutely sure it would eventually do. "God's sake," she said, rolling her eyes. "If you're gonna grope my shoulders that way you could at least give 'em a rub or somethin'." After a brief pause, she added, "They're awful tight today."

Nowhere seemed safe enough from the obnoxious swarms of first-years that would be sure to mob them wherever they went. Her capacity to tolerate smelly, sticky little kids was all but lost. She might have asked herself why she was, then, about to go do God-knows-what with Connor-god-damn-bloody-Todd of all people, but her brain was obviously on a hiatus from rationality.

She chose, instead, to nestle in a bit closer to him as she was frazzled and tired and he smelled amazing in a way that made her slightly nervous. "Courtyard?" she groaned. "Do you have any idea how many snotty first-years are gonna be swarming around out there?"  After taking a moment to consider all their options, she sighed and brought her hand up to snake under his tie. "Maybe there's a nice, deserted closet somewhere."

What was she doing?