'His eyes are as brown as a fresh pickled frog'

Gloria made frantic crossout motions with her quill, crumpled the parchment and tossed it to join the other kindling in the common room fire. With fresh parchment she tickled the bottom of her chin with the fluff of her quill in thought, then penned another line.

'Doxies are red
Pixies are blue...'

And the quill trailed off to nowhere because she didn't know what to write next. Maybe she should have a specific boy in mind when when she tried writing valentines. All Gloria knew is that she didn't want to be caught in a jam for not having a valentines previously prepared. She'd already owl'd in an order to Honeydukes for some chocolate to beat the rush.

Gloria hunched up her legs onto the sofa, her feet in lemon and lime stripped socks. Poetry didn't come as easy to her as, say....she'll figure that out later. Some poetic practice would get her in the right mood.

'There once was a young witch from Surrey
who charmed all the boys with her curry
A spicy delight
Like herself at night
And Gloria couldn't finish that last line, her checks almost red, because she remembered that nearly all limericks were nasty ribalditries and not the kind of connotation she wanted in a valentines. She wasn't desperate or anything!

She flung the back of her head against the sofa, sighed, and crumpled up this parchment as well.

Asael tried to be thankful for what magic had given him - these absurd gifts, a free education, the chance to look in on a world he never could've imagined - it was something that he frequently found himself startled at. He would've assumed that over time turning an hourglass into a small coffee mug or cursing someone with the spontaneous growth of ears would lose its charm, or at least become somewhat humdrum - but he found it wasn't the case. He still had the capacity for wonder at it all.

Sometimes, however, he resented the living situation. Gryffindors, he had found, did not make the greatest Housemates when it came to hygiene, noise level or, in this case, magical safety. He fled the boy's dormitories just as the growing goop piled up against the second bedroom door and a strangled yell erupted from the third.

They'll be fine... I think. He cleared his throat and descended into the common room, grasping in his hands the Arithmancy textbook he was supposed to be taking notes from. He'd left his pen upstairs - he violently resented the widespread use of messy quills, and considered biros infinitely more sensible - so he resigned himself to a period of people-watching instead.

As it stood, however, there weren't many to watch. Only a couple of sixth-years and Gloria, who had just smacked her head against the back of the sofa on which she sat. He adjusted the kippah on his head awkwardly, as was his habit, and approached.

"Hey Gloria." Asael was not the most charismatic of Gryffindors, but it seemed like an inoffensive-enough opener. It took him a second to notice her frustration - his eyebrows rose slightly. "Homework or Personal?". He indicated with a quizzical look the scattered clumps of paper and took a seat nearer to the fire.

Gloria looked sideways at Asael. "Oh, hey Asael." She crumpled the parchment tighter so he wouldn't see. "Personal wirting I guess, unless I tried writing it in Ancient Runes." It was difficult enough writing poetry in her own language, Gloria didn't even want to begin thinking about how to make sure squiggly n shaped symbol rhymed with half a tree symbol.

"I'm trying to write a valentines but I'm blank." She yawned and scratched the back of her neck. She brought her legs up crosswise. "If you were writing a valentine's day poem to a girl what would you write?" Perhaps Gloria could reverse rewrite a poem to a girl into one meant for a boy.

He blinked, feeling his cheeks redden slightly. "Er..." He'd never really thought about it, honestly. Well, of course he had. But it was a bit complicated. All the chattering other boys did about girls left him cold, really.

Irrelevant. She'd asked a hypothetical question, so he'd answer it. He paused slightly, drawing his legs up into the seat and rearranging himself, crossing his legs on the seat. It was mostly to give him time. What on earth would he put in a love letter.

He coughed a bit. "I mean...a poem?" He frowned. "Well I mean, you don't have to do a poem, a letter might do. But if you are doing a poem - my mum always says you don't have to make poems rhyme. That trying to make them rhyme can sometimes just make it stiff and awkward. There are plenty of poets who don't rhyme. I mean, you should keep to a consistent rhythm, I think, I think that helps."

He blinked. "Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum, that sort of thing."

It seemed a wholly inadequate answer, but then he wasn't exactly an expert.

Gloria watched Asael nearly copy her movements sitting down as he sat down. A slight franticism to his movements suggested that Gloria had caught him off guard. What should he be worried about? He didn't have worry about letting slip the spicy special curry fiasco.

"Well, most valentines are poems. Short little things." It would be simpler but just plain weird to write it out as a letter, as Gloria didn't yet have a boy in particular picked out. In her first year she had just mass sent out valentines to everybody tied to a lolly, although she had to stop that when some acid pops had gotten stuck in her mix.

"Rhythm?" Gloria asked, mouth wide as if gobsmacked. "Like a singing telegram?" She didn't have enough time to prep a singing telegram routine. Her tap shoes were at home! "Oh, but your saying, it just has to have a beat to it, even if it doesn't rhyme. Hmm."

Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum. Gloria tried to think in two syllable words.

After some scratching with her quill she had something. As Asael was sitting across from her he got used as well.

"Hold me, kiss me, love me, Asael," she read aloud. "That sounds far too forward."

He blinked at the mention of his name, and amusement passed over his face. He felt himself redden.

"I mean, it's good, but that might be a little specific. Unless you were asking me out, which, I mean, I'd be flattered of course-" Asael stopped, aware even from his rather limited memory of TV that he was heading down a potentially awkward road - "I just mean, I think you'd be better off with something..." he coughed, "more general?"

There was a small pause as he fiddled with the hem of his jumper.

"Plus, Asael is sort of three syllables in total. 'Ahsay-EL', you know? I mean, my surname works. Or..a different word." He blinked.

"Well, you ended off your advice with four syllables. Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum, that sort of thing." As far as Gloria understood, if the last bits didn't need to rhyme then the last syllables could break pattern. "I can't just end it with Miller, that sounds more wonky. As if I was sending off a valentine for the postman himself, or a fish monger."

Gloria couldn't help but giggle at how Asael reddened. "I could ask you out and then try to come up with a better poem without your help so it would be a surprise. And if you want to go out there's a valentine's dance coming up, Mr. Flattered. Or is there another girl you've got your eye on?" she asked with a big cheeked grin.