Bran was so damn bored, he'd actually considered getting up in the middle of lunch and screaming 'God, you people are so incredibly boring I can actually feel life passing by me.' Suffice to say nothing particularly exciting had happened in a few days for him, and that was enough to have Bran climb on the walls. However, he had appearances to keep in front of the staff table so instead of acting on his rather dramatic impulses, he preferred to leisurely take his fill of the Hogwarts eye candy. First at his table, and damn if it hadn't the sweetest of candy, then at the Ravenclaw, equally as visually pleasing, then Gryffindor, eh acceptable, and eventually Hufflepuff... well, nobody was perfect.

The second he finished his lunch, he got up and made his way to the blue and silver table, politely no, not really sitting himself next to his cousin while she finished her lunch. He smiled genially at her, never once taking his eyes off her, with every bite she tucked into her mouth, not at all impatiently hurrying her up. Eventually he got antsy, and his crossed legs stated bouncing off the bench and his perfectly lovely smile twitched for a second. "Honey, if I spend anther second in here, I am going to stick a fork in someone's eye if only for some sort of action" he explained, still smiling angelically.

Tucking his arm around hers, once she was finally on her feet, they walked out of the Hall, Bran dragging his cousin to a window nook and sat down. He patted the empty place on the windowsill and focused his attention on the open doors to the Great Hall, silently watching the outgoing traffic with a tight little smirk on his face. He crossed his legs and pushed his hands to lean back onto them, tilting his head backwards for better visual field.

"Look at that guy" he finally quipped with complete awe in his voice, pointing with his chin in the direction of a cute blonde little Hufflepuff. "My heart just straight up stopped beating for like five seconds. My tiny feeble blood pumping organ cannot take that" he added with an amused little giggle. "Nowhere near Whitman, tho" he suddenly corrected with a small smirk. "The amount of tears I'd cry over his glorious little face, would be infinite, if only I could actually cry without having to act my way out of something" Bran sighed deeply, massaging a temple with his index finger. "Sinister vibes he may give, but I still want to make a nest in his perfectly blonde curls and just live there forever, sometimes" he continued.

"Speaking of curls. Bevans. As long as he's knocked out unconscious, or you know, in no way able to speak or actually act like himself..." he gesticulated wildly with a hand as he rolled his eyes. "All unrefined and bad boy, when he's smoking like he owns the place—God bless him and that pouty mouth of his. Sometimes I'm overwhelmed by the imagery of being one of his cigarettes. Mhmmm, just lovely" he finally turned to look at Blythe and gave her a radiant little grin.

"We are observing the ravishing male prey in its natural habitat, my child" he said, grin turning into a knowing little smirk. "How else to spend a lovely Saturday siesta?" he asked batting his eyelashes, as he put his head on her shoulder and rubbed his face in with a smile.

Blythe had barely started on some potatoes when she looked up to find her fairer-faced, more polished, male reflection. It was almost unsettling, the way Bran could stare and stare and not look away, not matter what mundane or otherwise personal thing his subject happened to be doing. She stared back; blinked. Her mouth was full of food, but she had paused to consider him in a what the way: a very familial greeting. Finally, she resumed, chewing slowly (probably definitely on purpose). Meaning she was going to enjoy her lunch.

But his persistence was irksome, unnerving, even, and above all, admirable. “A fork to the eye could get messy,” she pointed out, taking another bite. It wasn’t really the sort of action she thought Bran had in mind, anyway. After a few more bites, Blythe sighed, sped up. She began to clamor off the bench, bending down to take one more bite and lifting her goblet to chase it with water. She grabbed her small bag and waited for him to lead the way. As they walked, the unfolding conversation confirmed that fork fights definitely weren’t what he had in mind.

She pocketed her wand and followed him to the nook, arm and arm. She settled in and peered out the window, following his gaze to the Hufflepuff walking through the double doors. “I think he’s Charlie’s roommate.” The idea of hooking up with anyone who shared a bedroom with Charlie was… Blythe knitted her brows a bit. She wouldn’t hold the potential Charlie connection against the poor guy, but it would still be weird. Not quite as weird as nesting in Theo’s hair, but. It was getting there. Blythe liked Theo plenty, but anyone who could devote that much vocabulary to the Whitman boy's hair deserved a publishing deal. “You should quit school and become a poet.” She could already see her father’s face, his reaction to her suggestion, even if it was just a joke. Leading her cousin astray. If only he knew where Bran dragged her on the holidays.

The 'ravishing male prey in its natural habitat.' Definitely a poet.

Blythe rolled her eyes, but was smiling, too, as she lifted an arm and patted his wavy hair. “I definitely can’t think of a better way to spend my time. Who needs to sleep or do homework or answer letters home?” Blythe needed to do all three of those things, but picking out people who might want to try a Bran-flavored cigarette was more eventful. “What about that one?” She nodded discreetly toward a random Gryffindor a year above them. He had curls. Nice eyes. If you were into that sort of thing. “Not sure he’d be too into nesting, though.”

"What and give up the chance to rule the world?" he asked almost scandalized with a dramatic shocked expression. "Honey, while la vie bohème has its fair share of attraction, could you ever see me living in some rundown apartment on nothing but canned food and clothes from last season?" He accentuated his displeasure with a hmph and rolled his eyes. "Poets and artists are lovely and all that, they have that fascinating je ne sais quoi between vagabond and creative rebel..." he mused with a devious curl of his lips and a heated spark in his eyes. "I'd do one, but never be one" he added with a small chuckle.

He leaned further into her touch and let out a stiffed snort. "Sleep is for the dead, dear cousin. Homework, is a ten to twenty minutes activity for the both of us and dear God, letters home?" he turned to look at her with a judgmental sort of glare. "Now who's the poet?" he asked with a smirk. "Make sure I'm as bright and lovely as ever" he said now with a completely serious face. Bran knew their mothers shared everything... everything. Whatever Glenda knew, Catrin would know in the following hour, at least, and vice versa. He loved his family deeply, and loved their closeness, but it was rather dreadful at times.

He turned his head to look at the direction she was pointing and his lips arched apart to form a small o. "Lovely, indeed" he hummed musically. "No weeping angels, but definitely worth a more thorough examination. Preferably of the naked sort" he giggled. "But, my lovely Blythe, are you questioning my abilities to get someone into nesting?" he drew his brows at the middle, giving his almost identical cousin a skeptical look. Not that he'd ever actually want to nest, not permanently, anyway, but Bran liked to think his manipulation techniques were advanced enough for, well, almost everything. "And which of these lovely specimens makes you... tingly?" he asked with a sly grin, poking her in the ribs with a long slender finger.

If anyone had ever doubted Bran’s ambitious nature (they hadn’t), they had only to spy on this melodramatic conversation. Blythe had no doubt that he would make it pretty far in his plan to rule the world. If his herd of choir-members-turned-theater-hopefuls might one day comprise those starving artists he’d rather do than be, well… Leave it to her cousin to have his cake and eat it, too. She offered a sarcastic smile, close-mouthed, crinkled eyes, meeting his debonair theatrics with a less ornate, quiet version.

The smile disappeared, to be replaced by a less amused expression, which served the judgment right back. “You know what my parents are like.” Maybe Glenda had stopped writing to Bran after a certain age. She did have the triplets to look after— that could be time-consuming (or sleepless). Blythe’s mum wrote less often now that her daughter was older, but the owls still arrived here and there. She made a point to write back (eventually), and was especially quick when her parents sent money for Hogsmeade. She knew better than to ignore that.

And then there had been the Charlie-going-through-puberty phase, with her mother pestering her to look after him and provide details, as if gaining ten inches in height and losing several octaves in voice were an illness. Or as if Blythe had firsthand experience being a teenage boy or a teenage mother. Most of it had happened while they were at home over the summer holiday, anyway.

“You’re always the sparkling center of attention in my letters, don’t worry.” It would be a task and a half to convince her mother that Bran was anything but bright and lovely. “Mum is so excited for your next choir production, I’m pretty sure she’s going to owl me a video camera.” As if it would work at Hogwarts.

Blythe pondered naked weeping angels for a few seconds before answering. “In your hair? No.”

"And which of these lovely specimens makes you… tingly?”

Blythe shivered away from the poke, opening her mouth, shaking her head exactly once as she stared at him. She sighed audibly and smiled again (though exasperatedly). She continued to shake her head and peeled her eyes away from her cousin's. They instead settled on a safer bet— students tossing a quaffle in the courtyard. “None of them.” There were people who were easy on the eyes, but she wasn’t going to list them.

"Hmmm, yes, in case you forgot mommy dearest used to be the same" he said with a little sigh. "But that was before the triple threat... I wonder if I should feel offended" he added with a musing expression, eyebrows drawn in a furrow. It wasn't as if he missed the constant letter exchange, and he'd never thought he was anything but the family favorite and he loved the girls to the Moon and back, but sometimes, just sometimes—he would've liked some fussing about. (But, when did Bran not enjoy any fussing about his persona?)

His face brightened considerably at her next words, flashing her a smug smirk and a waggle of his eyebrows. "That would actually be fabulous. Someone needs to record my marvels for posterity. Then again, there is the little issue of Hogwarts and it's prehistorical penchant for no-electronics." It was horrible, really. Bran missed his music and his shows... Most of all, however, he missed The Sartorialist and FTV. And while he was subscribed to several magazines, it wasn't quite the same thing. He let out a positively depressing sigh and rolled his eyes. But, it was soon replaced by a smile. Of course, his hair was one of his most prized possessions. Which is why he spent at least an hour fussing about it everyday.

He looked between scandalized and saddened at her curt negative answer, then again getting any juicy information out of Blythe was like hoping for a straight answer from a Sphinx. He smiled fondly at her and placed his head back on her shoulder, one arm slack around her waist, the other under his chin on her shoulder. He snorted softly under his breath and smiled slyly to himself. "I don't need a man to make it happen, I get off being free" he started humming softly in her ear.  "I don't need a man to make me feel good, I get off doing my thing." He ended his impromptu concert with a chuckle and nosed lazily at her neck. "You're no fun, cous" Bran sighed dramatically. "But one, one day, some unfortunate guy or girl is going to introduce you to the magic of mind-blowing orgasms, and then we'll see" he threatened amused, voice muffled in her hair. 'Unfortunate', because any romantic interest of Blythe would first have to go through the ring of fire and some Herculean tasks issued by yours truly.

“I don’t think you’re in danger of being forgotten,” she comforted sardonically. “But you could always act offended and see where it gets you.” Her brows rose in encouragement, distinctly opposite, for the moment, to Bran's furrowed ones. With those genes? Pretty far.

The inability to use electronics at Hogwarts wasn’t a problem even they were likely to solve, which was a shame, because it would solve so many of her problems. To document Charlie growing like a weed for her mum’s sake without having to actually ask his permission would make a very content Blythe. And then there were the stupid things her classmates did on a daily basis. Memories. Home videos of Hogwarts would definitely be a one-up on the yearbooks. “I guess we could just take a ton of wizarding photos from every angle.” They moved, often on small loops, capturing a moment for the audience. That would give her mum some idea— and her mum could give them to her aunt, and Bran would never be in danger of being forgotten again.

As he hummed in her hair, she continued to study their surroundings, finding little bits of curiosity and occasional poignancy among their peers. A Ravenclaw who was bickering with his girlfriend had quite the ugly wad of chewing gum on the bottom of his newly polished shoes; in good wizarding fashion, the gum was not simply the sticky pink muggle kind, but seemed to pulsate and fizzle, glow and change color as it collected dirt. ’I’m plenty of fun,’ she had prepared herself to snap back (hardly her most creative retort), but the voice coming from her hair was like a conscience, or a devil on her shoulder; that it was whispering 'mind-blowing orgasm'… Blythe scrunched her nose and brows and shook her hair in annoyance, never mind that her cousin was hanging there. He knew more about her than probably anyone. She told him nearly everything, and she was no blushing rose. But going into detail on some things made the teenager a little wary. Maybe that would change if and when it happened. “Unfortunate?” She asked, plucking that word out of his announcement, already sure she knew where he was going with that. “Maybe I should hex a few guys in the trousers the next time they’re creeping out of a broom closet with you.” What a shame they didn’t share a Hogwarts common room, Blythe and Bran. There were only so many opportunities to be overprotective or embarrassing. “Make sure their hair is up standard for nesting, you know. I should ask Theo for a sample.” The golden standard. That would happen.

“What sort of sample?” a voice asked, light with curiosity, and it was Theo, approaching the pair in easy, sauntering strides. Only when he was a scant two, three feet away did he stop, and he glanced between them, expression open with interest.

However, it wasn’t all that innocent, which seemed to be the case when at least one other, knowledgeable Slytherin was around, and even less so in the presence of a favorite Ravenclaw– Blythe, in this case, for she was considerably less tedious than her peers (although to be perfectly honest, comparing her to them did no one any favors, as it was insulting to her and hopeless for them). Witty and resourceful in a way Theo could appreciate, he rather liked her, and Bran– being all of that and more, with a dramatic flair –was entertaining in his own right. Together, the Blackwells were perfectly tolerable, good company as any for one who had been looking for someone else; ‘interesting’ was only the least of it, of that Theo was sure, even if this exchange proved to be brief. On his way to the library, the prefect had other things in his mind when he had left the Great Hall, but surely there was no harm in learning what they were up to...

Bran’s smile, at least, promised it would be interesting.

Just fresh out of lunch himself, the prefect was, as most were, in casual wear, which in his case often consisted of pressed slacks and a crisp button-down, but for once was merely a henley and jeans—an unusual look for him, perhaps, but one would be hard-pressed to say it didn’t do him any favors. The sleeves artfully bunched up his elbows, the top (a V-neck so blue it was practically black) showed off his forearms quite nicely, and the cut of his jeans made his legs look even longer. Standing before them, Theo folded his arms across his chest, and the corners of his mouth quirked up into that tiny, familiar smile that preceded so many wider (dangerous) ones in the past. “A charming picture you two make,” he greeted, gesturing at the pair of them and their matching good looks. The Blackwells were well-known for their strong resemblance. “Although if the devil had a doppelganger, this would suffice as any. Dare I ask what the two of you are up to, or should I warn our peers regardless?”

"If I act offended with mother she'll roll her eyes and tell me it's my natural state of being" Bran sighed over-dramatically with an eye-roll of his own. "Besides, that will make Enya cry, which will make Elin cackle, like the little demon spawn she is and then they'll fight and that will upset Eira. And we can't upset Eira. She'll guilt trip us all with that you disappoint me and I'm ashamed to be part of this family glare" Bran said fondly with a chuckle.  He really missed his sisters while he was away from them. Not so much when he was actually home...

Bran actually huffed in annoyance as his cozy spot on her shoulder was disturbed by the shake of her head, but couldn't help preen smugly at her, seeing as he'd managed to get the reaction he was after. He chose not to push the issue anymore, as she'd subtly picked on his wording to change the subject. "Oh, feel free, honey" he said with a dreamy sort of smile and a jolt of his eyebrows. "Once they've served their purpose, you can do whatever you please" he playfully nudged her shoulder with his own, laughing brightly, but instantly his expression turned frowning. "Unless, they're drop-dead gorgeous" he threatened with a glare.

He was about to encourage his cousin to act on her threat, if only to get news on what Theo's reaction would be, when the devil - handsome devil - himself appeared out of nowhere. His mouth slightly open in surprise, Bran only needed half a second to curl his lips into a cryptic sort of smile that didn't do all that much to hide his... interest. Bran's eyes flitted across Whitman's features, stopping to raise an amused eyebrow as they fell on his curls and seeing what conversation he'd just walked in on. His gaze continued its travel lower, pausing at the V of his henley and if the tip of his tongue slithered out to wet his top lip, it was only for a second. At the nice expanse of skin of his forearms, he took a deeper breath than necessary and skipped altogether to his jeans. At which he would've liked to make a small circle with his finger in the air, willing Theo to turn around. But he'd get the chance to check that ass when he left...

Finally, he focused back on his face with a tight little smirk and gave a little giggle at the compliment. He tightened the hold around his cousin and drew her in close, kissing her cheek lovingly, and turned his head around so they were cheek to cheek. "We do, don't we?" he batted his eyelashes teasingly, almost cooing. He quickly stood straighter clasping his hands over his chest with a fond expression on his face, willing a soft blush into appearance. "Oh, Theo you flatter me so" he said in response to being likened to the devil's doppelganger. Bran saw nothign wrong with that, and playing the innocent angel card with Theo was insulting to the both of them.

He leaned back into Blythe with lazy, but calculated moves, wide, relaxed smile on his face, watching his feet absently. "Oh, you know... Just passing the time—rating the student body based on the curl of their hair" he raised his eyes Theo's face, watching him intently through his eyelashes, corner of his lips tugging upwards and quirking an eyebrow.

The triplets were more than simple a handful— least of all because there were three of them. Blythe often marveled at her aunt’s ability to keep track of them. “That’s the sort of chain reaction that starts wars.” Maybe she could work it into her History of Magic essay for extra credit. Not that she didn’t know better than to be so cheeky with her homework. (Occasionally she did wonder which of their professors were actually reading every assignment. But Blythe was quite faithful with her schoolwork, and very capable of doing a more than satisfactory job.)

His nonchalance about what Blythe might do to his friends with benefits once he’d had his fun was both unsurprising and admirable— and a bit annoying. There was no way to seek hypothetical revenge on her favorite cousin if he didn’t care enough. But the gorgeous ones were apparently key. She met his glare with a blank-ish stare, a stand-in for innocence. It said one day.

Oh, Jesus.

If one could count on Theo Whitman for anything, it was his timing. Or the unsettling quality of it. Blythe looked up with raised brows, then offered a close-lipped smile. Her smile widened a touch as he appraised their picturesqueness. “I don’t know if I’ve reached devil level yet. It sounds a little lofty.” Her eyes shot to Bran, whose own gaze was none-too-subtly devouring the other Slytherin. He explained what they were up to, and Blythe added her own clarification, answering Theo’s initial question in the process. Sort of. “Can we have a lock of your hair?” She tilted her head, and the gesture toward Bran was unmistakable. “For research.” It was much easier to come clean with it, be blunt, and keep the focus on Bran’s escapades. Like her cousin, she knew better than to try to play innocent with Theo.

It probably said quite a bit that in the face of Bran Blackwell’s special brand of appreciation, Theo merely raised a single, perfect brow, his faint smile only broadening into a grin. One could only imagine how generous - or harsh - the other boy’s assessment would be; his eye for… detail… was well-known. It frequently played a role in Theo’s personal entertainment, albeit in a roundabout way.

Blythe, though… Now there went a rather different brand of amusement. No doubt both were telling the truth—but the knowledge only made things more amusing. “Scientific curiosity, then?” the blond Slytherin grinned, a shade of pretense dropped that had been hardly visible until it was gone. “An admirable goal, if a ruthless one.” As he glanced Bran’s way, his grin curved teasingly. “There aren’t many of us-” The general student population, that is, “-lucky enough to score favorably by that curve.”

Poor Hoult. Perhaps if he’d done something about his hair…

Then again, one could put curls on a pet and still get the same results. Doubtless they would be charming results, but still—curls or not, a pet was still a pet. It was meaningless when what one wanted was a challenge.

“Perhaps if I can have a lock of yours in return,” Theo’s eyes slid over to Blythe again, crinkling at the corners in an enigmatic smile. He moved to lean against the wall on her side, casting a haloed shadow over their dark heads. “Who else has been lucky enough to be considered for this… research?”

Bran's head turned to glare at Blythe with all the subtlety of a giraffe doing Swan Lake in pink ballet slippers. He smiled politely, if derisively as his cousin gestured towards him. He din't want no strand, he wanted the whole head... attached to the body, if possibly. Sure, it would make a pretty decoration, but he wanted functionality as well.

"No, no there aren't" he said cryptically with a little smirk. "You get bragging rights" he suddenly quipped with a little snort, that slowly faded into a more... pleased sort of smile. Bran sighed almost dramatically, as Theo addressed his cousin. The green eyed monster was a dear friend of Bran's, alas it was Blythe—his completing half. There wasn't much that could actually impact his relation with her negatively.

"Careful now, honey" he drawled, head turning towards Blythe with a warning look. "You know what they say about pacts with the devil..." he eyed Theo from the corner of his eyes and arched an eyebrow. "Regardless how fine a devil it is" he chuckled, turning to look at his housemate with the most innocent expression he could muster. Bran was no fool and was king of the gossip mill, after all. He knew Whitman was as dangerous as he was beautiful. Entrusting him with so much as a strand of hair, was not something one did... not unless they had no regard for their own life. But that was his beauty, Bran thought.

"Well, for one, there's Nicholas Bevans" Bran said all angelic smiles and innocent tone. After the little scandal in the Dueling Club, the middle Blackwell sure was curious to see how putting these two in the same top would work.

Scientific curiosity. Blythe had been on the verge nodding, going with it, ignoring Bran’s glare and subsequent smile (which should earn her some house points, because it was a task), when Theo continued. Ever the politician, he offered what sounded like a pragmatic deal. A hair for a hair. Yeah, no. He’d caught her. The hint of a smile on Blythe’s face became a look of slight surprise (thick brows raised a fraction). She glanced away, acknowledging Bran’s reaction to her subtle, loving, cousinly betrayal.

Who else was a part of the research? “Well, not me.” She looked back at Theo. "So mine would be useless…” For this experiment. She knew (or was pretty sure) that Theo was joking about wanting a lock of her hair, but she also knew that he was more than capable of finding a use or two for his classmates’ hair that was altogether different from Bran’s desire for beautiful heads of curls.

Sixth year boys.

And Blythe thought Charlie was a handful. “No pacts,” she said, smiling a little, silently taking Bran’s words to heart. “You keep your curls and I’ll keep my—” She lifted a strand of her hair. “This.” Blackwell hair. Thick and ink-hued, it was rather nice, as far as hair went, but hers did not receive the personal attention that Bran’s did, and was not quite so naturally wavy or... shampoo commercial worthy. It was just Blythe’s hair. It had served her well, in ponytails and on cold days, and did not need to be less a lock. “We’ll find some other volunteers.” Like Nicholas Bevans, apparently.

She eyed her cousin in a very Blythe way that he undoubtedly knew well. “Maybe I’ll leave the sample collecting to you.” Which defeated the purpose of making sure that they were up to par for her cousin… but Bran could figure that out for himself, really. Just like Blythe didn’t need him to interrogate anyone on her behalf.

She looked at Theo again. “So what are you up to?” She asked, with that assumption that he did not have the same self-assigned homework.

Ducking his head, Theo grinned almost bashfully, clearly, visibly more pleased than he was embarrassed at being addressed so. While it was no longer a novel experience, it was still amusing—more than it was the opposite, which was most often by relatives and acquaintances who didn’t know any better. “I would take excellent care of it,” Theo protested, peering up at Blythe with wide, sincere eyes.

It was more than he could promise about her cousin’s tastes, at least, though Theo acknowledged that as long as he harbored little interest in them he would let his housemate be. If anyone could appreciate what few assets Nicholas Bevans possessed, it was Bran Blackwell. “So there is,” he easily agreed, hands sliding into his back pockets. “His curls pass muster, I suppose.”

The smile he gave Blythe was… well… blithe, pearly, dimpled and blinding. “Conversing,” he replied cheekily, with a teasing bow of his upper half that had him looming over the Ravenclaw, albeit briefly. “But before? Merely seeking a certain Hufflepuff,” and he punctuated with a casual roll of a shoulder, his hands still tucked beneath his arms.

He cocked his head to the side, eyeing her with curiosity. “What is your criteria?” he inquired, genuinely curious. Unlike her cousin, Blythe was more private, close-lipped—the sort that kept prime gossip material to herself if nothing else. Theo, who liked to know what even the most unassuming boxes contained, was sufficiently intrigued. “Name no one if you prefer,” he lazily glanced away, “but one cannot help but be curious.”

---

"I don't know what you could possibly mean" he turned, looking unimpressed at Blythe. He grabbed a strand of her hair between his fingers and caressed it almost reverently. "You totally got Sander's hair and, frankly, I'm jelly" he huffed petulantly and dropped the strand. In some alternate universe, Bran was sure he and Blythe were actually the power couple, the school's sweethearts, but in this universe... Yeah, nuh-uh. No.

He gave a quizzical look to Theo and snorted softly. He'd sure take care of it, he was certain, but not his cousin's hair. He passed his hand possessively through Blythe's hair and gave Theo what most could interpret as a positively innocent look. The glimmer in his eyes, however... left room for interpretation. If anything, whoever had access to his mind right now, would find a 'Sweetie, I'm gonna need you to stop looking like that at my cousin, or I'll make you sing higher than Mariah Carey during the orgasm of her life, mkay?'

"Ah, sample-collecting sounds... positively wonderful" he said with a sort of dreamy sigh and a jolt of his eyebrows. He turned to Theo as Blythe asked him about his plans and arched a curious eyebrow, really wanting to know who that Hufflepuff might be. He'd find out, soon enough, however. He always did.

Theo's question to Blythe actually had Bran giggling, as he turned to watch his cousin with big, blue eyes. "Yes, darling, do tell" he said, rolling his eyes, knowing that was one futile endeavor. He was curious why Whitman was so curious, tho. Then again, another glance at his henley had Bran's mind blissfully empty.

“I’m sure you would,” she agreed, offering a grin. Theo’s skills of persuasion were commendable by any stretch of the imagination, but Blythe was also sure they had come to an understanding on the hair front. Still, despite the joke, she believed him. But there were other volunteers to be had, and Bran would do a better job at rewarding them for their time than Blythe might. She was only co-captain of the ship.

She offered her cousin a half-smile, conceding that it was true: she had Sander’s hair, and most certainly above her eyes. “You say that now, but if you lost your magazine waves…” It was better for everyone if they didn’t know what happened then. “It’s a good thing we have Defense on Monday."

She, like Bran, wondered who this Hufflepuff might be, and her questioning gaze said as much. “Lucky Hufflepuff. Do we get a clue?”

If Blythe was caught off guard by his question, she shouldn’t have been. Bran, after all, had asked it a few minutes ago, in slightly different words (and reiterated it now). “My criteria,” she offered. “Isn’t criteria.” Blythe had been attracted to people, certainly, but for all different reasons— sometimes it something stupid, like the way the light hit someone in the afternoon when they were daydreaming in class; sometimes, a bit more substantially, it was the way a person worded something, a clever comeback, the sound leaving their tongue; and, annoyingly, there were some reasons she couldn’t quite figure out. Problem-solving was a strength, but hormones were a territory of their own, and one that made the Ravenclaw a touch wary. She looked from Theo to Bran, and elaborated. “I’m just the wingman.”