Hair. Superficially, it was a trivial matter– at least, that was the opinion of one who had little to concern himself with in regards to it, anyway –but there were other purposes it served as well, particularly to one with any knack or knowledge of Potions, that extended far beyond the recipe for Polyjuice. Seeing how neatly he fell into the realm of both, Theo was inclined to share both perspectives– that he was more concerned as to whose hair it was, rather than the look and quality of it– and it pleased him to see that his company shared it - somewhat - too.

It was a small thing to derive any pleasure from it, he knew, from simply knowing there were at least some in their honored school who had any measure of intelligence—and indeed there were more than some, which, thankfully, made itself that much clear. But when that some was as outnumbered as it was, well. One was to take joy where one could.

Theo met Bran’s expression look for look, the shade of innocence in which it was painted steel-clad and golden. When his head swung to look between them, a smile flitted across those chiseled features, small and secretive. “You know her,” Theo allowed with a tilt of his head, lips curving back just enough to reveal perfect, gleaming teeth. Blackwell curiosity was no stranger to him, least of all Bran’s.

Alas, his bright-eyed housemate would just have to make do.

“I had a question,” Theo smiled– nay, gleamed, as he pushed off from the wall, hands sliding back into his pockets. His shoulders hunched in a coy, careless shrug. “But it can wait.” Another minute or so wouldn’t be any harm, and, anyway, “That was delightfully cryptic,” he remarked, eyes bright with interest. “Would you say yours is a ‘case-by-case’, then?” It wasn’t a far-gone extrapolation to make, all things considered, and his gaze moved onto Bran, the interest in it inclusive.

They knew her? Blythe’s brows rose as if to say what a clue. “That narrows it down. I’m nearly ready to make a guess.” If she listed every female Hufflepuff she could name, they might still make it to dinner. “What about you Bran?” She turned to look at her cousin, waiting for his sixth sense command of the rumor mill to provide a hypothesis.

“I keep cryptic company.” Blythe shrugged, reflecting his smile, albeit less… glitteringly monarchical, and more, well, Blythe. The truth was evident in her voice: he hadn’t been forthright, either. Who was that Hufflepuff? Blythe wasn’t exactly a gossipmonger, but Theo had piqued her curiosity. “You could at least let us know the question.” Hufflepuffs were usually a helpful group, if one didn’t count immediate family members.

Slytherin was full of such cryptic company. Bran, who could be markedly innocent in the face faster than one could apparate, had his ways, too, and was presently reminding Blythe that Slytherin’s reaches were everywhere— including right here, curled around her shoulders. As if she could forget. “Yeah, something like that. But if I ever find a secret ingredient, I’ll let you know.” But then she would have a type, and she’d have to keep it to herself. Everyone she trusted was too smart to be told.

Knowing better than to linger on images of those who currently caught her eye, Blythe laced an arm around her cousin’s shoulder and waited for his answer. “I think I’m still trying to figure out his type, too,” she joked, lovingly. Blythe had varying opinions of Bran’s conquests.