Clad in only a pair of loose dusk blue silk pajama pants and, shockingly, sporting a severe case of bed hair, Bran was currently holding a strand of Jordyn's hair and slowly passing his wand over it. Dedicated to the art of hair styling, Bran was not one to just slap a charm over the entire mass of one's hair, but especially when it came to curls, chose instead to charm each curl individually. It was fuckin' tedious, but well worth it in the end.

He'd slept late—they all had. One couldn't possibly appear at not one, but two parties with dark circles or yawning for the better part of the night. But still, dressing up for such an event - bless whomever had come up with the idea of a Valentine's Bash and their little soul - required time and dedication. Not that it required time per se, but what was primping without the gossip that came in between hating one dress, loving the other and all only to come back to the first one?

"So, darling..." he said in a fond, but sleep-addled voice. "A little birdy told me you've been a very naughty girl. Mhmm. Gracie Slant and that fine piece of French ass, Gaubert?" he said teasingly, smirking behind her and raising his eyebrows appreciatively. It wasn't scandalous and it was certainly not one of his... escapades, but for Jordyn, it was something. And he didn't really know if he felt insulted for not hearing of it immediately afterwards from the girl herself or overjoyed for knowing Jordyn had let her hair down and put her wild on.

"Spit it out, honey. And don't you bloody dare leave anything out" he threatened seriously. "Your hair is at my mercy" he added self-satisfied with a serene, if demonic, smile on his face. Turning at Neely to raise an eyebrow he flashed her a bright shit-eating grin and winked chuckling softly.

Having slept in – well, really kind of difficult to say she slept in, since she hadn’t gone to bed until an obscene hour – mostly obsessing over the previous evening and trying to imagine all of her horrible anxiety away about it.  She had finally passed out somewhere probably in the neighborhood of three in the morning, and woke up feeling not much better. 

She’d rolled out of bed in her festively pink pajamas – for a girl who usually sported an obscene amount of black, her nightwear did not conform to her normal standards.   It was just a blessing that she didn’t have to spend making her entire day about getting ready by her lonesome.  Really, she should have expected Neely wouldn’t allow for it – and where Neely was, Bran was usually following close behind (which was perfect – he knew hair). 

So, sitting on her bed with the curtains pulled back – naturally so they could all fit around and see one another – Jordyn leaned back into Bran’s hands, trusting him implicitly with her very long, luxurious locks. 

Pursing her lips, she looked toward Neely, wondering what she was thinking about wearing – which she almost got to ask before Bran spoke up.  Her cheeks colored spectacularly – Jordyn hadn’t told anyone about it – but she supposed there had been others there and loose lips and all of that.  Ducking her head, she lifted her hands and covered her already hot and rosy cheeks. “Bran! Seriously?” she asked, half scandalized (though not really surprised – he had his ways). 

“It hasn’t even been twelve hours,” she pointed out, the scandal written in her very voice – inwardly wondering if it was Whitman who had the big mouth and told everyone.  He would.  Ass.  “How do you even know?” she looked at Neely, incredulous, “How does he even know?” 

Neely flicked through the magazine that had arrived just this morning. A finger with palest pink polish (applied only minutes ago) skimmed down a column, her eyes roaming the words, savoring for half a second the ones that jumped out lead actors, the many fluffy adjectives of magazine journalists. They were like an upscale bakery window, those words, bringing to mind all manner of things dreamy and pastel. The accompanying photos were the sweetest part, of course. Neely paused to covet a dress that was nearly the shade of the one she planned to wear on Valentine’s. It didn’t mean she didn’t want both dresses. She picked up the little stack of heart-shaped paper notes with spell-o-tape on the back of each (muggles called them “Post-Its”), and placed one methodically at the top of the page so that peaked out as she turned to the next one. She’d be revisiting that dress.

Neely was an excellent multi-tasker (duh). She could shop and participate in conversations at the same time. Her eyes had flickered up from the page every so often to admire the progress Bran was making with Jordyn’s chocolate locks. The next time they did so, however, they widened with innocence and guilt both. Her mouth formed a pretty o of scandal, and no of course not. Her eyes moved to Bran, at whom she was sending loving mental hexes— not really, though. He was too pretty for that. “I didn’t think it was a secret. Practically half the school was there,” she pointed out. Neely almost sighed— it was evident in her tone that she regretted having not been there with Jordyn and Gracie and Theo. Some of the participants were weirdos, though, so it evened out a bit. But still.

And everyone knew if more than three Hogwarts students shared a secret, it would take approximately half a day for the entire school to know. It was an Arithmancy equation. A fact.

Neely’s explanation was soft, as if she were dipping toes into water, testing the temperature. Her expression had gone from shocked-and-defensive to tepidly insightful to… a glittery grin, all-knowing. “Does the French boy live up to his reputation?” As a French boy. “The rest of the boys must have looked like plebes when you and Gracie kissed.” Except for Theo. He was never a plebe. Neely would have mocked their open-mouthed expressions, which would have been much less cute than the o-shape her mouth had formed a moment ago, but she didn’t do ugly. “They’re going to go crazy when they see your hair.” Her eyes returned to Bran, trusting that he would make her look stunning, too. He had that kind of magic.

Bran giggled at Jordyn's shocked reaction, with a sort of glee specific to Bran. He was basically preening, but was overall too sleepy and focused on his task to actually take the time to clap excitedly as he would have like right that moment. He calmed down, with a final loud exhale of breath, his face taking a sheepish expression and he hummed pleasingly at her scandalized questions.

Bran always knew what was going on in the social scene; eyes and ears all over the school. If one wanted to know about the most recent hook up, break up, misstep, side relationship and drunken mistakes, Bran Blackwell was the man to see. That didn't mean he'd ever reveal his sources or techniques, a girl didn't kiss and tell... Well, not everything.

"Wouldn't you like to know" he added musingly, with a spark of something, this side of heated in his eyes. But, he shook it off quickly and drew his brows in confusion nodding fervently at what Neely said. "Amen! What she said" he continued nodding with conviction. Doing something truly private at Hogwarts required a lot of planning, skill and dedication, and wasn't really worth it in the end.

His lips parted to form an o at Neely's next question, before they quickly drew in a sly smile. "Yes, Jordyn, does the French boy kiss like they do in France?" he asked bemusedly, stopping himself from adding or after they pass 13 and discover they have a tongue.

He let a finished strand fall from his hand, nudging it delicately over her shoulder and grabbed another one, continuing with his task. He covered a yawn with the back of his hand, before turning to smile fondly at Neely. "Why, of course they are" he agreed with a dazzling grin. "My hands are magic" Bran added, with a devious smirk and chuckled under his breath. His fingers sure were talented... Or so he'd been told.

Neely and Bran were right.  There were very seldom secrets in Hogwarts – and even if people tried, which she assumed they hadn’t in this circumstance at all – it didn’t last long.  She just thought that maybe it would take a little bit longer than over night for the gossip to make its way around. 

She wondered how many people would stare at her – completely having lost respect for her (if they hadn’t already), and how long it would take before she was a pariah.  Of course, this line of thought was preposterous, she reminded herself before she started to hyperventilate.   “You didn’t miss anything,” Jordyn pointed out to the slightly despondent sounding Neely – reassuring her that it wasn’t worth it.  “Truly, it was strange, and I don’t even know why I was there.” 

That was the truth – she couldn’t really put a reason to it, outside of the fact she wanted her badge back.  But even then, it was unlikely that it was going to happen through that.  She supposed she just had to find another way. 

It didn’t appear she was going to escape questioning by her two fierce – and relentless – friends.  Licking her bottom lip, Jordyn figured she should tell them, though Neely’s imagination was vivid enough for it.  She couldn’t help but giggle – just a little bit, shaking her head, and wincing as she tugged on the strand that Bran had in his hand.  “Sorry,” she rolled her eyes upward, seeing if she could see him (she couldn’t), and settled back down, clasping her hands around her smooth ankles.

“Well, I should start by saying no one thought I would do it,” she glanced at Neely and made a face, as if anyone else knew what she would or would not do!  “Gaubert even rolled his eyes at me,” she sighed with exasperation.  She couldn’t believe him.  How rude.  “And you know,” she glanced at Neely again, “I cannot stand that.” 

She smoothed her hands over her calves and shins, rolling her shoulders a bit with a huff.  “So I had to teach him a lesson,” she said primly.  Lifting her chin, she tried to see what Neely was looking at and marking off in that magazine.  “Do you know what you want to do with your hair, Neely?” she inquired, a curious look as she couldn’t see what she was looking at. 

“That’s easy for you to say. You were there—” She began, but then Jordyn she didn’t know why she’d been there at nearly the same moment. Neely giggled at this. “Does it matter? French boys and a bottle, Jordyn,” she said, again emphasizing the renowned reputation of the Beauxbatons education. There was a particular ooh-of-envy worthy feeling that came with hearing such news secondhand. Sure, gossip was nice— delicious, even. But it was delicious like the chocolates Mum owled as she holidayed somewhere far more glamorous than Hogwarts. Neely would rather be on the holiday. Even as she spoke, she grinned, sweet-faced and encouraging. There was no venom in her tone, only curiosity, and the promise of inside knowledge. Things she and Bran were privy to, and others were not. Or would be privy to, in a moment, after a bit of prodding; it was a gentle peer pressure from pretty faces, silky in the Slytherin way.

Bran echoed and added to the encouragement, and so Neely waited, attentive, for the details. That Jordyn had risen to the challenge and corrected everyone’s viewpoint was unsurprising to Neely, who admired the other girl’s ambition. She could see them, in her head, the row of open-mouthed boys staring in shock as she proved them wrong. Neely wanted one such row (or two, or three) for her birthday (or more like yesterday). Her giggling grin became more of a smirk, just as glittery. “Don’t stop there,” she begged, on the verge of exasperation. That Jordyn had taught the French boy a lesson made Neely want to campaign for the Ministry to replace its time turners. Surely Daddy would buy one.

But the topic of her own hair was one on which Neely didn’t mind lingering. She sat up more properly, her voice going into almost-daydream mode. “Light waves, or maybe a loose bun at the nape of my neck.” She pulled her pair back, pouted her lips a bit, turned her cheek one way and then the other. “Does it make me look older when it’s pulled back?” She asked. She was fairly skilled in her own angles, but Neely loved the reaffirming opinions of others. “I have to look good for my date,” she said, eyelashes fluttering at Bran. “If we’re going to be looking for French boys to match yours, Jordy.” The great thing about attending a party with Bran was that there would plenty of time to look for actual dates with her date. In style.

"Why were you there actually? Hmmm?" he asked teasingly, wagging his eyebrows as he curled another strand of hair, pushing it in front over her shoulder. It wasn't like Jordyn to join in such... extracurricular activities, even if the entire thing had started from something else entirely. "Taking a walk on the wild side, honey?" he whispered, leaning closer to her ear for added effect, then giggled softly, getting back to his task.

He scoffed loudly, indeed no one would ever think Miss Dimbelby able of such a task. No one that actually knew her that was. Behind every posh, polished surface of Jordyn, Bran knew there was a wild girl just waiting for the right impulse to let loose. Bran would have to see to that impulse one day. What were friends for, after all?

"Tut, tut, rolling his eyes?" he said with only a slight eye roll, and a smile in Neely's direction, knowing himself safe away from Jordyn's visual field. "How positively rude" he added fondly. "Oh my, a lesson you say?" he asked faux-scandalized expression and lips quirked in an o. "Yes, darling, don't stop there. We're just dying over here" he said almost whining, as he charmed another curl in place.

With the curls finished, he took a step in front of her to eye his work as Neely explained her desired hairstyle, listening intently. He came back behind Jordyn and swished his wand once, curls coming up, to tie themselves in an orderly mess at the back of her head, with a curl here and there, slithering away an down her back from it. With another wand wave tiny rhinestones emanating a soft glow appeared between the cluster of curls and he smiled satisfied to himself. He circled her a few times and finally nodded, grinning. "My work here is done, hon and you look positively astonishing" he beamed at her, then moved to Neely and gestures her to sit herself somewhere.

"And you darling, looking older doesn't implicitly mean looking attractive" he admonished her, with a playful smile. "We with the face of angels, have to play it to our advantage, don't we now?" he smiled his most genial smile. "After all, it's the wolf in sheep's clothes that gets his pray fastest, isn't he?" he moved behind her, eying her lovely silky hair carefully. "Subtle flowy curls?"

It was horrible trying to put things into context for these two.  Jordyn loved them, of course, and could not live without them most of the time, but it was times like this that Jordyn wondered how she survived with them.  She already felt terribly pink in the face and bit her lip.  “It doesn’t matter why I was there,” Jordyn sighed, exasperated and unwilling to admit her reasoning to her friends.  She was already the prim and proper one of them, she didn’t need to reinforce that with the idea that if she caught others getting in trouble, she might have been able to get her badge back, or at least put in a decent bid for Head Girl.  The year was, really, over half over, and that meant she really needed to start being even more serious than she was before.

She didn’t imagine, however, that Bran and Neely would appreciate it.  They would, of course, be supportive – but they wouldn’t really get it.  At least, she felt like they wouldn’t.  Bran’s expressive sound making (she couldn’t see him) was telling enough! 

“Yes, a lesson,” she parroted, with a sniff.  “I kissed him – well, I gave him the opportunity to kiss me – and he did, but for all intents and purposes here, I kissed him.  Then the game started,” she shrugged.  “Really, it was just aggravating – and I can assure you, not all French boys live up to their reputations, if that kiss was anything to go by.”  She paused, and sniffed.  “But you won’t believe who else locked lips!  Have you heard?” she raised her eyebrows, wanting to see what her dear friends knew and did not know. 

But it was to be put to the side for a moment as Bran bounced from behind her and took in her hair, which she could clearly assume was a work of art, and smiled.  “You are the best, darling!” and she blew a kiss he and Neely’s way. 

Considering her blonde friend, Jordyn pursed her lip.  “I like Bran’s idea,” she added, tilting her head to the side, “minus the prey – of course,” she sniffed – they were not hunting!  She resisted the urge to curl her hair around her finger in thought and again, considered Neely.  “If you wanted to pull some of it back, you could, with the soft waves coming down?”  She envisioned it, but she was not sure she was communicating it correctly. 

As they bickered about why Jordyn was there, Neely listened intently, watching at turns for moments Jordyn’s face might tell them more, while also glancing over the magazine and mentally adding to her wish list. This was a moment that made her want popcorn. (With chocolate and caramel drizzled on top, of course, and fluffy slippers. But pajamas were hardly appropriate for the impending Valentine’s party, and the plebe-ish first and second years huddled in the common room were two very good reasons to avoid the fireplace.)

Neely was jealous that Jordyn had locked lips with a Beauxbatons boy, whether or not the kiss had been amazing. She loved Jordyn, but she wasn’t sure her friend was being completely forthright. Call it a fifth sixth sense. Hopefully she had enjoyed teaching the boy a lesson. “Well, he has time to improve, hasn’t he?” Her implication was obvious. But then, French boys were already supposed to know how to do these things. “I’ve heard the rumors…” Biting her lip, Neely listened intently for details on the other kisses.

Bran was right. He always had her best interest at heart. Neely dropped her hair and smiled wider. “Perfect.” Fewer people than they had better luck playing innocent (not that she wasn’t genuinely innocent a lot of the time!). Neely though she should win an award for it. “Do you have any prey in mind?” Bran’s love life seemed as exciting as Jordyn’s was currently becoming.

She glanced at Jordyn, nodding. "We can try both ways. Jordy, let me see your hands,” She added, offering a touch-up on her friend’s manicure while Bran worked on her hair. If it wasn’t already covered (knowing Jordyn, it might very well be.)

"If you think there's something I haven't heard, then I am certainly doing something very wrong" he said, hand on his hip and an eyebrow arched haughtily. "Let's see.." he said pensively "The lovely Slant with you" he stopped to positively grin at Jordyn and wink in her direction "and then with Alexandra Carstairs, then Carstairs with that odd little Roth, then Whitman, Jesus H Christ, took his shirt off, I understand, and shame on you Jordyn Dimbelby for not taking pictures for me! I'm rethinking our entire friendship at this point" he said adding a hmph at the end and turning to look away from her. "Anyway" he dismissed the thought angrily, with a wave of his hand. "Then Roth with that unfortunate Clark, then said unfortunate Ravenclaw with the one and only Gaubert, which next slobbered all over that girl with a beverage name. What was it? Brandy? Sherry? Ugh, well—something" he shook his head, finally getting his hands into Neely's hair, delicately parting it in tiny sections.

"Well?" he finally asked, with a knowing, smug smile. "Anyone I missed?" he continued, his eyes falling back to Neely's hair, raising his wand to set about his task. "And don't think for a moment, that you can just change the topic with me, missy. So? What were you dong there in the first place? And what do you mean by reputation, Jordyn, dear? Here I was thinking, you know nothing of French boys kissing reputations, you goody two shoes, you" he giggled softly. "And as of my prey, yes, actually I do have someone in mind. But he'll be a lot of work, and I'm not sure it would even prove a fruitful endeavor and if it's even worth pursuing" he said cryptically, thinking of a perfect headful of curls.

"I'll do the curls first, and then we'll see if we're pulling it up in any way, hmm?" he said mindlessly, concentrating on charming Neely's soft hair into delicate curls. "What of you dears? Any prey in mind? It's Valentine's after all..." he sighed tiredly.

Alright, so Bran had an absolutely brilliant knowledge of what had happened the evening before.  She wasn’t entirely surprised; he could find the smallest scrap of information if he really wanted it.  The king of the gossip mill, Jordyn listened intently to his summation.  It was easier to listen, after all, than answer any questions.  She shifted to be more comfortable as she put her hands forward for Neely for inspection hoping the witch would have a pretty color to paint on. 

It was better anyway, that her friends were occupied.  She didn’t want to talk about it, really.  Both were making her blush a horrid shade of pink, and she felt something strange bubbling in her stomach.  It wasn’t exactly embarrassment… but it felt close.  “If you know everything there is to know,” Jordyn smirked, “then it doesn’t seem to me that you need my added input.” 

She primly shook her neck and rolled her eyes. “I heard a rumor about the event,” she shrugged, “and I know some things, Bran! You needn’t experience it yourself to know.  You should know that, of all people.”  She sniffed.  She might have been a goody two-shoes, as he pointed out, but that didn’t mean she didn’t listen to people who weren’t.  Most of the Beauxbatons boys had reputations, and even if the individuals didn’t, the school did. 

Observing Neely’s hair, Jordyn nodded in approval.  “Now who is the one dodging questions?” Jordyn raised her eyebrows at him, before turning them back to Neely.  “I vote we keep our answers secret until Bran tells us who he hopes to slip a Valentine to.” 

Bran’s summary of the spin-the-butterbeer game was in line with what Neely had heard, the perfect, prettily packaged gossip column can of haute worms. A shivery giggle left the tiny blonde as she again envisioned having been there, at least in a (well-dressed) spy capacity. Why did next time always feel like it was ages away? She might as well be waiting for an Apparation license! (Which she was.) “This school needs fresh blood.” The plebes had overrun it at times, and they were like rabbits or the flu— they bred. Once someone was lost to the plebeian way— usually it coincided with puberty, and haywire hormone— it was very hard to get them back on track, make them see the light, invest in expensive hair products. Which, luckily, these three had amassed. Neely was more than content to have Bran’s pricelessly talented fingers raking gently through her hair, transforming it for the evening’s festivities while she delighted in the blush blooming on Jordyn’s flawless skin.

If there would be three better-dressed people at the parties, it was news to Neely, who always heard the news before 95% of the school, thank you very much.

Her eyes darted to the side and she tried to catch Bran’s expression as he offered a juicy but impossible clue about his prey. Neely herself was thinking about a tall fellow Slytherin whose ring she still had in her jewelry box. She’d been on the verge of divulging, maybe, when Jordyn saved her. “Leverage,” Neely whispered loudly, as if it were her favorite word. Her grin was shark-like, or might have been if her face wasn’t round and cuddly as a koala’s. Still, she looked menacing in the dormitory’s light. “You’re brilliant, Jordy.” It might not be hard to figure out who each of the girls had their sights on, but they could still play their cards, maybe get Bran to spill. “Give us another clue,” she demanded of the boy behind her as she stroked at Jordyn’s nails with a tiny, paint-dabbed brush and expert precision.

"Quite the opposite, hon" he chuckled, eyebrows raised slightly. "Your input makes it all so much more fab. "And I have no idea what you could possibly mean" he added quickly, innocent expression at hand. "I could tell you all about holding to the headboard while screaming hallelujah, but it wouldn't quite be the same as you being the one to hold on for dear life, now wouldn't it?" he said with a soft snort, shaking his head at the both of them. Oh, he loved them, but they were too easy to tease sometimes.

"I'm not dodging anything, sweetie" he scoffed at Jordyn. "I'd merely like to be certain, before I go and share it with you" he batted his eyelashes at them both, smiling the sweetest smile he could muster. "And Jordy, hon, if there'll be any slipping—into" he drawled with a smirk "I sure hope it won't be me doing the slipping" he added cryptically, smiling from ear to ear and humming softly under his breath, curling another strand of Neely's.

"I call foul!" he spluttered at Jordy's resolution, and Neely's following comment, pulling a little bit harder on her hair. "I will go so ghetto on your asses" he muttered, charming the last of Neely's hair. "You're done, now go into a corner and reflect on how ganging up on me is not okay" he said, snapping his fingers at them, turning around with a hmph and crossing his arms over his chest. "Fine" he almost grunted. "He's a Slyth, there's your clue" he offered, scowling.

Bran was on an endless quest to make Jordyn die of a heart attack.  She’d have been convinced he only talked like that to get a rise out of her, but he did it with everyone.  His mouth was simply a vile place where disgusting things seemed to pour forth, but it was so much a part of who he was that Jordyn tried to accept it.  It didn’t mean, however, that her cheeks didn’t light on fire and her eyes didn’t roam the room for anything but Bran to look at. 

She knew some of her friends weren’t exactly… unfamiliar with restricted sections (not only for the library), but Jordyn… was not.  She preferred not to even talk about it – no such luck. 

At least though, it appeared Neely was on her side on this.  They shouldn’t have to divulge all of their personal secrets without anything back from Bran.  Except, of course, their hair.  Granted, that was a rather lovely gift from him, but not quite so valuable as information: they all knew the value in that.

So much so, that when he was done with Neely, he’d ordered her to the corner.  As if!  “She won’t be moving until my nails are done,” Jordyn finally managed to say without stumbling and blushing anymore and grinned, looking at Neely and her nails, “I love this color,” she gushed, and then glanced back up at Bran, a thoughtful frown on her face after his clue: a Slytherin. 

“Is he younger, older, or the same age as us?” she asked, clarifying.  There were many Slytherin students; they’d need to narrow it down a bit, wouldn’t they?   

Neely might have gasped at the explicitness with which Bran talked about headboards, except that was Bran, and the words coming from his mouth were simply delicious, scandalous in the appetizing way. One day they would know what he was talking about— and if Neely didn’t want anyone but a handful of people, including these two, to know that she didn’t have Bran’s firsthand experience, well, it didn’t stop the slightly-shocked, gleeful look in her eyes. She masked her surprise with a thrilled smile, the kind that you’re bad and I love it. Trying to be slightly more adult about the situation, she sat up a little, and said, “Now we know what you scream.”

Neely’s hands went up toward her hair as Bran called foul, but she was an expert at holding a nail polish brush. He wouldn’t do anything regrettable to her pretty blonde strands, she knew, but their little stalemate over spilling the details on each other’s desired dates was bringing out the loving threats. “We’re not ganging up on you,” she protested with a massive pout, turning her head quickly so that her newly curled hair moved luxuriously about her head. She was aching to pounce in front of the mirror. But, as Jordyn reminded her, she had nails to paint. She settled on pinning Bran with a look while she re-coated the brush.

“It’s an I’ll tell if you will situation.” She looked back at Jordyn’s nails, coating each one carefully, her pout remaining in place as she concentrated. She lightened up at the clue, her mouth relaxing "Mine is a Slytherin, too,” she admitted, pausing to look at Bran with a smile of truce. Her attention returned to Jordyn’s nails and her smile grew as she tried to guess Bran’s— with some guidance from Jordyn’s questions. “Is he taller than you? Blond or brunette?” She continued to apply a coat to Jordyn’s other hand. “And what about yours?” She asked, pegging Jordyn with a look. “You’re right, the color is divine. I bet he’ll love it.” Who wouldn’t? The color suited Jordyn perfectly, as did most things.

She finished after a few more minutes— multitasking carefully as they each waited for answers to various questions— and recapped the bottle before lifting a little hand mirror to reflect, as Bran had suggested suggested. Maybe not in the same way. Neely beamed at her reflection. Tearing away from the mirror with some difficulty to smile, she said, “I’m totally catching my Valentine."