Neely Woolfolk was not a thief. She was a lady. And ladies needed plenty of fresh air, sunshine, and sweet scents. So, it was with one dragon-hide-clad hand hovering gingerly above the petals, and the other slaving to free the lush blossom from its tyrannical jardinière, that she procured the most perfect rose anyone had ever seen.

Snip, snip, snip. The thorny stemmed flower was liberated. Neely held up triumphantly, carelessly dropping the knife back into a tray of garden tools. She might have used her wand, but magic could be more easily traced. And Neely wanted to labor for her keepsake. (One which would last all of several days, what with a new vase and a bit of water.)

But it wasn’t so easy, this private acquisition. In addition to having to be stealth, gentle, and precise, Neely also had to keep her balance. The tiny Slytherin had charmed three empty crates on top of each other like a child’s building blocks, and had climbed up them in a pair of heels to reach the planter of roses. And why not order her own from the florist? Because these roses had been grown by some seventh year Herbology protege. They were florally flawless. So aesthetically pleasing, that Neely might not have laughed if Fauna Blake finally admitted she had some looney sister called Flora out there, staring down innocent passersby with big blue eyes and offensive hats.

But, as nature would have it, neither Neely nor the rose planters could outsmart gravity. Her heel found the edge of the crate, and she wobbled like a baby deer. Grabbing violently at the tall shelves of plants, she held it just long enough, and just securely enough to send the rest of the assortment flying in a brilliant display of scarlet petals, packed soil, sharp thorns, and knotty roots.

Neely squinted and covered her face with her wrists as she braced for an impact with the green house floor. She couldn’t have chosen a more unsanitary spot to lose her grace if she’d somehow fallen through a window, in the boy’s loo.

A light gray tweed Newsboy cap was fashioned upon his head—it was perfect, if his opinion was asked, for it allowed you both the appeal of a casual and male acceptable accessory. Not only was it perfect for blocking out the sun, but it made an excellent nap cap as well. Perhaps that was how he found it so easy to take in an hour under the shade of an unassuming tree near the Greenhouses. His coursework had been resting on his stomach, but after some time his head had slowly nodded backwards.

Luckily (or he would think so when he woke up), his parchment hadn’t taken off in flight very far—for when you nap outside with loose paper, the wind is liable to pick it up and run with it. The Greenhouse wall was nearby, and one of the papers had stuck to it as a sign of loyalty to the young Slytherin. He had worked all of his past week on these notes, after all. It was a sign of good faith that he’d let them even risk the alluring and flighty element.

Still, he slept like most young men do—soundly, and with little care for the world around him. His black dress trousers held no worry for the grass that harmlessly threatened to stain, and his white collar button up shirt was resting up against the oddly comfortable tree trunk. Suspenders hung over either shoulder, in case his trousers thought to slip off and go on their own adventure, and the dark green tie was loosened up, the top buttons of his shirt undone so he wouldn’t suffocate prematurely in his rest.

Straight out were his legs, crossed over at the ankles. The black leather dress shoes, with their laces done up just so, had a mild polish to them so that though they didn’t sparkle, but had at least a simmer of shine. And let’s not forget the dark green socks to compliment the tie—Slytherin Pride as much as possible, after all.

It wasn’t until a loud noise drifted through the Greenhouse to him that he stirred. And it took only a moment longer before he sat up suddenly, realizing what he’d done. Nap?! I have to study! Of course, after that realization came the one that he was left with fewer notes than he’d come with. At which point he scrambled up off the grounds, launching himself after the closest paper with a push off with one hand, the other clutching the remainder of his notes against his chest.

When he neared the Greenhouse, he could hear some stirring—it only gave him pause because it was the coveted Seventh Year Greenhouse… and he found his curiosity stimulated. It helped that, after picking up the third paper, he hadn’t lost as much as he’d thought. Rolling up the parchment, he gripped it in one hand while marching to the Greenhouse, pushing open the door as if he deserved—no, no, as if he was privy and belonged there.

The sight before him, however, made his eyes widen and his lips purse slightly downwards. If he was caught in this mess… As if that thought alone could cause the rather greasy Professor to pop out of nowhere, Julian glanced over his shoulder before shutting the door as quickly as he could. “Is this your newest motif, Neely?”

Neely opened one eye, and found herself staring into the (mostly dry) cakey dirt of the greenhouse floor. She groaned, her mouth forming a strange sort of pouting scowl. Pushing herself up just a bit, so that her elbows kept her above the surface, so to speak, she looked around at the foggy, floral, humid space, a labyrinth of potted plants of varying levels of danger and beauty, and patchworks of sunlight leaking in across the shaded floor.

And then she saw the sole witness to her grand finale. Or intermission?

The groan became a silent gasp, and Neely sat up straighter, falling onto her bum. Her legs sprawled in front of her, she smoothed the dirty ends of her dress, and crossed her arms, looking up at Julian St. James with scandal in her eyes. “Golly, Julian, what are you, a creepy Hufflepuff?” She asked. It was the only retort she could come up with while her head and hair swam with visions (and realities) of germy dirt.

“I wanted roses,” she explained. Had he seen her fall? How mortifying! “Be a gentleman and help me up?” Because, of course, there was no way she could climb to her feet all on her lonesome.

Her eyes studied her fellow fifth year more carefully, though they hardly needed to do so. Everyone who wasn’t blind or stupid could see how genetically blessed and expertly dressed the St. James boy was. And from Neely’s current position, his impressive height became almost formidable. She raised a dainty hand, like a needy child.

It was interesting how Neely reacted when she thought she was alone. Julian tilted his head to the side just before letting her have an idea that he was, in fact, there, examining her there. Sprawled out on the ground, clearly a little out of sorts and perhaps even uncertain of what to do or where to start. Then she took notice in him, and he instantly stood up a little bit more, though he kept at a comfortable stance, slightly slouched as he smirked a little—that quick little movement that followed the gasp was very ‘child caught with her mummy’s wand’ sort of reaction.

“Golly, Julian, what are you, a creepy Hufflepuff?”

Blinking as she settled on to the ground as if she meant to be there, he merely shrugged and leaned comfortably against a nearby table, his hip digging into the side as he crossed his own arms over his chest in mirror to her. If they were going to be caught, at least he wouldn’t have the dirt on his knees… He wasn’t wearing yellow, today—why Hufflepuff then? And why creepy? Pursing his lips to the side, he glanced away from her as he took in the mess.

“I could ask you the same thing.” Motioning to her mess with a slight lift of his hand, he shrugged. His other hand still clutched to the notes, his excuse for being out near the Greenhouses. What was hers?

“I wanted roses.”

His eyes moved a little bit quicker back to her face, taken in by her eyes. He reminded himself to not be drawn in so soon—they were big enough to drown in. He finally smirked and let out a soft chuckle. “Roses.” At least Neely was to the point. And by the looks of it, she had probably gotten more than she bargained for.

“Be a gentleman and help me up?”

Pushing himself automatically from his leaning post, he stepped forward after her, his arms untangling themselves from across his chest. He gave her a wink. “Of course.” Stooping just slightly, he offered her his hand, well kept and spotless fingernails. It was important to him that his hands look presentable. And though he did feel a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, he tried not to focus on the dirt that was now pressed under Neely’s fingernails.

Accepting her hand, Julian waited until she had her feet under her before giving her a gentle pull up, his other hand holding on under her elbow until she was back on her own two steady legs—not that she had that far to go, of course. After a moment, he pulled his hand back and unconsciously wiped them off on his trousers, as if he could feel each little particle of dirt attaching to him. “Roses in the Seventh Year Greenhouses?”

Normally he knew better than to ask questions, but as they were alone (for now), Julian figured it was better than shifting into an uncomfortable silence. Or an awkward one sided conversation—Neely did know how to talk, after all.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

Neely wrinkled her nose, as if the insult left a bad taste in her mouth. Even if she’d been the one to pull out the you’re-like-a-badger card first. It wasn’t the same; it wasn’t fair for him to mirror the question. Reverse psychology was not cool!

“Why’s it so funny that I wanted roses?” She demanded, straightening up on her knees, hands on hips. “They’re lush and lovely, and much prettier than the silly poster one of my roommates keeps over her bed. I mean, if you’re going to fawn over someone in wizarding theatre, he should at least be attractive, right?” Duh.

But then, Neely had a penchant for tall, well-dressed young men. And Merlin knew there was a shortage of those at Hogwarts.

Despite a huffy breath, she couldn’t help but be pacified by his wink and suave compliance. She took his hand, tightened her grip, and pranced to her feet with a little help from the St. James boy. Neely let go after Julian, raking her fingers through her hair to smooth it out.

She smiled. “Where else? Only the best for my bedside table.” Still grinning, she looked around for her wand, leaning down to pick it up. If there was one set of spells she’d mastered, it was a cluster of beauty-and-hygiene charms. She pointed her petite wand at her dress, first scouring extra bits of dirt from the material before working on her knees and arms. She stowed it away, and headed for the stone basin near an indoor shed. She looked over her shoulder as she floated over, eyeing Julian carefully. “What are you doing around here, anyway? Extra coursework? Or are you growing flowers for your Halloween date?”

Plunging her hands under the faucet she scrubbed them hard, enjoying the silenced that followed her nosy, sing-song question. Who wouldn’t want to know what Julian St. James was doing for the ball? Especially when Neely was in the market for a date who could make people jealous.

“Why’s it so funny that I wanted roses?”

He shrugged a little, about to respond when she went off a little more about it. He raised both eyebrows just slightly before grinning. “I don’t know about fawning over attractive men…” Julian glanced a critical eye over the mess before deciding to answer her question. “Roses are quite normal. I didn’t peg you for a normal girl.” And that was what he’d found somewhat humorous. What was a ‘normal girl’ anyway? Especially these days… clearly they didn’t all fawn over ‘wizarding theatre’ types.

Roses, though, they were fairly common place in mainstream ideology of romance, weren’t they? And what really made them so special? Why were they considered the flower of choice? Why not something just as exotic and not as much of a pain? Thorns were not very forgiving. The only upside to roses were the petals, able to be pulled off and used for more nuisance than they were worth. Not that Julian had any perceived notion of that use, not so early an age.

His breath caught, however momentarily in a slight hiccup of air, when she moved her dirty hands through her hair before cleaning them off. Julian tried to remind himself that it was her hair… but it made him a little more wary of her hands.

“Where else? Only the best for my bedside table.”

A shrug accompanied her rhetorical question—Julian wasn’t really sure where else one would find quality roses inside Hogwarts; perhaps on the grounds, during the right time of year. But these… these were the fruit of someone’s hard work. He supposed he could understand the desire to have it. Maybe she didn’t get on with whoever was working on them. Regardless, it looked like she could get at least one.

“What are you doing around here, anyway? Extra coursework? Or are you growing flowers for your Halloween date?”

Turning his head to watch her, he frowned a little and dusted his hands off before lightly placing them in his trouser pockets. “I was coming to ‘borrow’ roses.” It looked as if the project could be salvaged, but Neely had done a good job of destroying a portion of the… plant, bush thing. Picking up one of the roses, he gently snapped a thorn off, letting it fall to the messy floor before stepping towards her. “I was napping.” With a free hand, his fingers lightly patted the papers sticking out of his back pocket. “It’s quiet near the Greenhouses.” Then he gave her a pointed look. “Usually.”

Another couple of thorns were disposed of, and he stood near her—at least she was washing her hands, finally. Offering it to her, he grinned. “I wouldn’t go to so much work for a simple Halloween date anyway, Neely.” Was he obligated to ask about it now? “Have you chosen your costume yet?”

Neely giggled, both understanding and finding it completely silly that Julian couldn’t acknowledge a fellow male’s good looks. At least she knew which team he played for, and that was always a plus when a Slytherin girl was fishing around for the most impressive holiday arm candy she could possibly enlist. (Or, you know, beg him to go with her.)

He laughter stopped short, and the smile on her face faded into a pout of sorts. “I am not normal,” she hissed in a sassy way. “I mean I am normal in the way that Beatrix Dark isn’t, but I’m not normal in the boring way!” Duh! Cornelia Heloise Woolfolk was one-of-a-kind, custom built, luxurious, timeless, a rare diamond, and Daddy’s Little Angel. She was Special. Not Trenchcoat Travis style special, but really special. “But anyone who isn’t blind can see that roses are pretty, and that these roses are the best for miles and miles around the castle.”

But there he was, making fun of her. As if all her specialness were completely negligible. As if, dare she think it, he found his own to be equally appealing. (And it sort of was, Neely had to admit silently to herself. For a boy’s, anyway.)

“You couldn’t borrow anything from here without being caught,” she murmured, more to herself than to Julian. Her back was too him, and she scrubbed her hands hard to get the dirt off. And then, louder, with another glance over her shoulder: “You always nap outside? What if you fall asleep on a beehive, or get rained on, or someone nicks your things?” She challenged. “Your wand.” That should do it. She turned off the faucet, smirking, and turned around, leaning against it as she stared him up and down. He was quite a bit taller than her, despite her choice of footwear.

He was holding out a flower. For her.

Neely closed the distance between them, reaching out to accept her prize. She tried not to appear overly pleased.

“Quiet can get boring after a while. I bet you’re glad you heard me.” And came dashing in to save her. She continued to grin impishly at his logic. “Did your mum teach that, Prince Charming? Girls love flowers. Even girls who are better than normal.” To state the obvious. But Julian had clearly figured it out, what with the freshly plucked, de-thorned rose and all. She twirled its stem gingerly between her fingers, like she might do with her wand.

“I have my costume,” she admitted, trying to hold back more excitement, this time in reference to Halloween details. He was interested. Or maybe he was just being polite. But Good Golly Godric, Neely was going to take it and run. “But it’s a secret.” She pressed a powder-pink (and now dirt-free, thanks very much) fingernail to her lips. “But if you tell me yours...”

That pout only made him grin a little wider—he’d managed to make the talkative Slytherin defensive. She was going to explain in ways why she wasn’t normal? He scoffed slightly at the comparison between herself and Dark. “You’re choosing your normalcy?” As if she could hand craft it her way. Then she pushed a jab back at him—anyone?! His eyes narrowed slightly as he gave the roses another look. “But normal as well.” He didn’t understand why girls would desire something that every other girl got. Pretty or not…

He barely caught her challenge, and however momentarily, his mouth morphed into contempt and slight irritation. His back straightened and he towered over her shadow. “I could have done a better job of not leaving behind a ‘calling card.’” His height would have helped, a lucky advantage he had over the little chatterbox. Taking in a slow breath, his face returned slowly to its previous state of neutrality. Like a couple of school kids (who would have guessed) nipping back and forth. Or perhaps it was that perpetual ‘anything you can do, I can do better’ mindset.

“You always nap outside? What if you fall asleep on a beehive, or get rained on, or someone nicks your things?”

His face screwed up at the idea of falling asleep on a beehive, and he had started to interject. “I’d hope you would know what you were—” laying on was what he wanted to finish his statement with, but she just kept talking and he grew tired of trying to force himself in. His wand? Julian’s eyes narrowed as he pursed his lips to the side. “It was comfortable outside. And I normally don’t nap.” It wasn’t important to add in the details of his nearly lost notes he was revising with. Give her more ammunition.

“Quiet can get boring after a while. I bet you’re glad you heard me.”

It was easy to appeal to a girl, it seemed. Offer them a flower, and they are more inclined to you. Raising an eyebrow at her assumption, he merely shrugged in silent agreement. He had been able to salvage a few pages after waking up when he did, after all. Now with his hands empty, he once again pushed them lightly into his trouser pockets, his body slack and comfortable.

“Did your mum teach that, Prince Charming? Girls love flowers. Even girls who are better than normal.”

“My mum? No…” His aunt may have imparted some helpful tips for keeping women on their toes, though. His mum was around long enough to give him a hug or pat on the head, a present, and then she would be off again. Rolling his eyes and letting out a soft laugh, he shifted his weight to one foot. “I suppose it makes my job easier then. Get a girl flowers, and she’ll never have reason to want.” Why sell yourself short with flowers anyway? But, hey, if that was all Neely wanted… then imagine how little other, less special, girls would expect.

“I have my costume.”

An eyebrow followed as he watched her, somewhat questioningly. His pursed lips slid into a half grin when she stated it was a secret. A secret? What a girl. “If I tell you mine?” He glanced upwards slightly as if considering it, pulling a hand from the warmth of his trousers to tap lightly against his chin. “I don’t have mine yet.” His hand fell once more to his side and his eyes glanced down to her. “I’ll tell you what it is when I figure it out, though.” A smug smirk came to him as he leaned his head to the side. “Or do you not really have your costume yet?” Push her into telling what it was.

(Entry permitted by Julian St. James)

Graham was having a peaceful lunch.  Alone.  Quietly.  Content.  There were crumbs on his chin and no one around to count them.  Tucked away in his little corner of an abandoned classroom, Graham could almost fall asleep without any worries.  FIve seconds later, his world crumpled.  It was to be expected, even inevitable.  A loud siren began wailing within his coat pockets.  He mumbled an expletive, tucked the remains of his lunch away into his other pocket, and started running towards the greenhouse.

It was the seventh year greenhouse, which meant a degree of the large trust he had bestowed had been broken.  It was impressive they had even lasted this long--his ongoing bet with himself had been five days. Several loud snickers broke out as he ran along the corridor, bursting out the doors with a heated expression.  His robes flapped obnoxiously, providing the rhythm base for his out-of-breath huffing. 

Hopefully the culprit would still be there, caught up in one of his defensive plants' traps.  No.  By time he caught up to the door, leaning heavily against the frame, there was still too criminals but neither of them looked inconvenienced by his heavy defense.  "Hey!" he yelled, panting, gulping for air to yell at them even further.  He took a moment to remember the vocabulary appropriate for their age level.  "What the hell do you think you're doing?"  He stood, still red-faced.  After a moment he was able to identify the two: Neely Woolfolk and Julian St. James.  A St. James, damnit.  He paused for another moment trying to unsnarl the St. James family tree.  Charlotte's branch, not Quincy's, which meant he was free to shred the child's behind for taking part in such a heinous act. 

Graham strode forward, still breathing heavily.  "What in Merlin's name have you done to my roses!"  Hands on his waist, he glared at them with a righteous anger, torn between bending the girl over on his knee for a good spanking and literally kicking the boy's arse.  "Let's begin with twenty points from your respective houses and telling me what the hell you're doing here."

Neely might have huffed, and puffed, and blown the (green)house down, but she simply crossed her arms, her palms unhitching themselves from her waist and twisting into a pretzel of disapproval. He didn’t understand. “It’s a simple Arithmancy equation,” she informed with a roll of her eyes. “Some types of normal are good, others are bad. Some are just boring, and some are necessary.” Like girls and flowers.

He loomed over her, obviously the taller of the two. It was almost comical, but Neely wasn’t going to let him win. She might have been vertically defrauded, but her ego was the size of an elephant. “At least I have a signature.” There.

Alright, so perhaps she’d spoke too quickly.

But apparently Julian didn’t know beehives could exist underground. Awaiting the ankles of unsuspecting schoolboys. Neely smiled, more to herself than to her fellow fifth year.

“I like napping outside,” she conceded. “On the beach. In Italy.” Monte Carlo would do in a pinch. “There are special flowers there, too...” Just in case this mini lecture wasn’t sinking in.

Neely nearly bit her lip after she’d mentioned his mother. Come to think of it, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen Mrs. St. James at a society soiree. And the sluggishness of Julian’s reply left her feeling a strange pang of guilt. Which she quickly overcame, making way for curiosity and spotlight.

“Oh, I have my costume! But it’s too genius to reveal without collateral and-- Holy harpies!”

As if she’d been jelly-jinxed square in the knees, Neely bumbled forward, clutching Julian’s long arms and looking around him as if he were a shield of some sort. Oh good goly, Graham Bombay. The bonkers badger alumnus preferred plants to children, ten to one: fact.

“Professor!” She squealed at last. And then a nervous giggle. “Professor.” The second utterance sounded more like a breathless laugh. “How are you? Have you done something with your hair? It looks really nice! Chic. The scruffiness, it really works for your bone structure.” She scuttled around Julian, straightened up, and mimed a beard of her own.

She looked over her shoulder, up at the St. James boy, before continuing to weave a tale of flattery and falsities. “Your roses?” Neely feigned innocence. And then, looking around for some imaginary culprit, she raised her small fingers to her koala cheeks, her mouth perfectly ajar in that o of childish discovery. “Oh my golly Godric! The roses! Who would do such a thing?!”

Blue eyes pouring into the professor’s, Neely didn’t shy away from a quickly-adopted role of Innocent Bystander. She willed a blush into her cheeks as if it were as easy as blinking. “We...” More nervous laughter to set the scene. “This is sort of embarrassing, but we wanted to be alone. To, er...” She shrugged, her face following suit. Surely Bombay wasn’t such an extraterrestrial madman that he couldn’t interpret teenage timidity. “Julian was asking me to the ball when we heard something go that way.” She pointed toward the farthest corner. “We didn’t see anything, but we were a bit distracted. I pulled him away for a moment, in case someone was watching. We were just leaving, actually. I didn’t even notice the roses until now!”

“It’s a simple Arithmancy equation.”

An eyebrow rose in mock response to that—was Neely going to school him on school work? Slightly amused, he merely rolled his eyes in response to hers, letting out a slow sigh. “Necessarily boring flowers. But… I suppose it makes a guy’s job easier.” A slight shrug accompanied his revelation as he glanced around the room.

“At least I have a  signature.”

“Messy? Could have noticed that without having to take down some of the shrubbery…” How easy it was to try to get the last word, the last insult jabbed back. Clearly the young man had a lot of maturing still to do.

“I like napping outside… On the beach. In Italy.”

With a umbrella in her drink? He was waiting for her to add a little more to her statement, with that feeling that she was attempting to one up his nap under a tree. Personally, Julian would prefer napping indoors, or on something a little less stain worthy than grass, even if his dad had showed him how to stain repel his trousers. A hammock, perhaps, for the warm summer evenings. Furniture to keep him off the potentially dirty ground was always appreciated. A groan escaped him at the mention of ‘special flowers.’

This girl wasn’t going to give up. “Isn’t it nicer to leave the flowers for the overall picture?” He imagined it was easier to take those ‘special flowers’ in Italy than Professor Bombay’s secret greenhouse, but also felt that the colors, vibrant and plentiful, added to the draw of Italy. And napping on their beaches. Perhaps, though, Neely was one of those girls who wanted to have something pretty because they could.

“Oh, I have my costume! But it’s too genius to reveal without collateral and—Holy harpies!”

The Professor’s noisy entrance also made Julian jump, though whether it was the raspy shout of disbelief or the sudden attack from Neely. Stumbling back a step before he had his balance, his arms shot out defensively, and his eyes jumped from looking down at Neely in surprise and back at the Professor in a ‘I didn’t do it’ manner. Because, really, he hadn’t. Neely’s squeal made him cringe, wishing he wasn’t so tall now, lest he could slink away from this mess…

Then she was complimenting the creepy Professor. His hair?! Glancing at Neely in disbelief, his mouth open partially and the edge of his upper lip peeling away from his teeth in disgust, it took only a moment to remind himself that they were both in trouble before he quickly (and firmly) clasped his lips together. There was still a twitch at the edge of his lips. Turning as Neely finally let him go, he tried to look like he belonged there. Which he didn’t. He did flinch as Professor Bombay stepped after them, almost instinctively taking a step back. His roses? This time he did grimace, glancing momentarily to Neely as if to ask her through some undeciphered eye language why she had chosen the Professor’s roses?! His mouth slacked open at the incredulity of her statement before quickly reminding himself to play the part of an unmoving tree—who would do such a thing, indeed.

“Let’s begin with twenty points from your respective houses and telling me what the hell you’re doing here.”

His nostrils flared as he took in a deep breath, lips pursed once more. Hopefully, then, that would be a combined total of twenty points versus twenty each, since they were both Slytherin. Before he could come up with something for an explanation, Neely started sprouting off. Thank goodness for the art of lying he’d been taught from an early age, or he might not have been such a convincing partner. He smirked slightly—alone, is that what it was?

“Julian was asking me to the ball when we heard something go that way.”

It took a good portion of his learning to not gape at her in absolute disbelief. Julian was asking her?! “Yes… the poor roses… I was a bit distracted at the time, obviously.” He grimaced and hung his head slightly, shaking it in disbelief. He leaned on one foot, forcing himself slightly closer to Neely. “That must have been what unlocked the door.” Since these were the coveted greenhouses and all… they needed a way to explain how they got in, minus breaking an entry. “I wish we could have found the culprit. Do you often have problems with garden gnomes, Professor?” Distraction was good, right?

Holy Harpies, indeed.  By the time Graham finished his tirade, they would be praying for the fearsome bird-women to swoop down and end it quickly.  The couple clung to one another, and for one brief moment Graham felt as if he were God intruding upon the first Judeo-Christian couple.  Of course without the fig leaves, although goodness knew Graham wouldn't have minded that.  Not that he'd admit it, of course. 

The patented Woolfolk innocence was too trying, however.  Four years of exposure to her eternal youth had soured him against the facade.  Commenting on his appearance, however, was foolish.  Graham had no delusions of how he appeared towards others.  He was long used to no one realizing his true potential, and to those who did only stabbing him in the back later.  Although the brightening red of his face revealed his attention to her words, he tried his best to move past them.

"Of course you didn't notice the roses," he drawled, crossing his arms in front of his chest in mimicry, "That's clearly a petunia in your hand."  He glared down at the two, daring them to continue with the lie.  But of course they would, they were children.  Deceit came as naturally as breathing.  "It's a shame you aren't taking my course this year, Julian.  You could have had your own key instead of implicating another student in your little...tryst."  And with the Woolfolk girl, of all people.  She already had her hands in little Schlagenweit; he supposed one just wasn't enough.  Just you wait til I tell your little boyfriend, he mused to himself.  It was for the best, after all.  He deserved better than the perfect little bit. 

"I'll be happy to give you two some alone time. In fact, you can even stay here.  Since you were so kind as to solve the mystery, you can help repair the mess they made of my roses.  As detention.  Together." A smug grin crept across his face.  Oh how he loved giving the students what they wanted. 

Not-so-subtle jabs, teasing, and boasting-- they were all part of the daily menu for fifteen year olds. And yet Neely’s voice became increasingly more sassy and self-righteous, her palms nearly a permanent fixture to her hips (when they weren’t part of a huffy, crossed-arm stance). Her lips, however, comically switched between smiles and pouts. Bickering and bantering with Julian St. James was one to get in daily activity. At this rate, Neely would have never needed silly outdoor classes meant to inspire exertion.

Neely elbowed the taller Slytherin, spying his look of shock from the corner of her eye. He’d better get with the program, and fast. But he proved to be a decent actor, and she wondered whether she should be thankful.

Still, he could have used a little more flare.

“Really, Professor,” Neely went on. She laughed casually, in a manner that suggested she was ready to reach out and touch his arm. “Taking points won’t be necessary. We’ll help you find the bad guys.” Baddies were always unfashionable.

Gnomes? Neely bit her tongue before she could say good one (and actually meant it, too). Instead came a sort of wince, which she covered with a smile.

Was it just the bits of sun creeping in, or was Professor Bombay blushing with rage? Neely was sure for a moment that her stage show was working. But then she was a little more naive than she’d thought herself to be.

The word detention slapped the smile right off the girl’s face. She faltered. A swoon of self-sympathy. Her knees might have buckled, but she remembered the dirt she’d just escaped. Daddy wouldn’t be pleased.

“But Professor!” She whined, sounding very much like a victim. “This isn’t fair, you can’t hand out punishment for someone else’s crimes! Haven’t you ever read Wizengamot cases in the Prophet?” The one about the Quidditch boot patent had been particularly riveting. Neely had known all along the design thief was an impostor. Eyes becoming foggy and then damp, she pleaded with the man like a puppy. “I would never hurt your roses.” She placed a hand over her heart. “Daddy gave a nice donation to the school’s landscaping fund last semester.”

Suddenly remembering Julian, her victim in companionship, she grabbed his hand to save face. “I know the St. James family also adore... flowers and vegetation and flora.” Thank you, Fauna Blake.

A petunia? What was the difference between that and a rose? Really, either was a pain to upkeep, he was sure. A confused look overcame him when the Professor said he wasn’t taking his course—he was required to, at least until OWLs… Perhaps he’d gotten his people mixed up, in which case Julian quickly smoothed his complexion over, in case he doled out the punishment to someone else. That would make for a nice turn of events.

Still… he wondered who the Professor was mixing him up with. Glancing sideways at Neely, Julian pursed his lips to the side in a thoughtful frown. Petunia… so, what, Neely preferred those over roses? Since she’d gone to so much trouble for them. Twenty points worth trouble, in fact. Standing up a bit more, straightening his back slightly, he leaned his weight on his right leg, distancing himself slightly from the short girl.

“I’ll be happy to give you two some alone time.”

That didn’t sound good. Julian’s eyes narrowed very slightly, watching the Professor as nonchalantly as he could manage, his arms loose as his hands found their way to rest in his trouser pockets. A sneaking suspicion started to creep up his back to his neck, an unpleasant prickling sensation forcing one of his hands out to rub at it when he figured out what he said. Detention. His jaw clenched and he glanced once again at Neely.

“But Professor! This isn’t fair, you can’t hand out punishment for someone else’s crimes! Haven’t you ever read Wizengamot cases in the Prophet?”

As irritated as he was with this sudden change of events, with the tips of his ears turning a bright red that he could have blamed on the chill from the open door of the Greenhouse, a slightly shocked look came over him as he glanced at Neely. She could read? Well, that wasn’t necessarily surprising. The fact she took things in like the Wizengamot and… cases… enough to throw it back, well. He was pleasantly surprised. Glancing back to the Professor, eyes wider, he nodded in solemn agreement.

He waited as patiently and inconspicuously as he could next to Neely, the girl-who-wasn’t-used-to-not-getting-her-way. Some might say spoiled, others might say conceited. Julian thought it was perfect. From blaming it on someone else, to comparing Bombay to something pleasant looking, to abstract reasoning and ending with bribing—perfect.

“I know the St. James family also adore… flowers and vegetation and flora.”

Holding her hand loosely, he merely nodded in agreement. “Yes… we have plenty of…. Flora and flowers around the garden.” As much as he admired Neely’s ability to try and worm her way out of trouble, he really didn’t fancy cleaning up her mess. “It doesn’t seem fair to take points and give us detention, Professor Bombay, for something you can’t prove we did.” Lifting a hand, he motioned to the area. “Shouldn’t you be worried why your parameter was so easy to infiltrate? That something could have gotten in and destroyed your… beautiful flowers?”

Guilty by association in his case. Regardless, he felt he had a strong point. “It’s not very fair to assume.”