Christmas and New Year’s had been more fun than Frank could remember having in a couple months at least. Innocently spent Christmas with his family and close friends, and attempted to keep things simple and friendly when he tried to keep up with Laney and her swallowing abilities New Years. Who knew all the different shots you could have? What Frank did find out was how much tequila disagreed with his body (or at least when combined with numerous other liquors and spirits in mass quantities).

Thinking about the day after New Years Eve made Frank a little queasy still. He was just glad that he’d managed to side step Laney’s appetizing menu and focus on other things. Like games and conversation and the buttons he had worn on his shirt. There was something odd, for Frank at least, knowing now that she was Clinton’s little sister. He still wasn’t sure what the code was… and thus, he was being as platonic and interested as possible.

It was conflicting, playing hard to get when he didn’t want to.

After hanging out a handful of times (and breaking a sweat without taking clothes off, putting her shelves up), Frank had decided to take the bundle of energy to his side of London. Luring her out with promises of fun, food, and smokes, Frank hoped it didn’t back fire.

It took too much effort to explain what a movie was, and so he told her she’d just have to see for herself while sharing a cigarette outside the food place.

Now they were in the movie theater (which luckily wasn’t as packed in the middle of the afternoon as he’d feared) and he was trying to stuff her mouth with popcorn to keep her complaining down. “They are advertisements…” Smirking, Frank ran a hand over his scraggly shadow.

outfit

Wearing a little less under her winter coat than she might have ordinarily done on a such an outing, Laney had expected the theatre to be warm and cozy. At least, that’s how the great wizarding playhouses of their time all happened to be. Whenever Olive had dragged the family out to some terribly boring, corny musical. (The few times Laney had liked going to theatre as a child were when the epic tragedies were being performed: bloodshed, sexual scandal, exploding hexes, and all.)

But this ‘cinema’ was completely different than the magical world’s brand of theatre. And exceptionally freezing. “Bloody hell,” she murmured loudly. “It’s January, and they can’t bother with Heating Charms.” She knit her brows together, rubbing her sleeves over her bare legs, which were curled up under her. She shot a glance at Frank. “Well of course not,” she answered her own ranting. “They don’t know charms.”

Still, she had to admit, this surprise of Frank’s was quite a bit more entertaining than she’d presumed it would be. Not that she’d doubted his skills. But the whole... Muggle London thing was a bit new for Laney, the ever-reluctant Pureblood. She would try anything once, but that rule was usually applied within the context of wand-carrying society. Even the tattoos gracing her vaguely tanned complexion had been magically etched into her skin-- from the muggle gun, to the moon on the back of her shoulder, which changed with the cycles of the night sky and was oft veiled by thin, lazy clouds floating in and out of her view in her flesh.

When the pictures began, she felt her insides jump, and she grasped the arms of her seat hard to avoid looking remotely nervous in front of her bookish companion. The cigarettes in his pocket were calling her name. But as the images flashed by, a whirlwind of animated, true-to-life scenes, Laney could feel the comical outrage bubbling inside. “Advertiseme--” She was about to ask, in the most highly skeptical of tones. But a mouthful of the buttery, salty, delicious treat found its way to her lips before the last bit of the final syllable could make itself known. She reluctantly chewed, none-too-secretly enjoying the innocent brush of Frank’s fingers against her lips.

“This is like Quidditch for lame people,” she noted, mentally evaluating the two-dimensional scene. She reached for more popcorn, scooping her lanky fingers through the bag in Frank’s lap. “Or books for stupid people.” Or...

One advert ended and another began, and soon Laney was viewing the opening credits of the film-- without knowing they were any such thing. “It’s like they stole our portraits!” She hissed excitedly, a mingling of superior triumph and pissed-off-ish-ness gracing her tone. She couldn’t help the crooked smirk on her lips, however, as her eyes adjusted to the final level of darkness that enveloped the theatre as the feature began to play.

Laney felt something collide with the back of her seat, and she whirled suspiciously to discover a child pressing its clown-like feet into the arch of her chair; the woman who could be no one but his mother (only a mother could love that face, even in that dark) looked positively scandalized and was holding a shushing finger to her own lips... staring sourly at Laney. The wand in the Seeker’s hand was, luckily, still clutched at lap level.

Finally, reluctantly (mostly to stop Frank from having a heart attack), she turned back and settled into her seat.

“So is this why you’re such an adventurer?” She asked, leaning toward Frank in a whisper that was much quieter than her previous comments. “All these movies.” Her fingers danced lightly over his arm, enjoying the ticklish hair beneath his rolled up sleeve. He’d been very warm and fuzzy of late, and it had only made his boyish face all the more enticing. Laney was trying harder than ever to get under his skin... and under his shirt.

Frank’s eyes lingered on her shoulder, imagining how the night sky would look in a few hours. He tried to not let the time of the month bother him, but it was only getting worse as each one went by. It was like he couldn’t turn away from his nightmares—they came back to haunt him no matter what he did. He reframed from staring at her tattoo, however, glancing towards the screen to distract himself. She had been doing a good job of keeping him focused elsewhere, which was why he’d talked her into an outing today.

In a few short days, he’d be ‘out of reach.’ Frank had to keep a diary, his almanac and other references littering his spare room slash office. Thank goodness he didn’t have many guests who stayed over, or he might have to put some work into cleaning up the spare room. 

“There’s something about a cold theater that makes it cozier.” She was the intelligent witch, she should have worn more practical clothes for the weather outside. Frank had his outer jacket if she needed something extra, having dressed appropriately himself. He almost had too many layers on, and had all ready pushed them up to his elbows.

Frank glanced from the screen to Laney’s face, enjoying the expression changes. It was amazing to him that wizarding society hadn’t made up something like the movie, or that it hadn’t integrated at some point. Meeting someone who hadn’t seen a movie was like… meeting someone who had never tried chocolate. It was a travesty, and he was willing to help right the wrong. A saint for the film society, if you will.

Raising an eyebrow at her quick assessment, Frank let out a breath and shook his head. Lame and stupid. How mature was she? Well, judging by the taunts he thought he recalled from the shots competition, he didn’t need to ask that rhetorical question.

Then he laughed, really suddenly, really loudly, and very shortly. Stole their portraits. Thank goodness he hadn’t taken a bite of the popcorn himself, or he would have aspirated on a kernel. “What?!” He quietly hissed in disbelief, glancing to her and raising an eyebrow. “It’s a bit more in-depth than the portraits, Laney.” She had to admit that at least. Portraits replayed the same scene over and over again, like a miniature film. Then again, Frank would compare the wizards to what muggles had accomplished—like comparing apples to oranges, he supposed.

The sudden movement of hair and body out of the corner of his eye made Frank glance over at the infuriated young woman. It took only a moment for him to turn even further to look back, frowning slightly at the people behind them. The movie hadn’t started yet, they didn’t need to be rude. Then he glanced to Laney, her lap, to the wand, back to the kid, and realized what could happen. Eyes wide at the implications, he waited to see if he had to… attempt to intervene.

Luckily he didn’t have to figure that one out. Licking his lips, also settling into his seat, he leaned towards her slightly, his elbow resting lightly on the arm rest between them. Rolling his eyes and grinning, he shook his head. All her touching made it harder for him to focus, to stay just friendly. Which he supposed was her plan. “I suppose they put something into your head.” Glancing at her in the flickering darkness, he raised an eyebrow. “Doesn’t explain you, though.” His hand that rested between them gently cupped the bottom of her forearm close to her elbow. It took a couple seconds for him to pull his eyes away from hers, focusing once more on the screen as he sat up a little straighter, trying to catch up with the preview.

“Cozier? Maybe if it were June...” Laney murmured, crossing her arms indignantly, the picture of both a child and a slightly terrifying young woman. Still, a tiny and rare thrill swept through her, as if she were facing the cold wind on the pitch, or dangling her legs over the balcony and smoking in her skivvies on a freezing day like this one. Something about Frank introducing her to this very normal (albeit very muggle) tradition made her happy.

Eyeing his jacket jealously (not to mention what was beneath it), she shrugged. “I guess I’ll live... I have tough skin.” She winked in the semi-darkness, reaching for more popcorn. If nothing else, these muggles had exceptional taste in the pub-style food that accompanied their strange and stolen entertainment.

Speaking of tough skin, she couldn’t help but silently note (yet again) the mild but mounting changes in Frank since their first encounter, which now seemed a lifetime ago. He was more... rugged... around the edges, and yet just as seemingly awkward as he’d always been. But somehow his leather jacket fit nicer, and his scruffy face suited the swirl of smoke oft seen encompassing it. He was warmer, too. Quite literally.

“Do you have a temperature?” She asked between adverts, though with little concern in her voice. He seemed perfectly fine to Laney. “Your blood must be boiling. And you’re wearing how many layers?” She shook her head, swiping like at a cat at the strand of hair which fell toward her eyes. Her own locks were also growing like weeds, though luckily in a much more concentrated place than Frank’s. Were anything like the two of them to breed, the poor child would be subjected to wax and magical tweezers at a very young age.

A huffy and vexed breath, sort of like a sardonic laugh or snort, but close-lipped and more subtle, escaped Frank’s fellow movie-goer. “Oh, yeah?” She challenged. “At least the portraits talk back. Do your little film stars do that, stud?” She quirked a brow, which, in the dark, and given the unruly length of her fringe, was likely in vain.

Laney found, to her own mild surprise, that she was enjoying this experience. And not simply because it involved sitting very still in a very dark, cramped pair of seats with a very warm, slightly older man. (Though that did not hurt the acquaintance with cinema culture). She was actually... interested in the movies. Much like she might be with a book, but, dare she think it, moreso. Because there were images, brilliant and vivid and... magical.

Was this Frank’s way of bewitching her?

Bloody Pratt prat.

With his hand supporting her lithe limb, Laney leaned further still toward her ‘friend.’ “My sense of adventure is genetic. Thoroughbred and all that,” she explained in a humored whisper. “Just tell me you never took Clinton to the theatre, or I won’t be able to think about pinning you down on these seats while the kid behind us watches a bunch of--” What were they called? “Cars-- explode.”

Really, she hadn’t any idea what the film they were about to watch was going to include. But the previews had screened any number of plots, from romance to comedy to (vaguely hilarious) horror.

She just wasn’t used to cold theaters where you sometimes brought a sweater to stay warm, cuddling with your mates, or sometimes yourself, to enjoy relaxing with a worrisome bit of entertainment. Frank loved watching movies, and did so with his muggleborn friends quite often. Glancing momentarily at Laney, biting his lip, he wondered if she’d be interested in watching some at his flat. Then he brushed it off—one step at a time Romeo.

“I imagine you’d have to be. Cold climate on a broom, from what little I know.” Frank didn’t do much broom riding.

When she asked about his temperature, a confused frown filtered over his face as he glanced from her to himself and back again. Shaking his head, though she might not have noticed, what with her blatant staring of the screen, Frank ran a hand through his hair. Then it hit him and he felt his cheeks light up—thankfully the theater was dim. “Oh, well. It’s cold outside.” He was warm, and he did feel  warmer certain parts of the month to others—but he couldn’t decide if that was because of… the extra hair, or the fact he was trying to bundle up more because of the chill.

Regardless, it wasn’t a good sign if Laney could tell. “Some of us can’t pull off bare skin in the middle of winter.” He was getting warm, but could hide the stuffy feeling of wanting to rip his outer jacket off for a short while longer. At least until she wouldn’t necessarily notice.

He was going to laugh again, but somehow bit his tongue, smirking back smugly, shrugging as if he was hiding a secret. “I guess we’ll find out what they do.” What would Laney do, if she knew she could take a longer ‘portrait’ of herself, with video, and replay it again and again and again. The mischief she might get up to… it was worrisome for Frank’s brain.

When she mentioned Clinton, it was as if Frank was doused with wet water—a reminder. His hand let go of her arm and he leaned back against his chair, pulling away however subtly from her leaning in. He humored her with a chuckle. Well, that was until he thought about what she said. The idea of being pinned down sounded very acceptable all of a sudden. Running his tongue quickly over his lips, he glanced non-too-subtly behind them towards ‘the kid.’ “You shouldn’t kiss and tell, right?”

As much as he wanted to be pinned hard and fast, Frank also wanted to take it slow. She was his mate’s little sister. And not much younger than his sister. Or much older than Madeline. The reminder made him wince slightly as the theater went dark—the opening scene began, and Frank had a controlled smile back on. Leaning away from Laney as he tugged his arm out of the constraining heat wrap, it wasn’t long before he had the outer jacket off. He offered it to his ‘date.’

Leaned in towards her, Frank shook it gently at her. “It’ll stay cold, and as you observed, I’m plenty warm.” His arm started to move to reach across behind her, then he stopped and let his elbow rest on the territorial no-man’s land between them.

Laney shrugged, secretly pleased at the indirect compliment. Or, rather, Frank’s easy agreement with her self-boasting. “At that velocity, you barely register the temperature. All you think about is the speed, and finding the target... and avoiding becoming someone else’s target.” She smirked devilishly, eyeing him, wondering whether Frank would take a bludger like a man, or scramble. Whether Frank would be the sort of guy to hesitate sending a canon ball of sorts zipping top speed in the direction a lithe and oh-so-helpless young lady. Mmhmm.

It’s cold outside was hardly an explanation for a spike in the man’s temperature, but Laney (in a rare moment of un-Laney-ish-ness) took it for what it was. “Right, well, I guess I’m at boiling point, then. I’m practically naked, aren’t I?” She teased, playfully mocking his jab at her own choice of wardrobe. “I’m wearing a jumper, if you haven’t noticed,” she added, plucking at the thin material of the oversized, boyfriend-style sweater. It was fruitless in the face of London’s foggy, icy January, but then Laney was anything but a modest young woman. She wasn’t girly, immediately flashy, nor a straight-up trollop, but she dressed with her mood... and today, her mood happened to be lustful. Besides, the jailbait jockette wasn’t exactly a buxom starlet whose nakedness might draw mounting attention. She was lanky, wiry, sylphlike, pretty in a singular way, but dark, alarmingly strong for someone so slender, and hardly approachable. And, most importantly, completely unknown to the muggle world.

Impetuosity became her. Arms folded, caught in a web of indecision (to drawn herself in, or to continue the flirty, hands-on game so welcomed in the shadowy rows), she looked away. Her gaze found a pair of elderly moviegoers, and Laney quickly decided whatever the stars would be doing would be tame compared to the show she’d like to put on. Ancient people were weak of heart. Laney wondered if she might be able to test their tolerance for obscenity. If they could even hear or see so far in the dark. “I guess we will,” she echoed, finally turning back with a flash of a smile, mock integrity gracing her sharp features.

It was her turn to laugh, and she did, taking her cue from Frank. “Merlin, you mustn’t have been laid in the past five years, at least. No kissing and telling? Really, Frank?” She sighed, pulling out her pack of smokes, fumbling through the crinkled package in the dark. “Next time I get to show you something you’ve never seen.” She pressed, leaning forth so that she trapped his arm to the barrier between them. “Maybe we’ll make our own movie,” she added casually, as if having read his mind.

She watched from her snitch-trained peripheral as he peeled off a layer, revealing more of the adorable, scruffy man beneath the winter garb, and gallantly (if nonchalantly) offering Laney a bit of shared warmth in the process. She excepted the jacket without blinking, splaying it across her knees and curling them up under herself as if she were in a Frank-scented igloo. The hint of smoke brought the task at hand back to mind, and she plucked one of the cigarettes from its package, preparing to light it with her wand. “Thanks, ladykiller,” she said, not bothering to look up. “Want a drag?”

Before lighting the cancer stick, she dragged said “drag” across Frank’s nearest arm, the same one that seemed to have changed its mind about going in for the kill. Shame, that. Laney would have to entice it, get Frank’s brain and his limbs on the same page. With her own, naturally.

Bits of unlit tabacco threatened to break the dam of their casing as they navigated the warmth of his arm. As the credits were replaced with an opening scene, Laney paused in her seduction to watch a young man looking over pages of a photo album-- a muggle one, with perfectly stationary scenes flashing across a live-action projection. “I bet he’d let me raise this armrest and go diving for loose change,” she whispered, gesturing toward the (admittedly) exceptionally good-looking man on camera. Shame about the whole muggle thing.

“Since we’re doing this the backward way, do you have one of those fire sticks?” She asked, her hand dropping from its navigation of Frank’s veins, to the side of his trousers. She groped ever-so-casually for a lighter. Mens' pockets were full of surprises.

He wouldn’t be thinking much about the temperature either. Frank would be thinking about the fact he was on a flimsy piece of broom at such a high altitude. Even now he could think about the speed (slowest as possible) and the target (landing as painlessly on solid ground as quickly as possible). Quidditch wasn’t for him. Then again, most sports hadn’t agreed with him. He had tried football as a young kid, but after enough shin kicking and elbows to the face, he got tired of it and rode the bench until his mum gave up on her football champion.

The fact she brought up that she was very natural in dress today made Frank pause and assess her wardrobe again, as if he didn’t all ready find time to do so between words and her glancing away. “I guess—” He was getting used to her rambling, quieting down as she continued, smiling as he found her eyes again. “At least your arms will stay warm.” He had warned her about the theater, though, cautioning an extra layer for warmth. He hadn’t thought to pass on the idea of trousers as well, though he wasn’t complaining.

His mouth opened slightly in shock—five years ago she shouldn’t have even been… worrying about getting laid! Then he felt his cheeks burn and he glanced down, away, up to the screen and back again to her. “At least…” They had been joking about her brother! And Frank was a gentleman. He did not talk about what he did in the bedroom, except to his best mates, and very mysteriously at that. Feeling her so close, his eyebrows rose, unable to hide the sudden grin before he looked away. “See? You’re catching on.” She was all ready using the term ‘movie’ in her every day conversation. Bravo. Focus on that. Nothing. else.

Then he focused on the movie, because it was starting. Nodding to her thanks, it took him a moment to realize she was asking if he wanted a smoke. In the theater. Shaking his head at first, he blinked as she started talking to him again. Glancing down at the cigarette, his mind stepped back from the movie. Loose change?! Frank didn’t keep… loose change to be felt about for. Licking his lips, suddenly wanting a drag, he took a slow breath.

He lost the breath when her hand dropped to his trousers. Sitting up suddenly, he took the cigarette from between her fingers and tried to entice her hand away from his lap. “I might. You don’t smoke in here, though, Laney.” Sticking the cigarette behind his ear, he gave her a wink (even if she couldn’t see, because it was so dark). If only to keep her from his lap, he took her hand and held on to it on the armrest, leaning slightly towards her and focusing once again on the screen.

Close to her ear, he quietly responded. “You can hold off until after the movie, I’m sure…?”

Tugging at the handsome leather of the jacket, the one she’d come to expect every time they met up for their little... (annoyingly non-romantic) adventures, Laney flicked more hair from her face. “Hand it over,” she growled lightly. “I know you want to. You’re a pushover when it comes to defenseless ladies like me.”

A wicked, dimpled smile followed, and Laney reveled in the embarrassment on his face. She mulled over the options, wondering which horrifying point he was currently focusing on in the depth’s of his bibliophilic brain. To her, it was exciting, potentially dating (or non-dating) an older guy. Really, she’d not thought anything of it until now. She’d always expected it was the natural evolution of things. After Hogwarts, and a fling with a cover star teammate, little boys bored her.

“How many years?” She pushed, her voice a nosy whisper. She wasn’t going to let the adorable, vaguely offended expressions stop there. They were priceless. Laney was suddenly nostalgic for the camera she’d oft brought along on her rough-and-tumble adventures with George. (It had been the girlfriend he’d had after Laney... or before, depending on the week... whom had taken more than a recreational interest in photography).

Rolling her eyes, she decided not to take the bait when he commended her slow understanding of muggle terminology. The backward culture, the way they so shamelessly thieved great Wizarding advances... she wanted to turn around and hex the little brat behind them. But then he wouldn’t be able to enjoy the show.

(No, not the one on the ‘silver screen.’)

The cigarette was plucked from her pretty, swollen lips before she could carry out her arousing five-finger-discount on Frank’s pockets. She knitted her brows, sharp jaw snapping hawkishly in his direction. “What in Merlin’s mum’s oversized knickers do you think you’re do--”

Don’t smoke?

Not allowed?

“Muggles,” she murmured moodily, an indignant breath leaving her nose, like a thoroughly pissed dragon. Backward, indeed!

And then her hand was being pinned to the sliver of space between them, and Laney was giving up her domineering role to Frank, who was supposedly now in charge of babysitting all ten of her digits. Or was it all twenty?

“I could... but that’s no fun,” she explained, her own whisper full of contempt and daring. “I have an oral fixation,” she elaborated. “I can’t even read without lighting up or snacking on something... and this stuff is getting boring,” she explained, gesturing to the popcorn. “How about a drink?” Her opposite hand, the one farthest from his trousers, slipped up her own leg, producing a silver flash from somewhere under her jumper (and the thieved leather jacket lining her lap.) She snaked her fingers into his, knotting their hands together. She leaned toward his ear, her mouth close enough to tickle the skin beneath it. “I promise I’ll behave if you take a swig with me. Please, babysitter?”

“A pushover?!” His disbelieving hiss escaped, followed quickly by a laugh, hearing the clearing throat behind him that meant ‘hey, I like hearing the advertisements on the screen, so shut your trap.’ Closing his mouth and smirking, he finally handed it over, sighing and shaking his head. “Defenseless as a dragon, maybe.”

When she insisted on continuing in her poking and prodding of the intimate details of his relationship life, he merely shook his head and sighed, glancing away from her in an attempt to focus somewhere else. Anywhere else. Maybe she could do with a little mystery, something she couldn’t easily uncover. Besides, Frank was a very quiet person. He liked his privacy, and though he might talk with Sidney now and again about the women he dated, he even felt odd bringing up things with him. Frank could be easily embarrassed after all.

But my, she had a colorful way of telling him off. Merlin’s mum’s oversized knickers? He hadn’t heard that one before. Clearly he needed to protect the cigarette from her snapping teeth, lest it be rendered useless. He had done it a favor, really, keeping it safely tucked behind his ear. Chuckling at her attempt at a curse, he settled back into his chair a little easier, thinking that she was finally going to give up on… whatever it was she was doing with her hands.

Oral fixation gave him pause. Well, after he was sure he’d heard right. Blinking and glancing over, he merely nodded. Popcorn wasn’t something to enjoy over a long period of time, it was true. You popped it in your mouth, chewed on it, swallowed, and then went for another handful.

She wanted a drink? His free hand went to pick up the soda he’d purchased for them, about to offer it to her before her breath found his ear. It forced an obvious shiver down one side of his body. And now she was calling him names? babysitter?! Honestly! Letting out a breath, he glanced down at it, letting go of the soda and pulling his free hand reluctantly back towards her, taking the flask from her.

Part of him didn’t want her to behave. But the sensible bit (clearly the part of him that was going to take a drink of who knew what in a dark theater) thought that was a little too fast too soon too much. And so he took a swig. Just for good measure, and to make sure she really behaved, he took two before handing it back. “Tha-” And then the strength of it hit him and he started to cough. Covering his mouth, trying to get in a decent breath, he shook his head.

A few moments later, finally able to speak, he finished saying “Thank you,” attempting to focus on the screen and not on some amused expression she might have.

“A pushover?!”

“With a capital P,” she announced in a proud hiss, neglecting to acknowledge that his surname was, after all, Pratt.

But the real prat (minus one t), was the muggle spawn behind them, whose apparent lack of wand meant double the use of childish, neanderthal tactics. Barbarism. Hacking coughs and assaults on inanimate backs of chairs. Laney would show him a real kick...

“Dragons are actually pretty defenseless,” she argued. “We’ve got how many uses for their blood? And the silly little goblins at Gringotts kept one locked down in their vaults for ages...” Not to mention Harry Potter’s winning trick with a Hungarian Horntail back in his Hogwarts years. His one real contribution to seeker-ism... “Hey, were you in school when Harry Potter stole that dragon’s egg during the tournament?”

The arguments came in whispers, and soon evolved to busy hands and peripheral glances (long adjusted to the dark of the theater). Her cigarette was swapped for a swig of something not-so-sweet, and she pressured Frank until he cracked like sweet little egg he was. A dragon’s egg. Laney’s very own for stealing.

She could feel his excitement, his discomfort, his thrill. It was like everything happening on the big-screen, but more rapid. The babysitter comment had certainly got to him. She was pleased.

But when Frank accepted the offer, fell into her web just as she’d wanted and anticipated, she couldn’t help feeling a little shiver of her own... a little... shock.

Grinning sideways, she took it back from him, sipping quickly, pressing her lips down on the open flask where Frank’s own pretty mouth had just been. “I’m guessing you’ve needed that... for two years, at least.”

Content to watch prettily and behave for the next five minutes, Laney found herself becoming increasingly invested in the characters and the plot-- even with the occasional sidelong glance or creeping hand to consume bits of her attention and energy.

But as the plot mellowed for a moment, she handed the flask back to Frank. “Let’s play a game,” she whispered almost inaudibly. It was the stuff of school broom closets and beach bonfires. Infamous. Predictable. Brilliant. “Have you ever dropped your trousers in one of these places?”

But then, before he could participate with the necessary nonverbal answer, Laney stole the flask back again, and it disappeared to wherever it had been hiding.

"No, no. Nevermind. I promised to be good." She drew her fingers cross her lips, like a zipper of sorts, only more... witchy. From now on, they'd have to mime their intentions.

Frank was going to disagree with a shake of his head. He was not a pushover… well, not usually. Or he didn’t go out of his way to be. If it happened, it was coincidental. Not his fault.

Then she had to argue his dragon point. Honestly, it was like arguing with his kid sister—wait a minute. Frowning at that realization, he raised an eyebrow and glanced to her. “Would you go near a dragon from the front, though? You can’t just attack straight on and get anything you want. They’re one of the most dangerous beasts.” With five x’s awarded by the Ministry, you should at least take note to watch yourself nearing one. Which was what Frank was getting at. He was like a dangerous… dragon…

Well, regardless, they were more dangerous than Laney tried to make them out to be.

She seemed to like throwing him the bludger from left field, though. “Uh…” Harry Potter questions? “Well, uh, yeah…” Blinking, he glanced from the screen to Laney a couple of times. He was a year behind Harry Potter, and though he thought it would have been grand to be in the tournament, he wasn’t as upset as other guys (of all ages) when he found out he wasn’t allowed to participate. As anything other than an observer, anyway.

Again with the time references. Two years here, five there—those were big milestones for her, weren’t they? Smirking slightly, he shook his head. “I sometimes…” Clearing his throat quietly, he leaned towards her a little more. “I sometimes mix up… the…” He frowned as he tried to think of what word he wanted to use, motioning to his throat as if that would help. “Which tube to swallow with.” There, that worked.

It was just part of being clumsy, really. Which Frank was really good at.

And he was pleasantly surprised, for the most part, when she quieted down and focused on the screen. There was some small part of him that wanted her to keep on trying, to keep bugging him, to not give up.

Blinking when the flask came back, he accepted it but kept looking at the screen, taking a quick gulp without thinking about it until the strong taste hit his tongue. Making a slight face, he turned his head her way without actually looking away from the movie. “Ok…” He kept his voice movie-talk soft. Then her question came out, and his eyes darted from the screen to her face, clearly (once again) caught off guard.

“Oh… once-”

Then she said nevermind, and he quickly closed his mouth, biting his lower lip and looking over her face. Something made him want to tell her. Spur of the moment confession. Pursing his lips to the side, he finally let out a slow breath and turned his attention back to the movie. She was driving him mad—saying things that she knew would make his mind float away. And they weren't very far into the movie...

“Would you go near a dragon from the front, though? You can’t just attack straight on and get anything you want. They’re one of the most dangerous beasts.”[/i]

“Why not? You only live once,” she pointed out, a casual shrug in the dark going unnoticed. In truth, she wasn’t that dense. Not quite. Laney would find some other way to connive the thing into giving her what she wanted... or at least trick it long enough to nick her trophy and go. If the legendary Four Eyes could steal an egg while balancing on his broom, the Montrose Magpies seeker ought to be able to handle it half asleep. “Did a dragon eat your mum or something, Frank?” She pouted her lips together and prodded at his warmth.

Giggling-- or as close to a giggle as Laney Irving was going to offer-- she let the obvious conclusion go unspoken: their age difference was going to be a hitch in their “friendship” whether they liked it or not... and Laney was looking forward to pressing as many buttons as she could possibly get fingers on.

“I could help you. My lungs are sort of my speciality... and how they work together with my mouth? It’s... magic.” She grabbed his hand gingerly, bringing it to her chest, or just above it. Her frame was small, somewhat boyish, but still well proportioned. She breathed in, one... two... three... and out, her soft, smoky breath hitting Frank’s fingers on the exhale. “See?”

“Lesson two is a little harder,” she added, letting him use his imagination.

He’d fallen for it. As Frank prepared to answer her inquiry, brace himself and drink in the name of the game, Laney shut up and shut down-- and, most importantly, shut him out. The game of cat and mouse was only beginning. If he wasn’t going to fall prey to her advances, she’d have to deprive him until he made his own. It was his choice, really, whether he wanted to take it like a man or be dragged kicking and screaming into her web.

Securing the flask between her thighs, she paid close attention to the screen. Her eyes almost went bleary in their concentration. But then, some ten awkward minutes later-- ten minutes she’d thoroughly enjoyed-- she turned to him. “I bet the cow behind us and her little grand-spawn have forgotten all about us,” she whispered. “Go on, I’m listening...”

He had been attempting to correlate a dragon to himself. And even if it was farfetched, she just kept pushing it further and further into the ground, making it seem even more absurd than it was meant to. Frank huffed silently and chuckled. His mum had never met a dragon in her life. She still saw much of the wizarding world as some magical land that she didn’t come in contact with that often.

As topics went on to lung capacity, Frank found his mind easily following her suggestions, whether he wanted it to wander there or not, and his eyes glanced down to her mouth out of reflex (he swears). They quickly glanced up, his mouth opening slightly from the sudden hand grab, as if to say ‘no, I wasn’t staring, promise!’ He tried to keep his hand very still, very aware of where it rested, finally closing his mouth at her question. “R-Right.”

Lesson two? He quickly pulled his hand back, not sure if he really wanted his thoughts doing down that way. It was dangerous… especially because of how innovative his imagination could be.

Frank tried to refocus on the movie, glancing only periodically (and gradually less as time went on) to Laney. Her voice cut through, closer than those on the screen. Blinking, glancing over his shoulder reflexively (as if he might see a cow) before realizing who she was talking about, Frank felt a slight smolder on his cheeks. Rubbing at his ear, he raised an eyebrow. Now she was curious?

Wait, about what? He tried to reach back and remember exactly what it was about. Frowning, stumbling over a couple thoughts, he finally thought he knew what she was referencing. And now, he didn’t know if he wanted to divulge. It was somewhat embarrassing after all. Shaking his head, he chuckled and glanced back to the movie. “Then you’ll miss the movie.” Patting her forearm like an understanding adult might to a child, he tried with all his might to stare at the screen.

Laney might have recoiled, had they been in sunlight. It seemed that suddenly... Frank Pratt had grown a pair.

Now how did he expect her to resist all of those urges?

His fumbling and stuttering and general boyish adorableness had graduated, quite abruptly, if only momentarily, to cheeky disregard. He wouldn't let her smoke, and now he wasn't going to take her bait. He wasn't playing her game! So what were the rules? Laney wondered for the briefest of moments, her eyes flickering to his reprimanding, comforting fingers. There were none.

"You'll miss my moves," she said simply, after a long (short) pause of disbelief. And then, with a half-hearted glance over her shoulder, like a kid who took little precaution before crossing a busy street, she plucked up the armrest between them and pulled Frank by the collar, so that he might (hopefully) land somewhat awkwardly atop her-- it would be cramped, no doubt, with all the other armrests still in place, and the seat-backs there to trap them. "Look, mum, no magic," she murmured.

His hands had only gone back to his lap when he felt her moving. Again. She was like a hyperactive child. Smirking slightly, Frank raised an eyebrow at her words. They were watching a movie, what moves could he really see and appreciate?

With his arms off of the armrest, he wasn’t stopping her from moving it out of the way. If he’d been paying more attention (and neglecting the movie), he might have considered it more than ‘Oh, the armrest is now out of the way.’ Obviously Laney had more in mind than space and freedom. Well, it became more obvious when he felt the tug on his collar.

It was more of a tug, looking back. It was enough, with him caught off guard, to drag him onto her with a loud sound of protest and shock and flailing hands. A resounding “SHH” came from behind them.

“Look, mum, no magic.”

Glancing over her darkened face, Frank raised an eyebrow and let out a slow breath, his lips moving teasingly close to her own. They parted slightly as his head moved, moving in closer still. Somehow he snapped himself to, his hand not trapped between them gripping the armrest she was pressed against. Blinking, he kissed her cheek, pulling away quickly and clumsily to sit back in his chair.

A half smirk found its way to his lips as he watched her a moment more, leaving the armrest up and away while his hand held on to hers lightly, a sign of giving in to her, if only a slight bit. Motioning to the screen with his head, he finally turned his eyes back to it. He had to stay focused.