Ronnie was not used to this. Not by a fucking longshot.

She was used to quick affairs with condoms in broom closets or makeout sessions in the typically-empty music room. You were an independent thing, insisting upon going slow and refusing to be charmed into sex. You insisted upon dates and no kisses or sex. She didn't know how much longer she could go on. She was a first date kind of woman, and you were a three-months kind of girl. It would be three months tonight, maybe you'd finally let her find out if hat lipgloss you put on really was cherry.

Although, you had been helping her with schoolwork. All of her teachers had been commenting on it, not to mention she was now on time for the Quidditch practices she (you) planned. Ronnie had gone from straight "C" student to averaging "B"s or "A"s in most of her classes. She just woke up embarrassingly red.

Right now, Ronnie had suck into Hogwarts's Dance Hall plopping herself down beside your bag to guard it, placing down her own bag and extracting a portable inkwell, a quill, and her half-finished transfiguration essay. She had just come from a chat with the Potions Professor, Slughorn.

Slughorn was a jolly, fat man who prayed on students with a particular talent. She created a Club out of it- inviting these students to a dinner party every week. There, she chatted, praised, offered advice, and made connections. She had many a friend in high places, as she had cemented herself as a favourite teacher among her chosen.

You had gotten in for your Charms capability. Ronnie had not. So, you swiped her desserts when you couldn't bring a plus-one and always brought her when you could. You even made fun of her with the tanned boy, even if you didn't mean it.

The Keeper sat against the wall with a sigh, running a calloused hand through her unruly curls. You loved to tangle your fingers in them, just to see how she reacted. She pulled your bag closer to her and began to write her essay, serenaded by the sound of the piano on the corner.

Occasionally, she would permit herself to glance up and catch your beautiful eyes as you danced. You would smile, and she would wink back as you twirled some sort of Ballet pattern she could never dream of understanding.

She knew how to dance the waltz because her mother and Aunties had taught her, but she couldn't do that very well- they had tried to teach her the part of the woman, but she knew she would never come close to the level of gracefulness you possessed.

She decided she liked ballet, because you liked ballet. She had decided she liked blueberries, incense, Raccoons, Owls, navy blue, and the smell of cigarettes the same way. You had decided you liked cherries, brooms, deer, dogs, red, and the smell of Broom Polish the same way.

Merlin's blue bloody balls, all this and she had still never kissed you!