Leaning precariously on the arm of the crimson cushioned sofa in the Slytherin Common Room, red felt tip in hand, you began scrawling a moustache on the face of your sleeping victim; your bad tempered older brother, Avery.

Strong hands supported your waist, to ensure you won't fall. He leaned down, so close that his platinum blonde curls were tickling your neck, he whispered, "You'll wake him up, Gorgeous. And if your brother sees me with my hands on you, it won't end well for either of us.“