Tavelon pushed open the door and entered the shop. Looking around, he discovered it was quite empty. But at least it wasn't outside in the cold. He decided to peruse the shelves for a while and see if there was anything interesting.

Lucy decided to check out Dervish and Banges, wondering what they sold. Having never been in there, she walked in cautiously. Much to her surprise, the shop was empty, except for a boy. Deciding to be friendly, Lucy walked up him and said, "Hm, I can't believe this is empty!" looking around the store.
"By the way, I'm Lucy."

Thinking that the place was a joke shop, Lorcan pulled Lexi insides out of the cold. He pulled her behind one of the shelves. "Well, what do you think? Can you see anything that will work?" He asked doubtfully. "Should we write to Weasley's?"

"Yeah, I think we should write to Weasley's definitely. This is rubbish" Lexi said with an upturned nose. "Let's go somewhere else."

"Okay, well where'd you want to go?" He looked at her expectantly, completely out of ideas.

Lexi thought for a moment then said, "Well, we can back up to the castle and find something to get into." An evil little grin playing at her lips... Maybe they'd see a certain someone and set into action their plan to make her miserable.

Lorcan noted the twinkle in her eyes. "Come on then, minx." he grabbed her hand and pulled her into the street outside.

For March, it was still pretty cold at Hogwarts. Daphne wasn't taking any chances. She could not afford to be sick, especially so close to examinations. Her paranoia had led her to come down with a cold.

Apparently.

Sniffling, Daphne Hopton adjusted the buttons of her winter coat. It was necessary considering the plaid dress she wore underneath didn't provide much warmth. Somewhere in between those two articles of clothing existed a cardigan. Wrapped around her neck lived a fluffy scarf, matching to her mittens.

And keeping her legs covered from the "frosty" wind you say? Well...gray leggings of course. Yes, Daphne did worry a lot about her health but staying warmth did not equal looking frumpy and unfashionable. A statement she silently declared by wearing one of Celandine's new shoes. Who else would she trust if not Celly and her fashion sense?

"It stopped working," she repeated to the clerk, banging the wristwatch loudly on the countertop. "I need it to work! How else am I going to keep up with my schedule?"

The watch? It was important. Mega important. It told her when to wake up. It told her when to sleep. It told her when to eat and when to drink and when to go to the lavatory. It also told her when a nose hair was peeking out.

It was important. Mega important.

Plymouth shook his head as he entered the shop behind Daphne and got the door shut. Breeezy day. He'd flipped the collar of his winter coat up to block the cold from his ears. It didn't really work, but he kind of liked the popped collar look. He, admittedly, liked to peek out of the sides.

This was how horses felt when they were made to wear those blinder things. Hehe.


"Why don't you ... pick out a new one, Daphadil? While we're here?" Plymouth combed his crazy hair over to the side and roamed through the shelves.

"But I want this one!" she exclaimed in a snooty tone, banging the watch some more on the counter. Because it was not working! And they were not working fast enough to fix it! UGH.UGHUGHGUHG!

Then Daphne reached out a hand for Plymouth, wiggling herfingers in his direction. Fix it! FIX IT PLYMOUTH.

Plymouth gave the person behind the counter a pleading look as he took Daphne's hand. He tucked it right into his pocket with his fingers intertwined with his. "Then we'll wait here while they fix it. You can... entertain me in the meantime."

Daphne Hopton WAS entertaining. Wildly so, in fact. From her temper tantrums to her overly warm and snuggly moments, she was never predictable and always keeping Plymouth on his toes. He plucked a doohickeythingy off a high shelf and handed it to Daphne.

UGH. Daphne Hopton did not wait! Daphne Hopton had--had her hand in Plymouth's pocket. Distracted. But only temporarily. "I am not--" A circus monkey, she was going to say. But Plymouth was distracting her, again, with something.

"What is this?" she mumbled, turned the whatever-it-was around a few times before shoving it in the nearest shelf. "It looks ugly."

It did. "And I'm sniffly!" She WAS. Daphne Hopton had a cold, WORLD. Did it not matter?

See? Entertaining. Plymouth smiled quietly, watching her million different little thoughts cross her face. "I think it had Runes on it." Not that Plymouth was into Runes at ALL. He... just wasn't. "I don't have any tissue, Daphadil. I can..." Plymouth grabbed a , or what he assumed was a fork, off a nearby shelf and held it up to her hair.

No, he wasn't dumb enough to actually put the thing in her hair, but hehehe - she'd be soooo mad that he even THOUGHT about brushing her hair with a fork, right? So unsanitary! Hehehe

WHY was Plymouth giving her Runes? Were Runes going to cure her cold? Were they? Was he trying to tell her to study more? Is that it? Well, it was easy for him to think so! He was a Ravenclaw. He probably didn't have to look at Runes to know them.

Tissue. Fork. Hair. ??? How did they all relate to each other?

Clearly, Plymouth knew about Runes but knew nothing about er, well, common sense. Silly Plymouth Morgan. "Morgan," she began, frowning up at him and giving his hand a warning squeeze. "You're not going to fork my hair are you?" Who knew? Plymouth ate hair.

"The thought had crossed my mind," Plymouth admitted, but instead just combed his own hair with the fork. Pretty Plymouth, OOoooh Aaaaaah. He posed for her after his hair was combed and looking decent again. See? Not so bad. It hurt his scalp a little, but it got the job done. "Hehe. You're giving me the "Morgan" though, so I better.... just put it down." And he did put the fork back on its shelf.

"Let me take you to get something warm for your cold, Daphadil. Some tea or something." He could come back for her watch later... Plymouth gave her hand a squeeze back, an encouraging sort of "please don't pitch a fit... let me take care of you" sort of gesture.

Daphne didn't have to say anything. A look and a slow shake of the head was all Plymouth needed to know that--he needed to put the fork down now, please. WHO used forks on the hair? "You know, Plymouth, you should just buy it now. I don't think I can sleep peacefully knowing someone is eating away with a fork that just went through your hair."

Not that Plymouth didn't have nice clean hair. He did. He did. Plymouth was a cleanly person--usually.

The mention of her cold, though, was suffice to trigger a sudden "coughing fit". Nodding gravely, Daphne leaned against Plymouth. "Yes, I do believe it's part of your duty now."

"Don't think that fork was for eating, anyway," Plymouth encouraged her as he herded them away from it. He didn't want to waste money on a fork. And it was just hair, right? He was clean today, thanks. Plymouth was actually smelling REALLY nice. New Christmas cologne and all.

He had a huge and ridiculous swell of ... pride? Happy? Something good at Daphne's telling him what his duty was. His duty as boyfriend. The smirk on his face didn't even come close to camouflaging how HAPPY he was. "Something tells me you aren't into that whole Three Broomsticks scene, so Puddifoots? I'll get you tea and sweets. For my sweets." HEHEHE. Cheesy, but Plymouth didn't care. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and got the door to the little shop for them.

"Then what is it for?" asked Daphne genuinely curious. What were forks for if not for eating? Stabbing? O_o....? Really? Still thinking about the stabbing fork (somehow magical) Daphne missed Plymouth's sweets. Well, she heard but was not listening. Wasn't. "No frosting," was her only complaint.

Plymouth knew she didn't like frosting. Knew. Yes?