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The steady drip of water could be heard every time you ventured near a window, caused by the melting snow. Flowers were beginning to grow in the patches of suddenly visible grass, and the bite in the air felt fresh.

"Are you sure about this, Potter?" I warned.

We were sitting in the common room on a lazy Sunday, with absolutely nothing to do. Potter was going to see Professor Lupin to be taught how to fight back against dementors, even if there was an extremely slim chance it would benefit him.

"Positive," he replied. "Even if I don't have the skill yet to perform it, I'll feel better knowing any spell that could defend me."

"Alright," I sighed. "Don't go tiring yourself up too much. You're teaching me flying tonight, remember."

He smiled. Potter had promised to show me how to ride a broom tonight since my mother never allowed me to, arguing that it was unladylike for a girl to sit such a way and partake in such violent events.

"I'm looking forward to it," he said, and left for the portrait hole.

Hermione was slyly looking down at her book.

"What?" I asked.

"That'll be fun," she hummed. "A little date with Harry."

"Huh?" Weasley asked, utterly confused, while shoving some type of dessert into his face.

"Don't talk with food in your mouth, Weasley," I snapped. 

A date? 

How preposterous. Like I would ever want to go on a date with that tosspot. I just wanted to learn how to ride a broom like a normal person, and Potter was appointed the youngest Seeker in a century, so, really, I was just giving myself the best teacher possible.

I decided it was also safe to reassure myself that in no way did I find his hair cute after a windy Quidditch match. Or the way he looked in his Quidditch uniform. Or the way his eyes brightened when he was talking about the sport. Or anything. At any time, really, his eyes were always gorgeous.

But other than that, the boy had absolutely, positively, entirely, unquestionably nothing going for him. Well, maybe his chin. He had a nice enough chin.

"You ready?" Potter asked, holding the school broom that he had been practicing with the team on.

"Sure, Potter," I said, and got up off the common room couch.

Hermione smiled that same knowing smile at me again and I stuck my tongue out at her. She was being just insufferable today.

As we walked out onto the grounds, I asked Potter how his private lesson with Lupin had gone.

"Fine," he sighed. "Lupin taught me a spell called the Patronus Charm. It sort of works like a barrier between you and the dementor. It's exhausting, though."

"I'm sure you went over Lupin's expectations," I replied cheekily.

"Why do you say that?"

"Your favorite subject is Defense Against the Dark Arts. Anyone can see that," I answered simply. 

He was looking very smug with himself when he protested, "I did okay."

"Okay?"

"I produced a corporeal Patronus," he admitted. "I'm still not able to cast a strong one."

"How disappointing."

"Shove off."

When we finally reached the Quidditch pitch, Potter looked up at the rapidly darkening sky. "We only have a little bit of time since they shortened the curfew."