Teen Drama or "Are we sure there are no more Horcruxes, wife?"

More feelings More chaos

 The next morning

Stephen walked into the Great Hall and his eyes immediately sought her .

Gianah was already sat at the Gryffindor table with his sister and their friends, her beautiful red hair up in a French braid, and he wished he could go to her and undo it, letting the long soft tresses fall down her shoulders so that he could run his hands through them and bask in their sweet scent, just like he had in his dream as they kissed and talked in the strange version of the Hogwarts Library his brain had come up with.

He stopped on his way to the Slytherin table, being torn between the memory of his dream, where she smiled and kissed him, and the reality, where she hated him; he yearned to find out if real-Gianah's kisses would be just as good as his dream-Gigi's.

His feet took him towards the Gryffindor table without him thinking but he forced himself to stop.

This is real life.

He wasn't in his dreams right now; he wasn't in a controlled environment where he could dictate Gianah's actions and have her all sweet and smiley towards him. The chances of him getting slapped or hexed if he approached her right then were very high and very real.

With a defeated sigh, Stephen turned and walked to the Slytherin table and sat near his friends, having realised he couldn't avoid Patrick, Charles and Sam forever.

"Hey, mate," greeted Charles, "Bad game yesterday huh?"

"Yeah," Stephen replied, unenthused, "We weren't our best whilst Hufflepuff played like they were Gryffindor."

"True. Hey, about that... is there anything we can do to help you?" asked Sam, "Maybe train some shots? I'm not the best of keepers but I can hold myself on a broom, and if each of us protected a hoop it might be a good training for you."

The other two nodded their agreements and Stephen tilted his head finding that strange, but admitting that his idea had merit.

"Yeah. That's not such a bad idea," Stephen looked at his three friends, knowing there had to be a reason for that suggestion though, "But why are you three suddenly interested in my Quidditch skills?"

"We're Slytherins," said Patrick with a shrug, "And you're a Slytherin Chaser, we want to see you win."

"Is that so?" asked Stephen not believing for a second in their unselfish reasons, "So you're offering the same help to Boot and Campbell? They're chasers too."

Sam and the other two exchanged a guilty glance.

"Look, mate," said Charles, "When you win – we win . Not just the match or the points for our House but with the girls as well."

"And," added Patrick, "Girls don't want to go to empty classrooms with the friends of a loser."

There it is. Stephen fought the desire to scoff, slowly nodding in understanding instead.

"I see. So you need me to score in the pitch so that you can score out of it."

"Yeah. And so do you!" continued Patrick, pointing a finger at him, "I didn't hear anything about you being jumped by two girls last night."

"'Cause I wasn't," Stephen shrugged, taking a cup and summoning some coffee with his wand.

"Exactly," his friend went on, "If you had won, girls would've jumped you – and us as well."

"Fine, Patrick," Stephen said, curbing his desire to roll his eyes, "I'll accept your help – but only because it might improve my skills."

"Right," scoffed Patrick, "As if you're not upset you went without snogging anyone last night."