Everything was going swimmingly, as far as ffleurbert was concerned. Better than swimmingly, in fact. It was more like…. more like… Actually It wasn’t like anything else. It was like getting kissed by an amazing, beautiful, soft, sexy, happy girl.

And then he mentioned her family.

Looking away, she nodded. “They’re fine with you. They were just giving you a hard time but they’re harmless.”

“Ah, yes, but..”

And then she kissed him again. Which was just fine, but.

“Still, I wouldn’t want to..”

“You’re fine,” she assured him.

“I am?”

“Sooo, how bout that quidditch?”

“What?”

Ffleurbert was dumfounded. Quidditch? Quidditch? Why the heck was she talking about Quidditch?

Perhaps she was a fan. Or her father played for some team or other.

Was he supposed to know that?

“So.. erm.. well, yes. Ah. Quidditch. Fine game. Uh. I don’t play of course, because… because…” Oh shit. He might as well get it over.

“Well, to be honest, my darling little sweet-pea, I don’t fly. I am the world’s worst broom-handler. We do not get on together, me and the broomstick. And as a kind of corollary, I’m not terribly up on the old Quidditch. Not that I actively eschew the game. I go to all the Gryffindor matches. House spirit and all… but…” He looked at her pleadingly.

“Do you want me to take you to the matches or something? I shall. No difficulty. Only…well.” He took her hands in his.

“You’ll have to explain it to me. Skrumpkin tried but gave up the first time I asked him why. He said if I didn’t understand that, I’d never understand at all, so he gave up and I gave up and … well, that was that.”

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Not Getting Any Younger