"Did not," she whined.

"Did too," he retorted.

"Did not."

"Did too."

"Did not."

"Did not."

"Did too."

"Hah! So you admit it." He raised a triumphant glass in her direction.

"What? No! I didn't! But-"

"You said so yourself, just now," he pointed out.

"But you tricked me."

"That's what I'm supposed to do."

"Nu-uh."

"Mmmnhm. Slytherin trickiness and deviousness and cunning and all that?"

"That's not fair, though," she complained, tracing her fingers over the leather arm of the sofa.

"Sure it is."

"No it's not."

"Yes, it is. Make use of the powers granted you, and all that."

"But, still. It's not fair."

"You've said that already, and I've told you it is, so you'll have to find something else."

"You're a git," she finally stated, setting her glass on the table in front of the loveseat.

"That wasn't a call for rudeness, you know."

"Sure it was."

"No it wasn't."

"Yes, it was. You told me I had to find something else to say, so I did," she explained, adopting what she thought was a wise expression but was really a rather bemused one.

"That doesn't mean you have to call me names."

"Sure it does."

"Well, then, you're a bint."

"Prat."

"I've run out of rude things to say that won't offend you terribly," he admitted, looking a little sheepish.

"I win."

"No, you don't, I was at a disadvantage to begin with, so I should win."

"That's not how it works, though."

"Sure it is."

"Nu-uh."

"Mmmnhm."

"Dolt."

"Hey!"

"I call 'em how I see 'em," she rejoined.

"That hurt, you know," he whined, placing a theatrical hand over his heart and pretending to swoon on the sofa, his head falling in her lap (purely by accident, of course).

"Not my fault."

"Not your fault?"

"It was my evil side. I didn't mean to." She managed to look acceptably innocent.

"You have an evil side?" He was intrigued.

"Of course."

"This is new."

"Not really."

"Oh?"

"She's the one who made me shag you in the first place."

"Oh. Well, in that case, I think I like evil-you better than good-you," he stated contemplatively, sitting back up, albeit somewhat reluctantly.

"Hey!"

"I'm just being honest, love."

"But still."

"Sorry. You're the one who brought it up, though, you know."

"Fine. What about you? Have you got a good-you and an evil-you?"

"Nope."

"Well that's no fun." She was whining again.

"My evil-me ate my good-me a long time ago."

"Oh dear," she murmured, in a mournful tone.

"Yes, it's quite sad, really."

"Didn't that... hurt, though?" She asked in wonderment, looking at him with wide eyes.

"I don't think so."

"Oh."

"Hmmmn?"

"That's a shame."

"Not really, since you love me just the way I am. Right?" He sounded a little worried, but managed not to convey it too spectacularly in a facial expression.

"Of course. But that doesn't mean it's not a shame."

"Why?"

"Well, because now I can't entertain any female notions of bringing out the good in you, since your evil-you ate your good-you," she explained, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Oh. I suppose then I'll just have to concentrate on corrupting you, so then you'll be in the same boat as me."

"That works, I guess."

"Of course. I thought of it," he rejoined smugly.

"But you know, you won't have to work very hard for it."

"Oh?"

"Well, you've already mostly corrupted me. Regular shagging will do that to a girl, you know."

"Huh. I didn't actually know that," he admitted, tracing a finger lightly down her arm.

"Well, you're stupid then," she retorted, tugging lightly at his school tie.

"I thought we'd gone over the name-calling business," he mused, pulling her hand to his mouth and kissing it lightly.

"We have. I didn't exactly call you a name, though," she pointed out, shifting a little closer to him.

"True enough," he agreed, inching his arm around her shoulders.

"What do we do now, then?" She asked, resting her head on his shoulder.

"I don't know. Shag?"

"D'you think that's a good idea?"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"And since when is shagging the only thing on your mind?"

"You brought it up."

"I suppose I did. Still, though," she stated, tone questioning, fingers drawing idle circles across his chest.

"I'm seventeen. Shagging is about all I want to do. Ever."

"Oh. Wouldn't that get boring, though?"

"Nu-uh."

"Huh." She looked contemplative, as he pulled her gracelessly onto his lap.

"I actually think you'd enjoy it," he was trying to convince her, and pressed his point by nibbling on her earlobe.

"I imagine I would," she rejoined on a sigh.

"Well, then, what's the problem?"

"I don't know, actually," she looked thoughtful, and cocked her head to the side a little to give him better access to her neck.

"I see," he murmured, suckling at the sensitive spot just below her ear.

"We really shouldn't, though, you know."

"Why not?"

"Because you've had entirely too much to drink."

"So have you," he pointed out, indicating with his free hand the nearly empty bottle and glasses on the table.

"Good point. Never mind, then."

"Excellent," he purred, and soon thereafter the conversation came to a halt, as he busied himself with proving to her that shagging was a good way to spend eternity.