Stud? Lady-Magnet? Daphne wrinkled her nose at this bit, sinking slightly against the stall wall, the one she was nearly kissing herself. Her hands flew down to her skirt and she whined loudly.

Social demise. Either way she looked at it she was ruined! RUINED. Varius Tipps was no friend. He was Voldemortist incarnate; hanging over her shoulder whispering evil deeds and leaving her no way out. "I'd rather be known as the girl who survived torturing camp," she hissed, looking up at Tipps through golden lashes with a melting honey gaze.

She'd kill him. Kill him good--once she WENT TO THE LOO! "I need to go! I need to go! I need to go!" chanted Daphne loudly, almost losing her mind. At the moment she didn't bloody care about kisses or Garret or Varius or what the school kids would say.

If she didn't go she'd very nearly wet herself--then she'd have to run away and change her name to something like Sue Anne and live at a farm raising geese for money. "I don't care. I'll kiss the stall! I'll kiss the toilet bowl! I'll even kiss you, Varius! Just get out already!" Whoever. Whoever. It hardly mattered when she could feel her own legs protesting at being held tightly together.

The bladder was a toughie.