Her pale brows furrowed together in what she hoped was a convincing disapproving look. Because she did disapprove of his playful winking. Somewhat. Except their swinging hands distracted them and she stared down at them curiously, keeping up with the rhythm Plymouth had set for them. "Well, you don't have to insist. I'll believe you," quipped Miss Hopton lastly blushing and looking away from him.

EEP. His nose was pretty toooo.

She squeezed his pinky finger tighter.

EEEEEEP! He had pretty teeth too!

"Too close!" she warned in a squeak and reached out with her free hand to palm his face gently. Just in case, she left her hand there. "Too close!"

It was making her wobbly again.

Even though his fingers were wrapped around her hand, his pink still belonged to her, so she squeezed it much rather because she could than anything else. It seemed, perhaps, the only little bit of control she had at the moment. "You ask such personal questions," declared the blond blandly with raised brows and shook her head. "No, it's not your breath." His breath was just fine. It wasn't the epitome of minty fresh breath but underneath a smell that was distinctly Plymouth there was a certain sweetness to it; one she would blame on the ridiculous amount of candy she saw he kept on his school trunk. "It's more like," she trailed off and gestured at her own face with her free hand. "You get this close," she demonstrated using her hand. "And it's a little scary."

....oh!

"Not that you're scary!"

.....

"Are you making fun of me, Plymouth Morgan? demanded the blond releasing his finger at once. "And I'm not scared of you....much."

In the end, Morgan was just like a boy after all. "In fact. I'm not scared of you at all." And as if to prove her point, she took two steps forward until she was in Plymouth's personal bubble (not that he had one), and looked up with a raised brow.

Put that in your whole wheat sandwich and eat it!

She wasn't scared, even if her legs felt a bit wobbly. And she was most definitely not scared that when he winked her chest sort of filled up with air--and it hurt a little--in a good but scary way. NOPE! Not scared. "Good!" she replied finally after gathering her thoughts which had become clouded and indistinct. "Because...."

Because what, Hopton?

"Because that would have hurt my feelings." She was being honest and he just wasn't getting it.

Sigh. Boys.

EEEP! He was close again. Except, this time she didn't palm him, instead she wrinkled her nose at him just as a blush spread across her cheeks. "Why do you do that?"

Daphne hummed in agreement, nodding twice. "That's very honorable of you, almost like a knight," pointed out the Gryffindor with a sloppy smile. "Except I don't think that would make you look very handsome." Which would be a pity; a non-handsome Plymouth Morgan was hardly doing the world justice. When Plymouth's pretty head didn't seem to be getting what she meant, she reached out and held his face between her hands. "Look at me like that when you're so close. You shouldn't do it."

It made her wobbly. Which part of that was so hard to understand?

Perhaps the unspoken part.

Scoffing twice, she made an amused face. "Hmm," she hummed and turned his head from side to side, then up and down, inspecting his new look; or that's what she told herself. "No, not really. You just went from knight in charming armor to a one-eyed pirate. I'm not sure how I feel about that."

Release Plymouth!Head?

Naaah. Not yet.

Daphne continued to tilt Plymouth's head slightly, pulling him down towards her face. There had to be a scary factor in there somewhere; otherwise things weren't just adding up. But the more she looked, the less flaws she found and sighed at a loss for words, rubbing one of Morgan's cheek with her thumb before letting him go.

"You're not scary," she admitted. "I think there might be something wrong with me then."

One of the sleeves on his tee was rolled up. Frowning, she moved towards him, unfolding the white fabric with delicate fingers. "I wouldn't say that exactly," she replied and pondered the truth herself. If Plymouth Morgan wasn't scary than maybe Daphne Hopton was just a big coward. Which was making her question her place in Gryffindor. "More like because of you I make myself wrong?" That made absolutely no sense. "You have pretty arms, and eyes and teeth, and you're incredibly distracting. You have no sense of personal space and you're overly flattering."

....

"It makes me feel...." wobbly, jittery, frightened? "Kind of a little..." she finished squinting her eyes and clapping her hands together. "I'm not sure how to handle it."

Or explain it. At all. "But I'll figure it out." That was a promise. "Now where is that Celandine Toussaint? I barely see her anymore, you know." Ramble. Ramble.

Pretending to be busy with Plymouth's sleeve, she tugged and folded and unfolded it to her heart's content. Daphne wasn't sure which of the things he mentioned were compliments and which were simple observations. Letting the subject be for the time being, she instead focused on mentally cursing the ridiculous heat wrapping around her head.

Oh! OH! He had poked her. In the tummy no less. Blushing even deeper, she nodded silently at his question. Yes, indeed. It diiiid feel really funny there. Like she was being dropped from the tower and forced to do loops on the way down. "Oh. It's taking her an awfully long time to grab that something....not that it seems like it's a long time...I mean..."

Right, she was being rude. "I don't even like Potions." This was true! True!

"I guess," she agreed, rubbing her cheek, more out of a need to reply to distract him and herself than to genuinely agree with his statement. There were several people she could think of that would look better in pink. Except, Plymouth was on about puffapods. "Oh, I do adore puffapods! But probably not as much as I do love tulips."

And lilies, and poppies and the entire Clematis family. "Witty? I wasn't aware I said witty things." She just liked pointing out the obvious. Didn't everyone? "And what are you taaalking about?" ended the girl confuse swatting at his arm (and missing?). "Saying things you probably shouldn't it's part of your charm. Complimenting, touching, being completely too familiar with someone you barely know. That's Plymouth Morgan behavior."

And she was fine with that--most of the time.

Daphne wrinkled her nose at Plymouth as instinctively one hand found it's niche on her hip; the other was busy wagging a finger in a disapproving motherly fashion. "No, I don't particularly like Daffodils," she remarked stripping off her robes. "Their species name is Narcissus Tazetta. That just doesn't sound very pretty. More like fancy pottery and Narcissus was a cruel and heartless man. Do you know the story of Narcissus? The ending is very fitting. Serves him right. The world is better off without big-headed men."

Folding her robes into a makeshift cushion she handed them carefully to Plymouth, a hand on top and the other at the bottom of the folded fabric. "Please lay that next to you." There was no way she was sitting on the bare ground. Unless she sanitized it a few times with her wand. "Yes, you can be charming at times. Why?"

Again, she just had to wrinkle her nose at Plymouth Morgan. "You're being unreasonable," she insisted. "Don't like them." Because she said so, and because she refused to have any disagreements with Morgan. It just didn't work that way.

"Well, perhaps his real fault was having high-standards?" Or too much pride. Pride sounded like a better answer but she had already spoken. She'd just have to pretend that she liked her answer from the beginning. Taking his hand, she sat down, taking care to fold her legs underneath her as best she could without upsetting her school skirt too much. Daphne stared at Plymouth contemplatively before speaking once more.

"More than a flower, I see a climbing vine growing out in your honor. With lots of little musky smelling berries. Edible berries."