"Me!?" Colin glared at Matt. Why was he accusing Colin of all the chaos at the rager? Was he confusing him for someone else? "Mate! I wasn't even in the bathroom when it all happened! Anyway." Colin knew most people blamed Aamon. He'd heard the name "toilet boy" whispered even by Gryffindorques. "Look. It wasn't any of our fault. I mean. There's runes that control the toilets or something. Someone messed with them or something. Probably some Gryffindorque hexed the pipes or something."

Colin shook his head like a dog. It really did help clear the mind. He wasn't about to entertain Matt's commentary on his skills with Muggle Studies. He'd done as well as can be expected with such a confusing pile of nonsense! "Pfft. Whoever even heard of lavender flavoured cidre anyways?" Colin rolled his eyes. But Matt did have a point! There were enough kids here to get this whole evening started!

"Right!" Colin said, jumping up onto his bed, before crouching down at the foot. His bare feet slid off the edge and Colin ended up in more a less a sitting position. "So, we all know why we're here, right? If Matt and Prat have done their jobs properly, you do. And that, my friends, is the very important topic of snogging! After all, we're all going to Beauxbatons for this Valentines trip right? And one thing France is known for is romance, and that means extra snogging!"

Colin got up and rummaged around under his blanket. He pulled out a bed sheet and attached it to the tall bed posts. He'd made a chart. "Look. This here is Britain. This here is France." He pointed to two roughly sketched maps. "Britain is wee and France is big cos everyone thinks the French know all about romance. But those Beauxbatons girls shall have no idea what's coming to them! For! Slytherin lads shall be prepared for every kind of French snoggery they can throw at us! That's why we're here: we're going to learn all about snogging and French!"

Colin pointed to another part of the chart with his wand.

"Right. So, first, what is snogging anyway?" Colin's eyes ranged over the gathered kids. Many were sitting or sprawled out on the cushions and pillows. His attention was briefly drawn over towards one of the windows. "Oi! Cass!" Colin laughed. "Why is there a sign stuck to yer arm mate? That's so random! Anyway! Park? Ginger Snaps? Great thinking, Prat!" Colin smiled wolfishly at the instigator of this whole affair. "Good thinking, inviting some girls! Can't have a proper gentleman's evening without girls!"

Colin pointed his wand at Harvey. "You, Necktie Boy, Barrows! What is snogging anyway? It's always best to know what we don't know first!" His wand flicked quickly towards Matt. "What about you Matt? Aamon? Clearly, we have a lot of material to cover!" He tapped the bed sheet with his wand. "Check this out." Colin pointed to the diagramme. There was a picture of a bunch of kids around a circle. "Right. I know some of you are thinking, why are they all wearing skirts? Well, it's obvious. These ones are lads. They're wearing kilts, right? Anyway! This is called Spin the Bottle. It's a very fun game, and involves lots of snogging! There's a bottle right?" Colin pointed to the centre of the diagramme. "You spin that around on the ground, and whoever it points to when it stops, you snog!"

Colin brought out a bottle from under his mattress. It was the bottle. "This here is the Slytherin Spin the Bottle Bottle! We played a round out in the common room a couple years ago! Oh, that was fun! Let's see..." Colin counted out on his fingers. "I think I snogged three girls? Ashes. Lillian. Oh! And even Lucian!" Colin smirked. "I remember the first time I played this game, I had it all wrong, you know? I thought the whole point was to avoid snogging!" He set the bottle down in the middle of the circle, upright. "But I learned pretty quick! So don't make the mistake I made! It's all about snogging! Oh! And Opal too. Gosh, I snogged her twice. She was drowning in the lake once. I rescued her and we ended up snogging. You just never know, my Slytherin brothers, when you shall be called upon to snog with a girl!"

@Prat Pass

Elisa sighed deeply while running a hand through her hair as she sat in her dorm. The idea of socializing felt weird, especially after Ernest's disappearance. She couldn’t shake off the thoughts of what had happened during winter vacation—the horrors that she was met with back at home, from her father's death to the addition of a new member. She knew she needed some kind of distraction from all this but not like any of it worked, quidditch too had failed miserably in distracting her, but when she heard about SNOG, she signed up, despite her initial doubts, she made up her mind that whatever would happen was for future her to deal with.

Her eyes widened as it fell on the clock, she was late, horribly late, by nearly 20 minutes, Elisa hopped from the chair and snatched her cardigan, and sped out of the dorm, while she wasn't excited about it, turning up late was the worst scenario for her, it was easy to run while dodging the people in her way but when her final destination arrived, she felt goosebumps, she could hear one of the senior already start explaining about the evening, it was too late to turn and go away, Elisa sighed as she opened the door, poking her head in before slowly sliding into the room, her first action was what her instinct told, to finally face Prat and perhaps greet him, "Am I late? Or did things just begin?" she questioned him while leaning against a wall while keeping distance from the brunette as she observed the bottle Colin brought up, her eyes widened at the thought of snogging someone, especially after her bad breakup with Ernest as she questioned her so-called cousin once more "wait, there's gonna be snogging?".

AEIOUSAWhile Colin excitedly waved the makeshift chart around, Prat leaned back on his pillows, his eyes tracing the wobbly lines that were supposed to represent the countries. He couldn't help but smile at least for the enthusiasm, especially when Colin declared, "But those Beauxbatons girls shall have no idea what's coming to them!" Prat had to chcukle, he had no idea what point Colin was making, but it was certainly a point. The French did have a certain flair for romance if the books and media were to be believed. , and the Slytherin boy could use a bit of an edge in that department. His thoughts drifted briefly to the summers he'd spent with his mother and her French friends, the scented air of Provence, and the way the French language rolled off their tongues. He too shared some french ancestory thanks to his mother's lineage. But as he refocused on Colin's earnest lecture, he found himself mentally correcting some of the finer points in his overall speech.

Prat felt a slight twinge of guilt as Colin praised him for inviting the girls, knowing full well that it had been more of an accidental inclusion than a strategic move on his part. He hadn't suggested any girls to arrive, As Colin continued his lecture, Prat's mind drifted back to the quiet afternoon he'd spent crafting the invitation, his quill dancing across the parchment with a gentle touch. He had to admit, though, that Colin's energy was infectious. Despite his initial hesitance, Prat found himself looking forward to the evening's festivities.

Prat chuckled at Saunders' assumption of his notoriety, his grip on his hand tightening slightly as he replied, "Oh, I'm hardly anyone to know, really." He offered a modest smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. His eyes meeting Saunders' with a warm, genuine smile as he chuckled at the previous mention of his name. He demurred, his voice a soft melody of self-deprecation. In his heart, he felt a flutter of both delight and relief at the recognition, a feeling that was quickly overshadowed by the realization that they had much to prepare for. The room buzzed with excitement as Colin's lecture was about to grow more animated, and Prat knew that he needed to refocus on the task at hand. With a gentle squeeze of Saunders' hand, he whispered, "It's a pleasure to meet you too, but I'm afraid we'll have to continue our acquaintance later." He released his grip, allowing his hand to fall gracefully to his side as he leaned in closer to listen to Colin's strategy.

When Elisa slipped into the room, her eyes wary and questioning, Prat felt a flicker of annoyance. She had always had a way of popping up unannounced, and after the cold shoulder she had given him since winter break, he wasn't in the mood for her games. "Am I late? Or did things just begin?" she asked, her voice a blend of curiosity and caution. Prat took a measured look at her, his expression a mask of indifference. "It's hardly a concern, is it?" he replied, his tone cool.

“Hey, I was just thinking, does the privilege of tasting that lavender-flavoured apple cider belong only to the Regulus lads? Or do I get a sip, too?”

With a knowing smile, he leaned over to napier and whispered, "Don't worry, everything here is for everyone who's come to learn. No need to feel left out." He passed him the second flask filled with the sweet, fragrant lavender-flavored apple cider. As he took a swig, Prat felt his own nerves settle slightly, reminded that he was not alone in this venture into the unknown. The room grew quiet as Colin's instructions grew more detailed. He took a moment to appreciate the ridiculousness of the trust they all placed in Colin's grand plan, and in him for bringing it all together.

While Colin's explanation of 'Spin the Bottle' unfolded, Prat's curiosity grew, his brows knitting together as he listened. He took a cautious sip from the apple cider flask in his hand, the burning liquid doing little to ease the knot forming in his stomach. His thoughts swirled with confusion and a hint of apprehension. Why would they need a bottle to dictate their snogging partners? It seemed so... uncouth. He took another sip, the liquid warming his insides as he contemplated the situation. The game was definitely not his cup of tea. The thought of kissing a boy, even under the guise of a game, was not something he wished to do.

Aamon’s throat burned.

His first instinct was panic.

That wasn’t normal. That wasn’t normal. He had just taken a sip—just a normal sip, like drinking apple cider at the orchard with his house elves. OK, it was not a sip, it was more like he shotgunned the flask he thought was filled with simple, non-alcoholic, room temperature apple juice. But this wasn’t the crisp, sweet taste he remembered. This was something else entirely—sharper, heavier, like fire curling down his throat, settling into his stomach in a way that felt wrong.

His eyes widened as he stiffened in place, his fingers frozen around the flask even as Colin’s voice rang out in alarm.

"AAMON!"

He barely heard him.

Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no.

He had been poisoned.

That was the only explanation. There was something in it—some kind of spell, or potion, or slow-acting venom. His hands trembled as his brain tried to keep up with the terrifying rush of sensations spreading through his body.

The taste was all wrong. The feeling was all wrong. His stomach felt warm—too warm—like something was fizzing inside of him, curling beneath his skin, and—

Colin’s wand flicked, and the flask zipped from his hands.

Aamon’s breath hitched. Oh no, did I already drink too much? Was that too much? What’s happening?

He turned desperately toward Colin, his face a portrait of pure horror.

"Colin. This is just cider, right?”

Colin sniffed the flask, his expression shifting into something Aamon did not like.

"Made of apples. Scrumpy maybe," he muttered, as if that meant anything.

Aamon latched onto the words, grasping at something, anything to ground himself. “Scrumpy? What’s scrumpy? That’s still cider, right? Like orchard cider?” His voice had taken on a slightly higher pitch, thin with growing anxiety.

Colin’s expression darkened slightly, his nose wrinkling.

"More like scumble, maybe?" he muttered to himself, his eyes narrowing further.

That was it. That was it. Aamon’s heart practically leapt into his throat.

“Oh Merlin’s beard, what is scumble?!” His voice cracked, his hands curling about the hem of his silvery button-down as if that might somehow keep his insides from melting into sludge. “I drank scumble?! What does scumble do?!”

Colin shrugged. Shrugged.

"Deffo off," he said. "Not enough to kill you. I reckon we can get you up to the hospital wing in time if you start puking blood."

Aamon gasped, his face losing every ounce of color as he paled. “PUKING BLOOD?!” He cried.

His hands clapped over his mouth in pure terror. He was going to die. He was going to die in the boys dorm surrounded by half-dressed lunatics, because he drank scumble—a word he didn’t even know existed until thirty seconds ago.

His thoughts spiraled in panicked succession:
— Hospital wing. I need to go to the hospital wing.
— Wait, can I even walk? Are my legs still working?
— Wait, am I already hallucinating? Am I just imagining all of this?
— Wait, I don’t want to puke blood. I don’t even want to puke normal stuff.
— Wait, WAIT, I CAN AIM FOR MATT?!

Aamon snapped his gaze toward Matt, betrayal flashing across his face as Colin continued rambling.

"Oh, and by the way, if you need to barf, aim for Matt."

Aamon grabbed onto that immediately. He didn’t care if it was a joke, he didn’t care if it was a lie—this was Matt’s fault. Matt let him drink whatever scumble-infested nightmare was in that flask, and now he was probably dying.

His wide, frantic eyes locked onto Matt’s with pure, undiluted rage.

“I trusted you,” he whispered, voice thick with betrayal.

Colin was still talking—something about fire, about how there wasn’t enough alcohol to set anything on fire, and that just made it worse.

Aamon wheezed. “You mean there’s some alcohol?! WHY WOULD IT BE ON FIRE?!”

His hands clutched at his hair as he turned back to Matt. “YOU FED ME FIRE.”

His face felt warm—his whole body did, actually—but he had no idea if that was a symptom of whatever poison he’d consumed or just the sheer amount of rage and embarrassment flooding his system.

His mind was working overdrive now, piecing things together at a speed that was completely useless because he didn’t understand any of the information he was gathering.

Scrumpy. Scumble. Alcohol. Fire.

This was a setup.

It had to be.

Aamon squinted at Matt, eyes narrowing into slits. “Was this a test?” he demanded, voice still slightly frantic. “Were you testing me?!”

He crossed his arms, fuming. “Well, congratulations, Campbell, you win! I failed! I’m dead! Hope you’re happy!”

He dropped his hands dramatically into his lap, his face still burning—both from the cider and from sheer humiliation.

Aamon was already struggling—not just with the burning in his throat and stomach from whatever nightmare liquid he had just ingested, but also with the growing certainty that he was either going to die or go to prison for breaking the law.

Was he now an alcoholic?

And then Colin started talking.

"You know," the older boy began in the same casual, confident tone despite the fact that everything he said was completely wrong, "Muggles have sixty different kinds of poo they use in the bath! It's true! They call it 'sham poo'. Don't ask me why; I mean, is it really fake poo or what? Muggles are just so weird that way, so yeah, it's not a surprise at all that they'd play in pee tanks."

Aamon froze.

His already panicked, cider-rattled brain screeched to a halt, slamming into this new and entirely separate crisis.

…Sixty kinds of what?

They bathed in it?

His mouth opened slightly, then closed again. His face scrunched in visible, pained confusion. He temporarily forgot he was dying or going to Azkaban for breaking the law and drinking alcohol. “I—” he started, but no words followed.

Because he had no words.

Because there was no possible response to what he had just heard.

He turned slightly toward Matt, looking for help, only to find that Matt was pointedly ignoring Colin, like he had long ago learned not to engage with whatever nonsense came out of his mouth. Not that aamon understood this.

But Aamon had never heard anything like this before.

Was this true? Was this some kind of hidden Muggle knowledge that he just didn’t know because of how he was raised? His father didn’t talk about Muggles much, but if they bathed in—that, surely someone would have mentioned it?

His mind raced, trying desperately to remember anything from Potions or Herbology that involved sixty different kinds of… anything being used for bathing purposes.

The horrifying mental image alone made his stomach twist further.

And then Colin kept going.

"Like take hand boxes, right? It makes no sense! Muggles always walk around whilst staring into hand boxes. Don't ask me why, but I've seen em do it! I think it's because they're all blind and they need hand boxes to see where they're going. I reckon they're like omnioculars."

Aamon blinked, slowly.

Hand. Boxes.

His brain, still reeling from the sham poo revelation, tried to process this next piece of information, but it felt like trying to hold water in his bare hands—it slipped through, making absolutely no sense no matter how many times he tried to grab onto it.

Muggles… were blind?

And they needed boxes to see?

And the boxes were like omnioculars?

Aamon sat very, very still.

At this point, he wasn’t even sure if he was the confused one, or if Colin was just making things up for fun.

Maybe it was a joke. Maybe it was some weird Slytherin test—like the cider situation—where they were just seeing how much he would believe before he snapped.

Or maybe… maybe he really didn’t know anything.

The thought made his ears burn slightly. He hated feeling out of the loop. He hated not knowing things.

Slowly, carefully, he turned his head back toward Matt, the potential murderer but also the only one that knew the muggle truth. “Is… is that real?” he asked, his voice quieter now, like he was genuinely afraid of the answer.

Aamon had been through a lot in the last ten minutes.

First, he thought he had been poisoned. Then, he discovered scumble was a thing that existed, which somehow felt worse. Then, Colin started talking about Muggles bathing in sixty different kinds of poo—which he was still not over—and now, apparently, he was at a snogging seminar.

He wasn’t sure if this was the worst night of his life or the most surreal fever dream he had ever had.

His face was still warm—probably from the not-poisoned-but-still-suspicious cider—but it only got worse when Colin pointed directly at him.

"What about you, Aamon? Clearly, we have a lot of material to cover!"

Aamon froze.

His brain emptied itself like a magically overturned cauldron.

What did he know about snogging? Absolutely nothing.

He had read about it in books. Theoretically, he understood it—two people, lips involved, usually awkward, sometimes dramatic—but it wasn’t something he had ever thought about needing to learn. He didn’t even want to think about it. It was something that just… happened to other people. Older people. Not him. Well, he was hoping maybe at the fall ball with Xiomarra, she was pretty cute but she was more interested in snacking than locking lips. Was he supposed to be disappointed? He was not even sure.

His ears burned as he tried to form some kind of response that wouldn’t make him sound like an absolute idiot. “I, uh—” His voice cracked slightly, and he immediately wanted to die. His head was swimming ever so slightly, the kid was indeed a cheap date. “I mean, I—I know what it is—” He waved a vague, panicked hand toward the horrible bed sheet map like that might somehow save him. “But I don’t—uh—I’ve never—"

His mouth snapped shut as he realized where that sentence was going.

He wanted to disappear into the floor.

His silence was probably very telling.

Oh no. Oh no.

"I mean I do that all the time,” he stammered into a lie.

Was this about to turn into a conversation about his snogging experience? Or rather, his lack of snogging experience? Was he about to be publicly humiliated in front of half his housemates because he had never once in his life considered the practical applications of kissing? No, he was totally an expert, they would not know the difference, right?

Panic sparked in his chest.

He turned to Matt with wide, desperate eyes, as if somehow he would save him from this conversation.

But Matt was Matt, which meant he would absolutely not be saving him from anything. Poisoner.

Aamon winced and turned back toward Colin, trying one last time to salvage this. “I just—” A weak attempt at a save. He exhaled sharply, feeling completely out of his depth. “I don’t think I need to, um—prepare for this?” His voice tilted up slightly, like he wasn’t even sure if he believed that statement.

Because, apparently, everyone else here did.

His eyes flickered toward the horrible bottle sitting in the center of the room, and his stomach twisted violently.

Oh no.

Oh no no no.

His voice dropped to a whisper, horrified and still confused as he looked at the bottle. “…Wait. What are we playing?”

Date: February 1st 2025

A tirade of undeserved anger flung at him like daggers piercing him to the spot as the young Aamon started screaming at him about betrayal, after everything he had said what right did he have to be so undignified. "I literally told you it was adult apple juice, what did you think I meant?" Usurpingly, to literally no one in the world, Colin was a hinderance far more than a help with his utterly ridiculous notions about all things muggle. Ignoring the fur brained idiot and focusing on Aamon Matthew's face couldn't help but drop with the utter idiocy of the situation somehow the boy was truly eating up every word colin spewed and heading straight into existential crisis with it all.

This entire situation was a bad comedy sketch and the urge to laugh it all off and just give up dawned on him, the intoxicating release of simply leaving a distinct temptation but no Matthew still needed answers and he was intent on getting them. When the boy finally sought council in the older Slytherin his voice was so timid Matt couldn't help but feel bad for him, knowing Avis had increased his tolerance for pureblood lack of knowledge but his naivety was still a degree towards the extreme. "Aamon if you learn one thing from tonight, let it be this. Colin knows absolutely nothing about the muggle world and there's a good chance they'll have to come up with a new grade to equate his failure at the subject."

There hadn't been a shadow of doubt in his mind that this evening was going to be a total car wreck but that whole situation had effectively ended it. As Colin began to move away spouting the same rhetoric about nothing every being his fault Matt's hand began to turn icy white clenched hard. Why had he agreed to any of this? Why had he let the boy and Aamon and all the other purebloods in this school get under his skin again. A wall of frustration was building so high he was sure they would block out his vision soon and entomb him forever. Everything about tonight sucked and Matthew needed a break from it.

Thankfully Colin had one singular moment of grace and that was leaving the flask of sparkling amber liquid on the ground as he began his presentation. Knowing what was coming didn't help alleviate the ridiculousness of it but thankfully with a healthy swig of the cider, that seemed to taste better the more one drunk, he believed their was a glimmer of hope he may survive the evening. With every sip of the glorious liquid his head became a little bit lighter and he even found himself smiling slightly in good humour towards Aamon who still looked on the brink of a panic attack. Lifting the beverage in front of him, he offered it once more but the boy seemed adverse to the very bottle as if it was going to come alive and attack him. Ah so he still thought Matthew had poisoned him, well you know what screw him then more for Matthew.

As the presentation continued he couldn't resist the eye rolls, scoffs and even laughs and the more he drunk the less he even attempted to. Wasn't that the point anyways, the entire thing was just one big farse meant to take the piss. It seemed that really nothing phased Colin, not his behaviour, not how others felt he just lived in his world and we were all spectators. When the boy had the nerve to point to Matt and ask him about his experience he pulled the bottle away from his lips for only a moment to mutter under his breath "I'd gladly show you a Glasgow Kiss." Perhaps just a little too loud to those surrounding him as a few turned their heads with puzzling looks. It dawned on him that to the oblivious it sounding like he had just said he wanted to kiss Colin. This simply couldn't be going any worse, by tomorrow he was going to be a poisoner, pariah and pooch kisser. What fresh hell was this?

Colin's TED talk continued onto the events of spin the bottle, I mean what age were these people, 8? Scoffing at the mention one of the boys in front of him turned round and levelled him with a mischievous glare rivalling his own. The particular snake and he had gotten into many an argument over his position in the house and it was safe to say there was no love lost between the pair. Flashing him a deceitful grin Matthew watched in horror as the boy stuck his hand up and smiling with all the innocence of a baby puppy asked "Colin? Are we going to be playing spin the bottle today Matthew was just saying how he'd love to kiss you." Matthew had often thought he had seen red in his life when his temper rose, in fact in this very night he had already gone into such a haze multiple times but if anything was going to send him over the edge it was this little snake.

Yet something in his brain chemistry was somehow altered and as the heat of anger soared it became placated by a dire necessity to laugh. While Matthew should have been frothing at the mouth seething and searching frantically for his wand to hex the stupid worm instead he found his mind nothing but a blissful euphoria. All anger had seemingly dissipated without his consent or his knowledge and he found himself rather floaty rubbing his hands through the gentle knit of his blanket. Really in mere seconds the very concept of anger had turned to confusion, what was it that had even spurred the emotion. Eyes glossy and smile wide he scanned the room noticing everyone was staring at him. Whatever reason was unclear to him so he simply proceeded to smile and raise the vial before spouting, "Sorry what's happening?"

· · ─▪──────────── · · ─────────────▪─ · ·

MODERATION NOTES

@Aamon Athanatos was quite clearly on the brink of a panic attack but as he sat and fumbled over his words a strange sense of calm floated into his mind as the warmth in his belly soothed his soul. He couldn't quite explain the sensation but it felt oddly nice, like a peaceful bliss. Nothing like the descriptions of barbaric poisonings he heard from his family. Perhaps the boy had overreacted or perhaps this was all a mental ruse and he was losing his inhibitions. Whatever it was he couldn't fight the euphoric sensation inside. Aamon is experiencing Euphoria.

Drinking all at once and forgetting to pace adequately in response to Colin's lecture @Prat Pass found the liquid to be rather brunt. Though as the sips continued his throat made way for the abrasion and he found himself lulled by the amber liquid. Yet for the rather tactical boy he found his mind begin to haze with a lack of clarity and the room began to lightly spin as he clutched onto the pillow behind him tighter lest he loose himself to gravities will. Prat is experiencing dizziness and confusion.

At current there are 7 flasks of cider left on the snack table.

Rusty was exhausted from his classes all week, and decided to head up to his dorm for bed. He finished all his homework so he deserved a little sleep! He sat on his bed, kicked off his shoes, and got into his pajamas. He tucked himself underneath his covers and fell asleep.

Rusty had no idea for how long he was asleep for. It couldn't have been long though, since he didn't seem to have any dreams. He was tossing and turning in his bed and eventually was awoken by group of chattering kids in the room, but one voice stuck out.

"I'd gladly show you a Glasgow Kiss."

Rusty tried to act annoyed that he couldn't sleep, but instead, he snorted out loud. Who was talking about kissing? What in the world was happening? While Rusty needed his sleep, he definitely did NOT want to miss out on this conversation. He sat up and whipped his covers off his lap. He stared down at the boys sitting in the dorm all talking to one another.

Rusty smiled, stood up and walked over.

"What's all this about kissing?" Rusty asked. He thought he sounded a little to serious though so he added: "I'm just a first year. I may need some advice!" He gave the group a cheeky smile and sat down.

Actions: Walks over and joins the group.
WC: 222/200

Everything was going so smoothly!

Aamon especially seemed to be enjoying himself! “Were you testing me?!" he glared at Matt. “Well, congratulations, Campbell, you win! I failed! I’m dead! Hope you’re happy!”

"Well, ye're not dead yet, lad," Colin commented.

“Scrumpy? What’s scrumpy? That’s still cider, right? Like orchard cider?” The danger noodle seemed really concerned. Of course, Colin knew there was really nothing at all to worry about. Probably. Most likely. “Oh Merlin’s beard, what is scumble?! I drank scumble?! What does scumble do?!”

Oh, dearie me.

"Scumble? Oh, that's just like scrumpy lad! Made from apples! Well, you know, mainly apples. Like cidre! Me Seanmamó puts spices in it and sometimes even a super energetic potion! Couple years ago, we gave some to Little Aoife to drink. Whoa. She was running around in circles whooping, until she puked and started crying! Of course, me and Liam got in trouble for it. I mean. Me and Liam gave the scrumpy to Alex and Angus and it was them who gave it to Little Aoife! So technically it wasn't actually our fault. Mind you, no lasting harm was done and she stopped drooling after an hour or so. Ye're not drooling, are you Aamon?"

Aamon started up something about puking blood, but Colin's attention was drawn by Bones queries. “SIXTY different types of poo? Really, Colin? And just how do they classify them? Muggle's Fantastic Poos and Where to Find Them?” Saunders asked. Colin knew Bones had Pureblood ancestry, so naturally he didn't know anything at all about Muggles. Of course, Colin's own education in the matter of Muggles was just a bit hit or miss. Nevertheless he was quite happy to share what little he did know about them!

"Quite right! At least sixty kinds! I think Muggles mix poo into as kind of herbal potion." Colin nodded sagely. "You know, mint and lemon and lavender and so forth. I know most wizards think that Muggles can't do magic, but clearly they have some kind of magic all their own! You'll learn more about that in Muggle Studies!" Aamon didn't seem quite convinced, however. In fact, he seemed positively petrified by the prospect of learning about muggledom.

“Is… is that real?” he asked.

"Oh! Totally! Muggles are really strange! I think it's because they think magic doesn't exist. They've convinced themselves that it's not real for so long, that they just end up using it in some crazy way. Like, combing your hair, right? Easy! You just get out yer wand ---" Colin slipped his wand back out, pointing it at his hair; "---and say crinus muto." Colin's hair instantly changed from spiky to slicked back, much like Harvey Barrow's. "Easy, right Harvey? Finite," he said changing it back to its previous spiky mess. "But no! Muggles have to go and make everything sooooo complicated!"

"Aamon if you learn one thing from tonight," Matt interjected; "let it be this. Colin knows absolutely nothing about the muggle world and there's a good chance they'll have to come up with a new grade to equate his failure at the subject."

"Oi!" Colin said sharply. "I'll have you know Matt Campbell, I know loads about Muggles! Case in point! Hair plains. It's a well known fact. Muggles have to complicate even simple things like combing their hair. So. They have aeroplanes, right? They're kind of like really big brooms, and every time Muggles want to comb their hair, they have to hop on to special aeroplanes that they call hair plains. And then when they're in the air, they have to jump off the hair plain with something called a pair of shoots." Colin shook his head. "I don't understand why they need to bring plants with them when they comb their hair, but they do. And that's how Muggles comb their hair."

As Colin pointed to the anatomical chart with his wand, a few more kids wandered in. Mirador. "Good god Colin, you can't afford a shirt?" Colin had no idea in the world what Draven meant by that. He had plenty of shirts after all! Well, not quite plenty. Several had suffered the consequences of being owned and worn by Colin. He thought it might be an interesting exercise to make a list of how many shirts had been lost to fire vs bundimun acid vs mud vs thorns and other environmental hazards.

"Shutitmirador."

"Right! So look here!" The bed sheet now showed two rough circles. There were two dots, a sort of wiggly vertical line between them and a crooked horizontal line below. Both circles had wavy lines radiating in a tangled mess from the top, looking rather like turnips with faces drawn on. "Basic anatomy." Colin's wand flicked over the images. "Eyes. Nose. Hair. Lips. That's the important bit! With snogging, you just lock lips and that's it! It's very easy and so much fun!"

"Wait, there's gonna be snogging?" Elisa asked as she entered the dorm.

Colin stared at the second year. "Shakestra! I mean: this is S.N.O.G. What else could we possibly be here for?" Colin shook his head.

"But! This is the important bit!" Colin pointed at the mouth of one of the faces in the diagramme. "There's this thing called brassieres that some Muggle kids wear. Apparently, they've got lopsided teeth or something, and brassieres sort of straighten em out. Only thing is, they're like metally bits, right? So you go to snog someone wearing a brassiere, you might be surprised! Some kids think you can't actually snog when the other kid is wearing brassieres on their teeth, but this isn't true at all!"

"I'd gladly show you a Glasgow Kiss," Matt commented snarkily. Colin paid him no mind.

"What's all this about kissing?" one of the danger noodles asked. Rusty, Colin remembered.

"Shutitmatt. What you Glasgow lads do in yer spare time is no concern of ours!" Colin rolled his eyes.

"I'm just a first year. I may need some advice!" Rusty continued.

"Well, ye came to the right class, laddie! This is O.W.L. level Snogging, not pretentious Glaswegian gobbing on about gobshite!"

@Claire Lewis