a/n: I don't think I've ever written a HP OC. Weird. Lovely, though, in this (I think). Tickling is a big part, it seems, of how I am around people. So there's tickling in this, and there will be tickling in the next few. And no, tickling is not code for something else. Perv.

If updates slow, great, that means I'm focusing my writing to where it should be going- my book. But, if you'd still like to see some oneshots here, make sure to review and tell me!

Word count: 1173

Pairing: RoxanneOC

yes, no, maybe so

She thinks she might love him. She doesn't quite know what love is, or if she believes in it, but she knows that she can't help but stare at his lips, his eyes, his hair; and feel butterflies anytime he's around. She knows she thinks of him constantly, and remembers everything he says with striking clarity. She knows exactly what to joke about to tease a laugh from his wide lips, a chuckle that makes his blue eyes twinkle slightly and crinkle at the edges. She knows him, and loves everything about what knowledge she's gleamed.

They start out ordinarily enough, her futzing around in the boys' dressing room, fixing hair and straightening ties before waving away the male actors. They thank her plentifully, playfully afraid of her bad temper. In all reality, she isn't angry frequently, and never at them, a fact that they are aware of. He slips into the dressing room to laugh with a friend. She sees him out of the corner of her eye, but doesn't pay much attention to the boy.

Later, in the girls' dressing room his name is mentioned, "oh yeah, there are plenty of attractive guys that go unnoticed, like that techie, Henry." Colleen says with flawlessly enunciated words. Her appearance is that of an old woman, with gray streaked through her chestnut hair and tawny lines marking her face like wrinkles. Roxanne takes a moment to smile at her own handiwork- under all that make-up is a teen girl.

"Henry!" Chimes in another girl, Natalie Thomas, "I never thought about it before, but he is cute. Too bad he's a sixth year." Natalie is wearing fine silk clothing and an ornate band of feathers on her head. She looks the picture of wealthy elegance. Her hair is perched in a bun on her head, sprayed in place countless times to ensure its longevity. The bun took an obscene amount of time, clocking in today at forty-five minutes total to produce the elegant hairstyle.

"There'll be so many cute blokes ours for the taking once we get out of here," Colleen smiles in wolfish anticipation. Natalie nods in agreement. The pair, like all seventh years, are counting down the days until they break free from the castle and are able to set out on their own. Roxanne can't help but wonder if she'll be the same in two years, celebrating every day that passes as one less that she'll be attending lessons and sleeping in her beautiful four-poster bed. She hopes not.

"Nobody is attractive in my year!" Roxanne laments, plucking at a little fuzz that landed on Natalie's elaborate bun. All the fifth year girls in the room nod in woeful agreement.

"Not one," Elena sighs.

"Well, there is Johnny," Catharine mentions, but her suggestion is met by the shaking of heads and clucking of tongues.

"He looks like a monkey." Colleen says firmly.

Roxanne stops fixing hair, pausing to fasten Alex's coat at the waist, "go and do wonderful!" She ushers the fourth year through the heavy wooden door and towards the stage. It is the same blessing she gives every night before setting her human masterpieces off to perform.

The door doesn't swing closed before Henry darts in. "Ladies," he tips an imaginary hat and Roxanne giggles lightly. He stands in the doorway briefly looking toward the black-clad Roxanne to make sure it is alright to enter.

"Oh, there are no naked women here," she affirms, smiling.

"What a shame," he smirks, "I was really hoping for a few." She can't help but laugh a little at the solemn tone with which he speaks, each word seeming weighty and important. She bows theatrically and waves her hand in the direction of the group. "Thank you m'lady," he tips the imaginary hat again. Color rises in her cheeks, a dreadful blush which paints the even mocha tone lightly pink.

He takes a seat in one of the green chairs clustered around the stained wood paneling that serves to hold make up, brushes, hair pins, and mirrors. The cracked leather of the chair is an unnatural mint, which clashes with the lavender walls and orange flooring. She thinks about the dreadful color combination, and wonders briefly what the response would be should she mention it, but the topic of conversation is so far removed from her thoughts that she cannot work it in.

"Okay, okay," Natalie says with a radiant smile, "how about this one? A horse walks into a bar, the bartender says 'so why the long face?'" Colleen gives a small laugh, the musical giggle joined by Catharine and Elena as they each take a moment to process the punch-line.

"The horse says nothing," Henry dead-pans, "horses can't talk. In fact, the horse doesn't even know it's in a bar, it's just lost and confused." All around Roxanne, the girls respond with giggles.

"It is possible the horse isn't even in a bar," Roxanne smirks, "how would the horse get in a bar in the first place?"

Henry thinks about that for a minute, processing her question in his head as her own thoughts jumble around how good he looks in the all black uniform techies are forced to wear. "It was mere happenstance."

"Than we should take into account that the circumstances, happenstance, that allow for a horse to be in a bar in the first place might also allow for the horse to respond to this question of condition." Roxanne responds, leaning forward.

He gives a low whistle, looking her up and down with an appraising eye, "I'm Henry,"

"Roxanne," she smiles at him, pleased to have found someone to appreciate her witty humour. At home, her father's jokes, while funny, are much too vulgar to produce laughter from her cherry lips.

"Well, Roxy," he grins, his eyes sparkling in a way that makes her feel short for breath.

"Roxanne," she corrects him with a quiet voice; he seemed to have stolen all the air from her lungs.

"I'm going to call you Roxy." He says, nodding up and down. She almost says that he can call her anything as long as he keeps talking to her, but just thinking to words causes her to flush, and he's already turned away to tell another joke.

Their friendship is easy, full of wit and laughter and him running his fingers along her sides to produce squeals. He appears from corridors she thought empty, sneaking around her slender frame unnoticed until the opportune moment arrives to gently jab a finger into her stomach and give a whoop of victory. She never does win these wars of theirs', preferring to instead notice how warm his hands are on her body in the mere moments that the two collide.

And how the do collide! Like stars in the sky, forming sparks of laughter and the light of shining happiness. And she thinks she loves him, his funny jokes and clever remarks, his wide blue eyes and broad mouth.

Yes, she's certain she does.

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