A/N: Generally, if I refer to other characters in preferences other than theirs, they'll be in their canon relationship.

Harry: "I can't believe you," you shrieked at Harry. "How could you not notice?"

"Merlin, (Y/N), you just changed your hair."

"I got it for you to notice," you pointed out. "Typically, when I'm trying to change my looks, I do it so people will notice. Hermione noticed. Ron noticed. Even Luna noticed! But no, my boyfriend's too busy to notice."

"I notice stuff about your appearance all the time," Harry shot back. "I tell you that you're beautiful every day, and I noticed last summer when you wore that new white dress. The one with the spaghetti straps?"

"Oh, good, so you can remember my boobs," you pointed out. "But you can't remember what my hair looked like a week ago."

"Well, I mean, you didn't cut it," he pointed out. "You just, uh...what's the word?"

"I straightened it, Harry."

"See? I'm not good with this stuff, (Y/N). I barely know what's going on with my own hair."

You shot him a look and he rubbed the back of his neck.

"Look, I'm sorry, (Y/N). I'm not very good with this stuff."

You sighed and brushed your hair behind your shoulders.

"It's okay. Just, next time Hermione says something, just nod along and agree. Even if you didn't notice, I might almost think you did."

"Okay," he said. "Besides, I notice more about you than your boobs."

You grinned at that.

"I also like your legs."

"Harry!"

Ron: "What do you want," you yelled at Ron. "Do you want me to stay inside for the rest of the summer?"

"No," he shouted back. "Just...wear more clothes. Even Percy's been staring at you."

"It's the hottest summer England's ever seen. It's twenty seven degrees (80 Fahrenheit) right now," you pointed out. You had a red paisley bra top and patchwork jean shorts: not exactly the most scandalous outfit. Unfortunately, Ron felt differently on the topic, and now you were arguing in the room you were sharing with Ginny.

"So? Wear a shirt at least."

"This is a shirt," you protested. "Besides, the rest of you are running around shirtless. I don't think me in a bra is any more inappropriate then that."

"Look, you're a girl. You know things are different for girls."

"Yeah, I'm a girl. And you're a sexist."

"Come on, (Y/N). Don't be like that. I'm sorry, okay?"

"Okay. Just...ignore your brothers, okay? They're only staring at me because they'd stare at any girl they weren't related too."

"I'll try."

Fred: "There is no way in Merlin's name that is EVER going to happen!"

"Come on," Fred urged. "When we're making out and I open my eyes to see Mark-Paul Gosselaar on the ceiling, it's creepy."

"I will not take any of my posters down," you protested. "You collect Page Three of the Sun like it's going out of print."

"Yeah, but I don't pin it to my walls."

This was a constant argument between you and Fred. You felt your posters gave your room character. Fred wasn't even jealous anymore, but he felt like all of your pinups were staring at him. He tried to reason with you taking at least one wall down, but when it came to your posters, you weren't very rational. Actually, rational didn't really apply to Fred either.

"Look," he said, pointing to a picture of Shannen Doherty. "It's like she's staring at me. Mocking me."

"You're officially batshit, Fred," you snapped. "They're just posters."

"Be honest, (Y/N). Do you close your eyes and think of Marky Mark?"

"I don't know, Fred. Does your head ever wander to Dannii Minogue?"

"Oh, don't bloody change the subject, (Y/N)," he raged. "This is about the fact that it's like about a thousand pairs of eyes are watching us when we make out."

You sighed. "Look," you said. "What if I moved the ceiling posters to the bare wall?"

"That'd work," he said. "At least I won't be looking at the bloody 90210 Sistine Chapel whenever I look up."

"Fine. It's a deal."

George: Of all the people to tell you that you were the Gryffindor house slut, Moaning Myrtle was the worst to hear it from.

What was worse was that George was barely taking responsibility for ruining your reputation.

When you confronted him about in the Great Hall, he was only half-sorry.

"Look, (Y/N)," he said. "I only told Fred we had sex, okay? He was giving me a lot of crap for dating a third year, and..."

"But I'm a virgin," you hissed angrily. "And how could you do this? To impress your stupid twin brother?"

"Hey," he snapped. "Fred is not stupid."

"He's just a loudmouth, " you shot back. "That's why everyone in Gryffindor thinks me a tart."

"Aren't you being a little melodramatic about this," he asked. "It's just sex. Who cares what everyone thinks of you?"

"Oh," you asked. "So having lies spread about me shouldn't upset me? You know what, let's see how you like being the center of attention. I'm going to show you melodramatic, George Weasley."

You stood up on one of the dining tables and cupped your hands around your mouth.

"Attention," you hollered. "Attention, Gryffindor and all of the other houses of Hogwarts. George Weasley is a bloody liar, and he's a virgin. I repeat, George Weasley is a lying virgin who hasn't been past second base over the shirt. Thank you."

A lot of mouths dropped open in surprise, and Fred was laughing his ass off. You felt someone tap your shoulder, and turned to see Professor McGonagall. "Ten points from Gryffindor and three days' detention, Miss (Y/L/N)."

"Worth it," you muttered as she walked away, smirking triumphantly at George.

"Well played," George muttered. "Even though you were lying about the last part."

You shrugged. "Now we're even."

Neville: "Admit it, (Y/N)," Neville said. "You think you're smarter than me because you're in Ravenclaw."

"No..." You trailed off, realizing he was technically right. For appearance's sake, you did want to at least seem more intelligent than Neville. That was why you made him tutor you in Herbology in secret, and why you often tried to seem very posh and academic around the other Gryffindors.

"What was the word you used for us," he said. "Oh, yeah, the jock dorm."

"You must admit, Gryffindor has an extraordinarily inordinate number of Quidditch games won," you said. "Pointing out the athletic achievements of your dorm is not necessarily an insult, Neville."

"It's the way you said, (Y/N)," he said. "Do you have a problem with us or something?"

"No," you said. "I-I don't have a problem with anyone."

"Come on, (Y/N)," he said. "You've changed. I mean, you were a lot of fun before. But ever since we started sixth year, you've been different. Colder."

"Maybe I realized I should buckle down," you shot back. Sure, you'd been a lot more mischievous and amiable in the past. But now you were sixteen. Having average scores wouldn't cut it anymore. Especially not at home.

"(Y/N)," Neville said, almost like he was asking a question.

You looked up. "Yes?"

"I like you just as you are. You shouldn't have to change if you don't want to."

You nodded sadly. Your father wanted you to be more of a Ravenclaw, but sometimes you questioned if things would have been better if you and Neville were in the same house.

Draco: To say you and Draco had a belligerent relationship was probably an understatement. A better description would be your daily activities: bicker, scream, have sex, repeat. Things had calmed down a bit after year eight, when you two moved into an apartment in Hogsmeade, and you got pregnant. That said, you guys were going at it again.

"God, ever since you got pregnant, you've become a bigger bitch, (Y/N)," Draco yelled.

"Well, obviously you are the same dick you've been since we met," you shot back. "You have a tiny penis, and I'm shocked you even managed to impregnate me."

"My dick is an average size," Draco screeched. "And you know what isn't average? You! You are freakishly tall!"

"I'm an inch shorter than you, you bloody idiot," you hollered.

"Oh? Then stop with the platform trainers and the stiletto heels? You're three months pregnant; no way is that healthy!"

"Fuck you," you said. "I'll wear whatever footwear I choose, Malfoy. I'm nineteen years old, and I don't need you telling me what to do!"

"This isn't about you," Draco shouted. "It's about the bloody baby!"

Someone knocks on the door.

"I'll get it," you said, and stomp off to the door. When you open it, Harry Potter is standing there.

"Oh...hello, (Y/N)," he said. "Uh, it's three in the morning, and I realize us being neighbors isn't an ideal arrangement, but if Draco and you could quiet down..."

"Oh, what, Potter," Draco yells. "Bloody Ginny's ears hurt? Use a pillow!"

"Why are you two even screaming at each other, again?"

"We heard a song on the radio called 'Satisfied', and it was obviously a bloody Take That song, but Draco thinks it's Boyzone."

"I regret to inform you both that it's a Five song. Now that your bloody boy band battle is over, will you give the neighborhood some peace and quiet?" Harry slammed the door, and you both stood there in shock.
"So..." Draco trilled. "You've got about four good months left? Wanna bang?"