Who: Quentin Trimble and Fleur Delacour-Weasley. When: September 11th. Evening. Where: Hogwarts. Teacher's lounge. What: A proper meeting? Rating: Low, I should think. Status: Incomplete/Closed.
After sorting out a fight between two Third Year boys of his House (a fight that was over a girl, it turned out - boys after his own heart), Quentin decided some quiet time was needed. Or at least some time that didn't involve people under the age of eighteen. The Prefects of the House were keen on their duties, and so Quentin left the Ravenclaw Common Room (where he had gone to see to the squabbling boys), and headed down the hall.
His footsteps echoed softly off the stone floors as he swept down the halls, which still had a few students in them, for curfew had not yet rolled around. The newest Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor walked surely, knowing exactly where he was going. One place where there was sure not to be a single student. The teacher's lounge.
When he reached it, he spoke the password to open the door and stepped through, letting the door shut behind him. He saw that he wasn't the only one in there. He and Fleur had met in passing - during a time when all the staff had been introduced, which had been a lot of names at once. He remembered hers, of course, because she was delightfully attractive. And he made a particular point of remembering the names of those who were delightfully attractive.
"Fleur," he greeted, the name rolling off his tongue like velvet, and he offered up a smile as he settled himself down in a chair.