A/N: WELL this is a fluff drabble that I am considering making into a longer fluffy multichapter (similar to ecchymosis) if that's something you guys would like? let me know!

"So remind me what the purpose of this assignment is?"

Neville drops his head with a thud, luckily cushioned by the copious number of magazines strewn across the wobbly table. His half-drunk coffee mug rattles. "I barely know anymore."

"Are you having some psychotic break?" Harry asks, flipping to the next page (a scratch & sniff perfume advert), "Should I be worried?"

The barista calls out their refresh order and Neville stands instantly. "I'll get this round. Need a sec to unmelt my brain."

Harry smirks and shakes his head as he calls out after Neville, "We need to at least get you back to jello-status."

He flips a few pages absently, nothing particularly eye catching for this 'psychology of consumer desire' something or other assignment. This'll teach Neville to try and catch a chat with a cute girl by enrolling in an 'interesting' class outside his field. That's all well and good pre-masters. Now it's a semester killing decision that Harry, as a good mate, is required to assist with. This probably his least favorite bout as a wingman.

Just as he's resuming his post-self-pity skimming, Neville returns to the table with two fresh coffees. "How goes it? Have enough sticky notes?"

Harry nods absently and then frowns. "Why would they do this?"

Neville's brow furrows as he scoots closer to view Harry's magazine. "Do - a photoshoot?"

"Those knickers, Nev!"

"Yes, ladies wear them just like gents - well apart from our little trap door," Neville muses, sighing as he lets his eyes drift shut while the espresso slips down his throat, "But that's beside the point I s'pose."

It's as if two parallel conversations are taking place, as Neville continues his mini-dissertation comparing and contrasting knickers and pants and Harry deep dives into his personal crusade against fashionable clothes that cause infections and other health problems...down under.

"The health implications of wearing non-breathable clothing down there for hours at a time - this is underthings! How long does the average person keep a pair on?"

Neville finally realizes he's expected to respond and blinks, "Depends - are they in uni?"

Harry chuckles and rolls his eyes. "Well I just hope Red here got those off right after the photo."

And before he can even begin to comprehend how creepy that statement tends to sound, a voice sounds from somewhere over his shoulder. "Well the photog was a bit of a prick and made me prance around for another hour. But what can you do?"

Harry turns and. Well he's not being creepy but, she's wearing a crop top and a mini skirt (and yes he really does have a thing for combat boots with tights) so he can pretty quickly ascertain that she is in fact, the model in question. He's observant and she's got so many freckles. So he takes all that in and then simply gapes up at her, like an imbecile.

Luckily, Neville's on hand to keep him from getting socked. "I swear, he's not a sleaze. Just an overprotective medical genius."

Perhaps not so lucky.

Sneaky sweater knickers model taps her chin and Harry will admit (in the privacy of his own mind) that he gets a bit distracted by that freckle on her lip, and then by her rich whiskey-brown eyes. (He might not be a sleaze, but he's definitely in rough shape.) "Medical genius, huh?"

Harry's answer is something of a grimace while Neville sinks back in his chair.

Lucky for Harry, the Starbucks Inquisition seems aimed mainly at him. "So is this some odd pick up attempt? Does your wingman usually look like he's about to wee himself?"