"Advice—yes," he replied, because even though he'd been here to figure out the name of his Miss Lestrange he'd realized that the advice that followed was probably what he needed to hear. "But not sex advice, unless you have something to offer." He was not blind; he knew Art had been promiscuous in the days before marrying Dezzie, even if he'd been practically a child himself at the time. Maybe he'd have something that would be good to remember, you know, when the time came for him to actually have sex.

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"Just try not to get anyone pregnant," Art suggested helpfully. The last thing anyone needed was for Freddie Prewett to have an illegitimate child. Fitz was probably more likely to have one, but Freddie was less likely to know how to avoid having one. Should Art get him a condom?

"But what advice do you want? I never married a debutante."

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"What—? Of course I—" He began, as if such a thing was an impossibility. He did not know how he would physically get Miss Lestrange pregnant - or anyone pregnant, if Arthur was speaking about sex advice with other ladies (not that Freddie could consider the possibility with the blonde-haired beauty on his mind). "Never mind that, then," he said dismissively, shaking his head more to get the thought of Miss Lestrange sprawled out on his bed out of his head for the next ten seconds. "How do you - charm a girl? Beyond flirting, I mean." How did he get a woman to want him, in every way he wanted her?

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"Oh," Art said. He eased back in his chair, a little more relaxed by the track this conversation was taking. "Well, the first step is to stop trying to charm them," he suggested. There were people who could just be charming, and Freddie was very clearly not one of them. "Just be yourself. And take an interest in what she likes. A genuine interest, they can tell if it's faked." It had been a long time since Art wooed anyone, but he remembered the process.

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The first point made sense, at least when he thought back to his first encounter with Miss Lestrange. He'd been being himself, and only when she'd followed him into the tunnels had he made a grand attempt to be charming - and it'd worked, at least until they were caught by Mama. He tilted his head back and forth, considering, and finally nodded. "Alright..." he began slowly, because Art's words begged other questions. "But what kind of things do girls - women - like, anyways?" He had plenty of sisters, but they were all married or at least had children - surely none of them had the same interests as Miss Lestrange.

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"Women are people, Freddie," Art said, a little exasperated with this conversation, "I generally find it better to ask." Freddie wasn't going to get anywhere with a girl if he was trying to talk about things they liked — for one thing, in Art's experience, women could sniff out liars fairly well. And Freddie wasn't going after women who might overlook it for his status. No, if he was actually looking at a Lestrange, they would be picky. He likely would have tried a little harder to list some Women's Interests if it hadn't been the day after the duel, but as it was, his patience was a little done.

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Well - he knew that. Still, women were such different people, with whole shops dedicated to their interests, and Freddie's involvement with any of those things had ended when his last sister had married. But even then, it was more difficult to figure out what a woman he liked liked, rather than just a sister who had been a permanent presence in his life, her interests ingrained in her mind without a need to think about them.

"Yeah, yeah," he said dismissively, uncomfortably. This would have been much easier if he'd actually had time to get to know Miss Lestrange instead of simply hiding with and kissing her in little nooks wherever they were. What if he didn't know anything about her interests? What if she didn't like his?

He looked around the room, hoping to find another subject to touch on before he had to admit that he didn't even know his Miss Lestrange for all he couldn't stop thinking about her. Art might think he was crazy—or worse, a little immature and idealistic. He was very much both of those, but he didn't want his friend to know it. "And do you just... talk to them? Should I do anything?" He was being intentionally vague, hoping that Art might go off on a tangent and find him a place to redirect his attention.

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Art sighed. He would have had more patience for this if it hadn't been for the duel; he would have had more patience for this if he wasn't in the middle of an exercise in conjuring galleons from nothing. Freddie deserved better from him. All of his friends deserved better from him but specifically, in this moment, Freddie deserved better from him.

"When I was still in the business of flirting," Art said, because he'd been good at flirting, "The trick of it was to find what made people comfortable and stay in that conversational neighborhood. And if you can't gauge that, talk about things that you find interesting and hopefully Miss Lestrange will find them interesting, too." Well — hopefully she wouldn't. Art didn't think Freddie had the stomach for the Lestranges. But other women, sure. His advice could be broadly applied.

"Touch her hand, smile at her, little things," Art continued. Those were all relatively chaste, and maybe Freddie wasn't thinking of that. "Does that help?"

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When it was laid out like that, Freddie supposed flirting with Miss Lestrange wouldn't be impossible—even if it did turn out that her father was terrifying and if they had little in common beyond their mutual love of each other's lips.

"I think it does," Freddie said, a bit of hesitance in his voice, but more optimism than before. "Thanks, Art."

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