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Frances McKinnon in sixth year said it didn't count, not like this.
It wasn't really...you know. Not when it was only kissing and touching and oh, say, a hand up her robes and under her knickers, a sly, teasing stroke over her quim making her wet, making her slip to her knees in the dusty supply cupboard for the salty-sweet taste as she hungrily licked, the both of them nearly giving themselves away with muffled gasps and lip-biting whimpers.
As for herself, she suspected the unicorns would be keeping their distance from her and Rolanda Hooch from now on.