With N.E.W.T.s approaching ever so quickly, the professors were cracking the whip—though maybe that was just Snape. The constant tests he insisted on made you rethink taking N.E.W.T.-level potions. But it was too late; you were already a seventh year. You just needed to endure his classes for a few more months, and then you'd never have to look at a potion-brewing cauldron again.

If only these months would speed by faster than they were. At the start of the lesson alone, Snape had you and the rest of the class line up at the front like bloody first years. Then he rearranged everyone's seats, and it seemed he had a knack for causing trouble. The person he'd seated at your table was bound to make your grades slip. You'd bet your right hand that the greasy git did it on purpose to distract you. Snape had it out for you ever since he heard you complaining about him in your first year. His grudge had lasted all the way to your seventh year, and you wondered what kind of professor held a grudge for so long.

Cedric bloody Diggory was sitting across from you, acting as if he wasn't enough to distract anyone from their work. And why had he shrugged out of his robes the moment he was assigned his seat? No one's shirt should fit that well! To make matters worse, the ridiculous man rolled up his sleeves, revealing well-toned arm muscles honed from years of Quidditch.

And because you had all the bad luck in the world, he'd caught you staring, pausing halfway through rolling up his sleeves. You hurriedly looked away, pulling your inkwell and quill from your bag.

"I'm not bothering you, am I?"

When you looked up, there was that typical cheeky smile on his face, though this one was a bit more hesitant. In all your seven years at the same school, the same house, you two had never been seated together.

Of course not. Apart from the fact you're illegally good-looking, you thought.

Cedric raised an eyebrow at you, waiting for you to reply. "Am I?" he repeated, chuckling.