The messily folded origami — no doubt formed by scraps of parchment and Pixie Powder — lingered in the air, only briefly, before collapsing onto your desk with the quiet rustling paper often made.

Orion smirked from exactly two rows behind, sniggering under his breath as he watched you unfold the origami and read the neatly scrawled note, which read:

lunch at Hogsmeade tonight, gorgeous? — o. b.