“Don’t tell me you actually find that greasy, blonde moron handsome? Merlin, you actually like Lockhart!” Rhydian’s brilliant grey eyes widened with alarm, his expression baffled.

“I– why? How? He’s a weasel–” He cut himself off as he took a seat on the foot of your bed, his legs crossed as he listened intently. “Are you sure you haven’t drank Amortentia? You know, Pisser Perrow was concerned when he told me you were into Lockhart.” He remarked, regarding you dubiously.

Jealously.