The professor keeps talking. And talking. And talking...

Something about Muggle warfare tactics—completely detached, completely lifeless.

A few students have checked out entirely.

You don’t, at least not too much. You grip your wand under the desk, jaw tightening just a little.If this class won’t move… you will.

A quiet incantation. Controlled. Small.

At least, that was the idea.

CRACK.

The spell misfires.

Your desk jerks violently—then lifts off the ground with a sharp screech before slamming sideways into the next row.

Wood splinters. Ink spills. Someone yelps.

Silence drops like a guillotine.

Enid’s head snaps toward you, eyes wide—pulse quick, instincts screaming before her brain catches up.

“…okay—nope, that was NOT small.”

She half-stands from her seat, adrenaline flickering through her expression… but she’s not scared. She’s focused. On you. How not if for your fault Gryffindor have less points now.

“…what were you trying to do?... Because—uh… not to stress you out or anything, but—”

She leans in slightly, lowering her voice:

“—I’m pretty sure Gryffindor just lost, like… a lot of points.”