“Five points to Gryffindor. Well done, Miss Granger.”

I beamed in delight as Professor Flitwick smiled down at me, for what was the umpteenth time during the past half four.

The batch of cushions I had been practicing his most recently taught charm on lay by my side, neatly stacked over one another inside a cardboard container placed at the foot of my seat.

From the far end of the class, Draco Malfoy snorted audibly. I checked a frown, turning to Harry and Ron as if I had not seen his face at all.

“Reckon you guys are going to get the hang of it anytime soon?” I asked, rolling my eyes as Ron’s try at the charm came off all too pathetically.

“Well, seeing as how you’re sitting next to me, no,” Ron answered, a little too airily. “I get too distracted when you’re around.”

Though confused, more than anything else, I raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Ron said at once, quickly flipping open his copy of the current Charms textbook, and scanning the table of contents. “What was the precise wand movement again, ‘Mione? I can’t find it anywhere here, too many lines to go through.”

I sighed, shaking my head: Ronald Weasley was hopeless.

“You raise your wand like this, then –” I raised my wand, indicating the rather – yes, I admit it – complicated wand movement, and giving it a short jab, without muttering the incantation. Ron sighed heavily, trying to copy my without fault or error.

“This is hopeless,” he said after five minutes of jabbing and poking. He jabbed again – and somehow ended up poking Harry in the eye.

“Ouch,” Harry yelped, his eye watering. “Ron, you prat –”

“Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, is there a problem?” Professor Flitwick peeked over at us, looking inquiringly at me, as if expecting an explanation from who was apparently – for lack of better words, though no lack of modesty, I assure you – his very best student.

“No, Professor, Ron accidentally hit Harry,” I said quickly. Once Professor Flitwick had left, however, I rounded angrily on both of them.

“You idiots! You’ll get Gryffindor into trouble. Not that you don’t usually do,” I added, a little sarcastically.

“Sorry,” Ron said, his ears turning a familiar beetroot red.

“Yeah, sorry,” Harry chimed in, make a face cutely apologetic enough to win Felur Delacour’s heart. I turned away, laughing.

Boys: You could never get them. Not if you tried a million years.