“You’re so into me, Grumpy Ravenclaw. Just admit it. I don’t mind. I know I’m hot.” Elijah Wilde, the ever taunting and overweening Hufflepuff whose perfume was his very own brand of conceitedness told her as his lips curled into a sly smirk.

Shutting her book, Beezus sighed with frustration. “Get a life, would you?”

“Not until you admit that you like me.”

She stared at him disbelievingly then coughed forcibly and retched.

“Hey, hey...Are you okay?”

“Eh! Don’t....touch me. I’m fine.” Eyeroll. “Merlin, I look at you and I try to quell my nausea – unsuccessfully, I might add.”