If Mo could predict what he's spot when he walked into the common room, it would involve at least 3 open books, someone eating something inappropriately sticky for upholstered furniture, and Nigel starfishing on the sofa. He was wrong on two of the three: not only were there only two people in the room, neither of whom was reading, but Nigel wasn't laying on the sofa. He was starfishing in midair.

At least Mo had gotten the sticky right, but if Nigel trusted himself to eat candy, he was prefect and could be trusted. Mo plopped on a nearby couch and sufficiently ignored the floating Starfish for the moment, his attention on the girl.

"You have a flower name. Lemme remember." He tilted his head. "Lily. No... close but... Calla? It's pretty. Does your mum garden? Mine does a lot, but she didn't give any of us plant names. That's good because I'd make a stupid looking Sage or Parsnip. I'm Mo." In case she forgot. "That's Nigel in the air, there. He's prefect, if you can believe it."