Portraits could be taught to behave like their subjects? Now THAT was wicked! Beverly was suddenly sitting up straight, her eyes glued on Ms. Courwell with interest. At some point in her life she'd believed her great, great, great, great, great, great grandfather Bacchus had died and his soul had magically been transported into a portrait. Of course, now that she was older she knew that wasn't likely.

But THIS. It was VALUABLE information, and she'd make sure to remember it.

Then Ms. Courwell was done talking about that and decided students should get into groups. Bev sunk back into her bean bag. Did that woman know how AWFUL she was at that? No. She wouldn't, BUT SHE WAS. Her anxiety kicked in, making her hands sweaty. Oh Merlin.

Yet, the third year stood, chin up. She was going to be brave. Yes. Brave. She inched forward. Paused. Tip toed around a bean bag. Paused. Then inch forward to where Ms. Courwell stood surrounded by students. Beverly's eyes gazed all around the room until they landed on the older woman.

"I-I volunteer." Y'know. If you want to. BUT THERE WERE SO MANY STUDENTS HERE.