They had been doing it all class. To an extent, Blythe Fairchild could not blame them, bringing a bit of practicality into an otherwise theory-logged hour. The professor had spent the entirety of the class thus far turned to face the blackboard, upon which they meticulously jotted down notes for the class to copy, the chalk squealing uncomfortably every now and again under the pressure.

Could not blame them, but was irritated nonetheless, for what they had taken to doing was passing notes. The professor’s seating arrangement saw Blythe placed squarely between them as they quietly—though not silently, for the Hufflepuff doubted they would be capable of that even when they were at the level for it—levitated it over her desktop to one another, the note every now and again bumping up against the fifth year’s otherwise busy quill.

Something in her snapped, and on what felt like its hundredth pass, Blythe plucked it from the air and clutched it in her spare hand for the rest of the class in spite of the looks shot at her by the note’s owners.

It was not until she reached the corridor that curiosity got the better of her and the witch peeked at—well, read—its contents, eyes widening even as she heard a throat clearing behind her.

Working on the scenario challenge #1: find a note with a secret in it.
Open to either (or both) party involved in this particular altercation!

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