"...and a bezoar can serve as an antidote to most poisons as well," George recited quietly to herself at a large table in the library. "A bezoar is a 'stone' taken from the stomach of a goat which sounds utterly disgusting ugh."

The Ravenclaw's face scrunched up in distaste just as her stomach made a loud, hungry grumble of protest at having not been fed yet. With today marking the first day of end-of-year exams, the third year had assumed time would better be spent with last minute cramming than cramming her face full of food, but every passing gurgle of her belly made George question the sense of this decision.

"Do you think it's too late to run off and become a muggle if I fail my examinations?" George half asked, half whined to a student across the table. "Surely no university would care that I don't know the recipe for a sleeping draught by heart!"