Sea legs. That was what it was called, Philippa thought, when one felt at home moving about the deck of a ship. Was it lake legs on a small craft like this one, the Gryffindor wondered? Whatever it was called, Pippa quite decidedly did not have them.

"Stop moving about so much!" the first year chastised, firmly seated upon the bench and arms clinging to the side of the sailboat. Her wand was all but forgotten in its holster at her side; she was unwilling to give up stability to do the actual assignment. "You're going to tip us over!"

The lesson was, in theory, simple: the first and second years, in groups of three, were to practice wind charms that would propel their vessels about the lake. They had been practicing with feathers in the classroom to start—Pippa hadn't done terribly, even with her never-admitted struggles with practical magic—and this was to be the next step in their educational growth, or something along those lines. The professor had said something about magical barriers and a retrieval charm that the Gryffindor had only somewhat paid attention to, and now here they were, the witch keenly aware of the fact that she had never learned to swim.

Professor Ellsworth had probably intended this to be fun, Pippa realized gloomily.

"Pardon me," Philippa deadpanned, "if I am not overcome with confidence in you."

Mr. Callum looked like a startled goose when he tried to cast spells and while she could begrudgingly acknowledge that his magical efforts tended towards greater efficacy than her own—acknowledge to herself, not aloud!—she would rather fail today's exercise than allow his spasmodic movements drown them all.

The wide-eyed, indignant look that Pippa shot her yearmate at Mr. Waterford's remark conveyed something along the lines of see?! and/or why are you such a human disaster?! Though to be fair, Pippa had rather hoped that Mr. Waterford, as a second year, would prove more useful than he had so far. Oh, why had she had to wind up in the dud boat?