Anne was one lesson away from dinner and then quidditch practice. She was too hungry and too antsy for the idiocy of Jimmy Fletcher this afternoon. Granted, there wasn't a situation she could think of where she would be in the mood for Fletcher. He wasn't wrong about the grindylow, though. Anne smirked from her seat next to Miss Potts before tapping the drawing of the water demon in her open textbook. "He's just sore because he's missing his own kind. See? Fletcher looks just like him." Anne spoke it loud enough for the obnoxious boy to hear but wasn't foolish enough to let her voice carry to the front of the room. Riling up Fletcher was fun, but it wasn't worth a scolding. Maybe.
WC: 125James Fletcher Millie Potts