Mattie hadn’t been shying away from watching him, as he searched for her wand (however deliberately he was Not Looking as he did it), but she inhaled sharply when he produced not her wand, but her Lonely Hearts letters. Not that he would know what they were, just on sight (she hoped), but they contained aliases and anonymous recipients and somewhat provocative topics of conversation, so – perhaps not Prefect-appropriate epistles. She set them aside for now, glad he had given up possession of them so hastily and would not currently be in a position to peruse them.
And she did not want to get in actual trouble, if she could avoid it. “Never mind, I’ll do it,” she said breathlessly, his own frantic response sending her heart skittering faster than it should be. And she – she had to put her free hand up to his chest simply to hold him up off her, otherwise she feared he might come crashing down against her with his hips pressed against hers in a way that she certainly was not comfortable considering (until she was back in the safety and darkness of her dormitory, possibly). With her other hand, she shifted under him and edged her hand into the folds of her dress, finding her pocket without looking and sliding out her wand.
“I shouldn’t like to take your eye out,” she said, wondering vaguely if Professor Foxwood was having a mental breakdown, “– could you do the honours?” (By which she meant, cast the unsticking charm.) She offered him her wand to his unstuck hand.
And she did not want to get in actual trouble, if she could avoid it. “Never mind, I’ll do it,” she said breathlessly, his own frantic response sending her heart skittering faster than it should be. And she – she had to put her free hand up to his chest simply to hold him up off her, otherwise she feared he might come crashing down against her with his hips pressed against hers in a way that she certainly was not comfortable considering (until she was back in the safety and darkness of her dormitory, possibly). With her other hand, she shifted under him and edged her hand into the folds of her dress, finding her pocket without looking and sliding out her wand.
“I shouldn’t like to take your eye out,” she said, wondering vaguely if Professor Foxwood was having a mental breakdown, “– could you do the honours?” (By which she meant, cast the unsticking charm.) She offered him her wand to his unstuck hand.
