“Some of us have OWLs to prepare for, Mr. Reymund.” Themis warned, her temper growing prickly as her companions continued to distract her. Daniel insisted, for probably the fifth time in ten minutes, that she abandon her books and join him and the team for practice. As if she had ever cared about quidditch. She endured Daniel’s teasing as long as he could stay on topic when they studied, something that was becoming more and more rare. She had reluctantly agreed to Daniel as her Defense Against the Dark Arts tutor. It was his best subject and, as he was happy to point out, one of her weakest. It made sense to work together, at least it had before Daniel decided to come back from the winter holiday with a whole new disregard for rules and the arrogant apathy that seemed to favor seventh years that took the bare minimum of classes. He’d already received an offer from professional teams, who cared about NEWTs? No matter how many times he repeated this, Themis couldn’t stop grinding her teeth. ‘Lazy’ and ‘entitled’ were attitudes that always received her scorn. A lot of good that was doing the senior members of the Gryffindor squad. They played Slytherin tomorrow, Themis knew she’d get nothing productive from them today.

She was now buried in her potions notes, Daniel dismissed, but still lingering. She couldn’t puzzle out why he was hovering now that she’d switched subjects, but here he was. Nearly snapping her quill in half as Daniel decided to plop his hand down in the middle of the page she was reading, Themis glared, her most wilting dressing down at the ready, one of the Chasers drew everyone’s attention to the newest person in the room. As the body language of her housemates changed, Themis stiffened, sensing trouble. “Leave him alone. He doesn’t even play.” She warned, bristling at the obvious eye roll that passed among her peers before Daniel finally gathered his things to leave. She grit her teeth but said nothing as Daniel ‘accidently’ made a mess of her orderly rolls of parchment. Some days, she wondered why they were friends.

She went back to bringing order to her study space, messy notes akin to messy thoughts in her head. She preferred order and structure, something that seemed lacking in the brains of many who shared her house. She’d just turned her attention to memorizing the steps in Strengthening Solution when she received a companion. Bracing herself for something asinine, something one of the boys forgot to bother her about, Themis relaxed, now curious at the polite greeting. Tucking stray strawberry blonde curls behind her ear, where they would refuse to stay more than a moment, Themis offered a genuine smile to the sullen Slytherin boy. Themis was in the same year as one of his siblings, a most unimpressive boy, but the younger Mr. Griffith was known to her mostly from classes and by reputation via the boys. She found her assessment of the fourth-year Slytherin kinder than her housemates. He seemed to fly in the face of every snobbish Slytherin trope, tales of some of his earliest dustups almost legendary. As a prefect, it was her role to maintain order, but that didn’t stop her from enjoying when pureblood princes had their precious cages rattled. “Good afternoon, Mr. Griffith. I apologize for my housemates, they’re little better than animals when our houses play.”

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