If her reading was correct, she was about to receive some sort of windfall—had she family to leave her much of anything, Blythe might have actually believed this to be possible, but instead the Divination student found herself second- and third-guessing her reading with a sigh. The course had proven neither easy nor easy to properly fake her way through, and with OWLs looming far closer than the fifth year was ready to admit, she was beginning to lose hope.

Another sigh left her, this one louder than the first, as the fifth year reluctantly turned to another student studying for themselves, angling her teacup that they might see the leaves at its bottom.

“Pardon me,” Blythe asked softly, “but what does this look like to you?”

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