The look on the other boy’s face almost made Ari want to try to be funny more often. His reaction was definitely more amusing in itself than any comment Ari could’ve made, and he might have come to the conclusion that the Slytherin was laughing at him, if he had not been grinning quite in that way.

So it gave Ari a thrill of confidence that he abruptly tried to push down again, feeling quite unlike himself. Still, he could not resist trying to court the boy’s attention for just a moment more. (It would not last, of course: he was far too dull.) “I’ve been known to try it,” Ari offered about as wryly as before, a glimmer of humour in his eyes and the smile threatening, irrepressibly, at the corner of his mouth. “But best not tell anyone that,” Ari said, teasing, “I don’t think they'd believe it if you did.” He didn’t think any of his siblings had ever thought him in the least bit funny, and it hadn’t much changed at school. (He had a reputation to uphold, after all, as a sensible, studious, responsible sort of student, one possibly in line for prefect.)

He wished he could keep the witty nonchalance up, but in spite of the leaves now sticking out of the Slytherin hair, Ari’s eyes kept dropping (worried, and a little fascinated) to his ankle. “I do think you should go to the nurse, though,” he pointed out apologetically.

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