Reality wasn't the only thing that needed to slap him in the face. Her fingers itched for her wand, to hex him seven days to Sunday. Mr. Hatchitt deserved it too for all the grief and (the single) sleepless night he caused. He might've been talented at transfiguration, but Fallon doubted he had reflexes as fast as hers or any of the more intense DADA training she had. If she really wished to, and Merlin was she considering it, she could hurt him as he had hurt her. Only this time the wounds would be physical.

And they were.

Only, she didn't use her wand. As soon as the be reasonable left his mouth Fallon knew there was no turning back. There was no dwelling on how much he cared or logic thought. There was only her boiled over temper, of which she no longer had control. Her hand flew towards his face, an open palmed slap so unlike her typical fighting behavior. Then again, everything with him was so unlike her.