A smirk slipped onto Agrimony's features as he turned back to see Foxwood fumbling with the books. Perhaps he should have helped the poor chap with the rather large tomes, but he found the sight of the older student flustered rather amusing. He was content enough to keep walking further into the section when something plucked at his sleeve and he turned around to see Foxwood had stopped.

Brow furrowed in a slight scowl, Agrimony opened his mouth but was stopped as the sound of someone clearing their throat rustled through the air. That seemed to get the Slytherin to shut his mouth and be quiet. He rotated to see if he might be able to ascertain where the sound came from so they could head in the opposite direction. The sound of the throat clearing itself seemed to be older most definitely; perhaps a seventh year with a particularly deep timbre or one of the teachers. It was of little consequence though.

All of a sudden a cry ripped through the air and Agrimony whipped around, his expression promising violence — bugger, one of the books had bit Foxwood. Ignoring the spike of fear that had torn itself through his chest, Agrimony dove for Foxwood in an attempt to wrestle him down to the floor and clap a hand over his mouth to get him to stop making noise. It had, it turns out, been in vain, for the footsteps only got louder as a voice behind Agrimony rumbled, "Wrestling, are we, gentlemen?"

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