Amalie ducked yet again as a lonely Flubberworm flew across the potions classroom, narrowly avoiding slapping her in the face. The immature throwing of ingredients without Professor Maylock noticing was a regular haunt in Amalie’s fifth year potions class. The sniggering snorts of laughter always followed with a sly high five when a target was hit and double points when touchdown exploded in some poor person’s potion. 

“You were asking around for Brandon and the others. You’re just so desperate aren’t you Amalie, to be around them. You begged them to stop the rumour about ‘Regicrap’ and started one about me instead” Daffney’s voice was steadily rising, just enough so that surrounding students could hear.

 Amalie barely realised that the temperature was becoming dangerously low, breaths becoming difficult to take, hair rising as if in a suspended in water. Time slowed tantalisingly. Like seeing dust through the perfect sunbeam in late afternoon

 “…As history proves. Our most powerful, can become the most dangerous of us all." 

“Students! I welcome you to our yearly Snow Ball. Do take a drink as you enter and a house elf will lead you to your seats..." Her voice was echoing in magnification across what Amalie assumed was the whole Ground floor of the castle, it reverberated off the walls. Good spell she thought to herself.

"... we have a special year this year, we have the honour of hosting Douglas Marshall, Head of the Hit department, Bertie Wood, Head of Magical Games and Sports! And Hermione Granger, Minister of Magic!