As I limped toward the dimly lit classroom of History of Magic, the evening sun cast long shadows through the stained glass windows of Hogwarts. The ancient castle, with its towering spires and weathered stone walls, seemed to echo my frustration. The persistent throb in my ankle was a constant reminder of my misfortune—an annoyance magnified by the fact that History of Magic was perhaps the most tedious subject ever conceived.
Professor Binns, our ghostly lecturer, floated through the classroom in his usual spectral haze, his monotonous voice like a soft, unending drone. It was as if he had been lecturing on the Soap Blizzard of 1378 for an eternity, his spectral form untouched by time. I could barely keep my eyes open, struggling to focus on the content of his lecture through the haze of discomfort and boredom.
I settled into my seat beside Hannah, whose sympathetic gaze met mine. "It still hurts, doesn't it?" she asked, her brow furrowed with concern.
I nodded, wincing slightly as I adjusted my position. "Yeah. I don't think the spell I used did much to help."
Hannah tried to lighten the mood with a smirk. "Well, maybe Cedric will be next on the list for some payback."
"How do you mean?" I asked, intrigued by her suggestion.
"I'm sure Ernie's working on a plan," she said, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
Ernie, seated behind us next to Justin, leaned forward. "I've got ideas. He won't know what hit him."
I turned around to catch his eye. "You've really thought this through, haven't you?"
He grinned. "Let's just say I have a few tricks up my sleeve."
Professor Binns' disembodied voice cut through our conversation. "Open your books to page 24 and—" He paused, his gaze lingering on the chatter in the room. I could almost see the exasperation in his ghostly form as he tried to regain control of the class.
"I can't stand History of Magic or Professor Binns," I whispered to Hannah, the frustration in my voice clear.
Hannah stifled a giggle. "How much can a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?"
I couldn't help but laugh, my eyes sparkling with amusement. "Shut up, you're ridiculous."
"That's why you're my best friend," Hannah said with a grin, her eyes dancing with mischief.
"Am I? That's rather sad," I replied, my tone teasing.
"Shut up, Hannah," I said, rolling my eyes but feeling a pang of guilt.
"Yeah, you kind of did," she admitted with a playful smirk. I glanced away, feeling a pang of regret.
"I won't do it again, I promise," I said earnestly, extending my pinky.
"Bestie promise?" Hannah asked, her gaze softening.
I linked my pinky with hers. "Pinky promise," I confirmed, and we shared a heartfelt smile.
Professor Binns' spectral eyes narrowed as he called out, "Miss Brown, Miss Abbott, please come forward and enlighten us about the Soap Blizzard of 1378."
Hannah and I exchanged a glance of shared determination before walking to the front of the class. My ankle throbbed with each step, but I pushed through the pain. My attire was far from impeccable—my white shirt was untucked, my sweater rolled up haphazardly, my tie loosened, and my long black hair was a tangled mess. Hannah, though better put together, looked equally disheveled beside me. We faced the class, feeling the weight of every student's gaze on us.
