This time last year, Ismene Swift had been overwhelmed by pre-exam anxiety. That was certainly a bonus of being in sixth year: she was between examination years. Oh, she would be tested in May, of course, but it was hardly the same thing: these would be the comparably ‘simple’ exams more akin to those she had endured in her fourth year, without strangers staring at her and asking her to name things and cast spells.
Where last March had been spent largely (too much for her liking, if she was honest) in the library, Issie was now enjoying the relative freedom of pre-spring on the castle grounds.
“You really ought to be studying,” the Hufflepuff chided the pair of fifth years she was with, an air of superiority clinging firmly to her words. “I know it is a lovely day, but there will be plenty of nice days once your OWLs are over and done with!” Not, of course, that she wanted her walking companions to leave, but she had to at least pretend to be concerned about their study habits.
“Besides, I’m sure you would--” Issie’s words were cut short when a snowball--no, the snow was gone, she realized with a sinking feeling; this was a mudball--hit her square in the back of the head. Her face contorted into a combination of shock and rage as she irritably turned to see who had assaulted her so.
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