His birthday was drawing ever nearer, and Nigel’s paranoia was increasing exponentially as a result. He kept having nightmares that people were choking him, so his quality of sleep was not the greatest when he got it…  and he hadn’t really been getting it the past couple nights, which meant, of course, that he had fallen asleep in Charms, and Professor Flitwick had given him detention and extra homework. That was just the frosting on the crap cupcake that was his life.

Scrubbing tiredly at his eyes, he tried to think of something—anything—else to write about the shield charm. It was pointless. There was nothing else. He had written all that could possibly be written about that particular charm, and he was still a good five inches short of the requirement. Seriously, he was about to discussion about the inventor’s personal life and subsequent expostulation on just what events in said personal life might have contributed to the need for a shield charm. A filicidal mother, perhaps? Nigel doubted that Flitwick would appreciate his insight, but… well, he really shouldn’t assign such a stupid essay then, should he?

He was distracted from his assignment by a voice very close to him. Under normal circumstances, he would not have allowed such a blatant disregard for personal boundaries. The fact that he hadn’t even noticed her approach attested to exactly how off-kilter he had been lately. “I beg your pardon,” he said frostily, not actually begging her pardon in the slightest. He snatched his parchment off to the side and put his arms over it. It was not, as she said, a love note, but still. He rather disliked the idea that she was just reading his personal parchment without permission.

“Who’s the lucky girl?”

“Certainly not you,” he answered, trying to squirm away from the poking and still stay in his seat. Valentine’s Day (a ridiculous holiday to begin with) must have been affecting people’s minds. Why would this girl automatically assume it was a love note? Did Nigel look the sort to wax poetic about the moon and… eyelashes… and… he didn’t know, bosoms or something? He thought not. “It’s not a love note. It’s homework. So, if you don’t mind…” Turning away from her, he hunched his shoulder up and ducked his head down, so that he could make up some convincing sounding lies in peace and privacy.