I rush down the stairs in a blur, overly happy about my results that I just got.

I mean, to think, an O in my History of Magic test! An O!
I feel my body bump up against somebody and I hear books drop to the ground, and that worrying sound of sniggers and laughter echoes around the hall. My eyes fling open to see myself standing in front of the most popular boy in school.

Prankster, Gryffindor, Lysander Scamander.

"Sorry," I mutter, feeling a blush creep up my neck and burst out, filling my face. And it burns, it burns terribly, like having a bad sunburn.

"It's alright," Lysander smiles. Yet, I feel obliged to pick up his books and I do, ignoring the glares bouncing off the back of my head.

"Here," I say, handing him the books, "I'm really sorry. Again,"

"No worries," He says with a wink, walking off. I feel every girl's glare on my and I gulp.

I just helped him, right?