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            It was a usual day at the university. My best friend and I are arguing about Harry Potter and the Cursed Child being canon or not, while heading over to our next class. Statistics to me is like Potions to Harry, we both dislike it. The professor handling the subject is a real-life version of professor Snape, to say that he is very strict would be an understatement. The only thing that keeps me entertained during Statistics (and also in other subjects) is my best friend.

We took our usual seat, him on the aisle, me beside him, in the middle row. It has always been our spot, not easily seen, nor hidden. There we can do things unrelated to the subject whenever we get bored with low chances of getting caught and reprimanded, like what I am doing right now.

I was scribbling on a blank paper absentmindedly when,

           “Turn to page three hundred and ninety-four,”

           “Are we learning about werewolves, sir?” I bit my lip in an instant.

Why did I fucking say that? I’m dead. My best friend gave me a look that asks if I have lost my sanity. Maybe I did. Because I know that my journey through this course is freaking over. I can feel the whole class staring at me like I am going to be executed right on the spot.

Or maybe I was over-reacting,

           “Ten points from Gryffindor for being an insufferable know-it-all.” The professor called out.

Nobody in this class knows better where that line originally came from, but me. A fan. Not only of the movies but of all the books, even those released after the series has been completed.

As much as I tried hard to, I cannot conceal the smile that has been forming on my lips. My best friend seemed to notice because, beneath the table, his hand is waiting for a ‘congratulations you’re safe’ handshake and I swear I did not just shake it. I smacked it, making the hardest yet the quietest high-five two best friends can make underneath the desk.

Who knows that the professor I’ve always dreaded has a soft spot for Rowling’s masterpiece?