Least loved, always, by the mother who craved a daughter... least loved, now, by the girl who prefers your friend... second best, always, eternally overshadowed.
The Slytherin’s own hand shoots out to grab his, keeping him from putting the daisy root into their cauldron.
❝It says a pinch.
That right there’s a blinkin’ handful!
Are you purposely trying to fail us?❞
He was a bit taken back by her touch, his hand immediately pulled away from her grasp, eyes narrowed at the book in front of him. She was right; he’d grabbed too much without noticing, but it’s not like he was going to let her have the satisfaction.
“Yeah, sure; you caught me. S'pose you’re going to say that purposely failing sounds like somethin’ I should be an expert in.”