Emrys was never ever coming to this class again. At least, that's what he kept telling himself as he inched, ever so slowly, around the circle of logs trying to get behind the professor without spooking the beastie. He kept an eye on the creature and glanced, every so often, toward his destination, wishing and hoping that he wouldn't trip over anything and draw attention to himself.

When the skrewt blasted again, though, he dove to the ground, landing on his bag, behind a log. Hands on the top of his head as if he anticipated the sky falling, he crawled, knees and elbows, until he at least had the professor between him and what he was sure would be certain death.

His glasses covered in a layer of dirt and the front of his robes stretched and caked with sweat and dirt, Emrys stood near the back, still surveying escape routes if the time came to run.