Cutty was really starting to like this guy. He was tall, strong, athletic, he played Quidditch and his brain was most definitely a potato. Which was how Cutty liked them. Yes, indeed, he would make a very handsome goon this one would. And Cutty was kind of looking for that this term. In fact, for the next three terms he thought he would do well to seek out some muscle of various kinds. "Gits. I said people who don't like Quidditch are gits." He said correcting what he interpreted to be a misunderstanding. "Cutty Mordaunt." He said, purposefully omitting the 't' at the end. "The 'T' is silent and I used a fake name just now for safety's sake. Ya know,...bullies."

The boy's glance cut towards the Headboy's hand as it glided like little fish through his hair. His obsessive little Slytherin brain manifested only one thought-the memory of Tempus fiddling with his hair in Botros's office. Then he started thinking about the boy's hands and how they were always very busy. Cutty held the belief that idle hands were generally a bad thing. Focus, Mordaunt! "Eh, are yew some kind of hair expert or something?"