That was a load of troll dung!

Beverly gaped at the Slytherin boy. Holy Fawkes! How could someone be so irritating and such a terrible story teller? If you're going to lie, make sure it's believable. No one let this boy be a ghostwriter or else he'd detail someone's life as a freaking train wreck. The urge to stomp on his foot was big, BUT she had to keep her cool.

Breath, Wayne, breath.

Turning to professor Culloden, still with that wounded puppy expression written all over her face, Beverly said, "He's making stuff up." Her bottom lip quivered purposely. She was quiet and reserved, but that didn't make her a mean person! The only reason she'd spoken to the this guy at the Feast in the first place was to make friends.

See?! This is WHY she had trust issues.

Watching Derry return to her potion reminded Beverly that her and Jeremiah's were about ready, so she turned around and added the snake fang into their potions. They were NOT going to ruins because of Stupid Head. She turned back to Professor Culloden and waited for a response. Potions mood ruined. RUINED.