In Althea's absolutely and most genuinely humble opinion: she was perfect. Or, as perfect as perfect can get. Waving off one of her friends (some Gryffindor ginger with cat-like eyes (eyes that reminded Althea of shiny gemstones)), she made her way down the first floor corridor admiring her manicure. Her friend had insisted she give Althea a dazzling surprise and the result was a soothing spa-like experience. Amazing. It was a shame Althea had forgotten her name a while back, or else she'd hang out with her more often. But that was that and this was this as Althea had found herself walking into what she would later say was a trap.

The fourth year collided into the back of some older boy who she didn't know and didn't care to know
"Helga Help me," she shrieked, not because the Collison hurt but because one of her nails on her left hand had smudged. What a disaster. Heads will spin, she thought bitterly and took a step back to survey the situation in front of her.

What followed was the longest eye roll of her life. Her brothers were something akin to that muggle plague she'd read about last summer, the one that wiped out most of their population centuries ago. "Of course" she said loudly. "Of course, of course, of course!!!" She continued, as if it were Declan and Levi's fault that she'd collided into the other boy, who, if Althea cared to remember her housemates looked vaguely familiar (Harold or something?) And then she shot her brothers an accusatory stare. Because when were her brothers not the cause of her endless migraines. "Why am I not surprised?"