Flavia stopped. If she had been a cat, the hair on her back might have risen. And now she was in a moral quandary. Reprimand the Slytherin boy for insulting a fellow classmate, and spreading house hatred and prejudice, or just walked on.
Surely Branxton could take care of himself?
A voice that Flavia fancied to be her mother's, but was actually nothing but her own evanligecal conscience reprimanded, Duty, always duty.
"You," she snapped, whirling around to glare at Lorcan, "can't talk like that to anyone, at school or not. If our Headboy doesn't report you, I will."
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