Get Up or Get Down

Tamsin Riddle had never understood Leontes Granger.

She recalled the day they had first met, as eleven year-olds on the Hogwarts Express, with equal parts frustration and fascination—Granger had already been in uniform, all neatly pressed black trousers, polished brown loafers, and a crisp white linen shirt buttoned up to his collar; his hair had been in dire need of a good trim, thick, sandy brown strands curling messily around the back of his neck, and his face had been slightly pudgy, cheeks rosy and chin round, overlarge front teeth on display as he’d expounded, at length, upon the myriad mundane details of Hogwarts’ medieval architecture.

He’d grown up since then, obviously—Tamsin hardly needed that absolute slag Cora McLaggen to point it out to her—but he had made his opinion of Tamsin perfectly clear in that narrow, dimly-lit train corridor all those years ago.

He did not like her.