Five More Minutes

[Rudolf Lagowski]

Wormwood has a bitter taste. Asphodel resembles a lily. Splat. Rudolf jumped as something slimy and cold hit his neck and began to trickle down his back. "Reeeuben," he wailed, squirming uncomfortably and glaring daggers at his twin. Why Reuben wasn't taking his exams seriously, Rudolf couldn't understand. He was inevitably going to fail, and, even more bafflingly, he didn't seem in the slightest bit bothered by it. Perhaps to Reuben the prospect of spending his entire life working the farm was an attractive one. Rudolf, on the other hand, had decided many weeks ago that he would never shovel another pile of horse manure again - to whatever the irritation of his father. There was more to life than vegetables and crops. When he returned home at the end of the year, his hands would undoubtedly be required, but whilst he would attend obediently to his regular chores, he intended to devote the majority of his time to studying.

Squelch. A spoonful of oatmeal hit Rudolf square in the face, and then plopped onto the sheet of parchment he'd been craning over. "Reuben, stop it," he said. "Look what you've done now!" According to his study notes, asphodel now resembled a big blob of sticky oats. Rudolf wiped at the mess with his sleeve, smearing it up his arm and across the page. If only he'd known a cleaning up spell! "Just gimme five more minutes," the Gryffindor pleaded, "then we'll play your stupid game."

 

[Reuben Pendleton]

Reuben rested his forehead against the Gryffindor table and groaned loudly. How could anyone study before they'd eaten breakfast? In fact, how could anyone study full stop? The young Hufflepuff had half a mind to take his twin down to the hospital wing for a check up. Something had to be wrong with him. It must have been the Professors, he concluded. They'd broken him.

Too full to eat any more, Reuben had taken to loading his spoon with oatmeal and firing it at Rudolf. He was awarding himself five points for the body, ten for the neck, and twenty five for a head shot. So far, he had forty-five points. "You said that half an hour ago," Reuben complained, but took pity on his sibling's homework and stopped pelting him. "And you're stupid," he muttered. Centaurs versus werewolves was a great game, and on any other day, Rudolf would have agreed so too. If only he could have been prised from his studying for three seconds, he'd have remembered what he was missing out on. Sighing unnecessarily loudly, Reuben loaded the last of his oatmeal onto his spoon and absent mindedly flicked it over his shoulder.