“Hey, Sara!” Harry called, him and Ron walking up to her. “I’m not going with you.” She sing songed. “By the way, girls don’t like desperate boys.”
“That’s not what I was going to ask.” He scoffed. “Then speak, child.” Sara ordered. “We’re the same age!” He protested. “Ah ah ah, no. I was born seven months before you. Which makes me….?”
“Older.” He grumbled.
“Exactly. Now what is it you want?” She asked. “I need girl advice. We both do.” Ron said. Sara clapped excitedly. “Great! Ron, lose the fat. Harry, get a hairbrush, Jesus Christ.”
They stared at her, wide-eyed.
“Joking,” She said unconvincingly. “So let me guess. You want a date to the Yule Ball but you don’t know how to ask.”