Alex tried to pay attention; his quill moved over his notes and he tried to write things that would help him remember the lesson, but when the homework was set, he realised that his notes were little more than random words and a drawing of a Bowtruckle. And not a very good one.
Classes hadn't held his attention all week, although he'd tried to focus. He'd sincerely tried, but his thoughts returned to his father. To his mother. To his grandmother and the way she'd hugged him the last time she'd seen him.
He shoved his things into his bag and shouldered the strap, heading for the door and the crowded corridor beyond, then paused at the sound of his name. Alex turned toward Remus's desk, wondering if he'd managed to do something wrong without trying, or what.
"Sure, Professor..." He turned and let the last few students pass him, returning to the desk, sliding one hand into his pocket to rub at the little bottle with his thumb.