Well, shit. Nate had come to lunch expecting to eat food, not to have it fly right past his face.
Aaaaand splatter on his shirt. Oh, well. It was lucky he wasn't McMonaghan, who had spent at least forty-five minutes locked in the bathroom that morning, fixing his hair or something. Nate hadn't been able to see a difference.
What was really irritating was that he hadn't expected this. He really needed to get more fifth-year sources. The problem was that the ones who weren't completely caught up in the stress of the OWLs were caught up in their own particular woes, with no attention left to notice anyone else in their year.
He looked up from his potato-splattered shirt when he heard the shout. "I know, this shouldn't have happened for at least a day," he responded absently, wrapped up in contemplating potential cause-and-effect variables. Maybe Chelsea had thought Byron was looking at another girl? Or maybe — oh, shit, there was that rumor going around about Braden and Geoffrey, wasn't there? Maybe Chelsea was worried that Byron would follow his yearmates. Or...
He looked up again when he realised what he had said. "I mean —" he began, trying to figure out how, exactly, he could play that one off, when he realised who he was talking to. "Gerard — Auror Way!"