Considering the classification of the horse (XXX according to the Ministry: only competent wizards should cope), and that Charlie had asked his students not to get too close, he was very hesitant to let the horse get close. "All right," he said, placing one hand on the horse's shoulder, "let's leave Lavender alone," he said, slightly annoyed the horse behaved that way. It seemed out of place, but this particular horse had been around enough witches and wizards that it may have, in a sense, 'forgotten' it was not completely harmless. Still, Charlie had a tough time wondering why the horse reacted that way.
It took a lot to get that horse for lessons, and it had to be returned to the Ministry by the week's end—an official would be coming for it, he assumed.
"Thank you, Lavender, but I'm sure all prior professors have done a wonderful job teaching this class," he said, distracted with the horse as he got it back where it needed to be: away from people and where students could not access it. His sleeves were pushed up and he caught a glimpse of the Norwegian Ridgeback tattoo on his left forearm, instantly reminded of Hagrid. "And being stung by a Billywig doesn't hurt. The only problem is that there can be a severe allergic reaction or permanent hovering or 'flying.'" I've been stung," he sighed, "but only as a result of my brothers. Apparently I wasn't smiling enough for them, so they stung me," he said with a bit of a laugh. "And you can call me Charlie, Lavender. I'm not exactly a proper professor."
He tried to insist the students call him Charlie, but that habit was likely hard to break for some. Either way, he responded. "But, anyway, you stuck around after class. What can I do for you?"