Being summoned to a random, mandatory class didn’t strictly fall into the category of things that did not cause Myfanwy some sort of minor irritation. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to go - she liked magizoobotany, and she liked Professor Bennett, and she had only been sketching near a quiet copse by the outdoor classroom, anyway - but the assumption that the students would all drop what they were doing just to go and help out with a school problem that was surely the business of the staff, not the upper years, felt like a sign of disrespect. She could have been working on an important homework assignment, or any number of other valuable uses of her time, and she would have been expected to leave it at a moment’s notice, apparently.

Though that having been acknowledged, Myfanwy was curious to discover what was so important that even the students who didn’t take magizoobotany had been summoned to the greenhouses. She arrived to a general air of confusion, made no less spectacular by the sight of Professor Bennett floating above the ground as if this were an everyday occurance.

It soon transpired that she had been called upon to catch and collect escaped billywigs. Myfanwy did not consider this an especially fun way to spend her free time, especially as there was the very real possibility that she would get stung as a result - if it could happen to the professor, it could definitely happen to the students - but she resignedly appreciated that it was her responsibility as a member of the school to help look after its inhabitants, and that, apparently, included escaped billywigs.

Having managed to struggle through the sudden surge of students to retrieve a pair of gloves, Myfanwy pulled them on, tucking in the sleeves of her tie-dyed pink and orange top to protect the skin on her wrists. Her neck and face would inevitably be exposed - her dark, straight hair was in a topsytail, not concealing more than about an inch of the very back of her neck - and her eyes would be protected by her rose-gold rimmed glasses, but her legs were almost bare, protruding from a pair of denim shorts she’d cut off herself from a pair of thrift store jeans.

“I’ve never even been stung by a bee,” she commented over the sudden din to the student next to her. A boy back home in Wales had been stung by a bee and he’d had an allergic reaction and had to be taken to Cardiff hospital in a helicopter. “Can you be allergic to billywig stings?”