Percy and Padfoot

           Harrywasfirsttowakeupinhisdormitorynextmorning.Helayforamomentwatchingdustswirlintherayofsunlightcomingthroughthegapinhisfour-poster’shangings,andsavouredthethoughtthatitwasSaturday.Thefirstweekoftermseemedtohavedraggedonforever,likeonegiganticHistoryofMagiclesson.

           Judgingbythesleepysilenceandthefreshlymintedlookofthatbeamofsunlight,itwasjustafterdaybreak.Hepulledopenthecurtainsaroundhisbed,gotupandstartedtodress.Theonlysoundapartfromthedistanttwitteringofbirdswastheslow,deepbreathingofhisfellowGryffindors.Heopenedhisschoolbagcarefully,pulledoutparchmentandquillandheadedoutofthedormitoryforthecommonroom.

           Makingstraightforhisfavouritesquashyoldarmchairbesidethenowextinctfire,Harrysettledhimselfdowncomfortablyandunrolledhisparchmentwhilelookingaroundtheroom.Thedetritusofcrumpled-upbitsofparchment,oldGobstones,emptyingredientjarsandsweetwrappersthatusuallycoveredthecommonroomattheendofeachdaywasgone,aswereallHermione’selfhats.Wonderingvaguelyhowmanyelveshadnowbeensetfreewhethertheywantedtobeornot,Harryuncorkedhisinkbottle,dippedhisquillintoit,thenhelditsuspendedaninchabovethesmoothyellowishsurfaceofhisparchment,thinkinghard...butafteraminuteorsohefoundhimselfstaringintotheemptygrate,atacompletelossforwhattosay.

           HecouldnowappreciatehowhardithadbeenforRonandHermionetowritehimlettersoverthesummer.

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