sprawled on the leather sofa, arms crossed, watching the door He's late.

not looking up from the hangman he was playing on the arm of the chair Quidditch. You know how Abbott gets.

sat on the floor by the fire, poking the embers with a twig Or he's off making another first-year fall in love with him.

from where she was curled against Theodore on the loveseat Again? snorts Who is it this time?

dryly Does it matter? They'll be crying into their pumpkin juice by Monday.

jaw tight He doesn't even notice. Half the damn school follows him around like crups and he just—smiles at them.

laughs, but it's too sharp Bloody infuriating, isn't it?

quietly He'd be better off with people who actually know him.

exchanges a look with Theodore We're going to bed. stands, pulling Theodore up Don't stay up too late plotting.