About Harry

James

I'm awakened with a start by somebody yanking me.

'James! Bloody hell! We looked for you everywhere!'

It's Francis glaring at me 'You skipped the whole morning! You could actually tell us you were gonna do it!' blorts out annoyed.

'I tell you McGonagall is going to be proper pissed off when she finds out. She is already quite mad at you' Patrick says loosening his tie and slumping on his bed.

'Why?' I yawn whishing I could return to sleep, for once I managed.

'The broom cupboard' Francis sniggers 'Somebody saw the whole scene and now the whole school knows'

It takes me a minute to focus and remember about the morning, when I do, I turn on the other side hiding my head under the pillow 'I'm not the only one using them' I reply wearily.

'You jerk' Francis cackle wrenching away the pillow from me 'You are not. But surely you are the only one who dares answer her what you did. It was lit!'

I arch my eyebrows annoyed. The drizzle has subsided, and some pallid rays of sun are making its way from the window hitting mercilessly my eyes. I squint against the light.

'And then somebody saw you causing that shitload with the armours.' Patrick adds smirking 'McGonagall has lost the plot completely'

I sigh understanding that there is no point in staying in bed anymore. I look for a clean uniform in the drawer and I endeavour to give a shape to my hair. A fruitless attempt at the best of times but with the humidity of the morning it seems hopeless. One day I'm just gonna shave it all.

'Shall we go to lunch?' I ask casually.

'Somebody told Mohini you were speaking to Ophelia; she was proper annoyed' Patrick says riffling lazily through a broom's catalogue. I frown, that only means she will be all horny today.

'Any progress with her?' he asks while Francis is emptying his bag on the bed.

'I'm already banging her how and whenever I fancy, remember? There is no other progress to make. Unless you mean an improvement in conversation, but I assure you I lost every hope of it...' I mutter looking in the mirror still undecided if to comb my hair or not.

They both halt in their activities and stare at me baffled, I understand suddenly who they mean.

'Ah, Ophelia you mean. Nope. And I don't care about it anymore'

'Yeah right' Francis rolls his eyes and snorts 'Like if we swallow that' he mutters, perusing the afternoon's schedule gloomily 'double term arithmancy, blimey...' he says under his voice.

I shrug unconcerned 'You can believe it or not. I don't care. I'm not interested in her anymore. Shall we go down? I wouldn't mind a bite.'

Silence falls again, Patrick sits up dropping his catalogue and Francis stops fiddling with his bag and schedule.

'What happened?'

'Nothing. There is no point in cracking on. She doesn't fancy me. Are you coming or not?' I ask going toward the door.

They follow me throwing perplexed glances to each other. We stump down the stairs and through the portrait of the fat Lady.

Francis catches up with me, placing his arm on my shoulder, conspiratorially 'Come on. What happened? It's three years that you are fawning all over her and she never even gave you the smallest of encouragement. Why all of sudden you drop the matter?'