𝐇𝐔𝐅𝐅𝐋𝐄𝐏𝐔𝐅𝐅'𝐒; 𝐀 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐘

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐨𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐈𝐕

"He barfed up the Snitch!"

"Yep."

"He literally threw it up!"

"We know."

"He fucking puked up a damn Snitch!"

"Yes, we know! We were all there!"

It seemed Eddy was quite impressed by Harry Potter's gag reflex and Dicky was quite unimpressed by how he kept bringing it up. Much like Harry had done the Snitch.

"Do you think the Snitch saw the inside of Harry's stomach?" Asked Eddy. "Like his breakfast mid digestion?"

"That's revolting." Lenny made a face.

"And I don't think the Snitch has eyes." Added Abby. "Does it?"

"Well, how does it see where it's flying then?" Said Eddy.

"Magic. Obviously." Lenny drawled.

"Anyway! He had that fucking thing in his gut." Eddy continued. "The Snitch isn't that small, right? I mean, how did that thing fit down his throat?"

"Alright, stop right there you rabid little grot monster." Lenny fixed him with a stern look. "This is not about to become a conversation centred on the size and limitations of Harry Potter's throat."

"And why the hell not?"

"Rabid little grot monster?" Dicky echoed incredulously. Then he thought on it for a moment and shrugged. "Actually, it suits him. Carry on."

"Thank you." Lenny nodded. "I know."

"Hey, we were talking about Harry here!"

"Not with the way you're going." Lenny's glare had Eddy pouting and slumping in his seat.

"You guys never want to hear what I have to say."

"Maybe say something worth hearing and we'll listen."

"You are a cold, cold woman, Lenny."

"The coldest, thank you."

"Do you think Hufflepuff will get a chance to play Gryffindor?" Abby pipped up.

"Ah, fat chance." Dicky scoffed. "From what I've heard, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw never even make it into the finals."

"Yeah," Abby admitted. "We're not exactly known for our sporting prowess. Still, it's fun to watch the matches though."

"If you like highly violent death games played out entirely in the air, you mean."

"I thought you'd love that." Abby frowned.

"Oh no, I totally do." Dicky nodded. "I meant highly violent death games in a good way."

"Hey, Dicky?" Lenny arched a brow at him. "Ever heard of an oxymoron?"

"Oi! You calling me a moron?"

"Never mind."

They lapsed into a rare silence as Lenny picked up her book and Eddy stuffed his face sulkily. Abby smiled at him pityingly from his left. She was probably the only one with any kind of sympathy for him and even that was growing thin the longer she knew him. He was a rather exhausting kind of person to be around which was ironic seeing how he was in a constant state of exhaustion himself. Three minutes into the silence he was blinking rapidly and squinting his dark eyes, trying vainly to stay awake.

Across from them, Dicky was carving a crude face into the surface of the table with a butter knife. It made him look purposely unapproachable. As did his almost permanent scowl, scathing glare and yes, even his chunky knee-high boots that no teacher could pry off his feet without starting an all-out war seemed to add to the effect. He radiated pure and uncontained teenage angst and rage. It had arrived a few years early compared to others his age, leaving him to stand alone as this strange angry eleven-year-old. Abby thought it gave him character. Eddy thought it was too much energy to be so wound up all the time. And Lenny thought it was hilarious, which is why, watching him from the corner of her eye, she stifled a snicker.