Harry's first night in Ravenclaw was spent sleepless. He had received his key from cheerful Professor Flitwick earlier the same day, carrying his trunk and sheets towards the Ravenclaw dormitories with the help of Ernie and Justin, the latter coming up with (fruitless) jokes to cheer Harry up.

"Chin up, Ali," he dropped the sheets and pillow onto the trunk outside the dormitory door, "If you liked Hufflepuff so much, I'm sure we'll meet again.

Harry smiled, rubbing the spot where Justin clapped him, watching them leave and disappear into a corridor illuminated by weak light. The footsteps settled, and silence flooded the corridor.

Silence couldn't mask his thoughts, though, and Harry couldn't let go of a particular one that warned him he wasn't sad about leaving Hufflepuff, but rather having to meet new people, adjust to a new schedule…

He really didn't want change.

The door, simple oak, opened easily, shedding light onto the floor and his feet, curving over his shoes. Lifting his sheets first, he entered the common room, expecting no more than a few students to actually be in the room.

At least half of the whole house were present, including Professor Flitwick, with the loudest welcome he had gotten, and the most questions he was - and he hoped he would ever be- dumped with.

Yes, the first night had gone sleepless.

And he had a suspicion that so would the rest.

Professor Lupin had already made a comment about a drop in Harry's 'academic performance', and Harry had no desire for the rest to do the same. So come morning, one hour before it was time to wake up, Harry trudged out of bed, wanting nothing more than to occupy his thoughts and chase away the effects of the nightmare.

He'd have to ask to change books, as the nightmare of getting locked in Ishmael's ship while the ship sank and the cabin filled with water wasn't the most… pleasant.

Tiredly, Harry pulled out his books, art for the first period -he grimaced- then English, with maths and biology after lunch.

But as he walked out the dormitory, dressed and ready and debating what subject he would waste away his morning with first, surprise and annoyance greeted him upon entering the common room - almost a quarter of the tables were occupied with students that had to have been there for a while now.

Harry looked around, then growled, and made his mind to get back to bed. Just before he left the room, though, a familiar voice drifted into his ear, keeping him from taking another step.

"Hello, Ali Patel," Luna said, monotone as usual, greeting him with strong, almost forceful eye contact, "You're very angry, and frustrated."

"Hello, Luna," Harry said, shoulders drooping as he gradually relaxed, "Wrackspurts clouding my head again?"

"You won't have it any other way. Are you quite sure you wouldn't like to see them?"

"I think I'd rather not, if it's as clouded as you say," Harry said, lifting a hand to his hair before dropping it, remembering he had to conceal the scar soon, "Well, I should leave, I guess. Maybe we'll talk later."

"Would you rather not sit with me?" Luna asked, gesturing towards a table sprawled with papers, open books and uncorked bottles of ink, "You come to study, have you not?"

"How did you know that?"

"You're a Ravenclaw now," she said, turning around on her heel, her hair fluttering around her with the skips she took towards the table, her finger bushing the paper. She sat down, and the chair wobbled under her. Harry watched her with interest, with the way her intense gaze moved up and down the pages, fixed, unmoving, though her body rocked back and forth.

No one around the room bat an eye, and Harry didn't either. Nervously lifting his bag and placing it on the table, alert for anyone who could be glancing at them.

The chair didn't so much as scratch the wood, and Harry slowly unwrapped the bandages around his hand, opening and closing his fingers. They didn't hurt as much, only small bruises to remind him of the injury, and Harry removed the second one as well, stuffing them into his bag and taking out his books. His eye caught Mr Ollivander's paint set, then. The box was worn and breaking on the sides.

An odd yearning fell about, and lifted just as fast. So quick he couldn't tell it was there. He offered the paints a final look, and turned back to Ishmael's -dare he say it- not so fun adventure.

At least Alice had seen some curious wonders. In Harry's opinion, Ishmael only came up with infuriatingly long speeches that were hard to read and hard to keep in mind.

"You ought to sail soon," Harry muttered angrily at the book, imagining the ruffled chap Ishmael glaring back, poking it with a finger, "Or I'll drown you at sea myself."

He cleared his throat, pushed up his glasses, and read.

"If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me..."

"Fought, you say?" Fred said, rubbing his chin, "Funny, won't be the first."

"They fight often?" Harry asked as beside him the students started to leave the Great Hall. Harry himself had, just moments earlier, excused himself from the crowded Ravenclaw table after meeting everyone and forgetting all their names. He gave a small wave when the Hufflepuffs passed, as this was their last day together.

"Every month or so."

"Make a big deal out of it, too."

"Then they make up, shedding tears," Fred said, sighing and leaning back on George before springing back to his feet upright, "Come to think of it, why did they fight anyway?"

It didn't take more explanation than saying the word 'Snape', which made the twins wince.

The news had spread across the school like fire, catching Snape in a very, very bad way. He was worse than usual, in a particular vindictive mood no student wanted to be a victim of, with even the twins admitting to causing less ruckus in class.

"Good thing no rumor was spread," said Fred.

"Hogwarts has a very fun yet inconvenient ability to blow things out of proportion," whispered George, "We would know."

"We're usually the ones who spread it."

"That's all and well," Harry said, following the stairs, "But, uh, they make up, you said."

"Wasn't an issue until now. Why -" Fred grinned, stepping in front of Harry and leaning down, " - Planning on bringing them together?"

Harry chuckled, walking around him and taking the higher step, "I won't ask you two for help, I reckon you would make it worse."

"Us? Never," they said together, waving their arms at Harry, who rolled his eyes, starting the journey towards Professor Trelawney's class.

Trelawney, as always, taught very little and spoke too much. This time she had a crystal ball she delightfully wanted to share with the class to defog their future (namely Harry's) who was becoming desensitized to the death predictions, wishing he hadn't sat with Lavender Brown, a student in the habit of taking everything Trelawney said to heart. Even things that had no relation to art.

Hermione, who Harry left alone with Ron as to not take sides, looked just as angry. Trelawney seemed to sprout from all directions and had every critism to present Hermione with, most of which still had no relation to art.

Really, why had Harry agreed to art class if he wasn't going to paint at all?

When class was over, he noticed Hermione, Ron and Malfoy in close pursuit. Which is exactly why he bolted towards the first student who wore a blue tie, stirring up a lousy conversation long enough to get them distracted, losing them in the hallways leading up to class.

That strategy proved ineffective, as lunch was one period away, and the three of them would surely want to use him as a mediator or referee between the argument. So he spent the rest of the class tapping his toe nervously on the ground, smiling crookedly as Anthony asked him if everything was alright.

"Harry, — " Anthony caught up to him outside once the lesson was over, " — Don't want to trouble you, but your station in the greenhouse has some fertilizers that need to be moved, would you get to those after lunch?"

"I'm not very hungry either way," Harry said, eyeing the Great Hall, specifically Ron and Malfoy pausing at the door amidst a heated staring contest.

Anthony followed his gaze, and chuckled, "Guess I know who won't be going to Hogsmeade together."

"Hogsmeade?"

"The village," Anthony said, nodding towards the window, "Third years and up start visiting it. Malfoy declared a few plans, before the end of second year, loud enough for the others to hear."

"I'm guessing Hermione and Ron were one of them," Harry said, pausing on one side of the door, "Say, can we go to this Hogsmeade whenever we want?"

"On certain weekends. Oh, and you need a guardian's permission."

"Thanks, Anthony," Harry said, peeking inside the Great Hall, a grin growing on his lips when he saw that Professor Patel wasn't inside, "I think I'll pay my aunt a visit."

As everyone had gone to lunch by then, the hallways that lead up to Professor Patel's office were empty.

Harry climbed the stairs that lead to the second floor, weak light filtering crookedly through the windows. Professor Patel's office was the one at the end of the hallway, and from where he was standing, Harry could hear collective laughter through the door, not just Professor Patel's. Harry squared his shoulders, raised his chin, and lifted his hand to knock on the door

"Who is it?" Professor Patel called through the door, her voice heavy from the aftermath of laughter.

"It's me, Professor Patel," Harry said. At this she fell silent and Harry frowned at the sound of a chair's rushed scraping, and feet shuffling before Professor Patel peaked around the doorframe, closing the door behind her.

Harry saw a brief look of two Professors.

"Is everything alright?" she asked, crossing her arms and leaning on the door, her dark plum scarf moving with the draft from the window.

"Yes, absolutely, I just wanted to ask you, well — " Harry rubbed his hands together, then pointed towards Professor Patel, " — You know about the Hogsmeade weekends."

Professor Patel's eyes flickered towards the door, very briefly and for a second, very concerned, before turning back to Harry, "Indeed I am."

"And well, you're my aunt, and…"

"You want me to give you permission to go."

Harry nodded, not meeting her eye, "I know there is still time, but uh you know, it would be a good opportunity to, well, get to know students and — "

"I'm aware of how great of an opportunity it is, Harry," said Professor Patel, "But it is really, really early for it. Were you aware it's in December?"

Harry didn't have to say anything for Professor Patel to know he wasn't.

"I shouldn't have come so early, should I have?"

"Perhaps," she agreed, tilting her head from side to side, "That wasn't entirely the point I was trying to make. The Hogsmeade weekends — "

Professor Patel's eyes flickered above Harry's shoulder, and then her back straightened, her eyes dropping to the ground as it always did when talking to any adult, "Professor."

Harry turned around, and saw that in the worst possible moment, the worst possible person had walked up to him, not at all pleased.

"P-Professor Snape?" Harry couldn't help but stutter, hands dropping to his sides.

Professor Patel, not pleased at the interruption, retreated closer to the wall.

"I believe you're visiting the wrong individual to discuss the matter with, Mr Patel," Snape said in a hushed voice, when Professor Patel lifted a finger over her lips and then pointed at the looked down at Harry by the length of his nose, tilting his head when Harry tried to come up with a response, stumbling over his words, "Didn't think you were the only individual paying attention to who's participating in lunch?"

"Would you allow me to handle this, Professor Snape?" Professor Patel interjected.

"I'm afraid not. Each student ought to know abuse of authority's tolerance, patience and generosity is not, and will not, be permitted," Snape said, and Harry would have laughed at the offended reaction on Professor Patel's face if he wasn't as nervous as he was , "What were you hoping to achieve, Mr Patel?"

"Permission to go, seeing I didn't come to you," Harry said under his breath, lifting his chin to match Snape's, "I think that was obvious, sir."

"Thought you'd smuggle in promises did you, Potter? Getting to know other students. Manipulation is Slytherin, but you are yet a Ravenclaw, and I need not remind you of who the adult is."

"No," Harry said, looking down and shuffling his feet, then lifting his head up again and staring right into Snape's dark eyes, "Which is why I chose to come to Professor Patel, sir."

Snape opened his mouth to answer right back, but Professor Patel cleared her throat nervously, pulling her hands together, "If you're not willing to come to a mutual agreement, I would like to ask both of you take this conversation elsewhere," she said, more authoritarian than she looked, and with a stance that meant she wouldn't accept 'no' as an answer.

"Astonishing idea. Patel — " he whirled his head, hair flying around his head, the tips brushing his shoulders, "— You are not to come to Professor Patel, or anyone, with questions requiring a guardian."

"But — "

"We will continue this conversation later today, once you've thought of exactly why your actions were indecorous, and what you should have done instead. I don't want to hear any questions about

"If you would just tell me why I can't go — "

"Good day, Mr Patel. Do hurry up to your next class."

Harry was left staring after him, the skirt of his robes seemingly sweeping above the floor and through the dull light. Beside him, Professor Patel sighed, shaking her head, but keeping the words she looked like she wanted to say sealed behind her mouth.

"Were you… were you going to say yes?" Harry asked meekly, looking up. Professor Patel averted her eyes, running both hands down her skirt, "I'll have to ask you to trust Professor Snape with this matter."

"Why though?"

"There are matters which are beyond me, matters I wish were not."

"I knew he would have said no if I went to him," Harry said, biting the words through clenched teeth, curling his hands to fists, "I knew he would. He never listens, and he always has something to say and I hate it."

"... You know I cannot offer much other than help you talk it out."

Harry scoffed, adjusting his bag, "And talking does wonders, does it?"

"Of course it doesn't," Professor Patel sighed, and for a flicker of a moment, Harry thought he saw a crack in a wall; a single moment where she was small, weak and confused, sagging forward with a hand rubbing her forehead, "If it did, why would I be here? If it were as simple as an exchange of words, some of us would take our woes to trees and flowers."

"So why does talking help?"

"Talking helps, because I don't just listen," Professor Patel said, looking up at Harry, leaning her head to the side, the light reflecting in her eyes, "I help you roll the yarn you've muddled inside your head and your heart."

"To make sense of it all…" Harry said, remembering what Susan had said, "So my head is just a tangled yarn?"

"I think you're many yarns, lost within the stretches of string. But some…" she looked down the corridor, then down to her hands, and then to Harry back again, "Some can always be a little more."

"I wish you wouldn't speak in riddles."

"Perhaps you'll look forward to Thursdays, if I leave enough mysteries to be unraveled."

"Is that all I am, then?" Harry asked, voice gaining some strength, "Is that all you see me as? A mystery?"

"Of course not," she said, laughing softly, "You're human, and you're lost. Just like me, and just like everyone else. Only your path is different from others, and you have yet to find a map."

"And what's the map?"

"That — " she stood up, placing a hand on the door handle, " — Is exactly what we will find out."

"All good, Ali?" Justin asked, leaving through the entrance door at the same time as the group of Ravenclaw students, "Settled in?"

"Didn't take you for a considerate fellow, Finch," Michael Conner said, grinning.

"It's Finch-Fletchley, Conner," Justin corrected, taking the spot between Harry and Terry Boot, "A Ravenclaw such as yourself ought to remember."

"Your name isn't the easiest to keep in mind," Harry said, glancing behind his shoulder to wave at the girls.

The two classes formed two lines outside the greenhouse, waiting for the current class to be over. The door opened not long after, and Harry ducked his head, not paying attention. Harry kept his face hidden, eyes fixed on the lake, in firm mind that if he didn't look at Hermione, Ron and Malfoy, they wouldn't try to involve him as a mediator.

The Gryffindor-Slytherin class poured out the greenhouse door, and to Harry's surprise, both sides (not just the trio) looked very hostile. Many grumblings and snipes followed, sharp jabs from Slytherins meeting the aggressive threats of Gryffindors.

"You've known them for less than a month," a Slytherin girl hissed to Lavender, "We've known Professor Snape for two years. How dare you assume he deserved what happened?"

"I says it just some mindless teasing," Seamus said, waving his hand and not looking in their direction, "No harm."

"Once again, running up and down to the Astronomy Tower proves to be less tedious than making a Gryffindır see sense," Malfoy said, patting Goyle's arm sadly, "What would old Godric say if he saw you?"

"I don't know, Malfoy," said Dean Thomas, folding his arms, "What would Salazar say if he saw you?"

"Respectful critique? Opportunity to grow? Decorum, something none of you are familiar with, one can note," Malfoy suggested, counting in his hand, ignoring the rest of the class as he started to mumble to himself, lost to thought.

"What was all that commotion?" Professor Sprout asked from behind them. Most Slytherins and Gryffindors had walked a fair distance, and Professor Sprout took Ernie's shug as an answer, ushering them in. Once everyone had settled on chairs or cushions, she began to teach, picking up from the last class they had. Harry missed some, if not all, of the notes. The Hufflepuffs would let him copy theirs later, but Harry had no acquaintance with his new classmates, other than Luna and maybe Anthony. This concern accompanied him until the end of class, which saw him gloomily packing his bag.

"One more thing!" Professor Sprout said, clapping her hands to gain their attention, "Is there a student who's responsible for the greenhouses that hasn't cleaned their station?"

Harry's very audible facepalm gained a wheeze from Terry and a mixture of a choking and chugging sound from Micheal. Harry lifted his hand, fingers twitching from anger at himself, "Sorry, Professor Sprout. I'll clean it at once."

Once everyone had left, Harry placed his bag down on the stack of cushions. Pulling his sleeves up and unbuttoning his cloak, he took a deep breath and started to move the fertilizer buckets, touching it as little as possible.

It took ten minutes, and Harry admired his small accomplishment, wiping his forehead with his forearm.

Unbuttoning his sleeves, he lifted his bag, locking the door, and walked to the second greenhouse to deliver the keys. Professor Sprout, behind some tall variant of plants, didn't see him, head ducked and busy writing something. Harry would have called out to get her attention, but instead, he ducked - diving out of sight behind a thick bush of flowers.

Of course Snape would be here, consulting Professor Sprout about some herbs he needed in stock. Harry gumbled, trying to get comfortable without disturbing the precious botanic, his hair getting tangled in the branches of a small tree. Thankfully though, not for much longer. Snape pocketed a square piece of paper, said his goodbyes, and left the greenhouse.

Harry would need to leave as well, if he wanted to make it on time to Snape's classroom and not suffer his wrath.

His legs creaked as he clumsily stood up, flailing his arms to keep balance. Once his feet were firm on the ground and no threat of falling was present, Harry took the brick path to the exit. His bag had suffered a good scraping, the dirt persistent against Harry's attempts at wiping it away. In fact, he was so focused, he didn't hear Professor Sprout until she had cried his name.

"Mr Patel!"

"Yes!" Harry shouted as he jumped, his bag slamming against the door. Professor Sprout blinked. Harry blinked as well, ears burning. He then held out the key, Professor Sprout took it and that would have been the end of the exchange, had Professor Sprout not spoken.

"Was there a reason you were waiting?"

"Excuse me, Professor?"

"Students can hang keys on the wall," Professor Sprout gestured behind the table towards the row of keys, "Were you… I must have misunderstood, but you weren't eavesdropping? In the bushry?"

Harry frantically shook his head, "Yes, well I mean no I meant no as in I wasn't I, uh…" his eyes traveled down the side of the table and on a set of empty, barren pots. Harry glared. And then he hung his head, his shoulders sagging forward in defeat, "Can I use a pot to plant some flowers? I've been… looking for one, for my..." he asked in a wavering voice, hanging his head, "Lily seeds. I thought I'd save you the trouble of finding one."

Professor Sprout, understandably delighted, asked him to visit tomorrow. Winter was close, and he best plant them in the greenhouses, or wait for spring. She saw him off with a wide, cheerful smile and an overenthusiastic wave. Harry just dragged himself to the castle, adjusting his buttons on the way to the dungeons.

The knock on Snape's office door was answered quickly, and Harry hesitantly pushed the door open.

Behind his chair, Snape watched Harry come in. He sat straight, unnervingly clasping his hands together, and what Malfoy said about Snape's 'dressing down' sounded to be no fun on the receiving end.

"Sit," he said, gesturing to the chair.

Harry did.

"Can I trust you, Mr Patel?"

"I don't think you do, Professor Snape."

"For the sake of rhetoric."

"What's a rhetoric?"

Snape chuckled darkly..

"You haven't told anyone of your current circumstances?" Snape asked, expecting a satisfactory answer. Harry nodded, and the lines about Snape's lips eased, "Then you would not mind being entrusted with a portion of a secret."

"Just a portion?" Harry said, groaning.

"Only a potion," Snape said, his emphasis with a raised finger, "I will not repeat myself again. You will not ask again, nor will you try to dig for any unnecessary answers. The sole purpose of me telling you this, is that without due reason, you will exhaust every means to get to Hogsmeade."

Harry fiddled with the side of the chair, palm down. He'd seen Snape's reaction to him getting hurt. If he'd find out about this one, who knew how little he would trust Harry then.

"What if I let it out on accident?"

"By accident, I have considered," Snape said, leaning back on the chair, running a hand down his tired eyes, "I'm profoundly impressed to hear you have as well."

Harry pressed down on the chair, skin stretching over his knuckles, "I think I'll leave now, Professor."

"Understandable," Snape said, somehow relieved. He picked up his pen, took the paper on top of a stack of others, and began to write.

It was the only sound in the dungeon classroom.

Blinking, Harry turned to the door. Then back at Snape, brows creasing, "What?"

"The door is at the end of the room, pity those glasses of yours do little to help," Snape said without lifting his head, face close to the paper, his nose a breath away from touching it, "You cannot attend Hogsmeade, as luck would have it."

"What does Dumbledore have to say about that, sir?" Harry said, his nails (in need of a good trim) digging into his skin inside of his fist, "You can't prevent me from going without a proper reason!"

"If you don't trust yourself to keep a secret," came Snape's quick, low and insufferable reply, the tilt of his head further infuriating Harry, "I do not trust you to attend classes either. Furthermore, the Headmaster can do little to contradict me."

Harry grinded his teeth, stuffing his hands through his hair, "I didn't say I couldn't hold a secret."

"Then you are confident?"

"What does that even mean?" Harry said, growning, feeling like landing a kick to Snape's chin. He came very close to, when Snape stood up, walked around the desk and with only a subtle expression on his face used as consent, lifted Harry's bangs for a better look at his scar.

"Needs more of the concealer."

"Is that what you're calling it now?"

"If you'd prefer 'a mixture of henna, expensive and rare cocoa powder' — " he looked down, raising a brow, face perfectly amused, "— Not to your liking?"

"I can hold my secrets," Harry said each word slowly and with great emphasis, keeping his stance, "I don't need you to doubt me."

"Then, you will not share with anyone that Sirius Black is a convict who has worked for the Dark Lord, and had direct involvement in exposing a threatened family to him."

"What does that have to do with me?"

Snape bent down. Harry had the impression that Snape would take him by the shoulders, but when he winced, he took them back, keeping them both on the table behind him.

"He is your enemy, Mr Potter."

Oh…

"... Not a soul knows I'm alive, though," Harry said, shaking his head, "How would he?"

"It would take little for him to recognise you," Snape said, pointing at the scar but looking directly into his eyes, "Very little. You're not the only one who'll catch his wrath, in Hogwarts, but you may be the most unfortunate to do so."

"But the mixture — "

"I do not take risks unless absolutely necessary, and you, Ali," he kept the eye contact firm, as if to make sure each of his words were being sewn to Harry's soul, "You are not a risk, no, you are not a risk we are willing to take. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded.

"I asked you a question, Mr Patel."

"Yes, sir," he hung his head, rubbing the back of his neck, "Loud and clear."

"Very well," Snape walked around his desk, taking out the jar of mixture from one of the drawers, "Pull your hair back."

Exhausted and defeated, Harry walked up to the Ravenclaw dormitories, hands stuffed into his pockets. Even Professor Lupin had noticed his lack of interest in class, and had some prying questions. Harry only shrugged, continuing to read in a monotone voice, dragging his words.

Harry took a walk around the castle to clear his mind, his anger rising occasionally. He'd probably be the only third year staying behind, the only student at Hogwarts who couldn't go because he had a scar keeping him from it.

He stopped by a window, peering through the panes. Not much light, tonight. A waxing crescent in the corner of the sky, dim light reflecting on the lake. Not just from the moon, however. Like every night, small specks of orange light shone on the grounds, held by ministry officials. Harry pressed his head, shuddering at the initial cold. Lifting a hand, he placed it palm down on the wall.

Another thought, another wave of anger, and Harry pulled his hand into a fist.

Curse Tom Riddle! -thud went his fist hitting the wall - curse Sirius Black! -thud- Curse Dumbledore! -thud- And most of all, curse those wretched Dursleys!

He stopped, closing his eyes. Even now, an immeasurable distance from them, still they didn't leave him alone. Still he was angry. Still he had nightmares and still something kept him from truly living like others.

His arm hurt more than his hand, by the time he got back to the dormitory, taking out the key hung around his neck. As expected, there were still many students with open books, with only Luna's table unoccupied in the room.

Harry took the seat across from her, and placed his bag on the table.

"Wrackspurts?" Harry asked before Luna could say anything, dropping his head on the table, "I think I see what you mean now."

"You're late to come back today, Ali," Luna said, holding a magazine upside down, her earrings rattling as she lifted her head, "I wonder what will help you calm down."

"I think I have an idea," Harry said under his breath, grimacing as he ran a hand over his left arm and hand, nose wrinkled, "What do you do to calm down?"

"Searching for my shoes often proves helpful," she said eagerly, sliding a pencil from her tied hair. She chuckled when Harry looked around the table and down at her feet, frowning at the fascinating pair of blue shoes, "They often go missing. The efforts of the students are truly admirable. They get better at it every day."

"Why didn't you report it?"

"I'm quite tired of being found guilty of losing them," Luna said, opening to the first page of the magazine, where her name was written in a mirroring manner, "And as I've said, there are many fascinating places around the castle, ones I've found while searching for them."

"You haven't actually said that."

"I have now," Luna put the magazine down, peering at the spilled contents of Harry's bag, "I haven't visited Ollivander's before."

"What? Oh, yeah," Harry pulled the box and rolls of paper towards him, skimming down it's length, "I haven't got the opportunity to use them yet?"

"Wrackspurts?"

"Professor Trewaney's art class. Might as well call it divination, with the amount of… unartful stuff we've been doing."

Luna watched Harry unroll the paper, tilting her head and raising her brows. Her face fell when the paper was unrolled completely. Empty, unused.

"You can use them outside of class, yes?"

Harry nodded. Luna touched the corner of one of the pages, and Harry nodded to show approval for her to lift it up, inspecting it in the small light, "They why haven't you, Ali?"

"Well, I'm not exactly good at it."

"Why else?"

"I mean — " Harry rubbed his nape, "— It's nerve wracking, thinking of drawing on an empty page. Open to so many mistakes."

That's when Luna did the unthinkable. Before Harry could stop her, she had dipped her pen into the ink, a nice blotch stain sitting in the middle of the paper.

"Luna!" Harry hissed, not able to stop himself from snatching back the paper, running a hand angrily through his hair, "That paper was expensive! Why did you have to do that?"

"You said you're scared of an empty paper," Luna said, corking her ink bottle.

"So what?" Harry said without looking, frantically searching for something to absorb the ink.

"It's not empty anymore."

Harry stopped. Turning around, he eyed the paper in his hands, a stain the size of his palm splattered down on the smooth page. He looked at Luna. Luna looked back, smiled, and sat down, continuing to read from where she left off, "Please show me what you've done soon, Ali Patel."