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Aurora Areli
THE STORM HAD BLOWN itself out by the following morning, though at breakfast, as Harry, Ron, Hermione and I examined our new timetables, the ceiling in the Great Hall was still swirling with heavy, pewter grey clouds. A few seats along, Fred, George and Lee were discussing magical methods of ageing themselves and bluffing their way into the Triwizard Tournament.
"Today's not bad . . . outside all morning," Ron said, running a finger down his timetable, "Herbology with the Hufflepuffs and Care of Magical Creatures . . . damn it, we're still with the Slytherins . . ."
"Double Divination this afternoon," Harry groaned, looking down.
"What?" I said, glancing over at my own timetable. Sure enough, there was my least favourite subject. "Oh no . . ."
"You should have given it up like me, shouldn't you?" Hermione said briskly, buttering herself some toast. "Then you'd be doing something sensible like Arithmancy."
"I tried," I said grumpily. "Professor McGonagall wouldn't let me."
"You're eating again, I notice," Ron said, watching Hermione add copious amounts of jam to her toast.
"I've decided there are better ways of making a stand about elf rights," Hermione said haughtily.
"Yeah . . . and you were hungry," said Ron, grinning.
I smiled at the cute exchange, ignoring the unamused look Hermione sent me.
There was a sudden rustling noise above us, and a hundred owls came soaring through the open windows, carrying the morning mail. The owls circled the tables, looking for the people to whom their letters and packages were addressed. A large tawny owl soared down to Neville and deposited a parcel in his lap — Neville almost always forgot to pack something. On the other side of the hall, Malfoy's eagle owl had landed on his shoulder, carrying what looked like his usual supply of sweets and cakes from home. I spotted my own brown owl soaring down towards me to land next to my bowl of porridge, sending feathers into my hair when he ruffled his wings.
"Thanks, Jupiter," I said flatly, taking the detaching the letter from his leg. When he hooted expectantly at me, I ripped a piece of toast and handed it over. Significantly happier, Jupiter flew off to the Slytherin table to deliver Atticus his mail.
After removing the feathers from my hair, I glanced over and saw Harry poking at his porridge, looking glum.
I nudged his arm. "What's wrong?"
Harry sighed. "Sirius hasn't written back."
"Still?"
He nodded.
I frowned. "Well . . . I'm sure you'll get a response soon. Try not to worry too much."
"Yeah . . . you're probably right," Harry said, looking towards me.
