“Where in the bloody hell have all my socks gone to?” James curses, flinging clothes, books, and quills haphazardly out of his trunk. A bottle of ink smashes across Sirius’s similarly bare feet.
“I dunno mate, maybe the house elves have nicked them,” he suggests, his tone betraying his amusement.
“Why in Merlin would they steal my socks?”
“I
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