Backdated: Quidditch Pick-Up During Reunion
It was bitterly fucking cold outside.
Harry hadn't bothered to worry about whether or not his dress robes would be suitable enough for the Scottish November weather. He'd had that bloody drink George and Fred concocted and his brain cells had deteriorated. He rubbed at his cheeks, feeling the warmth draining from them before stuffing his hands back into the pockets of his robes.
He still hadn't been able to find Ron.
He only hoped his mate had hit it off with that blond he saw him with earlier.
Of course, only if Ron went back to her place.
He was not sleeping in the hallway again.
"Alright, blokes," he commanded, his voice clear in the quiet surrounding the castle. "Who's thinks they can break that lock on the first try?"
Harry hadn't bothered to worry about whether or not his dress robes would be suitable enough for the Scottish November weather. He'd had that bloody drink George and Fred concocted and his brain cells had deteriorated. He rubbed at his cheeks, feeling the warmth draining from them before stuffing his hands back into the pockets of his robes.
He still hadn't been able to find Ron.
He only hoped his mate had hit it off with that blond he saw him with earlier.
Of course, only if Ron went back to her place.
He was not sleeping in the hallway again.
"Alright, blokes," he commanded, his voice clear in the quiet surrounding the castle. "Who's thinks they can break that lock on the first try?"