(no subject)
Who: Harry and Draco
Where: The Trophy Room, again!
When: Friday afternoon
What: Detention!
Harry arrived in the Trophy room early, in the vain hope that Filch would then let him leave early and he could catch up with Ginny just after dinner. He tried not to think too much about dinner. His stomach rumbled angrily at him.
Filch, however, had other ideas. He pointed jeeringly to the pile of broken glass and smashed or dented trophies that had been lying there undisturbed for the past week and a half, beside which lay a much neater pile of sheeted glass and wooden parts. It was a brand new glass cabinet, and it was in peices.
"No magic," Filch reminded him gleefully.
"Go figure," said Harry, thinking that he couldn't possibly be in any more trouble than he was at the moment anyway. Filch merely sneered and handed him a bucket, with a scrubbing brush and a tube of Silverman's Super-sticky Superglue in it.
"S'gotta look just like it did afore you wrecked it," he growled. Harry looked dubiously at the remains of the trophy he had blasted to red-hot peices in desperation. No amount of magic glue was going to fix that.
With a sigh, he walked carefully around the suspiciously-stained area in the middle of the glass, trying not even to look at it lest he feel the urge to throw up again, and began to contemplate the task of reattaching the handle of the 1870-1900 Quidditch Cup.
Where: The Trophy Room, again!
When: Friday afternoon
What: Detention!
Harry arrived in the Trophy room early, in the vain hope that Filch would then let him leave early and he could catch up with Ginny just after dinner. He tried not to think too much about dinner. His stomach rumbled angrily at him.
Filch, however, had other ideas. He pointed jeeringly to the pile of broken glass and smashed or dented trophies that had been lying there undisturbed for the past week and a half, beside which lay a much neater pile of sheeted glass and wooden parts. It was a brand new glass cabinet, and it was in peices.
"No magic," Filch reminded him gleefully.
"Go figure," said Harry, thinking that he couldn't possibly be in any more trouble than he was at the moment anyway. Filch merely sneered and handed him a bucket, with a scrubbing brush and a tube of Silverman's Super-sticky Superglue in it.
"S'gotta look just like it did afore you wrecked it," he growled. Harry looked dubiously at the remains of the trophy he had blasted to red-hot peices in desperation. No amount of magic glue was going to fix that.
With a sigh, he walked carefully around the suspiciously-stained area in the middle of the glass, trying not even to look at it lest he feel the urge to throw up again, and began to contemplate the task of reattaching the handle of the 1870-1900 Quidditch Cup.