As night fell, Harry and Hermione returned to the Gryffindor Common Room together—Neville had accidentally knocked his head during spell practice and had to go to the Hospital Wing to see Madam Pomfrey.
Only two or three students remained on the sofas. The fire danced in the fireplace, casting mottled, swaying shadows across the walls like some mysterious ancient painting.
"Good night, Harry," Hermione said. "Get some rest early tonight."
"Okay, good night." Harry watched Hermione head toward the girls' dormitory, then happily made his way up the spiral staircase toward the boys' dormitory. When no one was looking, he could not resist hopping twice.
During that evening's study session, Harry had been the only one to successfully disarm his opponent. It was the first time he had learned a spell faster than Hermione. Almost everyone else had been unable to cast it properly; by the end, Hermione had only managed to make her opponent take two steps back... Then there was Michael, who had made his opponent flinch... though that might have been because the beam from his Wand was a little frightening...
Harry remembered the astonished, admiring looks from the others—not because he was "Harry Potter," nor because he was "The Boy Who Lived," but because of the talent he had displayed in learning spells.
Every member of SSC had a subject they excelled at. Harry had originally thought that, apart from Quidditch, he had nothing worth mentioning. But now he knew that he was probably very good at Defense Against the Dark Arts spells... Even Wade had praised him—said he was a genius at practical magic...
All that joy came to an end the moment he pushed open the dormitory door.
Ron was leaning against his bed, flipping through a magazine. Hearing the door open, he did