The Gryffindor Common Room was warm and noisy, the fire crackling as it cast an orange-red glow over the armchairs and carpet.
Students gathered in groups of three or five.
The air held the dry scent of parchment, the smell of ink, and the sweet aroma of Butterbeer.
Some laughed and talked loudly, while others buried their heads in thick books, frowning and muttering under their breath.
Harry walked through the crowd, which did nothing to put him at ease.
He found an empty spot beside Ron and Hermione and sat down, tossing his backpack aside.
A textbook lay open on the table beside their Charms Class assignment, titled "On the Revolutionary Applications of the Permanent Sticking Charm in Modern Defense Against Dark Magic."
Fourth-year homework.
Harry stared at the title, feeling a little dazed.
It almost made him want to laugh.
It felt like he had shot himself in the foot.
"Harry, you're finally back!"
Ron practically leaped off the carpet, his face full of anxiety, though he also looked relieved.
"Merlin's beard, if you hadn't come back soon, Hermione would've gone mad!"
Lowering his voice, Ron pointed dramatically at the girl beside him.
"She insists we finish the essay on the Permanent Sticking Charm tonight, without leaving out a single word!"
Hermione did not even look up, her thick brown hair falling over half her face.
Her quill raced across the parchment with a rustling sound, like an industrious field mouse digging a burrow.
"I haven't gone mad, Ron."
She corrected him without looking up, her voice clear.
"Professor Flitwick's Charms Class has a practical assessment after the tournament ends. I'd say the defensive applications of the Permanent Sticking Charm are very likely to be a major focus."
At last, she stopped writing and looked up at Harry,