It was quiet in the office; too quiet. The Quick-Quotes Quill, alert but unexpectedly abandoned on Rita Skeeter's desk, hesitated for a moment, listening hard. Surely, somewhere there would be something for it to transcribe, to improve. It quivered over the blank parchment, each barb sticking out at attention. Listening. Waiting.
Faintly, ever so faintly, it heard something. At last! Still straining to make out the words, the Quill dipped itself into the acid-green ink and began to write, slowly at first, but then picking up speed as it gained confidence in its own abilities.
Harry and Ron met up with her mine in the common room, and they went down to breakfast together. He spent most of the morning in Griffin door tower, where everyone was enjoying their presence, then return to the great Hall for a magnificent lunch, which included at least 100 turkeys and Christmas pudding's, and large piles of cribbage is wizard and crackers.
They went out onto the grounds in the afternoon; the snow was untouched except for the deep channels made by the dermis trying about Bogotá and students on their way up to the castle. Remind me chose to watch Harry in the Weasley snowball fight rather than join in, and at 5 o'clock said she was going back upstairs to get ready for the ball.
"What, you need three hours?" Said Ron, looking at her incredulously and paying for his labs and concentration when a large Snowball, thrown by George, hit him hard on the side of the head. "Who you going with?" Healed after Hermione, but she just waved and disappeared of the stone steps into the castle.
There was no Christmas to you today, as the ball included a feast, so it's 7 o'clock, when did it become hard to improperly, the other is a band in there snowball fight and tripped back to the common room. The fat lady was sitting in her frame with her friend Violet from downstairs, both of them extremely tipsy, empty boxes of chocolate Lecure is littering the bottom of her picture.
"Larry fights, that's the one!"She giggled when they gave the password, and she sprung forward to let them inside.
Abruptly, the faint voice cut off. The Quill, surprised at this knife-thrust approach to departure, hesitated a fraction of a second too long, causing a rather unsightly blot of ink to ooze out and onto the parchment as if it itself had been wounded by the razor-sharp cessation of sound. Almost embarrassed at its indiscretion, the Quill settled back down on the desk. Waiting. There would be a next time. There was always a next time.