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The Hogwarts Christmas Orb	By : Nerys Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort Views: 8467 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
Chapter Three

Stuck Together

Whenever she woke in the many weeks that followed, Hermione hoped it had all been a ridiculous nightmare. Tom bloody Riddle wasn’t in her flat. It had all been a figment of her imagination, and today would be the day that figment had vanished. A hope that got squashed every single time she opened her bedroom door and saw him sitting languorously on her couch.

‘Why do you get to sit on that?’ she sneered, wishing things would make sense for once. ‘Come to think of it, why doesn’t the floor swallow you whole, too?’

‘Magic doesn’t always comply with the laws of physics,’ Riddle suggested, shrugging carelessly. Then, a mischievous expression appeared on his face and he added, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, ‘Or it is the size that matters.’

Hermione groaned, walking to her kitchen, desperate for coffee. Did he have to remind her of their embarrassing and completely inappropriate walk-ins on each other at every possible opportunity? It was bad enough to have him around. She really had no interest in seeing him naked or having him see her naked. Again.

It had been only a couple of days ago that Riddle had figured out he could change what he was wearing by thinking it. However, in between the changes, she’d got a very good look at his nude body, which she could’ve done without. Knowing Lord Voldemort had a nice butt and quite impressive equipment hadn’t been on her need-to-know list. Why he even bothered to change was beyond her, his clothes were about as substantial as he was.

‘And a jolly good morning to you, too,’ Riddle said, chipper.

The weird part was that she seemed to be the only one able to see, hear and touch him. Others walked through Riddle without noticing anything, unlike the effect it had when a ghost passed through you. Harry had led a small investigative team, trying out everything to find a sign Riddle was there, but they found nothing. Harry had been really understanding and worried. He’d even made her see a Healer to check her vitals and if nothing was draining her life-force, but she was declared to be in perfect health. It had been really embarrassing because Riddle had been in the Healer’s office the entire time, making derogatory comments about basically everything, and it was hard for her to focus on what others were saying when he yapped through it all.

At one point, she actually had to stop making a ruckus about seeing him because she could tell people were beginning to doubt her sanity—something the twat was incredibly amused about. So, in the end, she’d lied and told the few who knew that she’d seen a specialist Healer who’d found she’d suffered from Pseudo-Malcolm Syndrome: a defect in her auditory and sensory nerves that made her hear and see things that weren’t there. She’d found the rare, easily curable wizarding disease in one of her many textbooks. She had worked hard to get her job as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and didn’t want to lose it due to Riddle. It had been hard to lie to Harry, especially when she noticed how relieved he was that she was now better and that Voldemort hadn’t really come back to life again.

The trouble was that she had no idea how this Riddle came into existence. He clearly wasn’t a Horcrux come to life in some shape or form, nor was he a ghost or a regular human being, but what the hell was he then? He didn’t seem to require food or water, nor did he need to perform basic human bodily functions. Yet, when she touched him, his body felt normal, like any other’s. It made no sense at all.

Sure, she suspected that antique orb of Hogwarts was involved in his creation—it was his type of object—and she had gone out of her way to check its history. After getting it back from the Unspeakables—who found nothing out of the ordinary—she’d cast many spells on it, noticing Riddle’s veiled interest as she worked. She tried destroying it, which failed miserably. Not even Fiendfyre or Basilisk venom did the trick. She went through her entire repertoire of wizarding knowledge as she cast, both dark and light. Yet, the orb didn’t reveal its secrets.

Neither did Riddle. She was pretty sure he knew what was going on and wasn’t sharing. That actually made her relieved, because it meant he had something to fear. If he hadn’t, he would just be boosting about his perfect scheme and how inadequate she was. No, she just had to research harder. There had to be a way to get rid of him. She wanted that annoying, calculating, piercing, dark stare of his whenever she did something even mildly immoral, like lie or use the Dark Arts, out of her life.

Hermione closed her eyes, sipping her hot, black coffee, satisfied. Coffee always made her feel better.

‘So, Mudblood, what’s up for today? Are you going to be working through more useless paperwork that won’t get anything done in the end again?’ Riddle sneered right behind her.

So much for feeling better.

Her face turned red in anger and she swirled around, her coffee sloshing over the rim. ‘Crap!’ With a quick wave of her wand, the situation was undone and she focused back on Riddle. ‘I’ll have you know that I’ve changed more in the few years I’ve been in office than anyone before me.’

‘Give the girl an Order of Merlin,’ Riddle mocked.

Hermione smirked triumphantly and pushed past him. ‘Don’t need another one. And before you’re going to comment on that, Mr Know-It-All, it’s Saturday.’ She slammed the door to her bedroom closed behind her.

‘Oh great, another fascinating day of you staying indoors! You live such a full life!’ he yelled, but unfortunately, she didn’t take the bait and he was left on his own again.

Sighing, Riddle turned around, leaning against the breakfast bar. This entire situation had to change. He was getting nowhere. Sure, taunting the little witch was mildly amusing. She was easy to rattle and he’d never met anyone who could preach so long and so fast about those ridiculous subjects she valued. But he couldn’t deny that she was also incredibly intelligent. He wasn’t foolish enough not to recognise valuable assets when they fell right in front of his feet, and Ms Granger—disgusting Mudblood she might be—would make an exceptional ally if she weren’t trying to do him in. If she’d performed that one curse on the orb at the right time, he’d…

Agitated, his hand ruffled through his hair.

This all hadn’t worked out as expected. He was supposed to return as he’d been, not this dependant ghost-like being that couldn’t perform magic. When he’d dealt with this temporary inconvenience, he’d find that blasted Santa Claus and put an end to his immortality once and for all. Now he had to focus on regaining his normal state of being and that—he was certain—was somehow linked to that little witch. He had to work the problem as he always did. He knew he felt better around her, more energetic. When he had contact (or indirect contact) with her, he could touch things (smaller than a couch, floor or wall)—actually, she did have a point that it was strange that he wasn’t falling through the floor.

For a moment he pondered on that—his mind going over things that might explain that anomaly. However, since he didn’t have an answer to it, he filed it away for later study.

Their connection was what he had to work on. He’d tried leaving her side when he’d had the option, only to find himself transported right next to her whenever he’d gained a certain distance. Granger, on the other hand, hadn’t been able to leave his side either. That had got clear after she’d warded him in and attempted to leave, knowing he couldn’t follow through that. She wasn’t transported back as humiliatingly as he had been, but she’d got nasty physical symptoms and an overwhelming need to return that she couldn’t resist. These were all things that suggested some kind of bond had been established between them, and that said bond wasn’t one-sided either. That was what he’d first thought: If he just stuck it out long enough, she would wither away and he’d regain all what was rightfully his. However, the bond seemed to be mutual beneficial. With every passing day, he’d seen Granger becoming more powerful and full of zest, too. It was infuriating.

He wished he’d had a chance to test if he could perform magic while touching Granger. He hadn’t tried that yet. She always made sure that her bedroom door was locked when she went to sleep and he didn’t want to make an attempt with her conscious and aware about it. She already held the hopefully false presumption that he was without magic. If that got disproven, she’d become even more cautious around him. He, somehow, had to lull her further into a false sense of security. He sighed. The one time he needed his charm to work on a witch and it seemed an unreachable goal.

The door flung open and Granger reappeared, book in hand. How utterly predictable.

The book got tossed on her couch as she walked past it. Her coffee mug flew to the coffee container to get a refill while she was busy rummaging through her cabinets for snacks. Riddle rolled his eyes. Sure, he loved to read, too, but didn’t she ever do something—

‘Unlocking Wenlock’s Seven, A Comprehensive Study of Common Misconceptions and Assumptions, by The Red Serpent,’ he read out loud as he looked at the book with renewed interest.

‘Interesting, isn’t it?’ her muffled voice said through the crisping of bags. ‘I’ve been dying to read it ever since I heard of it. The author takes a completely different approach to Arithmancy than others before her. Some say this is the way Wenlock originally meant for it to work, which would explain some of the discrepancies with the theories used today and Wenlock’s statements about the number values. Unfortunately, it took them ages to translate it to English and my Chinese just isn’t up for the job. I tried, but … well, couldn’t make heads or tails from it.’

‘So this truly unlocks seven or is it just some other pretender boosting without validating anything in the end?’ he asked, feeling utterly frustrated he couldn’t simply lift it and check the contents by himself.

Hermione rose from behind her counter, her arms filled with snacks and a bowl of cereal. She shrugged. ‘I haven’t read it yet, but considering how much the Arithmancy field is in uproar due to this book, I’d say it will have to have some substance.’

‘Or you’ll add it,’ Riddle said, nodding amused to her arms.

‘I get peckish when I read, not that it’s any of your business,’ she replied, walking past him with a huff and dumping her snacks on the coffee table while sitting down on the couch with her cereal. The bowl automatically filled itself with milk from the fridge at a wave of her wand and she grabbed the book, reading and eating at the same time. Her newly filled coffee mug was hovering in wait right next to her.

Tom placed his hands on the couch’s back, reading over her shoulder. Hermione shifted briefly, but he could tell she was trying her best to ignore him as she read on. She was somewhat slower than him in finishing the pages, which was convenient since it meant he didn’t have to take other measures to ensure he read it all. It truly seemed to be a worthwhile book to read. The introduction was very promising.

‘Do you have to stand there?’ Hermione asked, as she placed the now empty bowl away and grabbed her coffee mug.

‘I have the best view from here.’

‘It’s very annoying when people try to read over your shoulder.’

‘Good thing I’m not trying then; I’m succeeding.’

Abruptly, she closed the book, placed it on the side and turned around. ‘You. Are. Not. Going. To. Stand. There. All. Day. Long,’ she hissed.

‘I am not?’ he asked daringly. ‘Pray tell, how will you stop me?’

‘You really want to find out?’

‘Fine,’ he said, raising his hands in the air, ‘you win. I’ll go sit over there.’ Feeling her eyes piercing into his back, he walked over to the other couch and sat down demonstratively. ‘There,’ he said with a broad, winning smile, ‘I’m no longer reading over your shoulder. Happy?’

‘I suppose,’ she answered, her eyes flickering over his posture suspiciously.

She was very correct in being suspicious. He had no intention of giving up. She would let him read that book if he had to make hell freeze over. Something Hermione soon found out, because when she focused back on the page, a horrible, high-pitched screeching noise tormented her eardrums. Having nearly spilled the coffee she was sipping on, she looked up, horrified.

‘What for Merlin’s sake is that?!’ she yelled over the noise.

‘An aria from Puccini,’ Tom explained lightly, interrupting his ‘singing’ briefly before continuing. If looks could kill, he’d be done twice over by now.

‘Puccini would roll over in his grave,’ Hermione grumbled, grabbing her book tightly and trying to shut out the incessant noise as she finished her coffee much faster than normally.

So, he merely screeched a bit higher and louder, watching her knuckles go white in satisfaction. Her eyes were glued to the page, the exact same page for quite some time now. He’d noticed she’d not flipped one in ages as he moved from classical music to much more annoying children’s songs. They tended to get stuck in your head. ‘Row, row, row your boat. Gently down the stream. Merrily, merrily, merrily—’

‘Argh! All right!’ Hermione snapped, covering her ears. ‘Stop it, just stop it.’

He tilted his head questioningly, an innocent façade spread all over his features. ‘Am I disturbing you?’

She buried her head in her arms, groaning. ‘This has to be a crazy dream; next Lord Voldemort will be writing poetry,’ she mumbled barely audible.

Yet, he could still make out what she said and smirked. All he had to do was win her over. Finding a common ground would be the obvious way to approach this.

‘I’m not asking for much, you know,’ he started quietly. ‘Surely, you can understand my interest in reading?’

Some incoherent, grumbling noise that sounded like a reluctant acknowledgement to him came from underneath all that hair before she rose, planted her chin on the palms of her hands and looked straight at him. ‘So, just because you can’t hold a book by yourself and read, nobody else should. Typical.’

‘That’s not what I’m saying.’

‘But you’re making it impossible for me to read.’

‘As you are making it impossible for me,’ he countered calmly.

Hermione tossed her hands in the air. ‘What do you suggest we do then? I can’t read when someone is peeking over my shoulder, especially when …’ she trailed off, blushing slightly.

‘Especially when what?’ he inquired, curious as to what made her suddenly blush.

‘Nothing. I just don’t want you hovering over me at my back.’

He was sure there was another reason, too, but decided not to push it. ‘Scared?’

‘Sensibly cautious,’ she corrected. ‘Besides, you can’t tell me you’ve never found it annoying when someone tried to read over your shoulder.’

‘They would only try that once,’ he admitted.

‘Hah! See,’ she said triumphantly, ‘it is annoying. I can’t read a whole book like that.’

‘Well …’ Tom paused, a devious thought sprung to mind with which he could strike two birds with one stone. ‘I think I may just have the answer.’

Slowly, he rose from his couch and approached her, holding out his hand to her. Hermione’s eyes widened. ‘Wh-what?’

‘Trust me.’

‘Pffttt…’ She burst out in laughter, actually doubling over in mirth. He didn’t think it was that funny. After all, they’d already established that they couldn’t really hurt each other, which right now, was something he would really like to do: Snap that pretty little neck of hers, stopping that insolent laughter at his expense, and watch the light leave her eyes.

‘Are you done?’ he asked evenly, covering his true feelings.

A few short hiccoughs shook her body before Hermione looked up, her eyes sparkling and her mouth producing a mocking grin. ‘No need to get annoyed,’ she said, grasping his hand and allowing him to pull her up, almost flush against his body. ‘Asking me to trust you?’ She shook her head. ‘We both know that if you could, I’d be a corpse right now.’

Would you? he wondered, gazing straight into those brown, intelligent eyes. He knew he could do it. Killing had always come easy to him—it wouldn’t be any different this time, but it would be a shame. She was powerful and smart, pretty in her own way, courageous, devious, and as he’d seen, definitely not opposed to using the Dark Arts when it fit her. She also was ambitious and a hard worker, precise and organised—in many ways she reminded him of himself. Of course she wasn’t nearly as brilliant as he was (nobody was), and she had that awful moral compass that she acted upon; she cared for, loved people.

Hermione coughed softly, shaking him out of his contemplations. Her face was flushed, and he noticed he was slowly stroking her hand with his thumb. Abruptly, he stopped. When had he started doing that?! Why had he done that?! The brief panic that rose inside of him got wiped away by her calmly spoken next words. ‘And now?’

‘Oh, the book,’ he answered, gesturing at her to pick it up. As she turned away to lift it from the couch, he shook his head in disbelief at his own actions. He wouldn’t be disturbed if he’d done it deliberately, but subconsciously…? Insane.

‘Got it,’ she said superfluously as she held up the book in the air.

Before she had a chance to turn around fully, he swiftly moved in, wrapping his arm around her waist and putting one of the cushions against the armrest.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked, her hands clutching to the book.

He smirked, enjoying the sudden onset of fear in the air and the feel of her rigid body against him. He snaked his other arm around her waist, too, pulling her tighter to him as he buried his face in her hair. ‘Making sure you won’t fall,’ he breathed into her ear.

‘F-fall?’

‘When I do this,’ he explained, abruptly dropping onto the couch and pulling her with him. He landed precisely as he’d aimed for, naturally, with his back against the cushion he’d just placed against the armrest, his legs on the couch and Hermione between them. She was too shocked to react, still holding the book with both hands as she had done seconds ago. ‘Good of you not to drop it,’ he said softly, kissing her on her head.

She dropped her arms in her lap, shaking her head. ‘No, no, no, we’re not doing this.’

‘Why not?’

She tilted her head backwards, looking him straight in the eye. ‘Do you honestly think I’m going to sit in your lap for the entire time it will take us to read this thick volume?’

‘Technically, you’re not sitting in my lap, you’re on—’

‘Technically, my arse,’ she swore, angry. ‘This was completely unnecessary. You could’ve just said what you had planned and—’

‘—made everything incredibly awkward and thus a no-go,’ he interrupted. ‘If I’d just said it, you’d have had thousands of silly, little reasons as to why we shouldn’t do this.’

‘Well, I still have those “thousands of silly, little reasons”,’ she huffed, ‘and now you can add one more reason to it, namely the one of me being pissed at you.’ She made an attempt to move forward and he pulled her right back. ‘Please tell me you didn’t just do that,’ Hermione hissed through gritted teeth.

‘Calm down for a moment, Granger, and look at this practically. If we’re seated this way, we both have a clear view on the text, we can take turns in holding the book, and neither of us is in an uncomfortable position.’

‘Hah! Neither,’ she scoffed.

‘What are you afraid of?’

‘I’m not afraid of anything. I just don’t appreciate being restricted in my movements.’

Tom let go of her waist and placed his leg on the floor. ‘Fine, go then. I’ll go row, row, row—’

Hermione groaned, closing her eyes and dropping her head. ‘You’re without a doubt the most obnoxious, irritating person I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet.’

‘I am also right,’ he added, smug because she’d not moved away. He was winning this, he could tell. ‘And you know it.’

‘Fine, I’ll give this a go, but any funny business and I’m going to read this in my bedroom.’

‘Oh dear, I fear you’d find that my dulcet tones can reach that tiny distance quite easily.’

‘There are always Sound Deafening Charms.’

‘Considering I could hear your loud snoring last night, I daresay those are not functioning between us either, as I think you’re already aware of, or that would’ve been the first thing you tried.’

Hermione tilted her head, looking up at him. ‘You dare complain about my snoring? Have you even the slightest notion that the noise you make is slowly tearing down this building inch by inch?’

Tom sniggered. ‘My snoring doesn’t bother me.’

‘And that’s all that matters,’ Hermione replied, rolling her eyes before lifting up the book from her lap and asking, ‘So where were you?’

‘Page thirty-six,’ Tom replied, smirking triumphantly. As she flipped through the book to get to that designated page, he swung his leg back on the couch, commenting, ‘I presume it’s not too restrictive for your highness if I put my leg back on the couch. It’s starting to fall asleep. Oww!’ he yelped, rubbing his head. ‘That’s a thick book you hit me with.’

‘Well, it’s a thick skull I’m striking. Can we just read now?’ she asked, sounding impatient as she held open the book at the right page demonstratively.

‘Certainly.’

From that moment on, it was silent in the flat apart from the occasional flip of a page or the quiet shift in position. Tom took full advantage from the brief time periods in which he was done with the opened pages and she was still reading. They were short, but still gave him the opportunity to observe her. There was a huge difference between the two of them when they read. He always read with a thorough awareness of his surroundings, skimming the pages for the interesting contents and ignoring the rest. Nobody would ever be able to sneak up on Lord Voldemort while he was reading.

Granger, on the other hand, seemed to shut out the world completely when she was reading, her focus fully on everything the pages had to offer. It was a bit a waste of time in his opinion, but it came in handy now as his eyes flickered over her body. Even though she’d raised her knees at some point and rested the book against them, Hermione’s arms were beginning to drop. Before she’d a chance to ask him to take over the book, he offered, receiving a relieved glance as a reward. He sent her a charming smile, enjoying how she relaxed in his arms and waiting the six additional seconds it took her to finish before flipping each page. It felt really good, holding her so close, feeling her lie against his chest, her legs between his. Everything felt right as if this were meant to be. He had an overwhelming urge to expand on their contact but refrained, not wanting to scare her off.

However, when she took over the book again, he gently laid down his arms around her, ready to use the excuse of tiredness that he didn’t need because she made no comment about it. They shifted in position regularly, debated the contents several times; Hermione consumed her food and drinks, occasionally running off to the toilet; she turned on the lights when it became dark; and faster than expected, it was late in the evening. He was holding the book and she was lying slightly on her side, her head on his chest, when he realised she’d not been this quiet in ages.

‘Hermione?’ he whispered tentatively.

There was no response, just the steady even sound of breathing. Was she asleep?

Carefully, he placed the book on the backrest and stroked her hair from her face. She shifted, moaning as she buried her head in his chest. He almost cried out when her elbow rubbed painfully in his stomach during the movement, and her other arm swung to her head as if swapping away a fly before coming to rest there. When she was finally still again, her leg was on top of his and she was lying fully on her side.

Tom grinned. This had worked out even better than expected. Cautiously, he moved his arms above her, fiddling his robes’ sleeve to open to secret pocket containing his wand. He’d never been more pleased to have that specially-made pocket than nowadays. Granger had searched him for a wand, but apart from him, no one could see, open or summon something from that magically enhanced piece of clothing. Clearly, his other self had not shared that bit of extraordinary Potions knowledge. He finally retrieved his wand, and as it made contact with his fingers, he could sense the difference. A warm tingling spread from his fingers up his arm to the rest of his body.

Oh yessss.

A casual sideway flip and the coffee table rose into the air. Satisfaction filled him as he transfigured it easily into item after item after item before putting it back on the ground in its former condition. With a sheer look of reverence in his eyes, he slid his wand through his fingers, enjoying how his power had returned to him. This was what it meant to be Lord Voldemort, the greatest wizard of all time. Now he’d fix all his problems.

His eyes gleamed red as he looked down on the little witch lying against him. Time to teach her a lesson in proper manners around her superiors. Crucio! he cast nonverbally.

However, to his utmost humiliation, the Unforgivable simply bounced off her, like her spell had bounced off him. She didn’t even move an inch. Aggravated, he stared at his wand. What was with this non-attacking nonsense? That sparked an idea. Would all magic fail on her, or was the intent behind it of importance? He tried a warming spell to keep her from getting cold, but was unsure if it’d taken. He attempted to levitate her arm into a more comfortable position, but it didn’t move. He sighed, unsure if this meant he couldn’t perform magic at all on her or if it somehow detected the selfish motives behind his attempts. Carefully, he picked up her arm and moved it down.

Her arm!

He’d seen the scar on her arm before. Slowly, he pulled up her sleeve, freezing briefly when she muttered something incomprehensible. Then he looked at the scar again. In dark-red letters it stated, ‘Mudblood’. Considering how inflamed the skin still appeared around the edges, it had to have been a cursed blade—they inflicted wounds designed to keep the victim in pain for the rest of their remaining lives and they couldn’t be healed. Well, not by conventional methods anyway.

He scratched the back of his head. This was a huge dilemma. He wanted to know if she was at all susceptible to his magic, but if he healed this scar, she’d know. There would be no way to undo it. Not only didn’t he have a cursed blade at hand, but also, this whole do-no-harm business would thwart him even if he had. Besides, no one would stay asleep when you started carving into them.

Maybe he could try if a disguising Glamour would work on her, instead of healing the scar? He cast it on her arm, but it remained visible. Now that he thought about it, she’d never shown any embarrassment about having that thing on her arm. So, naturally, it wouldn’t be seen as beneficial to her to just disguise it.

He stared at that hideous scar for quite some time, the word ‘Mudblood’ screaming at him as if it were pounding through his brain. It was a complex spell to heal it. If he could perform that, he could do anything.

Only when you touch her, his mind warned. It may be over once you lose contact and if she knows you can do magic …

Mudblood, Mudblood, Mudblood, the word was swimming in front of his eyes.

Then again, she should be thankful to him for ridding her of that pain, he countered. And she’d fallen asleep in his arms, had flushed red a couple of times. Wasn’t that telling enough? There clearly was some attraction to him on her end, no matter how hard she tried to fight it. This would win her over. She’d owe him and he’d collect upon that debt.

Mudblood, the scar shouted. Mudblood, Mudblood, Mudblood.

He needed that hideous scar gone. He wanted to know if he could, if he truly was himself again. As in a trance, he curved his fingers around her arm, his fingertips within reach of the word that now thrummed through his mind: Mudblood, Mudblood, Mudblood.

‘Soon the pain will be gone,’ he whispered, placing the tip of his wand at the beginning of the letter M. Then, he began chanting as he tracked the letters with his wand over and over and over again. The lights in the room dimmed further with each repetition. The air around him was static with energy. His fingertips dug into her arm when she stirred, keeping it still at all cost. The letters flared brighter and brighter—soon, they were the sole light source in the room. Hermione whimpered, her legs shook. There was a bright flash upon the last redraw of Mudblood, and then, he eviscerated the word from her skin with the tip of his wand, leaving behind a white-hot burn.

He took a deep breath, moving his wand between his fingertips while he placed the palm of his hand on that white-hot burn. It sizzled and pain shot through him, but he kept his hand there, casting vehemently. Perspiration dripped from his brow, making him blink but not lose his focus. He continued to chant until he felt the temperature return to normal. Once the pain was completely gone, he removed his hand, triumphant at his success. Her skin was whole again, no trace remained of that cursed scar. He’d removed it all. He’d done it. He felt on top of the world.

If only he weren’t so tired now. His eyelids fluttered; his arm dropped off the couch, but he never heard the soft clattering noise of his wand bouncing onto the floor. Sleep had already caught him.
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The Hogwarts Christmas Orb