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Neville picked it up gingerly and placed the pot of tea in the very center, careful not to touch the hottest parts. His mouth was watering rather badly at the prospect of getting a bit of meringue, and he had to concentrate very hard so as not to burn himself.
Being born in the spring meant rain for most of the birthdays he had experienced in his six years, and if you were going to be grumpy about that, then he supposed you would be in for a world of disappointing birthdays.
“What?” Luna asked excitedly, matching her mother’s tone of voice without helping it; perhaps there was more to her shadow than she’d always thought, after all.
Maids and other hired help had been bustling about, polishing the crystal and scrubbing the floors and making all sorts of wonderful-smelling things, including cherry tart, which happened to be Draco’s very favorite dessert.
It was Oliver’s very first Quidditch game, and he was having a hard time comprehending it all.
She didn’t know if it would be odd or not to smell the crayons, and so refrained from sticking her nose right in the box, but the temptation was overwhelming.
Because tonight - and he was absolutely, positively, and unequivocally sure of this fact - a monster was lurking underneath his bed.
It was only this summer, he thought, that Dudley really seemed to have come into his own as far as knowing the power of his own ham-like fists.
It wasn’t as if his having a sparkler was such a bad thing anyway, he thought grumpily.
It hadn’t been all that long since he’d been back here – as the former Boy Who Lived, he spent a fair bit of time traveling to Hogwarts and acting as guest speaker to some of the older Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons.
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