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One thing about me, much to the annoyance of everyone around me, is that when I get tired I have no filter. After a whole day of controlling my face and my actions and thinking about other people I felt completely exhausted and unable to keep up that charade. Which is why I interrupted someone I had never actually spoken to by sitting directly across from them, in the middle of the night, and ripping away their concentration.
“What are you writing?” Wood looked up with a jolt. He had somehow genuinely not heard me enter.
“Sorry?”
“What are you writing? There’s no way you have homework already.”
“Quidditch stuff. Game plays.” He answered, shortly, but not unkindly.
“You're the captain right? Of the quidditch team? Fred and George told me about you.”
“Did they…” he ran a hand through his fringe, mussing up his short brown hair. “All good I hope.”
“Terrible actually,” I said, and when his eyes widened: “that was a joke. They didn't really say much of anything other than your name.”
“Oh… I see…”

