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“Will!” Amy burst into the tent.
“Ah!” He nearly fumbled the potions vial he was holding, “How many times have I told you not to do that?”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever, come on you have to see this!” Amy bodily hauled him out into the night, where their three Gryffindor friends were standing around a roaring campfire looking smug. Harry and Ron were each holding several long sticks, and Hermione was juggling several packages of sausages and a bag of marshmallows larger than her own head.
“What’s all this?” Will asked.
“Dinner,” Ron informed him, grabbing Will by the arm, “Duh. Come on, you need to eat. Join us!”
“Is the fire really a good idea?” Will asked, slightly desperately, “What if someone sees it?”
“There’s no one for miles,” Hermione informed him, “We’re far enough from civilization to be safe, and we deserve the break.”
Amy happily claimed a stick and a sausage, setting to roasting. Will, somewhat petulantly, sat down on a fallen log beside his twin.
“This was your idea, wasn’t it,” he hissed at Harry, who smiled and passed him a marshmallow.
“Do you guys remember the time we did this in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom?” Ron asked, cooking two sausages at once.
“You mean the time a marshmallow almost got dropped in the polyjuice potion and we almost died of smoke inhalation?” Hermione asked, but there was a smile playing around her eyes.
“Yeah, that was great,” Ron grinned.
“If by great you mean we all found out what it was like to cough so hard you throw up,” Will muttered.
“What about the thing with the giant hat?” Amy asked, and everyone groaned.
“Oh don’t even remind me,” Hermione covered her eyes with a hand.
They continued to tell stories and roast marshmallows all night. One good, bright memory amongst all the fear and terror of the second Voldemort war.