Chance and the Alphabet ** Will Lowby, Hufflepuff fifth year, necessitateed nothing much than to sleep. Sleep, sleep, sleep. He couldnt do that, though, as he had Quidditch practice this instant after this lesson, and at that place was a miniscule ascertain that hed be more officious if he stayed awake, rather than harbour in to the battle his eyelids were fighting. He needed to be alert, if he ever wanted to fire beyond Reserve Keeper. prof Binns dirge-like diction, in concert with the rhythmic snores of Juliana Magelby on the desk behind him, was not helping matters. Not at all. The twilight sun seemed in on the conspiracy as well. Its warmheartedness filtered through the antique windows of the History of Magic classroom and crept crosswise Wills face, issuing a persistent invitation to nap, and nap well. It was almost succeeding, excessively - his head matt-up heavy, heavy, and heavier, but it gave a jolting tag as he finally succumbed, leaving him with a wrick in his deal and the unpleasant reminder that thirty minutes still remained to the lesson. increasingly desperate, Will propped his head on both hand and unflinching to catalogue the worn surface of his desk yet other time. Sigh. A cartoon vampire, there in the corner, next to a hardly a(prenominal) sets of initials. He ran his fingers into his brown hair, trying to rub discover an rising headache as he continued. Some mould confessions of love, and the logo of the Caerphilly Catapults, here in the middle. Someone knew his or her Quidditch- Caerphilly was having their ruff assuage in six years. He kept on... A broom handle joke that had long stopped being funny, a fewer words that would earn a detention if this desk was in prof McGonagalls classroom, and a decent attempt at the Slytherin house... If you want to run a full essay, order it on our website: OrderEssay.net
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