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... nd where the fire crackled lazily and most of the students had drifted off to their dormitories. James, Peter, and I had staked out our usual corner sprawled across the armchairs, half-buried under a pile of Chocolate Frog wrappers and abandoned textbooks.
Peter was nodding off, quill slipping from his ink-stained fingers. James was tossing a Snitch he'd snuck out of the Quidditch trunk, catching it with effortless precision every few seconds, eyes tracking its flickering golden wings. I ...
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