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- Wand
- It's made of wood, I suppose
Ever since the most of his classmates had left for home after exams, the castle had been incredibly boring. Ford had not left the Slytherin House rooms for a week and was unaware of the presence of anybody else. He walked outside onto the lawn and shielded his eyes and cringed as the sun glared in his eyes. Vaguely, he recalled from his days of surfing the internet at the library by his aunt's apartment a comic...Your star burns! I require frozen treats! He snorted at the memory and walked towards a tree with branches low enough for him to climb. Securing his old military messenger bag, he climbed up the tree. His movements were slow and jerky, it had been a few years since he had had a need to climb into his aunt's apartment windows after sneaking out. He found a nice branch about three meters up with a nice view and cool breeze and swung his pack onto a neighboring branch and tied it there with the strap.
Before coming to Hogwarts, he had dug all his possessions out and packed them. Upon his arrival at school, he had shoved most under his bed. This morning he had gone through the stuff under his bed and found a couple old books that he had stolen from the library and gadgets he had picked up from his daytime wanderings through the Sydney slums. He had thrown some of them in his pack before he came out here, so he could pore over them. He pulled out an old book from his pack; on the cover was a black and white photo of a man in full military uniform. Under the picture it said: Michael Collins and displayed the Irish harp. Ford had intended to read this one when he got his letter from Hogwarts, which derailed his plans.
He almost cracked the book open, but surveyed his surroundings instead. It was a beautiful day, and a cool breeze was washing over him. He placed the book back in his pack, leaned against the tree, closed his eyes, and began to hum Beethoven's Fifth to himself, rather content.
Before coming to Hogwarts, he had dug all his possessions out and packed them. Upon his arrival at school, he had shoved most under his bed. This morning he had gone through the stuff under his bed and found a couple old books that he had stolen from the library and gadgets he had picked up from his daytime wanderings through the Sydney slums. He had thrown some of them in his pack before he came out here, so he could pore over them. He pulled out an old book from his pack; on the cover was a black and white photo of a man in full military uniform. Under the picture it said: Michael Collins and displayed the Irish harp. Ford had intended to read this one when he got his letter from Hogwarts, which derailed his plans.
He almost cracked the book open, but surveyed his surroundings instead. It was a beautiful day, and a cool breeze was washing over him. He placed the book back in his pack, leaned against the tree, closed his eyes, and began to hum Beethoven's Fifth to himself, rather content.
))