It was early, the morning after the feast, and everyone was probably clustered in the Great Hall, eating toast and enjoying their last moments of free time before classes started.

Everyone that was, except Wesley. Small face almost gaunt, eyes puffy, she entered the second floor bathroom with a look of determination. The Hufflepuff set her schoolbag by one of the sinks before walking over to the windows, lined in rows of metal-cased squares near the ceiling. Unholstering her wand, she swung it forward and up, whispering the simple spell she had watched her mother perform countless times. The targeted window opened with a creak of agreement, allowing unfiltered sunlight and autumn air to pass through.

Without even a small smile of satisfaction, Wesley returned to the sink, retrieving her bag, and lifted the flap to pull out a journal. Leather discolored and beginning to crack, the teenager flipped through its crackling pages until she reached the last few. For a brief second, she looked at the curly script and Spello-Taped letters. Then she ripped them out with a vicious yank, dropping the book, and crumpled them.

Tossing them in the porcelain sink, she reached for her wand and pointed it at the paper. "Incendio," she muttered, waving her wand in what was supposed to be flame shape, but looked more like a bunch of scribbles, and ending the incantation with a flick and twist of her wrist.

Alit in orange, the parchment spat and curled black.

Then, when nothing remained but ashes and gnarled bits of Spello-Tape, Wesley turned on the tap, washing it down 'til all that remained was white. Finished with what she had set out to do, she turned the faucet off, reholstered her wand, tucked the journal back in her bag, lifted it onto her shoulder, and left.