With a low chuckle, he turned to the next page. Awaiting him was an illustration of Miss Trunchbull, the fiendish headmistress. Despite his age, he still found the illustrations rather amusing. Mainly because she reminded him of one of his old primary school teachers.

*Visibly jumps at the sound of a voice*

Looking up, slightly startled, Ewan noticed Quinn, staring at him. HOW LONG HAD SHE BEEN THERE!? Rearranging his face to a puzzled expression, he answered her “Uh yes. I’m a muggleborn”. Unsure if he should continue or not for fear of reprimand, he plundered on “I grew up reading fiction. Do you know much of Roald Dahl’s books?”. Despite his caution, he was curious about his fellow first year Ravenclaw now. She knew muggle fiction. His fiction. Was she muggleborn? “I mean, I have my favourites too. I love Percy Jackson and the Olympians and obviously, I’m rather fond of the Hunger Games series too; there is something so good about Roald Dahl though”. Growing up at home, magic was often in short supply. In fact, it was practically non existent. Fiction was one of the only ways to really experience magic! There was something magical about curling up in front of a fire and getting lost in another world.

Sheepishly smiling now, well aware of how childish he must look. Ruffling his hair now, a twinge of pink in his cheeks, he pulled the picture of his mother that he’d been using as a book mark and slid it carefully in between the correct pages and closed the book. She didn’t need to see that too, although he knew this particular Ravenclaw to be observant.