Casper Scouten pushed up the arms of his too-large robes for what must have been the twentieth time since he had put them on during the train ride. If his mother could have seen him she would have whipped out her wand and performed some fancy spell to straighten the wrinkles and crease the fabric in all the appropriate places. But thankfully she was not, and Casper's preferred look of tousled blonde hair and wrinkled drooping robes was left untouched.
He sat down on the Ravenclaw bench diagonally from a small boy with a lisp who seemed quite on edge. Casper assumed he was a first year, afraid to be torn from home. His stomach grumbled lightly and he grabbed for any tidbits of food that didn't bear any resemblance to tentacles or fins or gills. |