Someone had stolen his mustache during the night. Considering he was a very light sleeper, and hadn’t stirred once, he was extremely bothered by it. He liked his face the way it was, and he didn’t like being vulnerable. Whoever did it was going to pay. His glare dared anyone to comment on his clean-shaven face as he left the common room and made his way down to the Great Hall for breakfast. He rubbed his face, missing his mustache. He had grown that thing for years, and now it was gone. Noticing someone sitting next to him, he turned his head slightly. “Go away.” He was in no mood for company.
“But Tomas,” Moira said, big blue eyes looking up at him. She hadn’t had time to bother him as much, working very hard to make it through the term with passing marks. The last time she made contact was to give him his Christmas present. Now she was sure he needed a friend more than ever. “What happened? Are you okay?”















