The plaster was peeling from the ceiling where, over the years, a water mark had spread and discolored to a dark yellowed brown. When it rained it dripped onto his bed and made everything smell of mildew. It was in these moments, the mundane and absolutely mind numbing weeks he spent at Wools, that he wished he were at Hogwarts again. Everything was better there. Everything was magic. He was the only one with magic at the orphanage. Worse, he wasn't allowed to use magic outside of school.
He picked himself up with a sigh. He had heard the kids playing in the small patch of grass just outside his window. They had caught an animal in the brush. They were being too loud. He straightened his clothes. They knew better than to make so much noise where he could hear them.
He was always having to teach them the same lesson over and over.
