The back of the library was hopelessly dusty and ill lit by a slow burning candle. It was well past midnight, and by all rights, Terry Boot should already be asleep. He hadn’t been able to sleep the night before, and exhaustion was creeping in at him around the edges until he could barely focus on the book in front of him.
He felt tired in his brain, in his bones and in his heart. Terry was not in the library to work. He did not fall prey to the Ravenclaw stereotype of a studious worker. He scoffed at that. Working was for Hufflepuffs, curiosity was for Ravenclaws. No, he wasn’t here to work. He was here to forget the maelstrom taking over his mind.
It wasn’t his Arithmancy essay which kept him awake the night before. It wasn’t anything except for the fact that he couldn’t get bloody Blaise Zabini out of his mind. This form of avoidance was not helping his cause. The images flooding his brain could not be kept at bay by the shadows of the Library. In his weakened state, they only seemed to torment him further.
Oh, the perils of hormones and sleep deprivation.