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By the time the weekend arrived, word of Professor Trintheus and her unorthodox methods of teaching had spread throughout the school. Harry had heard a variety of stories from different students about their insane lessons with the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher ranging from classrooms set on fire to herds of boggarts rampaging and creating mass terror whilst the teacher sat by.

The worst part was, after having two more lessons with Professor Trintheus, he wasn't even sure if the students were lying.

Thinking back on the events of the week, Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath as he tried to clear his head which proved quite a task seeing as the common room was currently the opposite of quiet. He'd been spending most of the evening studying with barely a moment to breathe and the mindless chatter of his peers clouding his thoughts.

It was his own fault for putting off the mountain load of homework he'd received during the week. Hermione on the other hand, had finished everything almost straight away with hours to spare- how she managed that, he had no idea.

"I'm going to the library," he said abruptly, standing up. He wanted to go some place where he could actually concentrate.

Ron murmured something inaudible from where he sat, drowning in his own work. Hermione gave him a sympathetic glance. "You know, if you hadn't put it off all week maybe you wouldn't be having this problem," she said, giving him an I-told-you-so look.

Harry bit back a sarcastic retort and began gathering up his books. "I'll be back later," he grumbled. As he left the commons room, he gave Hermione one last pleading glance. She shook her head with a small smile. Her lips were moving but he was too far away to hear her, though he didn't need to be close to know exactly what she was saying.

Sighing, he pushed open the portrait hole, ignoring the Fat Lady's grumbling about kids these days having no respect.

"I don't care who you are!" she called after him. "Don't you dare interrupt my beauty sleep again or there'll be...." She trailed off, not wasting another breath on speech and soon her loud obnoxious snores were following him all the way to the third floor.

When he arrived at the library, it was almost deserted. A few students lingered amongst the shelves and the tables, but it was practically a ghost town which wasn't a bad change. It was better than the mayhem of the Gryffindor Common Room, anyhow.

As he entered the room, Madame Pince spared him a glance from behind her spectacles to remind him that she'd be locking the doors in half an hour and that he'd need to be out by then. That didn't give him much time, but there was nothing he could do about it. He silently cursed himself for being such an avid procrastinator.

Once he found himself an available seat -which was hardly a difficult task- he pulled out his heap of textbooks, along with a stack of incomplete assignments. He unrolled the three foot long parchment he intended to use for his Transfiguration essay. It was still blank aside from the title at the top which was taking up at least five centimetres. Any bigger and McGonagall would chastise him for his essay not having met the three foot requirement.

Harry noted it was now five past eight according to the large clock taking up the expanse of empty space above him. Twenty five minutes now before the library closed. He reached across the table for his quill and in the process knocked over the ink. It splattered all over his unwritten essay. A huge inky black splotch was now obscuring the second half of the title.

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