Harry spent his free period in the boy’s dormitories, cursing the stupid quill that simply wouldn’t climb the distance from the floor to the top of his mattress when he summoned it from Ron’s bed. He gave up, and resigned himself to making notes that would actually be useful from his History of Magic textbook. Whatever romanticised feelings he’d had about school as an adult were slowly melting away. He’d clearly forgotten how soul destroying preparing for his OWLs had been, and how frustrating it was to be forced to concentrate on something you had no interest in. By the time the school bell rang, Harry was feeling somewhat despondent about having three more years of schooling left.