The journey to the nursery was quick. Hermione all but slammed the door open, which gave Lucio a fright. He jolted from where he’d been stationed at his desk which was too big for him. It was layered with books and parchment. Most children his age would have doodled or scribbled nonsense all over the margins and scraps, but Lucio rarely did. His handwriting, although still bearing some traces of his youth, was remarkably fine, and his notes, dictated by his tutors, were detailed and careful.