With five minutes to go before the start of the new period, Harry stood and stretched, tucking his completed work away, and reorganising his bag. He paused when he picked up his wand, staring at it for a moment. It wouldn’t be much use to him, but what was he able to do without it? He hadn’t stretched his wordless and wandless magically abilities in a very long time - it was rare that he was both without his wand and unable to speak. He glanced around for something nearby and small, and found a broken quill discarded on Dean’s bed. He dropped his wand back on his own bed and began. He narrowed his eyes, turning his focus inward, slipping mental fingertips into the shallow lapping edges of his magical core, and attempting to dredge some of it forth without saying a word. Confident he had a hand on the reins of his magic, he redirected that focus outwards, to the quill in front of him.