Oh, I forgot my book, he would say, swiping the open volume on his desk;  my quills too, he’d pack the quill with the ink-dried nub and the ink bottle, twisting the cap and tossing it in his satchel;  and my robes, he’d shake his head, winking at Draco before snatching the black robes draped over the back of the chair and rushing out of the room. 