“Only because it was so…so…weird,” George retorted, now fully reddened, surprised at her own vehemence. She had loved it—loved it until she had been caught. Now, the Ravenclaw felt as if she had been witnessed committing a crime, a crime against the identity that the Waterford had so carefully crafted for their firstborn.

“But,” the third year allowed after a moment, “I suppose it’s…practical.”

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