Rain poured down on Hogwarts like heavy artillery. The few unlucky students who had been caught by the rain had since retreated into the dry castle, leaving only muddy footprints in their wake. The courtyard was full of dirt, small puddles, and pieces of paper that ripped wildly in the wind. Padril grimaced and hugged his cloak closer, trying to steel himself against the bite of the cold wind. It was useless. The cloak was as saturated as he was. The young Hufflepuff grabbed a piece of paper as it fluttered through the air and gently placed with the bundle in his other hand, sheltered from the rain under the cloak.
His potions homework had taken days to complete, and he had been justly proud of it. Not only had he completed the recipe, he had illustrated the importance of potion-making by comparing it to crafting a piece of literature, using the obvious emotive parallels between the inherent tragedies of Love Potions and Salinger's Catcher in the Rye. There is nothing sadder than a person who is desperately trying to be loved, and it reveals an inner humanity. It had been some beautiful writing, in his own humble opinion.
When he discovered it missing from his bag, he had been anxious. When he saw it scattered in the courtyard, he felt like crying. Why would someone attack him like this? Had he done something wrong? He spotted another piece of paper trapped underneath a loose rock, and stepped too quickly towards it, slipping on the wet pavement. His homework dropped from his hand into the puddle, the ink running from the parchment and filling the water with its blackness.
"I might just lay here for a while," Padril sighed, squeezing his eyes tight. The rain washed over him, and water sunk into his clothes. The cold crept down the droplets on his cheeks, and washed over his bones. Right now, he just wanted a moment to deal with everything he was feeling.