trashed item requests

Keith dug through the backpack that now contained everything he owned in the world. His fingers scraped by some knuts, a few sickles and a pack of gum until they finally found the old, worn piece of paper.

Of course he had kept it. How could he pawn the Marauder's Map? (Especially nobody in America would've wanted to buy it.) How many times had he barely escaped thanks to it, how many times had he "accidentally stumbled" onto something awesome and/or hilarious after consulting the map, how many times had he just sat in his bed and watched Hogwarts live and breathe, tiny black dots rolling over crinkled old paper?

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," he whispered, pressing the tip of his wand against the center of the blank map. Ink swirled out from the point of contact, spreading across the paper, revealing to him, for the first time in nearly a year, the all too familiar castle and grounds. It was filled with new names now, although he still recognized some. Hufflepuffs in potions. A pair of Ravenclaws in the library. Two prefects pacing back and forth in their special bathroom.

Damn, but he had missed that place. Stupid map. He really should've left it in America.