Quinn was upside down on the sofa, feet hanging over the back of the couch, dressed in mismatched multicoloured socks. Under his head was a magazine talking about Dead Ringers, his favourite programme and in his hands were two wood kneedles and a ball of organic undyed wool
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Oh well, only one more year. Besides, with Quinn around it was a lot better.
"Careful with those needles, Quinn. Jamie might accuse you of using Muggle utensils to MURDER him. I swear, he is the most paranoid person on this planet. He slept in the Common Room again last night!
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He kept on clacking those needles together, intent on making a really nice jumper.
"That'd be foolish, everyone knows if I wanted to kill him I'd be clever about it and use socks."
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"I mean, not that you'd kill anyone with socks. Or that you'd kill anyone at all, right? Right."
He rolled his eyes at the ponce. "Of course not. You'd never accuse us of plotting anything." And for once, just to be an arse, Maddox stood up and started to rummage around in his trunk. As though he were looking for something. Possibly a bow and arrow?
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