It was getting late. An ornate grandfather clock that sat as the centrepiece of the fireplace mantle illustrated the slow creep towards midnight. The turbulent rainstorm outside rapped impatiently against the Gothic windows of the Gryffindor tower. At the centre of the room a toasty fire roared merrily, clarifying the room with a hospitable glow.
Tucked away in one corner of the room sat a particularly distressed seventh year student. Thelma, despite her best efforts, was not having a grand past few months. It had dawned upon her only recently that if she really wanted to get anywhere in life she'd have to do well in her N.E.W.T.S. Studying had never been something Thelma favoured, nor something she was particularly proficient in. Still, she was determined. No matter how many mental breakdowns she would have to endure.
"Ugh, this is bollocks!" Exclaimed the witch suddenly, her outburst piercing the tranquil ambiance of the almost empty common room. She hurled a scrunched up ball of parchment into the fireplace for good measure. This was not going well: her head hurt tremendously, she was extremely tired from a full seven hours of studying and she still didn't understand a thing about N.E.W.T level Transfiguration.
It wasn't only going to be a long night, but a long few months until graduation.