"Hey Harry, follow me!" Ron dashed up the rickety stairs to his room. "This is my…our room. The bed with the blankets and stuff is mine."
Harry surveyed the dimly lit room. The walls were covered with posters of people flying around on broomsticks, chasing a ball. The floor was bare except for a threadbare blue rug. The furniture looked about as old and worn out as the rug. There were two beds, one on each side of the window, with a short bookcase in between. The beds were identical except that the left one was covered in blankets and an odd assortment of clothing and stuffed animals and what looked to be half a ham sandwich. Dressers stood against the wall facing the beds; Ron's was full to bursting with clothes and robes, and covered in the little knickknacks that always seem to accumulate in a boy's room. Harry stepped closer to the wall. "What are they doing?" He asked, gesturing at the poster closest to him.
"Playing quidditch of course! See, it is a game we play on broomsticks, it is really neat, here, see that one, there in the red? He is the keeper, he keeps the quaffle-the little ball thingy- out of the goals! The chasers of the other team keep trying to get it in. Those two up there are the beaters, they hit bludgers at the chasers to make it harder for them to score. The most important one though, is the seeker. He tries to catch the golden snitch. The snitch is worth 150 points! When the seeker catches the snitch, the game is over. Quidditch is really great, maybe we can play later. OH! Also, there are 700 different fouls, so the rules are really tricky. Any questions?" Ron looked at Harry eagerly, hoping that he was at least mildly interested in his favorite sport.
"Urm…Not right now, I might later though. Thanks. It looks really fun." Harry smiled shyly, his new roommate seemed really nice, if a bit overenthusiastic.
"Do you remember it?" Ron asked quietly.
"Not all of it, you were talking quite fast, I remember that there is a keeper and quaffle and beaters and something about a snitch…"
"No, I mean, about You-know who. Do you remember what he did, or what he looked like?"
"No, I was just a baby then, I heard about what happened today for the first time. When I was little I was told they died in a car crash."
"Oh," Ron sounded disappointed. "Why are you here? I mean, obviously your parents died a long time ago, why do we get you now?"
"I stayed at my aunt and uncles until this morning. Dudley did some accidental magic, and my aunt and uncle kicked us out. We couldn't live alone, so McGonagall sent us here."
"Where's all your stuff? Your clothes, blankets, stuff like that?"
"We left in kind of a hurry. McGonagall grabbed us and there was a POP! And we were gone. We didn't have time to get anything, not that I really had much to get…"
"I should prolly get you some blankets from the closet then," Ron walked out into the hallway and grabbed a set of bedding off the shelf. "How do you like green? I hope you like it, cause that's what there is. Here, let me help you put it on. There! Now you have a bed, but you don't have any clothes either?" Ron asked, walking over to his own dresser. "Sorry mate, they aren't in great shape, but you can borrow these. Oh, one more thing, if Fred and George ever try to give you anything, be suspicious. Once, they gave me an acid pop; burned a hole right through my tongue. They are decent sometimes, see that book?" Ron pointed to one of a handful of books sitting haphazardly on his bookshelf. "They gave me that last year for Christmas. It has a load of quidditch teams and information, wanna read it?"
The two boys stretched out on the rug and were soon engrossed in the book.
