Dear Lily,
Today's been a long day (or at least that's how it feels), so this letter will be brief. Today is my eighteen birthday, and, to celebrate, my thickheaded friends dragged me down countless flights of moving stairs before the crack of dawn in order to give me a surprise wakeup. My friends, my trusted companions, dumped me in the lake in the middle of February in the bloody United Kingdom.
A glorious start compounded by the absolutely euphoria-inducing thrill of having Transfiguration and Double Potions and being on-duty tonight (I just got back).
The worst of it, though, was that you've gotten back together with Wilkes. Or at least I have to assume, as I caught you two snogging by the statue of Ogden the Odd during rounds. I coughed slightly and you turned around, frozen like someone had pointed a wand at you. Your cheeks were red, but I don't know whether it was from the embarrassment or the heat or a combination of both.
"Go back to the Common Room; you're out of bounds after curfew." Wilkes darted off immediately and dragged you after him, but you hesitated as though you were expecting something else. A jealous rage or strict punishment, perhaps. Truthfully, I wouldn't have had the energy if I had wanted to do that.
Happy birthday to me,
—James