Harry James Potter (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} sonofastag) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} wished, |
He didn't ask what a pathos was. She'd likely tell him, and then Harry would just have to try to look like he didn't think it was all nonsense. Luna made sense more often than most people ever gave her credit for, but some things strained even Harry's ability to accept the weird and unexpected. And he'd had loads of practice.
"Yeah. . . I mean the weather's brilliant. I always like the winter though, at Hogwarts. It always just looks different than winter did when I was a kid," Harry told her. "But when it's still warm is nice, too . . . I'm fine though." Much as he could be, he supposed. Harry was the stiff upper lip sort though, for the most part. He'd taken things in stride loads less easily when he was a fifth year, but it had made everything worse. Harry just kept going and did what needed doing now, for the most part. "It's a bit weird, not having McGonagall for a class, isn't it? I mean Tonks is great, but. . . just weird."
Harry shifted his weight to one foot, and then back again, turning his head curiously as he heard a scrabble of something that sounded like claws on the stone floor of the castle. In a moment he was blinking as the familiar, massive head and lolling-tongued, panting face of Fang peered at him from around the corner. "Fang?" Harry had. . . forgotten about Hagrid's dog, really. He wondered who'd been taking care of him. "What are you doing in here, boy?" he asked, patting his leg to call the big dog over - bracing for when he did. Fang liked to shove his face into your leg to say hello, and it'd knocked him on his arse before.