The Gryffindor common room is a familiar and comforting sanctuary to Harry Potter and to anyone who was graced with its presence. The fire crackled and the students cackled as they lay in bed, muffling their spirits with crimson pillows of gold lace. Windows frost as the night’s breeze swept upon the outdated glass and rustic shutters. People of portraits praised the silence that was blessed upon them on rare nights of blissful silence. Fumes of burning amber and cinnamon filled the room with its enticing scent. It was Harry Potter who rested in the plush armchair beside the warm glow of flames, pondering these sentiments. Kids of every age were most likely missing home and the welcoming embrace of their dearest parents, but not him, no definitely not Harry. He would much rather prefer affection from Hermione or Ron, his best friends since he was a child of no knowledge of the magic world. Not from his large cousin who had used him as a punching bag before discovering his abilities nor from any entity that resided on private drive. Nowhere in the depths of Harry’s heart did he have any desire to return to that brutally boring residence. If he had any say in things, Harry would choose to stay at Hogwarts till the day he died. Withering away on this very chair, staring into the fire until he was cooked to a crisp like the way Ron likes his marshmallows. Gold rimmed glasses slid down the bridge of his nose as the heat formed beads of sweat on his lightning-bolt marked forehead. Drowsiness tickled at his eyelids encouraging them to shut on their own accord. Jet black hair fell into emerald green eyes, shielding the light from shrunken pupils that gazed into the now becoming of ashes. It became increasingly difficult to remain conscious as the blaze died down and the shadows overtook decorative walls and cozy furniture. The last thing Harry thought before promptly passing out in an upright position was..
“There’s no place like home”.