pine desks

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Neville wasn't in Transfiggyration but Draco was. He sat solemnly at the back of the classroom, behind an old, pine desk. He was wheezing like an old age pensioner in a baby swing. His lungs hurt like when you staple your tongue to a wall. Everyone else in the class was merrily duplicating babies, filling the air with their raucous wails as they steadily overtook the school. Draco coughed again, a great lump of grey phlegm flew across the room, splurging into Eoghan's face. "Ick!" he screamed, flapping his arms about in desperation as the acidic splot slowly dissolved his nose hairs. "I'm sure it's not chronic lung disease." Draco loudly announced. MacGonogol sighed and shoved them into the hospital wing. "Class dismissed." She growled, forcibly ejecting everyone from the chaotic room.


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