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Chapter 125: Really? Tickling?
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... hen Ben strolled in.
Not silent—there was still the sound of forks clinking and owls fluttering overhead—but something was... off. The sort of quiet where people tried not to look at you and failed miserably. Then looked harder.
Ben was used to people staring. Usually it was the impressed sort—but this was alright as well.
He sat down at the Ravenclaw table, reached for the toast rack, and calmly buttered a slice while several fourth-years scooted a few inches farther dow ...
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