No one is expecting him to be awake at four in the morning. No one, in fact, is expecting him to be awake before around seven in the morning, it appears. The dorms' silence is only broken by the soft snores, and the common room doesn't have even that.
"I don't know. It was there and it growled at us. I didn't stay to ask it its business."
"It blocked the entire corridor, I couldn't see if there was anything behind it. There was a trapdoor under its foot."
Neville really really doesn't wanna talk about last night.
And then it's mail time, and as the owls flood into the Great Hall as usual, everyone's attention's caught at once by a long, thin package carried by six large screech owls. They soar down and drop it right in front of Victor, and are immediately followed by another owl dropping a letter on top of the parcel.
He looks at the extremely broomstick-shaped parcel.
He looks at Professor McGonagall.
He looks at the extremely broomstick-shaped parcel again.
...well, if she doesn't want him to open it at the table, he won't.
"Professor McGonagall doesn't want me to open it at the table," he says, leaning it against the side of his chair. "So I won't."
"I don't think Professor McGonagall wants me to say that it's a broom. And if I said it was a Nimbus Two Thousand that would certainly be saying it was a broom."
His chin falls. "Wow! That is so unfair! Come on let's eat and open it—" And he starts stuffing his face. Well, more than usual, anyway.