Harry's room - Ron's room

Harry:

The Dursleys’ house had four bedrooms: one for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, one for
visitors (usually Uncle Vernon’s sister, Marge), one where Dudley slept, and one where Dudley
kept all the toys and things that wouldn’t fit into his first bedroom. It only took Harry one trip
upstairs to move everything he owned from the cupboard to this room. He sat down on the bed
and stared around him. Nearly everything in here was broken. The month-old video camera was
lying on top of a small, working tank Dudley had once driven over the next door neighbor’s dog;
in the corner was Dudley’s first-ever television set, which he’d put his foot through when his
favorite program had been canceled; there was a large birdcage, which had once held a parrot
that Dudley had swapped at school for a real air rifle, which was up on a shelf with the end all
bent because Dudley had sat on it. Other shelves were full of books. They were the only things in
the room that looked as though they’d never been touched.

 From downstairs came the sound of Dudley bawling at his mother, “I don’t want him in there… I
need that room… make him get out…”

 Harry sighed and stretched out on the bed. Yesterday he’d have given anything to be up here.
Today he’d rather be back in his cupboard with that letter than up here without it.

Ron:

They climbed two more flights until they reached a door with peeling paint and a small plaque
on it, saying RONALD’S ROOM.

 Harry stepped in, his head almost touching the sloping ceiling, and blinked. It was like walking
into a furnace: Nearly everything in Ron’s room seemed to be a violent shade of orange: the
bedspread, the walls, even the ceiling. Then Harry realized that Ron had covered nearly every
inch of the shabby wallpaper with posters of the same seven witches and wizards, all wearing
bright orange robes, carrying broomsticks, and waving energetically.

 “Your Quidditch team?” said Harry.

 “The Chudley Cannons,” said Ron, pointing at the orange bedspread, which was emblazoned
with two giant black C’s and a speeding cannonball. “Ninth in the league.”

 Ron’s school spellbooks were stacked untidily in a corner, next to a pile of comics that all
seemed to feature The Adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle. Ron’s magic wand was
lying on top of a fish tank full of frog spawn on the windowsill, next to his fat gray rat, Scabbers,
who was snoozing in a patch of sun.

 Harry stepped over a pack of Self-Shuffling playing cards on the floor and looked out of the tiny
window. In the field far below he could see a gang of gnomes sneaking one by one back through
the Weasleys’ hedge. Then he turned to look at Ron, who was watching him almost nervously, as
though waiting for his opinion.

 “It’s a bit small,” said Ron quickly. “Not like that room you had with the Muggles. And I’m right
underneath the ghoul in the attic; he’s always banging on the pipes and groaning…”

 But Harry, grinning widely, said, “This is the best house I’ve ever been in.”

 Ron’s ears went pink.