The mood in the Great Hall was more subdued than ever. There were gaps on the benches, and the Sorting line should have been much longer. Everyone—even the first years—knew why. Jamei’s hands were clenched with rage as she watched Avery sitting and talking casually to McGonagall while she sat in her chair. Amycus, whom she recognized from old Daily Prophet clippings, was talking loudly and slopping food down his front. Alecto looked much the same: pale, squat, with a face like she’d just run into a brick wall, and her eyes glittered coldly in the light.