"Igor, let me put this simply." Headmistress Rostova sighed and steepled her fingers. "You've been an idiot."
Karkaroff did not argue; the memories of Azkaban were too raw. Two months now, and he still had not regained enough weight to look healthy.
"I am not guaranteeing that you can resume as Dark Arts teacher. However..." Her gaze lingered on his prematurely graying hair and gaunt features. "I encourage you to submit your application. The school board may be impressed by your recent years of...shall we say, fieldwork."
"You could call it that." Karkaroff grimaced.
Rostova smiled wryly.
"I daresay."