Friday passed with more excitement than Link was expecting. Gryffindor tower was abuzz with celebration over some sport the hylian hadn't the faintest idea about, and Ron was caught up in the middle of it all. Link would have been more interested in it (they were flying, after all, even if it was on brooms), if he'd had the time. As it was, all his spare hours were devoted to research that was going frustratingly slow. He healed Harry's hand that evening, and that was that.

Saturday came and went more quietly, all of them gaining some breathing room without more classes adding extra homework to the already towering pile they had accumulated. Link was finally able to show Hermione the letter he'd found in Umbridge's office, and though she'd pursed her lips in thought ultimately they could do nothing about it. Ron and Harry spent the rest of the day out in the refreshingly clear weather, distracted by their sports, while Link alternated between his research and studying the set of spells Fred and George had taught him Thursday night.

Sunday however, was where the trouble started. Though the day itself went by with little fanfare, that evening Percy's owl arrived bearing nothing but trouble. And then Sirius, of all people, decided to risk appearing at Hogwarts. (Link was not sure he'd get over seeing someone's dislocated head suddenly appearing in a fire anytime soon.) The man had been so pleased at getting to talk with his godson, he seemed to have forgotten the risks inherent in doing so, not only to himself, but to anyone caught speaking with him. Not only that, he was actively encouraging dangerous behavior in the trio. Hermione and Harry at least had the sense to dissuade the man of a truly reckless outing to the neighboring village of Hogsmeade.

The hylian wondered if Lupin were aware of Sirius' behavior, and if he wasn't, how Link could notify him.

So it was that Monday arrived to see all of them stressed out to some degree, a condition made worse by Umbridge's appointment as "High Inquisitor."

All the more reason, Link thought, to go through with his plan. Readying his wand, he waited just out of sight, casting Fred and George's prank spells on himself. He hoped they wore off faster this time though; he'd prefer not sleeping like this.

He waited until the last moment, well after the rest of the class had trickled inside, took a deep breath, and strode through the door.

Umbridge nearly dropped her wand. Hermione did, in fact, drop her book.

"Mr. Hyrule!" Umbridge squawked, "What on earth are you wearing?"

Link made a show of glancing down at himself, pleased to note he had gotten the attention of the entire room. He was wearing the exact outfit Fred and George had designed for him last Wednesday, with the addition of his hair being done up in pigtails. "Why professor," he replied, faux innocence all but dripping from his voice, "isn't this what you asked me to wear last week?"

There was a poignant silence that lasted for a full minute before the class burst into raucous laughter. The ministry witch turned the same blotchy red she had last Monday. She seemed quite speechless as Link sauntered to his place by Hermione, sitting as primly as he could. "What," the girl asked in a loud whisper, "are you doing?" Link tossed her a bland smile.

"I did no such thing!" Umbridge finally sputtered over the noise, outraged.

"But you said to wear the appropriate uniform," Link said, tilting his head just so, expression infuriatingly innocent.

"That travesty is in no way appropriate for any occasion, Mr. Hyrule," she bit out furiously. "Get changed into your regular uniform immediately! and I'll expect you in my office tonight for detention at five o'clock sharp."

"Oh," Link said, tipping his head back. "I'm afraid I can't. Change, that is," he added, offering no explanation. And he genuinely couldn't, not for another few hours at least. He wondered if he'd have to serve detention in this outfit.

Umbridge reddened so much she was practically purple. "Out! Get out, and don't come back until you've remembered how to dress! Thirty points from Gryffindor!" she all but shrieked. Link sketched her a deliberately bemused smile before shrugging and making his way back out the door. He probably shouldn't take so much enjoyment in her anger, but the woman deserved it, as far as he was concerned.

Despite himself, Link was truly amused at the ruckus he'd caused. Though pranks had never been of particular interest to him, Link found himself winking playfully at Harry as he left, just to see the look on his face. The boy didn't disappoint, full on gawking at the hylian.

Link hummed cheerfully as he walked to the library, already knowing how he was going to use the free hour. He loved it when a plan came together.

Link's time in the library passed unfruitfully. He'd skimmed through a few dozen texts over the past week, selecting only a few for more in-depth perusal, though if he were being honest, none seemed especially promising. He had been in one world, now another, and with very little in the way of warning. What sort of information could point him home?

Madame Pince's pinched expression worsened as he returned his old tomes and checked out a few more, every one of them from the restricted section. Dumbledore had given the hylian free reign over the library, and though Link knew the value of books and treated them well, the woman still gave him evil looks whenever he left with a new set.

By the time he left it was a quarter after four. Link hastened to the Great Hall. Detention was at five, and he would likely need a hearty meal if he were to sit through it.

The hylian bee-lined toward his usual spot next to Hermione, fully aware that his own prank spells, which had yet to wear off, were causing something of a disturbance. Thankfully Umbridge was not seated with the rest of the teachers, likely in her office, and was therefore unable to... well, take umbrage at his defiance of her orders.

"Weasley!" McGonagall's bellow could have been heard across the castle. Ron jumped, though her ire was directed at the twins.

"It wasn't us!" George cried, hands up in appeasement. Fred nodded enthusiastically. McGonagall was probably the only professor they drew a line with, and she'd already written their mother.

Link waved at the transfiguration master casually. "It's fine!" he hollered. She cast the redheads a lingering glare and reluctantly settled back to her dinner.

Hermione rounded on him the instant McGonagall looked away. "What on earth did you think you were doing?!" she hissed in the tone of someone whose expectations had been thoroughly betrayed. "Why did you draw so much attention to yourself? Umbridge is High Inquisitor, now. What if she expels you?" Link didn't think she had that much power over the school yet, but conceded the point.

"She's going to make your life absolutely miserable, mate," Ron nodded, for once agreeing with his female friend.

Harry, who had remained silent until that moment, asked with startling perceptiveness, "This is about that quill, isn't it?" He kept his tone quiet, sparing a quick glance at their neighbors. They were all too occupied with their meals and their friends to much care what they were talking about. Link's stomach growled. He didn't blame them.

Hermione frowned. "What quill?"

Harry looked away, unable to meet her gaze. It was Ron who finally filled her in. "When he told us she was having him write lines, he forgot to mention she was using a quill that carved them into his hand."

"Harry!" she cried softly, aghast. "Why wouldn't you tell us?"

He frowned. "Well there's not much you can do about it, is there?!" he asked loudly. He probably did not mean to sound so cross. Link stamped on his foot regardless.

"Ouch!" Harry glared. Link shot him a pointed look and breathed deliberately slowly. Realization crossed the boy's face and he sat back sullenly. 'One, two, three,' he counted silently as Harry inhaled. 'Hold,' the boy paused, 'and release.' The green-eyed wizard exhaled. Hermione watched curiously as Harry repeated the process a few times.

"Well, was it?" he asked perhaps a minute later, sounding a touch calmer. "To do with the quill?"

Like a dog with a bone, these three. "Yes," he admitted freely, taking a generous scoop of roasted carrots from one of the golden plates. Maybe if he just went at it, they'd let him eat?

The trio waited expectantly and Link nearly sighed under the weight of their combined stares. "I'm going to get rid of them," he shrugged. "I don't want her blaming anyone not responsible."

"You mean me," Harry said flatly, an odd expression crossing his face. It was gone a heartbeat later.

Link merely shrugged again, spearing a bit of fish with his fork.

"Wait a minute, 'them'?" Ron asked, indignant. "She's got more than one?"

The hylian nodded. "Three, as far as I know." He frowned. "Two and a half? Apparently she makes them herself."

"How d'you know that?"

"I snuck in her office."

"Is that where you went on Thursday?" Harry asked.

Hermione groaned. "I should have known. How else would you have seen that letter? Why on earth did I expect you to be any less reckless than these two?" The poor girl sounded utterly despairing.

"What letter?" Ron cut in.

"It was about Umbridge's appointment as High Inquisitor," the witch waved him off. "More importantly, what good is getting rid of the quills going to do if she just makes more?"

At that, Link lit up, gesturing the three to come closer. They huddled around him in a curtain of black robes as he discreetly slid the Sheikah Slate out of his pack. He flipped through the last series of pictures he'd taken in the toad-woman's office and Hermione's eyes widened in realization. "It will do a world of good," he said, eyes gleaming predatorily, "because I'll have all her handwritten notes on how to make them."

"Blackmail?" Ron breathed. He sounded terribly excited. Hermione hushed him.

Link grinned ferally.

Harry waited in tense anticipation that night, long after their shared detention was over. Link had kicked up a huge fuss in the middle of his lines, shouting about how awful the woman was. Umbridge had given them a sticky-sweet smile in return, merely assigning the elfin boy another detention the next night. A discreet wink let Harry know the entire event was an act, meant to further draw Umbridge's attention to the blond.

Harry still wasn't sure how he felt about that. Sure, his friends had gone behind his back to protect him before, most notably Hermione in their third year, but something about Link, a person he'd known less than two months, going so far out of his way to defend him didn't sit right with the wizard.

The clock ticked on past eleven. Hermione had long since given up attempting to force the boys into focusing on homework, too distracted herself to accomplish much. The trio sat in the plush red chairs by the crackling fire, books closed, listening to the seconds tick by.

"Feels different, this waiting around," Ron said what they were all thinking. Harry pursed his lips, a flicker of anger igniting in his gut. He'd wanted to go too, but Link had refused. Harry had been all set to tag along anyway, under the safety of his Invisibility Cloak, but Ron, of all people, had put a stop to it. "It won't work," he'd said apologetically. "Too many people sneaking around just doesn't work, 'specially not if they're going about it separately; just ask Fred and George." Harry had thought mulishly about all the times the trio had snuck out together, the steadily decreasing space under his cloak, and was forced to agree. That didn't mean he had to like it.

Hermione nodded absently. The last of their fellow house-mates had trickled out of the common room a little under an hour ago, leaving the three in tense silence.

"You don't think anything's gone wrong, do you?" the redhead questioned.

Harry frowned. Hermione shook her head. "I'll bet Umbridge has only just gone to bed," she said uncertainly. "He's probably not had the opportunity to do anything yet."

Another few minutes passed. Harry resisted the urge to fidget. Ron was not so disciplined. His leg bounced. He flipped uselessly through his textbook. He ran his fingers through his bright hair. Any moment now Harry expected him to burst out of his chair in a flurry of pent-up motion.

"Please stop," Hermione begged. "You're making me anxious."

Ron stopped. A scant few minutes later though, and he was right back at it.

The sound of the Fat Lady's portrait swinging open made them all jump. 'Thank Merlin,' Harry thought, relieved. Any longer and one of them would have snapped.

Link slid through the portrait hole wearing skin-tight armor dyed with a muted crimson eye, a lone tear trailing down his stomach. The symbol was a little creepy, Harry thought, but Link seemed proud to wear it.

The elfin blond offered up a thin wooden box. Hermione took it gingerly, and when opened, it contained three ebon quills, laid neatly atop a stack of parchment. "Some of these notes are very... personal," she said quietly, skimming through the papers.

Link nodded smugly. "A lot of bigoted drivel," he said. "But there are phrases that leave no doubt as to the author." Umbridge had unfortunately not been stupid enough to sign such documents, Harry mused as he peered over Hermione's shoulder. But Link was right. She had included plenty of personal references and anecdotes; enough to be damning in the right hands. The quills were dark magic. These papers had the potential to put Umbridge in Azkaban, and Harry said as much.

Hermione bit her lip. "Should we, though?" she asked. At the boys' looks she added hastily, "What if Fudge sends someone even worse, next?"

"So, what, you want to hold this over her head until she just up and leaves? Eventually she's gonna do something about it, 'Mione," Ron insisted warily.

"No, Hermione has a point," Link spoke up then. "With this we should have limited control over Umbridge, which is better than risking a complete unknown." He glanced up at the ceiling in thought. "If all else fails, you can send that to the right people to put her away, right Hermione?"

"Oh. Yes, of course."

Link nodded and held out his hand. "I'll keep ahold of them for now."

Harry couldn't help but bristle slightly. He felt more secure with it in their hands. "What for?"

"In case Umbridge searches our rooms," he said casually. Harry froze. "I keep my pack on me at all times, and it's protected by Korok magic. She won't be able to see it, let alone get into it."

"You're wearing a pack?" Hermione blinked. "Right now?" Her eyes skimmed over armor that left very little to the imagination, slipping over the little bag without pause. She seemed in agreement though, and handed over the box without hesitation.

"Search our rooms?" Ron repeated, alarmed. "Harry, your cloak."

Harry nodded worriedly, thoughts spinning wildly. Umbridge was not likely to give them any warning, and if she had the power to search their rooms she could also search their pockets.

Shit, why hadn't he thought of that before? His dad's cloak, Harry thought with a rising sense of panic. What else did he have that Umbridge was likely to take? The Marauder's Map, if she were clever enough to discover what it was. The penknife Sirius had gifted him last year.

What should he do? All of those things were irreplaceable, and the thought of them in Umbridge's hands left him feeling physically ill. For a brief instant Harry hated Link for putting him in this position.

Link. Hadn't he said his pack was invisible to Umbridge? Harry could see it easily, but Hermione, at least, could not. "Ron," he asked quietly, "can you see his pack?"

Ron squinted. "No?"

"There, on his hip." Link tilted his head at them curiously.

Ron shook his head, clearly wondering where this was going. "No, mate, I can't. Is this gonna be like those horse things?"

To be honest, Harry had forgotten them entirely. He shook his head. They didn't matter right now.

"You can see it?" Link asked.

"Yeah," Harry frowned.

"That's rare. Koroks are forest spirits that can only be seen by a few, and that includes things protected by their magic. They've enchanted my pack many, many times," he mused. "Or Hestu has, anyway."

'Koroks?' Hermione mouthed, brows furrowed in thought.

Harry ignored her, thoughts awhirl. They'd only known Link for a few weeks, he reminded himself, the majority of which he'd spent sequestered in the Black family library. But in that span of time he'd saved Harry's life, and had gone out of his way to keep protecting him. He shared information with them freely, even things as serious as blackmailing a ministry employee. He knew about Sirius and the Order. He'd even become something of a friend.

But could he be trusted?

Harry bit his lip. He thought of the precious few items his family, his father and godfather, had entrusted to him, and made a decision. "How much can your pack hold, exactly?"

The next day dawned bright and early, and for once didn't leave Harry with a sense of lingering dread. They'd agreed the night before to finish out the week's detentions; now that the quills were gone, there was relatively little the ministry witch could do. Let her wonder where her quills had gone. They'd save their capital for when they really needed it.

Umbridge, for once, was present in the Great Hall for breakfast. Her girlish smile was nowhere to be seen, an ugly look of rage barely contained on her features.

"You think she's noticed they're gone?" Ron hissed lowly.

Hermione shushed him. "I don't doubt it."

"Oh," Link said serenely as he walked and flipped through a book simultaneously. "She might not have."

Harry eyed him as he slipped onto one of the long benches, taking in the mouth-watering scents wafting from the table.

A Hogwarts owl fluttered down in front of him, daintily dropping a slip of parchment next to Harry's plate. Harry blinked in surprise, taking a quick glance to either side, noticing an owl had similarly touched down in front of Link. He picked up the slip, tossing the bird a bit of sausage before it flew off.

Mr. Potter,

Due to extenuating circumstances, your detentions have been transferred to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom until further notice.

The brief note was signed by Umbridge, with as many ostentatious titles as she could cram onto it. Her handwriting wasn't the neat, precise script he was used to however. The letters were a little wobbly, as though her hands had been shaking with nerves. Or, more likely, anger.

Harry paused, eyebrows raised. "What did you do?" he asked lowly.

Link only shot him a smug look, putting his book away and tucking in to a small mountain of food. Like he did every day. Harry wasn't sure how the elfin blond ate so much. He was tiny.

Harry couldn't help himself. The curiosity was just too much, so he excused himself from breakfast early with the flimsy excuse of having forgotten a textbook. Striding quickly out of the Hall, he made his way to the third floor corridor where Umbridge's office was located.

The door, or rather, doorway, for the entire object had been torn off its hinges, was cordoned off by floating red tape. Harry gawked openly at the further destruction he could see inside. The horrid kitten plates had been shattered and strewn about, vases tipped, and doilies torn. A large filing cabinet in the back corner had been upended, drawers pulled and contents dumped carelessly across the floor.

Most notably however, was her desk. The large, thick wood had been splintered straight down the middle. The whole thing had collapsed inward, and laid in two rough halves on the floor. It was as though someone had taken something very large and very heavy and smashed it right into the desk. The sheer amount of force that would have taken had to be immense, Harry thought dimly.

Then he looked closer, noting large black streaks marking the room at random. Scorch marks. Small, but wherever they touched were piles of ash, and some of the loose stone chipped from the walls had actually heated to glass.

Link did not do things by halves, did he?

Harry booked it, absolutely sure the last thing he wanted to do was be caught loitering around the scene of the crime.

He got to the Transfiguration room with time to spare. Link had also left early, it seemed, as he was having a quiet chat with Professor McGonagall. She looked exasperated, perhaps a little angry? It was difficult to tell.

"-risk a more insidious presence. Keep it close," she was saying. "That's probably the wisest course of action," she added, pained, "though don't expect me to condone... Mr. Potter, you're here unusually early."

Link didn't give any indication he was startled by his presence, merely waved at him in a friendly manner. Harry wanted to ask what that had been about, but a most unwelcome presence strode into the class with as much self-importance as she could muster before he could so much as utter a word. When Umbridge caught sight of Link a glare of raw hatred crossed her face, and she visibly struggled to control herself. She was perfectly aware of who had trashed her office, of that he was sure. He was equally certain she had no proof though, as she forcefully blanked her expression and stalked to the corner of the room, quill clutched in a white-knuckled grip.

Professor McGonagall didn't bother acknowledging her presence, merely directing the boys to their seats.

The rest of the fifth-year class started trickling in and Harry only needed a moment to recall why Umbridge would be there, and when he did he could hardly contain his glee.

Umbridge was going to evaluate Transfiguration. This would be brilliant.

The next two and a half weeks were a waiting game. Umbridge had outwardly calmed down, and Link ensured no less than perfect behavior in the following two DADA lessons. Though she kept a wary eye on him, Link gave her no reason to inflict any sort of punishment, not that her preferred methods were available. In fact, their last few detentions had been reduced to actually writing lines, this time with normal quills. She'd kept them late into the night out of some kind of petty revenge, but Harry and Link had been too gleeful over their shared success to be much bothered.

Despite this, they couldn't force Umbridge to actually teach. Hermione's ensuing discussion with Harry about him possibly teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts was interesting. Hearing Ron and Hermione list the younger wizard's accomplishments like that had been both enlightening and sad, Link reflected. He knew what it was like, when the next second meant live-or-die, both for yourself and others. What it felt to have your entire life be dictated by a destiny out of your control. More than that, he had intimate knowledge of what it felt to fail.

Hopefully that was a lesson Harry would never have to learn.

While the boy - no, young man, dithered over whether or not to go along with Hermione's suggestion, Link had occupied himself with research. He'd come across a book entitled 'Myths of the Other,' whose summary appeared vaguely promising, though Link didn't dare hope for much. He flipped idly through the text before freezing, staring intently at the words printed in crisp black ink.

'...One such mystery to be followed are the rumors of gateways that have supposedly existed across the globe for as long as wizard-kind have walked the earth. Reports on these so-called gateways vary wildly. Witnesses claim to have alternately seen mirrors that reflect only darkness, brilliant springs of holy light, or ancient flames that have burned for eons without pause. Some claim to have seen nothing at all, merely heard whispers as though across vast distances.

The only consistent description has been the use of the word 'otherworldly' over and over again, which has led to some conviction that there exists in these sites gateways between our world and others. Indeed there exist such rumors that the mysterious Dementors of Azkaban once traveled through one of these gateways; a veil that appears only in tales which pre-date the founding of the Ministry of Magic.

When questioned, then Minster for Magic Ignatius Tuft (in office 1959-1962) insisted that such rumors were ludicrous, and that "all evidence points to Dementors being ordinary magical creatures... and can be bred like any other beast we make use of," though he was later forced out of office due to these controversial beliefs.

Unfortunately, as no witch or wizard has ever managed to revisit such sites, nor lead others there through description, there remains little evidence as to what exactly they are. Are they indeed gateways between worlds? Is this mysterious veil truly where Dementors came from?

The only constant about these sites, it seems, is the persistence of rumors of their existence...'

Link hummed thoughtfully. Dementors. That was the name of the monsters that had appeared in Gerudo Desert, was it not? If they had first come through a gateway, or had access to one they could go through, that might just explain their appearance in Hyrule. And if they had a gateway, then he should be able to make use of it as well... right?

Unfortunately, the book mentioned little else about these mysterious gateways, and remained inconclusive about their existence in the first place. Link sighed, setting the tome aside. All of this reading was giving him a headache.

"Oh, Link, there you are," Hermione said as she strode into the library. "Are you ready? It's time to go."

That's right. It was the first weekend of October, and coincidentally the first weekend upper years were allowed to visit the neighboring village of Hogsmeade. Hermione was especially anxious about this trip.

"Did he finally agree then?" Link asked. She had been planning a meeting with a couple dozen other students there if all went to plan. The young witch had been scouting them out for a while now, aided by Ron.

She nodded nervously.

The trip didn't take very long, and soon Hermione had led them to a dirty pub with sign emblazed 'Hog's Head' just over the door. It looked half-like some of the abandoned ruins scattered across Hylrule, and the entire building seemed to groan with protest as they entered.

Link eyed the bar's other occupants warily. Each of them matched the grimy nature of the bar, draped in shadows and dirt. His ears twitched as the pair of veiled witches in the back started up their conversation again. He was sure he'd heard that voice before...

"Shady" was perhaps the only fitting word for the entire scenario.

Harry seemed to agree, though was quickly distracted by the thick crowd of students bustling inside in short order. There were twenty-five in all, and the green-eyed wizard went a little pale. He clearly hadn't expected the sheer number of students he had unwittingly agreed to teach.

The meeting proceeded more-or-less as planned and, with only a few minor interruptions, they all agreed to learn from Harry. Though there was the matter of times and locations still to be decided. In any case, though he'd gotten close, Harry hadn't lost his temper, and had even been somewhat heartened by the quantity of students that believed in him. Link had paid the bare minimum of attention, distracted by the niggling question of the witch's voice.

"Mundungus!" Link exclaimed under his breath. Because "she" wasn't a witch at all. He absently scrawled his name across the parchment Hermione passed around, missing the girl's thoughtful frown entirely. Fletcher must have been guarding Harry again, although why they still trusted him with the job after all that fuss over summer was a mystery.

"Link," Hermione interjected, "what did you just write?"

He shifted his focus back to the meeting, glancing at the parchment, where his name was written in Hylian script. "Sorry," he said, reaching out to fix it. Writing in English took some focus no matter what, but Lupin's spell was likely also wearing off. He'd taught it to Link as soon as he had a fair grasp of wand-work, and the hylian had been casting it periodically for weeks now. The more he used the spell the less he needed it, but for now his grasp of English was still pretty fragmented.

Hermione hesitated a moment, licking her lips once nervously before adding, "Also, while we're all here, I would like to propose that we learn some manner of - of physical self-defense."

A few of the students glanced around, muttering uncertainly. "Well what good would that do?" Zacharias Smith voiced. He seemed content with his role of asking questions no one else wanted to.

Link raised a brow, feeling vaguely insulted. "There are plenty of things you can do without a wand that will be helpful in a fight. Learning to dodge, for one, or fall properly, or even keeping up with multiple opponents." He forcefully reminded himself that these were untrained children, for the most part. And wizards as a whole, from what he'd observed, did not greatly value physical activity.

"Does Harry know any of this?" Michael Corner asked.

"I don't think he does. Who would teach us anyway?" That was Dean.

"Learning to fall?" Zacharias again.

"Well, yes," Hermione interrupted hastily. "Those are great questions, but we do actually have someone here who knows these things." She smiled tremulously at Link, and instantly 27 other pairs of eyes snapped to him.

The hylian tossed the girl a flat glare.

"No offense, mate, but we all know what sorts of things Harry can do," Terry Boot started, "but we've never heard about you. Aside from, well, the... the crossdressing thing," he added uncomfortably.

Fred made a suspicious coughing noise. George thumped him hard on the back.

"He saved my life just this August," Harry said quietly, instantly silencing the group. "And he didn't cast a single spell."

That started the whispers up again, but Ernie Macmillan spoke over them all. "I'm game if you are. We've already decided learning to defend ourselves is most important. This could be just the edge that we need."

That got a few nods and murmurs of assent, though the response wasn't as enthusiastic as the one they'd given Harry. Given that wizards didn't seem to prioritize physical ability much, Link wasn't particularly surprised.

"Link?" Hermione asked expectantly.

He nodded slowly, feeling more than a little cornered. At least it was for a good cause?

She smiled. "Then it's settled."

There seemed to be nothing else to discuss. Students got up in clusters, placing chairs back and discarding empty butterbeer bottles. The groups started trickling out of the pub, satisfied with the plans they'd all made.

Link stared, nonplussed. What had just happened?