Fred blew air through his bangs, twirling his quill between his thumb and index finger. He was so bored. George was sleeping at the moment, and the part of his mind that led to his buzzed with half-formed dreams, rendered fuzzy by his unconsciousness. He knew that a brief tug at their bond would awaken his better half but he wanted to let his twin sleep. After all, George had been the one to draw the short straw in their latest experiment, which had led him to eat a faulty attempt at a Nosebleed Nougat and had him losing enough blood to leave him dizzy for several hours.
Lee hadn't been impressed when he had come back to their dorm, especially when they found out that blood-replenishing potions didn't work. He had confiscated the Marauders' Map before marching them both to Hagrid's hut, where Harry was having tea with Tracey Davies and Theodore Nott, the other two Slytherins of the group having begged off so they could meet up with Ravenclaws.
Harry had seemed fondly exasperated when he'd seen Georgie's predicament but he cast a diagnostic charm without complaint before proceeding to heal the damage with methodic waves of his wand. After that, he made them agree to let him take a look at the ingredients list before they tried their inventions on themselves. It seemed to be a pretty reasonable way to avoid a potential disaster so Harry didn't have to argue much to convince them. Fred sure hadn't known to account for blood type when using albino bat wings in their concoctions. Being good at potions and knowing how they interacted with the human body were two different things. They would have to make sure to substitute ingredients that produced this type of adverse reaction with more universal alternatives, even if they were less effective. They weren't trying to kill their clients after all.
Their healer friend was going to be very helpful in setting up their catalogue. He often had perspectives Fred and George didn't quite account for as a prerequisite of his studies, and his help was invaluable. They would definitely have to thank him for his kindness.
Luckily, they already had a ready-made plan for that. After finding out the identity of the inventors of the Marauders' Map, they promised to work harder at copying the spells on the Map so they could give it to Harry while keeping a copy for themselves. It was the only way their friend would accept them giving him back his father's invention. When they had first tried, Harry had argued that they'd earned the Map fair and square. They had accepted it but keeping this bit of legacy from him had still left a bitter taste in their mouth.
Thankfully, they were almost done making their own copy and should be able to present the original to their friend on his birthday. Fred wasn't sure the healer would get much use for it considering how busy he was being a goody–two–shoes (that boy studied almost as much as Hermione), a snakey politician and a healer apprentice but it was a matter of principle. He deserved that Map and so he would have it. They also planned to let him and his friends examine a few of their inventions; the second-year Slytherins seemed to appreciate their creative genius more than their Gryffindor counterparts did. The twins had already gotten a request from Nott to use Ravenclaw third-years as targets for their next prank. Something to do with them bullying a firstie if Fred remembered right. He even thought the kid in question might be Luna Lovegood, Ginny's childhood friend. It wouldn't be a hardship to help her out.
Fred sighed. He was still bored. Could he bother Harry, he wondered. A glance at the Map showed him that no, his friend was busy with his godbrother in…
"Huh. What are they doing in the headmaster's office? I thought he said they'd meet at the greenhouse," he wondered before shrugging. It wasn't his business.
Another look at the Map showed the girls from the Quidditch team all huddled in Angelina's bed in the fourth-year girls' dorm. Lee and their two dormmates were at the library — poor Lee was cramming for his OWLs, convinced that his mothers would skin him alive if he dared flunk his exams — and Harry's friends were in their common room. Fred tilted his head, looking at the area next to the Black Lake. Adrian was alone with Warrington of all people. His other friends were also in the den of snakes, save for the Selwyn heir — though the guy was a Lord now, wasn't he— who was walking towards the Astronomy tower.
He stretched with a groan and stood up from his bed. Maybe he'd try to bother the former chaser. Adrian was always a laugh. Plus, he was curious to know what the guy was doing with his yearmate. Warrington was a right bore at the best of times, he certainly didn't make for good company.
Neville sat on his hands, knowing that keeping them free would have him fidgeting throughout the entire discussion. He chanced a glance at Harry, who had sat at his side a beat after he did, his eyes fixed on the headmaster of their school. He hadn't looked away from the man once, and his shoulders were rigid with tension. Neville wondered if this was the first time his godbrother got in trouble at school. He cocked his head. Surely not, he'd had plenty of detentions with Professor Snape for one, and Professor Binns occasionally.
Being taken to the Headmaster's Office was more serious, he supposed, but Neville had been dragged here so many times this year due to the bloody Heir of Slytherin debacle that it hardly registered anymore. Well, that and Professor Dumbledore had visited Longland Manor several times when he was a child, though said visits always ended with his Gran cussing him out for daring to suggest she didn't take Neville's safety seriously enough because she refused to let the man study the blood protection wards his father's sacrifice had apparently activated around the property.
He'd said something or another about making sure they weren't weakened by the already existing manor wards, as Professor Dumbledore was somehow convinced that Neville's continued survival depended on the way his father's love had shielded him from You-Know— Voldemort. The whole debacle with Quirrell had only comforted him in his idea, though Neville wasn't sure how he was supposed to feel about having burnt a man to death with his bare hands. He wondered why nothing had happened when he'd touched the diary. Was it that young Tom Riddle's intent to harm him hadn't been strong enough at the moment he'd had it in his hands? And shouldn't that magical protection shield him from curses rather than keep people from touching him? They were wixen, for Merlin's sake, only Quirrell was stupid enough to forget he wielded a wand.
"I'm sure you're wondering why I've brought you here," said Professor Dumbledore with an affable smile, his hands resting on his desk. "I am, after all, not in the habit of summoning students to my office because I hear them repeat the words of their elders, no matter how unflattering their portrayal of me may be."
Neville nodded slowly. If the headmaster did that, Malfoy would probably end up camping in his office considering how often he criticised the running of the school.
Still, he didn't like much the way he had dismissed Harry's words as him simply parroting someone else's. While the man didn't owe them an explanation for the choices he made, Neville thought it wouldn't hurt him to provide one anyway, especially considering the fact that they were not just students but also the Heads of their respective Houses who would inherit seats at the Wizengamot as soon as they reached the required age. Surely Dumbledore would stand to gain more by explaining himself?
He didn't protest, all too aware that demanding answers from the Headmaster wouldn't amount to much. On the contrary, it might get them detention for disrespect. Neville thought that showed the all too real conflict between the man's position as Headmaster of Hogwarts and his position as Chef Warlock. The fact that the future heirs to the seats of Magical Britain's legislative body had to think twice before speaking about their elected representative at school was a bit worrying.
"Your guardian will have the opportunity to question my leadership more directly if he wins the seat he was nominated for on the Board of Governors, of course. I look forward to experiencing it," he added to Harry's benefit.
Neville whipped his head towards his godbrother. He hadn't heard anything about that.
Judging from Harry's expression, he hadn't either.
"He's been nominated?" asked the Slytherin boy, blinking rapidly. The shock had made him untense, though he didn't particularly more relaxed.
"His name was put forward by Esmaeel Shafiq, a long-standing member of the Board. Did he not tell you?"
Dumbledore looked politely curious, though there was a weird twinkle to his expression that Neville couldn't interpret.
Harry frowned thoughtfully. "He probably thought it was no use telling me about it if he didn't get the position. Ulrich is weird like that sometimes."
"And you do not mind being kept in the dark?"
Harry tilted his head, his brows furrowed. He didn't understand what the headmaster was getting at.
"Not really. And even if I did, that would be something for us to discuss in private, I think. Why are you so interested in what my guardian does or doesn't tell me, headmaster?"
He supposed he might have been more upset if the spring holidays hadn't been so hectic, between the whole Carrow debacle and learning about his godfather's incarceration. In truth, Ulrich seemed more worried about whether Sirius would petition for custody after he was released than about the Board of Governors.
Harry himself was a bit preoccupied by the thought. While he was looking forward to meeting his godfather and would always mourn what could have been, he was a bit apprehensive about the possibility of being made to move from his home. But they had agreed not to worry about it until the man was actually free, reasoning that after twelve years in Azkaban, it would probably take a bit for Sirius to recover and start making plans for the future. They would get to discuss their next step when his godfather was actually there to give his input on the matter.
So no, Harry wasn't particularly worried about Ulrich forgetting to tell him he might replace Lucius Malfoy on the Board. Considering the fact that the vote would take place at the end of the school year, it wasn't exactly relevant yet.
He hoped his guardian would get the seat, though. Maybe he'd be able to get people to do something about Professor Binns. History of Magic lessons were only getting worse.
"Ah, I do not mean anything by it, my boy."
Harry carefully did not flinch at being called a 'boy', though he did grimace at the proprietary way the headmaster said it. He didn't know what he hated more; the echo of Vernon Dursley this brought up in his mind or the over-familiarity of it. Either way, he would probably have to discuss it with Healer Merrythought. He wasn't looking forward to it.
The headmaster kept going, briefly bringing his half-moon glasses higher up his nose with a twitch of his finger. The display of wordless and wandless magic was impressive, though not unexpected coming from the one who was called by many the 'Second Coming of Merlin'. Harry thought his portrait of Roman Potter would have a field day discussing the implications of that. The historian always had a few choice words to describe the practitioners of the Enlightened Path, and none of them were flattering.
"It only touches upon one of my worries as an old man well-versed in keeping secrets. I often find myself pondering on what can be considered an acceptable omission and what is harder for the younger generation to forgive."
His gaze grew a little distant then and Harry once more wondered what he was doing here. Neville he understood: his godbrother had confided that the Chief Warlock had always tried to develop an amicable relationship between the two of them, most likely due to Dumbledore having been the leader of the Order of the Phoenix, which both Harry and Neville's parents had been a part of along with their friends.
Harry thought that these leading statements about keeping secrets might not even have been directed at him after all; he was just the pretext the headmaster used to have that discussion with Neville.
His godbrother seemed to have had the same thought.
"Is this about you not telling me why You-Know— Vol— Voldemort was after my parents? When I asked you after the disaster with Quirrell, you said I was too young to know."
Harry straightened. Maybe there was a reason he was there too, after all, he thought. He remembered the conversation he had with Ulrich about the reason why his parents went into hiding.
The headmaster's eyebrows raised like he was surprised by Neville's deduction before he inclined his head. "That's right."
"Gran hasn't told me either though," Neville pointed out. "If I had to be angry at someone, it should be her, shouldn't it?"
"I suppose so," said Dumbledore, stroking his beard. "Perhaps I am being self-centred. But I believe that this responsibility still should have been mine, as I am the most informed on this subject." At their confused look, he sighed. "It is the burden of knowledge, I'm afraid. Information on the first war is a heavy weight to bear, my boys, and I took it upon myself to shoulder most of it so that others could have some measure of relief. I have often acted as its keeper to ensure that it wouldn't fall back into the hands of the enemy. And I still do so now that proof of Voldemort's continued survival has been given by you and others."
"Others?" asked Harry, the previous topic forgotten. "Do you mean Professor Snape?"
The headmaster inclined his head.
"Does that mean he's contacting Death Eaters?" he continued urgently. The alarm he felt at the thought had him half-rising out of his seat.
"No, not yet."
Harry settled back down, letting Dumbledore speak. "But the Dark Mark's magic is no longer inert. During the time he was possessing Quirinus Quirrell, the Mark had darkened enough to indicate he was close. Now it has faded yet again, but its magic hasn't gone dormant."
"So he's not on British shores," concluded Neville, looking a little queasy, "but he's still a wraith looking to revive himself. How would he do that? The Philosopher's Stone has been destroyed, hasn't it?"
"Ah, yes, but practitioners of the Dark Arts have created many vile ways to escape death," said Dumbledore, his eyes lowering down to his wand. "I do not doubt Voldemort will find one that suits him, given time."
Harry grimaced. That was true enough. The only Light immortality ritual he could think of was the one the fae folk performed when they kidnapped mortal children to let them survive in their realm, and that hadn't happened since Morgana Le Fey had killed a good number of them in retaliation for supporting Vivian and Merlin's crusade against Dark creatures. The records said that she only stopped when Vivian promised they wouldn't cross the barrier between realms for as long as Morgana's descendants still lived. Vivian then enslaved Merlin to her and took him with her to the fae realm. The pair were never seen again.
"Then wouldn't it be prudent to make a list of all the rituals – Grey and Dark – he could potentially use and work on ways to prevent the ones he is most likely to perform?" suggested Harry.
Dumbledore blinked, staring at him like he'd never seen him before.
"That… would be a gargantuan task," he said slowly. "Those rituals number in the dozens in every country and no Auror force has managed to eradicate them."
"That's true, but it would slow down his resurrection enough for us to be more prepared," he pointed out. "And it would give Neville some breathing room; if… Tom Riddle," he said, enunciating the name slowly.
He understood better what Darkclaw and Griphook meant when they said names had power. There was something chilling about saying the Dark Lord's real name, though Harry preferred it to the alternatives. You-Know-Who was a ridiculous name, taboo or not, Dark Lord was accurate but had unfortunate connotations, and Voldemort made people flinch hard enough to make Harry supremely uncomfortable when he slipped up and used it.
He continued, repeating the name with more conviction. "If Riddle is too busy chasing ways to resurrect himself in distant countries, Neville will have the time to grow strong enough to be able to defend himself against him."
Neville smiled at him. "It's not just about me. We'll also be old enough to do something about people like Lucius Malfoy, which will make Voldemort weaker."
Now Dumbledore looked flabbergasted.
Harry thought it was strange. Did the man really think they hadn't thought about it? Yes, their education was their priority and they did try to enjoy the time they had before war raged on again, but Neville had already tangled with Tom Riddle twice. Not only that, but Harry wasn't stupid. He had noticed that the schoolyard struggles he and his court had had to contend with tied closely with the tensions remaining from the opposing factions in the last war. They'd had to talk about what they would do if the Dark Lord succeeded. Talking was all they could do for now; they would have to get better before making concrete plans, for which they would have to rely on their elders.
"From the mouths of babes," murmured the Headmaster before shaking his head. "But, my boy, do you really wish to spend your entire life looking out for Voldemort's return?"
The Boy-Who-Lived smiled at the old wizard, though his expression was sad.
"Isn't that what I'll be doing anyway?" He paused. "He'll be after me no matter what. I'd rather have a fighting chance than rush into a confrontation that'll end badly. Especially because there's nothing special about me, unlike what other people who believe in the Boy-Who-Lived hype seem to think. The longer he stays a wraith, the better my chances are, right?"
Neville was twelve and had to live with the fact that the murderer of his parents was intent on ending him. He grew up as a figurehead, a symbol of peace who only avoided being paraded to the masses every week because he had taken too long to manifest his magic. If the man could manage it, his death would be the symbol of Voldemort's triumph and the start of a new war.
He wished he could simply bury his head in the sand, lose himself in the greenhouses of Hogwarts and forget there was a world beyond the plants he had to tend to, the friends he liked to care for and the homework he had to work on. But he was the face of the Longbottom Alliance and the Boy-Who-Lived-When-His-Parents-Didn't. He wasn't afforded all the luxuries of childhood, the blissful ignorance that came with being secure in your own home, in your school, in the streets of Diagon Alley.
Only Harry understood that. So they spoke of it when they met alone in the greenhouses, though never as in-depth as Neville wished. They'd only started broaching the topic this year, though he knew Harry had also touched base with his and his cousin's friends about it so they would know what they were getting into.
They didn't plan because they didn't have all the facts and weren't old enough for the information they did have to make sense yet, but they knew they'd have to organise their future around an impending war and figure out what to do if the hostilities started before they were ready.
Dumbledore released them shortly after a bit of back and forth, claiming that they had given him much to think about. If he planned on heeding their suggestions, he didn't confirm it and Neville also noticed that he hadn't quite gotten around to telling them why their parents had been targeted by Voldemort. But he thought that might not have been the goal. Rather, it seemed like broaching that topic had been a test of some sort. Neville had no idea if they passed it.
When they arrived at the library for the study group meeting, everyone was already there.
Neville sat between Susan and Hermione, smiling at Hannah and Ron on either side of the girls. Harry split off from him with a last wave before taking the seat between Padma Patil and Nott. The two seemed to be having an animated discussion about the different applications of the Engorgement charm. Neville pulled out his school supplies and grinned tiredly at his friends, already dreading all the studying they would have to do.
"So, where should we start?"
Roger Davies watched his little sister as she gestured animatedly, explaining some concept to a Ravenclaw boy who seemed more interested in her than in what she was saying. He grimaced, displeased at the reminder that Tracey would soon be at the age where she might start expressing an interest in dating.
He wasn't quite close to his siblings. There was too much of an age gap between him and Chester, and his eldest brother was always more interested in his potions than in him. They didn't have much in common; Roger liked Quidditch, football and playing drums while Chester was a proper nerd who willingly wrote letters to Professor Snape in the summers while he was still a student. Their personalities clashed too, one being an extrovert while the other was much less sociable.
Tracey had more in common with him and they were closer in age but she'd been attached to Daphne's hip since they were toddlers and there was no dislodging her from the blonde – now blue-haired– girl's side. Roger had had to find friends elsewhere. As a result, he spent more time with the neighbourhood muggle boys than he did with magical folks – except his clanspeople, but they didn't visit Ireland as much as they should — until he reached Hogwarts age. He'd gotten a lot out of it, but it did make him a bit more isolated from his siblings.
They loved each other, though, as every decent family did.
Which was why Roger had watched carefully when Tracey joined a Slytherin clique – following Daphne there, of course, because his sister had never had a thought Daphne hadn't had first — and deferred to a leader who was shorter than she was. He didn't hate the Potter kid, especially since he and his guardian had helped them get rid of their freeloading uncle-ancestor Darragh, that was pretty grand if he was honest about it. But the type of friendship that required a leader was something that made him undeniably wary. Slytherins were bloody weird, man.
Sometimes he wished she hadn't, especially considering the rumours he sometimes heard from Slytherin. But then he saw her like this, happy and confident and with more friends than only Daphne, and he didn't wish she had gone to Hufflepuff instead.
"I was worried because half the time you pretend she doesn't exist but I shouldn't have been. You act like you don't care but you're totally soft on your sister, aren't you," asked Simeon with an impish grin.
Roger cast a mild stinging hex at his best friend. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Sure you don't."
"Severus has been cursing your name quite a bit these last few days," commented Poppy as she wrote the report she would add to the file of the student who had just left the infirmary. "Yours and Mister Longbottom's, actually."
Harry grimaced. He knew. The potions professor's ire was really quite obvious when he attended his supplementary healing lessons disguised as detentions — this time, Snape hadn't even pretended to find something to punish him over and just told the whole class he'd scrub cauldrons all day for "breathing too loudly". Malfoy'd had a field day. Harry was surprised; he hadn't expected the professor to continue the teaching sessions beyond the detentions he was already granted after the duel debacle but it seemed that the man was serious about wanting to prevent both injury and scrutiny for their House. It had already served him once when two fifth-year girls had gotten it into their heads that duelling would be the smartest way to handle whatever issue they'd had. It had evidently worked since the two were now the best of friends but Harry could have done without having to reverse the effects of a Decaying curse.
Harry didn't know what he expected to come out of his and Neville's conversation with the Headmaster but him delegating the implementation of their suggestion to his already overworked potions professor wasn't it.
"We gave him extra work," admitted Harry as he paged through the compendium of healing spells his mentor had assigned to him.
As the infirmary was currently empty, he didn't have much to do but study and practice spellcasting. Since Poppy always had something to do, he spent the off-moments where she didn't have a patient discussing proper spell applications and their possible interference with healing potions and patients' pre-existing conditions.
Poppy hissed in sympathy. "As if he didn't have enough to do. I swear, he's running himself ragged."
"You all are," agreed the apprentice healer. "But Professor Snape especially, that's true. It's a wonder he doesn't break under all that pressure." He paused. "I truly didn't intend for him to be saddled with more. When we suggested a— research project to the Headmaster—"
"If it has to do with You-Know-Who you can just say it," interrupted Poppy. "I'm very aware of Albus' priorities, and there isn't much to connect Mister Longbottom to Severus besides this." At Harry's startled look, she chuckled. "I wasn't born yesterday, son. I volunteered as Healer for the Order of the Phoenix after poor Benjy Fenwick went missing. They needed all the help they could get. That, and I'll remind you that I was the one who took care of your godbrother in the aftermath of last year's debacle, never mind the whole mess with the basilisk."
Harry rubbed at his nape with a sheepish grin.
"Right. We suggested that research should be done to block Tom Riddle's attempts to resurrect himself. Since resurrection rituals usually require things like unicorn blood or other nasty ingredients, making sure that those resources aren't available to him would delay his return as much as we can. And that requires researching the rituals themselves to find out what he's most likely to go for. We didn't quite expect Professor Dumbledore to tell Professor Snape to do it all."
Poppy whistled.
"That is a gargantuan task poor Severus is saddled with."
Harry sighed.
"I know. Professor Dumbledore said so too and I figured that out myself after I thought about it more. It would be more appropriate to dedicate a Ministry taskforce to it. Aurors and Unspeakables."
"But that would require them being made aware of You-Know-Who's continued existence," said the mediwitch. "And I don't believe our current Minister is at all willing to entertain such thoughts."
Harry grimaced. Yeah, Minister Fudge didn't strike him as the type of man you'd want to lead a community preparing for the resurgence of a civil war.
"Why don't you ask your guardian? Mister Fawley is a very knowledgeable man. He might be able to help, even if it's not his area of expertise."
Harry started shaking his head before slowing down and thinking about it. He was about to say it wasn't a good idea; Ulrich was still busy working with Gemma on designing ways to ensure Achilles' safety for when he finally moved in with the Higgs' and started muggle schooling. But that wouldn't stop Harry from asking for his advice.
"I'll do that," he said, furrowing his brows. He would ask Remus too, he decided. From their correspondence, he knew that the man was really knowledgeable about Dark magics of all kinds, though he generally knew more about creatures. It wouldn't hurt to ask.
"Good. Now, why don't you tell me what you'd do to heal a concussion?"
Harry brightened. Healing head wounds was always a challenge.
"It depends if…"
Soon enough, the year was over. The exams went better than Harry hoped, the studying sessions having helped him catch up on all the notes he hadn't taken during the year due to his distraction. He would have to do better next time though, especially in Transfiguration. He was glad to know that with the help of a competent teacher like the Auror who had served as Lockhart's for the remainder of the school year, he was actually quite talented at Defence Against the Dark Arts. He and Neville had already resolved to petition for the duelling club to be reinstated next year. That, and they planned to start self-studying in preparation for the war. They needed to know how to defend themselves before it became necessary to do so.
In Harry's case, he also planned for the inevitable confrontation he would have with Malfoy's court when their non-aggression contract would be up in fourth-year. That was when he and his friends had planned for him to make his bid as Argentum Rex, though he knew better than to expect everything to go according to his plans.
Third year would be busy. Along with the duelling, healing lessons and looking out for movements from the Carrows, Harry had already chosen three electives, one being a completely self-indulgent choice and the other two a more practical one. Care of Magical Creatures simply sounded fun while Ancient Runes and Arithmancy were incredibly useful for ritual craft and spellsmithing. He had thought about Divination long and hard – especially when he'd learnt from Neville that the Headmaster had written and encouraged him to take the elective — before he'd decided that it wouldn't serve him much. Theo made the same choices as him while Blaise had opted for Divination and Arithmancy only. Daphne had chosen Muggle Studies, Arithmancy and Runes while Tracey had dithered a bit, not especially interested in any of her options before writing out Care and Runes.
"What do you think?"
"Huh?"
Harry turned away from his Salisbury steak. Daphne was waiting for his answer with an exasperated frown, though her expression was relaxed enough for him to know she wasn't really mad.
"Sorry, I was lost in thought. What was that?"
"What do you think is happening between Adrian and Aspen? They've been really weird around each other since Spring break."
Harry tilted his head.
He had noticed that the two were carefully avoiding each other. Even now, at the end-of-year feast, they sat on opposite ends of their group when they usually took seats in front of each other. He remembered asking Gemma what it was all about and she'd huffed and said they were both being stupid.
Honestly, he was glad he wasn't a sixth-year. Between this and the Spinea Regina's cold war against her Argentum Rex who moped around all the time when he wasn't holding court and worried over going home to his parents — everyone in Slytherin had noticed he wasn't receiving any letter from home and Harry knew the seventh-year was probably as relieved as he was terrified —, it seemed to be an awkward time all around. The only ones who seemed happy were Gemma and Terence who were still blissfully overjoyed to be reunited even months after Gemma was cured of her petrification.
"I know something happened when Aspen took his Lordship. Gemma said the others have been trying to get them to talk about it but they've been semi-avoiding each other instead. And since Adrian and Safaa had Argentum court duty, they haven't exactly had that much free time. They won't have that excuse this summer." He shrugged. "They'll have to talk about it."
Theo frowned. He looked like he was about to say something before he looked around and seemingly thought better of it. Harry looked at him curiously. It seemed like his friend knew a bit more about the situation. Considering the fact that Aspen had all but taken him and Felix under his wing, he guessed he shouldn't be surprised.
"I hope so," said Theo instead.
The conversation lulled for a few seconds before Blaise leaned forward. "So. Shall we place bets? Three galleons that Padma takes the top spot from Granger."
Tracey shook her head. "No way. I've seen her study notes. She's a research devil. I'll take that bet."
Harry leaned back and watched the devolving argument with a content smile.
Ulrich walked up to the empty chair. He pressed wrinkled hands to the smooth table in front of it and lowered himself into the seat before looking at his companions.
"May I introduce Ulrich Fawley, of the Noble and Ancient House of Fawley, our new school governor?" asked Esmaeel Shafiq with a smug grin and a glint in his eye.
The old wardmaster returned his friend's grin with one of his own as everyone clapped politely.
It was time for the elders to get to work.