By the middle of October, Saturday mornings belonged to Kettleburn.
Adrian arranged his homework around them, sometimes with more success than others, and had learned that arriving early generally meant being handed something to carry.
He no longer considered that a disappointing start.
The professor had a reason for how the enclosures were arranged, which containers stood in the shade, and why one harmless-looking lid required a weight on top.
Adrian was gradually learning those reasons, usually after asking about something he had nearly moved.
He was also getting better at writing down what happened without explaining it before he understood it.
Kettleburn had crossed out angry in one account and written what did it do?
beside it.
Adrian now found himself asking the same question whenever his notes became too confident.
Unfortunately, the habit did nothing to help him identify the contents of the tin in Fred’s hands.
They were sitting in a quiet courtyard after lunch, where George had spread their growing collection of sketches across the bench.
Cedric was correcting a route Adrian had drawn from memory, and Fred had been inspecting the tin for several minutes.
“Where did you get that?” Adrian asked.
“Lee.”
“That doesn’t answer much.”
Fred lifted the lid far enough for a faint smell to escape.
Cedric stopped writing.
“Close it.”
Fred obeyed, looking pleased with the result.
George reached for the tin.
“He said they weren’t ready.”
“What aren’t ready?” Adrian asked, moving his notebook out of the way.
“Something for Percy’s shoes.”
Cedric looked up from the map.
“Why are they always for Percy?”
“He keeps giving us reasons,” Fred said, accepting the tin when George handed it back.
Adrian decided he didn’t need a more detailed explanation.
He was about to return to the map when a folded note landed on the bench beside him.
A Ravenclaw boy stood at the end of the courtyard, looking from the parchment to the four of them.
“Finch said you were the ones collecting the cabinet tokens.”
He was a little taller than Cedric, with ink on the side of one hand and a blue tie that had been loosened at the neck.
“Owen Beckett.
Second year.”
Adrian moved the tin away from the note before opening it.
Eleanor had written the location of a cabinet near the library and mentioned that Owen was looking for an eagle token.
Cedric read over Adrian’s shoulder.
“We opened that one.
The eagle was still there when we left.”
“Good.
The last cabinet I found was missing it.” Owen glanced at their maps.
“Do you know who else is collecting?”
Fred shook his head, looking interested.
“Someone from your House, though.
We couldn’t take the eagle.”
They put the maps away and led Owen upstairs, with Cedric directing them toward the right landing while George checked the adjoining corridor for another key.
The cabinet remained open, its eagle and serpent tokens sitting untouched in their recesses.
Owen reached for the eagle and lifted it easily, then ran his thumb over the design.
“Have a go at that one,” George suggested, indicating the serpent.
Owen tried, but it wouldn’t move.
He withdrew his hand and compared the two recesses before pocketing his token.
“I know someone who can collect it.”
Adrian opened his notebook to record the visit.
“Someone from Slytherin?”
“Beatrice Rowle.
She’s in my year.” Owen leaned closer to look at the sketch.
“She likes finding things out.
Show her this and she’ll probably want to help.”
Cedric pointed to the location written above the drawing.
“Tell her where it is.
We’ll leave it for her.”
Adrian added Owen’s name beside the eagle, then held the page out so he could check the spelling.
Their next Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson began with Professor Vane asking everyone to close their books.
Defence Against the Dark Arts was one of the lessons Hufflepuff shared with Ravenclaw, and Adrian and Cedric took their usual places beside a girl named Clara Whitcombe.
She had already opened her textbook and marked the day’s reading with a strip of parchment.
Professor Vane stood beside the blackboard in plain dark robes, her wand resting on the desk.
Over the past month, Adrian had learned that she rarely raised her voice, but she noticed wandering attention quickly enough that few students tested how long they could get away with it.
“What is the first thing you should establish when you believe someone means to harm you?”
Several hands went up, and Vane selected Clara.
“Whether they actually mean to, Professor.
They might just be angry.”
“Quite.
Anger is worth noticing, but it does not tell you everything.” Vane wrote a short line on the board before turning back.
“What else should you consider?”
Cedric raised his hand.
“Whether there’s a way to leave.”
Vane nodded and added his answer beneath Clara’s.
“An argument is not automatically an attack.
Nor does being insulted oblige you to remain and demonstrate your superiority.
You may find that leaving is considerably less troublesome than winning.”
Adrian thought of his father’s letter while Vane moved two chairs away from the nearest desk.
“For today’s practical work, your wands will remain where they are.
We are looking at how you use the space around you.”
She called Cedric and a Ravenclaw boy to the front, placing them several feet apart.
The chairs narrowed the space between Cedric and the classroom door.
“Mr.
Diggory, you wish to leave.
Your partner is trying to keep you here until his friends arrive.
He is not to touch you, but he may move to obstruct you.”
Cedric looked toward the door, then at the open space beside the desks.
When the other boy shifted toward the gap between the chairs, Cedric moved around the outside, keeping him in view as he went.
Vane stopped the exercise before either reached the door.
“You gave up the shorter route.
Why?”
“There was more room this way,” Cedric explained.
“If he followed me, I could still move.”
Vane nodded and asked the class what else they had noticed.
Clara pointed out that he hadn’t backed into the furniture, while Toby observed that the other boy had needed to turn before following him.
Adrian watched Cedric return to his seat, impressed by how readily he had assessed the space.
He had made the decision without rushing, then changed direction as soon as the gap became less useful.
When Adrian’s turn came, Vane rearranged the chairs and paired him with Clara.
He noticed the narrow opening nearest the door, but when she moved toward it, he took the longer route around the desk.
Clara tried to follow, only to find the chair she had stepped beside was now in her way.
Vane let them continue until Adrian reached the open aisle.
“I would’ve gotten stuck if I’d tried to squeeze through there,” he explained when she asked about his choice.
“Going around gave me somewhere else to move.”
“And Miss Whitcombe?”
Clara glanced back at the chair.
“I watched him and forgot what was beside me.”
“An easy mistake when your attention is on another person,” Vane said.
“That is why we practise.”
They returned to their seats, and the lesson ended with a written account of the exercise.
Adrian found it easier than expected, although he crossed out his first sentence after realising he had described what Clara intended rather than where she had moved.
Kettleburn’s correction was becoming annoyingly useful.
Flying lessons were less restrained.
The first few had involved mounting, dismounting, and keeping the broom where Madam Hooch told them to put it.
Adrian had found hovering exciting enough that he initially failed to understand how anyone could consider those exercises dull.
Then they were allowed to move.
By late October, he looked forward to flying almost as much as his visits to Kettleburn, although Cedric was plainly better at it.
That became obvious during an exercise involving a line of wooden markers.
Madam Hooch had instructed them to fly around each one at a controlled height, keeping their turns wide enough that the broom remained steady.
Most of the class concentrated on avoiding the markers.
Cedric seemed to have time to do considerably more.
Adrian watched from the waiting line as Cedric finished another clean circuit and brought his broom down beside Madam Hooch.
She pointed toward the second marker while speaking to him, and Cedric nodded before looking back along the course.
Fred leaned closer.
“Charlie’s going to want a look at him.”
Adrian glanced at the pleased expression Cedric was trying to conceal.
“I think he’d be okay with that.”
Madam Hooch called Adrian’s name before Fred could add anything, and he pushed off, settling into position as the grass dropped beneath his shoes.
The first turn went well enough that he carried more speed into the second.
He leaned too soon, tried to correct, and came out at an angle that took most of the next stretch to straighten.
By the time he reached the finish, he was concentrating on the landing rather than how quickly he had completed the course.
His feet touched down, but the broom kept drifting sideways, forcing him to take two awkward steps before stopping.
Madam Hooch waited until he had both feet firmly planted.
“Less speed on your next attempt, Mr.
Clarke.
You’re making a large correction, then having to undo it.
Keep the turns wider until you can judge them properly.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Adrian led his broom back toward the line, where Cedric made room beside him.
They watched the next student approach the markers before Cedric pointed toward the second turn.
“That’s where you started leaning.
You still had a fair way to go.”
“It looked a lot closer from up there.” Adrian studied the distance again, then glanced at his friend.
“I guess I got ahead of myself.”
“I did that last lesson.
Try going through slowly once.”
Cedric’s advice was simple enough to remember when Adrian’s turn came again.
He kept his speed down and gave himself more room around each marker, paying attention to how little movement the broom actually needed.
The circuit took longer, but this time he reached the finish facing the right direction and landed without having to chase his own feet.
Cedric grinned as he returned to the line.
“Better?”
“Way better.” Adrian looked back at the course, already hoping there would be time for another go.
Owen’s Slytherin friend was waiting outside the library when they arrived on Wednesday afternoon.
She stood beside the window with a book tucked beneath her arm, watching the rain until Owen called her name.
“Beatrice Rowle,” he said, introducing her to the others.
“She wants to see the cabinet.”
“I’d like to know whether I’ve been walking past it for a year,” she explained.
Beatrice was a second-year, with dark hair pinned away from her face and a straightforward manner Adrian found easy to like.
When he opened his notebook, she moved beside him to examine the sketch.
Cedric described the route while she followed it with one finger.
“Is this the landing near the unused classroom?”
“That’s the one,” George said.
“The key was flying round the stairs.”
“I know where you mean.” She glanced at Adrian’s drawing.
“The window’s pointed, though.
That might help you tell it apart from the floor below.”
Adrian looked at the rounded shape he had drawn.
“Good catch.
I’ll fix it when we get there.”
They walked together, with Owen asking the twins whether they had found any more keys.
By the time they reached the landing, George was explaining how Fred had brought Adrian and Cedric upstairs to a cabinet they had already visited.
Fred interrupted twice to correct details that did little to improve his position.
Beatrice listened with a growing smile, then stopped beside the open cabinet.
Only the serpent remained.
She reached into its recess and lifted it free, turning it over while the others watched.
“That was easier than I expected.”
“We did the difficult bit,” Fred said, looking at George.
“Well, he did.” Read this novel at g.com for the best experience.
George gave a small bow, and Cedric moved aside to let Adrian rest the notebook on the windowsill.
Adrian corrected the window before adding Beatrice’s name beside the serpent.
She leaned closer to watch.
“You’re keeping track of all four Houses?”
“Makes it easier to tell people where there’s still a token,” Cedric explained.
“Someone in our common room has been collecting them.
A fifth-year.” Beatrice examined the brass serpent again.
“I thought it was just something he did when he was bored.”
“Could you ask which cabinets he’s found?” Owen said.
“There might still be eagles in them.”
She nodded.
“I’ll ask.
If you find another serpent, save the directions for me.”
Adrian closed the notebook.
“Deal.
Same goes for badgers.”
“And lions,” Fred added.
Beatrice smiled as she pocketed the token.
“I’ll remember.”
On their way back, they passed Avery standing outside a classroom with his two usual companions.
He noticed Adrian first, then looked toward Beatrice.
“Rowle.
Why are you with them?”
She slowed, apparently surprised by the question.
“Owen asked me to come.”
Avery glanced at the notebook beneath Adrian’s arm.
“You know Clarke, then?”
“We’ve just met.” Her expression cooled slightly as she looked at him.
“Is there something you wanted?”
One of the boys beside Avery shifted against the wall, but Avery kept his attention on Beatrice.
“Only wondered.”
“All right.”
She resumed walking, and the others followed.
Adrian kept his eyes on the stairs ahead, though he was aware of Avery watching them leave.
Once they reached the next corridor, Beatrice glanced toward Owen.
“What was that about?”
Owen looked at Adrian, who adjusted the notebook under his arm.
“Something to do with my dad.
Avery keeps bringing it up.”
“Has he told you what?”
“Nothing useful.”
Beatrice frowned, then shook her head.
“Well, he can explain it himself if he wants everyone else to care.”
George laughed quietly, and Fred began asking Owen about another staircase near Ravenclaw Tower.
Within a few moments, they were comparing directions again, with Beatrice correcting a turn that would have taken them to the wrong floor.
Adrian opened his notebook as they walked.
He needed to leave more space beside the maps; the others were finding things he had missed.
The trouble began the next afternoon outside Transfiguration.
Adrian had stayed behind to ask McGonagall about a correction in his written work, and most of the class had left by the time he stepped into the corridor.
Cedric and Toby were waiting near the stairs, talking beside a window.
Avery moved away from the opposite wall before Adrian reached them.
“Rowle doesn’t know much about your family, then?”
Adrian slowed, leaving several feet between them.
The two boys who usually accompanied Avery stood nearby, one beside the classroom door and the other close to the windows.
“Ask her.
I’m heading downstairs.”
He moved toward the open side of the corridor, but Avery stepped across his path.
“It might interest her to know who she’s spending time with.”
Adrian looked past him toward Cedric, who had stopped talking.
“Then go tell her whatever it is you keep trying to tell me.”
He turned to pass on the other side.
Avery’s friend moved away from the windows, closing the gap without quite touching him.
That was when Adrian noticed the older students.
Two Slytherins had stopped near the stairs.
One said something to Cedric and put a hand against his chest when he tried to move past.
Toby looked from them to Adrian, then toward the classroom.
Adrian stopped trying to walk.
“Move.”
Avery’s expression brightened slightly, as though he had finally received the answer he wanted.
“Not so amusing without Diggory beside you?”
Adrian glanced at the older boys again.
One was considerably taller than Cedric, and the other stood with his back against the narrowest part of the passage.
Beyond them, several students had slowed to watch.
This was deliberate.
He shifted his notebook more securely beneath his arm and kept his hands clear.
“If you’ve got something to say, say it.
Then get out of my way.”
Avery drew himself up.
“My father remembers yours.
A Slytherin who had every opportunity to associate with the right people, and instead he ran away.”
One of his friends made a quiet sound of agreement.
Adrian watched the boy nearest the windows move another step closer.
He could hear Avery talking about old families and obligations, but much of it passed without making an impression.
Edmund had never suggested that his schoolmates were entitled to decide where he lived or whom he married, and Adrian couldn’t imagine him being impressed by their sons attempting it now.
He was more interested in the space behind Avery’s left shoulder.
If the boy beside the window stopped edging toward him, there would be room to pass.
“Are you listening?” Avery demanded.
“Yeah.
Your dad doesn’t like mine.
You’ve mentioned it.”
Avery’s face tightened.
“It isn’t a matter of liking him.
There are families who understand what their blood means.”
Adrian waited while he continued.
The lecture became less coherent as it went on, moving from family loyalty to America and then to people who ought to have known their place.
At the stairs, Cedric tried to get past again.
“Let him through,” he said, his voice carrying clearly along the corridor.
The older boy answered too quietly for Adrian to hear, but his hand remained against Cedric’s chest.
Adrian looked back at Avery.
“Tell them to move.
You’ve had your say.”
“Your father didn’t have much to say either, apparently.
Just left when things became difficult.”
“Then write him a letter.”
Adrian tried the gap beside the windows.
Avery caught his sleeve, and Adrian stopped before the movement could turn into a struggle.
“Take your hand off me.”
Avery held on for another moment, then released him with a small shove of the fabric.
Behind him, one of his friends laughed.
“Perhaps it was the mother.”
Adrian’s attention shifted.
The boy glanced at Avery, encouraged by the fact that he had finally been noticed.
“American, isn’t she?”
Avery watched Adrian more closely.
“Is that why he went?
Couldn’t find anyone suitable here?”
Adrian felt his jaw tighten and deliberately loosened it.
“You don’t know my mom.”
“No,” Avery said, drawing the word out.
“Your father seems to have been careful about that.”
The boy by the windows smiled.
Adrian could still see the older students near Cedric.
There were too many bodies in the corridor, too little room, and witnesses who would remember whatever happened next in whichever way suited them.
He took a slow breath.
“Leave her out of it.”
Avery noticed the change immediately.
For the first time since stopping him, he looked entirely certain of what to say.
“Why?
Is she something else your family doesn’t like discussing?”
Adrian didn’t answer.
“Does she know what he ran from?
Or was she simply grateful a wizard took an interest?”
Cedric’s voice rose near the stairs.
“That’s enough, Avery.”
The older boy blocking him turned his head, and Adrian saw Toby slip backward toward the adjoining corridor.
One of the Slytherins noticed too late and started after him.
Adrian kept his eyes on Avery.
“I’m leaving.”
He turned toward the classroom instead.
McGonagall was still inside, and he no longer cared whether walking back to a professor made Avery feel victorious.
A hand struck the wall in front of him.
Avery’s other friend stood between him and the door.
“Wrong way.”
Adrian stopped close enough to see the loose stitching on the boy’s cuff.
His heart was beating hard now, and the warning that had started as a faint unease had become impossible to ignore.
Behind him, Avery continued.
“What did your father tell her?
That he was brave enough to leave?
Or did she understand perfectly well that she’d married a coward?”
Adrian turned back.
Avery was watching him with a thin smile.
“Does cowardice run in the family, Clarke?”
He raised his wand toward Adrian’s face.
Adrian punched him.
Avery’s head snapped back, and his wand struck the floor as he collapsed against the wall.
The boy blocking the classroom grabbed Adrian’s shoulder; Adrian turned into him and drove a short punch into his face before shoving him backward into the alcove.
Someone caught Adrian from behind.
He bent his knees, twisted free of the arm closing around him, and struck again.
The third boy stumbled across the dropped notebook and went down hard on one knee.
The corridor erupted.
Cedric shouted Adrian’s name, but an older Slytherin was already pushing past him.
The boy reached for Adrian’s collar and caught a handful of robe before Adrian drove forward, sending them both into the opposite wall.
Adrian kept hitting him.
The boy covered his face, trying to turn away, while Adrian’s hand struck the stone beside his head.
Pain shot through his knuckles.
He barely registered it before somebody seized his arm.
“Enough!”
The restraint tightened across his chest and shoulders, drawing his arms sharply against his sides.
His feet left their position on the floor as he was pulled backward, several yards of empty corridor opening between him and the others.
McGonagall stood in the classroom doorway with her wand raised.
“Do not move.”
Adrian strained once against the spell before recognising her.
Across the corridor, the older boy slid down the wall with one hand over his mouth.
Avery lay where he had fallen, and his friend was trying to crawl away from the alcove.
Snape emerged from the adjoining passage with Toby behind him.
“Wands away,” he said, so quietly that the students nearest him fell silent before the others understood what he had said.
His wand was already in his hand.
McGonagall’s eyes dropped to Adrian’s fingers.
Another flickered along his wrist and vanished beneath his cuff.
Snape saw it too.
His gaze sharpened, moving from Adrian’s hand to McGonagall, but neither said anything about it.
“Mr.
Diggory, stand back,” McGonagall ordered.
Cedric stopped several feet away, breathing hard.
One side of his robe had been pulled loose at the shoulder.
Adrian looked at him, then at the boys on the floor.
The pressure across his chest remained firm.
He realised his hands were still clenched.
“Mr.
Clarke,” McGonagall said.
“Open your hands.”
He did, slowly.
His right hand hurt enough now that he couldn’t straighten all his fingers.
Snape knelt beside Avery, checked him, and stood again.
“The hospital wing.
All of them.”
A student at the far end of the corridor began explaining what he had seen.
“You will remain where you are,” Snape said, turning toward him.
“Every one of you.”
The boy fell silent.
McGonagall kept her attention on Adrian.
“Can you stand still without restraint?”
Adrian swallowed.
“Yes, Professor.”
The pressure eased, though her wand remained raised.
For several seconds, he stood exactly where she had left him.
Madam Pomfrey separated them before anyone could begin arguing.
Avery was placed behind a screen with Snape beside him.
The older student sat on another bed, holding a cloth against his mouth, while the two other boys were directed to chairs on the far side of the room.
Adrian sat nearest the door.
His hand had begun to swell, and there was blood on his sleeve that he couldn’t identify.
Madam Pomfrey examined his fingers before looking at a scrape along his cheek.
“Hold still.”
He obeyed while she worked, his attention fixed on the screen concealing Avery.
“He’s awake,” she said, following his gaze.
“Keep looking at me.”
Adrian did.
McGonagall stood beside the bed, her expression giving him very little indication of what she was thinking.
Cedric waited near the doorway with Toby.
Neither had been allowed to leave.
By the time Snape returned, Madam Pomfrey had treated Adrian’s hand and instructed him not to test it by making another fist.
Snape stopped opposite McGonagall.
“Now,” she said, “you will tell us what happened.”
Adrian looked down at the notebook Cedric had retrieved from the corridor.
A dirty footprint crossed its cover.
“Avery stopped me when I came out of class.
I tried to go around him, and his friends moved in front of me.”
He described the older students at the stairs, the hand on Cedric’s chest, and the boy blocking the classroom when he tried to return.
McGonagall interrupted only to establish where each person had been standing.
When Adrian reached the insults, he hesitated.
Snape noticed.
“What did he say?”
“Stuff about Dad leaving Britain.
Blood, families, who he should’ve stayed friends with.”
“And then?”
Adrian rubbed his uninjured thumb against the edge of the notebook.
“He started talking about my mom.”
McGonagall waited.
Adrian repeated the words as closely as he could remember.
They sounded uglier in the quiet hospital wing than they had while Avery was saying them, and he could see Cedric staring at the floor near the door.
Snape’s expression remained cold.
“Then he asked if cowardice ran in the family and put his wand in my face.”
“Did he attempt an incantation?” McGonagall asked.
“I didn’t wait.”
“No,” Snape said.
“You did not.”
Adrian looked up.
“He was right in front of me.”
“And the others?”
“One grabbed me.
Then another.”
Snape’s gaze held his.
“Mr.
Avery was already on the floor when you struck the older boy.”
“He came at me.”
“That explains why you turned toward him,” McGonagall said.
“It does not explain why you continued hitting him once he was against the wall.”
Adrian opened his mouth, then stopped.
He remembered the hand on his collar and the shove that had driven him backward.
After that, the details became less orderly: the wall, the boy’s arms, Cedric’s voice somewhere behind him.
“I wasn’t thinking about stopping yet.”
McGonagall watched him for a moment.
“That is something we shall be discussing.”
She called Cedric forward.
His account was clear, including the parts he hadn’t been able to see.
He described Avery moving into Adrian’s path, the older students preventing him from reaching his friend, and Adrian turning back toward the classroom before the wand appeared.
Toby confirmed that he had gone to find a professor when the boys refused to let them through.
“I found Professor Snape near the other staircase,” he said.
“I told him they’d cornered Adrian.”
Snape gave a brief nod.
McGonagall dismissed neither boy, but directed them to wait outside while she and Snape finished speaking with Adrian.
When the door closed, she moved slightly nearer the bed.
“There was something else in the corridor.”
Adrian looked at her.
“Your hands,” she continued.
“There was an electrical discharge after I separated you.”
He went still.
Snape noticed that too.
“Is this new?”
“No, sir.”
“Does your father know?”
“Yes.”
McGonagall and Snape exchanged a look.
Adrian looked down at his treated hand.
There was no trace of light now, nothing moving beneath his skin, but he remembered other occasions when anger or excitement had made control more difficult.
He hadn’t noticed it happening in the corridor.
“Were you attempting to use it?” McGonagall asked.
“No.
I didn’t know I was.”
Snape’s eyes narrowed, although his next words were measured.
“Then your parents will need to provide considerably more information than the school currently possesses.”
Adrian nodded.
He had expected a letter home from the moment McGonagall stepped into the corridor.
This was going to be a different letter from the one he had imagined.
“Professor Sprout will be informed,” McGonagall said.
“We will speak to every witness before deciding the consequences.
In the meantime, you are to keep away from Mr.
Avery and the other boys involved.”
“Okay.”
“And if anyone attempts to approach you about this, you will find a member of staff.”
“Yes, Professor.”
Snape glanced toward the closed screen at the other end of the ward, then back at Adrian.
“You were right to recognise the wand as a threat,” he said.
“Do not confuse that with approval of everything you did afterwards.”
Adrian met his eyes and nodded once.
This time, he had no reply.
By dinner, half the school appeared to know that Avery had gone to the hospital wing, and the other half seemed determined to supply details nobody had witnessed.
Adrian heard three versions before reaching the Hufflepuff table.
In one, he had used a curse.
In another, Avery had lost several teeth.
Cedric corrected the first person who repeated either story near them, then sat down with enough force to make the plates shift.
“It was his nose.”
Adrian looked at his hand, which Madam Pomfrey had examined and treated while explaining exactly how little she enjoyed preventable injuries.
He could still feel where his knuckles had connected.
Across the Hall, Avery sat beside his friends with his face restored but his expression considerably less composed.
He looked away when Snape passed behind him.
Adrian began eating, mostly because doing something ordinary helped.
Fred and George appeared before Adrian had finished eating.
Fred squeezed onto the bench beside him, while George remained standing long enough to examine his face.
“You all right, mate?
We’ve heard about six different versions.”
“Yeah.
Pomfrey fixed my hand.”
Fred glanced at it resting beside the plate, then lowered his voice.
“He brought older boys to corner you?
What a nasty little git.”
Cedric looked up.
“They kept us by the stairs.
Toby got away to fetch Snape.”
George sat down opposite Adrian, his expression hardening as Cedric explained.
Neither twin interrupted, though Fred looked toward the Slytherin table when he heard that Adrian had tried to return to McGonagall’s classroom.
“Five of them,” George muttered when Cedric finished.
“Bet they left that bit out when they told their mates.”
Adrian pushed a potato through the gravy on his plate.
“The professors are talking to everybody who saw it.
I’ve gotta wait.”
Fred leaned closer, resting his forearms on the table.
“Well, when that’s sorted, give us a shout.
We’ll help you get your own back.”
Cedric put down his fork.
“He’s in enough trouble already.”
“We’re not suggesting another punch-up,” Fred said, looking offended.
“Bit late to offer help with that, anyway.”
Adrian glanced at him, and the corner of his mouth moved despite himself.
Across the table, George noticed.
“Something embarrassing,” he suggested.
“He’s awfully pleased with himself for someone who needs four people to help him have an argument.”
Cedric shook his head, but Adrian spoke before he could object again.
“Nothing while the professors are still figuring this out.
I mean it.”
“All right,” Fred said, sitting back.
“We can wait.”
George reached for the bread and offered the plate to Adrian before taking any himself.
The conversation turned to the increasingly ridiculous stories circulating around the school, and the twins began identifying which ones Lee had already contradicted.
Adrian resumed eating while Cedric corrected another detail.
He was still worried about the letters home and what McGonagall would decide, but having his friends around the table made it easier to finish his dinner.