High above the rest of the castle, nestled in the winding heights of one of Hogwarts' tallest towers, Albus Dumbledore stood in his office, gazing out over the misty grounds as he waited for the arrival of his colleagues. It was early October, and as was customary, some might even say traditional, the heads of house would soon gather for their first formal meeting of the year. The purpose was simple, yet essential: to review the progress of the first year students, highlight those who had already begun to distinguish themselves, whether through brilliance, behavior, or blunders, and determine how best to guide and support those who might already be struggling to find their footing in the magical world.
Minerva, ever punctual and precise, was the first to arrive, her tartan robes crisp and her expression composed as always. She took her seat as the head of Gryffindor House, offering Dumbledore a polite nod. Filius arrived next, bouncing lightly on his toes despite the climb, followed closely by Pomona, who smelled faintly of fresh soil and herbs, a cheerful smile tugging at her lips. Last, and fashionably so, Horace Slughorn entered with the air of someone who had just left a warm fire and a brandy behind. The four heads of house settled around the small circular table, the quiet hum of magic in the room offering a familiar comfort. Dumbledore, hands calmly folded, gave a warm smile and opened the meeting.
“Who would like to begin?” Dumbledore inquired gently, his twinkling eyes drifting across the familiar faces gathered around the table. His voice, though soft, carried the effortless weight of command, inviting rather than compelling, an open hand rather than a pointed wand. There was a pause, brief but comfortable, as the heads of house exchanged looks, the flicker of amusement and anticipation settling into the quiet magic of the room.
“I will if that’s alright with everyone.”
“Oh, go ahead, Minerva. Lions lead, after all,” quipped Horace with a twinkle in his eye and the faintest trace of amusement curling his lips. His tone was laced with his usual blend of charm and mischief, drawing a round of chuckles from the room as he leaned back comfortably in his chair, clearly enjoying the little jab.
“That, we do,” she said with an amused quirk of her lips, though her eyes quickly turned sharper, more serious. “I must say, in all my years as Head of House, I’ve never had such a long list of first years to discuss, both for commendation and concern. Let’s begin with the mischief makers: James Potter and Sirius Black.” She let out a soft sigh, as if the names themselves came with a built in headache. “Brilliant, both of them, no question, particularly young Potter in Transfiguration. But brilliance, as you all know, is often accompanied by recklessness. The pair are incorrigibly fond of bending, or outright breaking, school rules. And not just for fun, it seems they’ve taken a particular interest in antagonizing your Slytherins, Horace.” Her eyes flicked toward Slughorn with a pointed look. “Between pranks, curfew violations, and sheer gall, they’ve cost Gryffindor over a hundred house points in their first month alone.”
“Oh, that’s quite a tally,” Filius remarked, eyebrows lifting with a mix of amusement and genuine astonishment. “To lose that many points in just a month, well, that’s a level of mischief I haven’t seen in years.”
“It is. They’re not bad children by any means, quite the opposite, really. They get along remarkably well with their peers, and beneath all that bravado, there’s a sense of camaraderie and genuine spirit. I do believe that, with time and the right guidance, they’ll grow out of their antics and into something far more admirable. At the core, it’s an attitude issue, one tied to their boundless energy and a need for attention. They’re performing strongly in Defense Against the Dark Arts and Astronomy, and if Rolanda’s observations hold, they’ll likely be Gryffindor’s newest additions to the Quidditch team roster. That energy of theirs just needs a constructive outlet.”
“Let’s hope they’ll help your team do better next year,” Pomona said with a mischievous twinkle in her eye and a soft snicker that betrayed her amusement. Though not particularly fond of Quidditch herself, she was well aware of Minerva’s fierce loyalty to her house team and the sting of Gryffindor’s five year losing streak. It was a gentle jab, the kind shared between old friends, but one that still managed to land with a bit of bite, especially considering how competitive Minerva could be when it came to the sport.
“As for the good,” Minerva pressed on, her tone softening as she momentarily set aside her colleague’s teasing, but not without feeling the sting. “Lily Evans and Rick Wald. I truly cannot overstate it, they are, without a doubt, the brightest students I’ve had the privilege to teach. And I don’t mean simply among this year’s batch, or even in the last few. I mean my entire career.” She paused briefly, as though trying to find the right words to convey just how exceptional they were. “They’re simply. brilliant. Naturally gifted, intellectually curious, and already demonstrating a maturity in their work well beyond their years. Frankly, I’m still baffled that the Sorting Hat didn’t send them to Ravenclaw, but I’m exceedingly glad it didn’t. Gryffindor’s gain has been quite profound.”
“Of course you do,” Filius muttered, unable to fully mask the edge in his tone. He crossed his arms, leaning slightly back in his chair, a faint twitch in his mustache betraying his frustration. They had become his favorites before the first half hour of their very first Charms lesson had passed. Both Evans and Wald had immediately demonstrated not only a remarkable aptitude for spellwork but also an infectious curiosity that brought a spark of liveliness to his classroom. Their discussions, sometimes bordering on heated debates, about the theoretical applications of simple charms, like modulating the Lumos spell’s brightness or altering its hue for different lighting conditions, were as entertaining as they were academically promising. Filius often found himself smiling in their wake, only to scowl when he remembered they belonged to Minerva’s house and not his own. She, of course, wore that smug Gryffindor pride on her sleeve, and it irked him to no end.
“Wald spends most of his time assisting Marlene McKinnon, though, to be fair, she hardly needs it in my class, or else he’s working on his homework before I’ve even had a chance to assign it,” Minerva said with a slight shake of her head, part exasperation, part admiration. “Evans, similarly, is meticulous in her studies and frequently supports her friend in kind. From what Professors Arsenae and Olag have told me, this pattern holds across their other classes as well. They’re diligent, driven, and already setting a high bar for their peers.”
She paused, her eyes softening slightly. “Rolanda mentioned that Evans has developed a fear of heights since the unfortunate incident in mid September, though she still manages to fly competently, so long as she doesn’t climb too high. Wald, on the other hand, is something else entirely. A natural born flyer. In their very first lesson, he took to the air as if he’d been doing it all his life, despite having never mounted a broom before. When he caught Evans during her fall. It wasn't luck. It was instinct. Reflex. Rolanda said she’s rarely seen a student so joyous, so completely at home, in the sky. She’s had to coax him down at the end of class more times than she can count.”
Minerva chuckled softly at the memory, and several of her colleagues smiled in kind.
“I’ll end with this: I haven’t seen any students truly slacking off. Even those struggling seem to be trying. Arsenae has spoken very highly of Severus Snape, says he might be her best student in Defense Against the Dark Arts. I do have one concern, though, Wald hasn’t made many connections outside of McKinnon or Evans. It’s not that he’s unfriendly. Quite the opposite, in fact, he’s polite, respectful, helpful but he seems… disinterested in forming broader friendships. Not aloof. Just distant, like he’s watching more than participating.”
With her own reports over, Pomona spoke after her.
“No one truly leapt out in my class, save for Jerry Thomas,” Pomona began, her tone mellow but tinged with fondness. “It’s quite rare to find a Ravenclaw who spends more time with their hands in soil than buried in a book, but Jerry’s a pleasant anomaly. A natural green thumb. He’s been nurturing a pair of Venomous Tentacula seedlings like they’re his own kin. Very talented, very gentle, though I suspect there’s a sharper wit under the surface than he lets on.” She glanced around the table, the corner of her mouth twitching upward. “As for the rest of my badgers, they’ve been remarkably well behaved. At least among the first years. No mischief worth noting, which, if I’m being honest, is both a relief and a bit suspicious.” Her report, though succinct, painted a vivid picture, and with that, she leaned back slightly as Filius took up the thread of the meeting.
“Just as Minerva said, Evans and Wald stand head and shoulders above the rest in my class. Charms flow from them with a natural ease that would make even a seasoned practitioner raise an eyebrow. What’s more, they don’t just learn, they experiment. They’re constantly theorizing, refining, and discussing applications well beyond the first year curriculum. Watching them work is like watching the very essence of magical curiosity take shape. And closely behind them is Pandora Ellesmere, a bright spark in her own right with a razor sharp wit and a fearless approach to theory. If circumstances allowed, I’d bring all three together in a heartbeat. Their brainstorming sessions would be nothing short of academic fireworks. Unfortunately, this year’s scheduling didn’t align Gryffindor and Ravenclaw for joint classes, and I feel the loss keenly.”
Horace was the last to go and was quite enthusiastic. “Between Evans, Wald and Snape, I never get bored. Perfect work so far for each of them.”
“That’s it?” Minerva commented when the potion master said nothing more.
“What else do I have to say that hasn't already been said? They have the potential to become great potion masters. All three of them.”
“It seems we have quite the promising students this year.” Albus commented. “Let’s make sure that they all reach their full potential.”
As the meeting’s tone shifted to broader discussions and long term strategy, far across the castle in a cozy nook of the Gryffindor common room, one exasperated blonde witch was expressing her displeasure in a rather unorthodox fashion, by rhythmically thudding her forehead against the coffee table in front of her. The dull thump. thump. thump echoed softly against the stone walls, a metronome of academic suffering. Marlene McKinnon, looking as though she were auditioning for the role of 'Despair Itself,' sighed between impacts, her dramatic antics earning only mild concern from her two very studious friends.
“You’re both mental! Quizzing yourself for fun? Mental!”
To the side, Lily and Rick sat cross legged on the rug, quizzing each other with animated focus as if prepping for a N.E.W.T. rather than passing a rainy weekend afternoon. Their questions about charms ranged far beyond the standard syllabus, covering which spell was best for a specific situation, the precise mechanics behind its effect, and even delving into the historical origins: who created it, when, and under what circumstances.
Lily thrived in the trivia, her memory near photographic, reciting dates and wizarding pioneers with near gleeful precision. Rick, however, rolled his eyes at the historical tangents, only half listening to names and years, far more intrigued by practical application. For him, a spell was a tool, its usefulness mattered more than the parchment history it was written on. The friendly competition continued, with Lily maintaining a smug lead and Rick defending his philosophical stance on utility.
“It’s actually a brilliant way to test what you know,” Rick said, half defensive, half proud. “What’s truly bonkers is Lily remembering the entire historical timeline of every spell like she’s memorized the magical equivalent of an encyclopedia. And it’s 1456, by the way.” He shot the answer confidently in Lily’s direction as if trying to reclaim a scrap of dignity in the face of her unstoppable trivia reign.
“Wrong! It’s 1546. That makes the score 18 to 10 for me.” The redhead grinned. “And I’m not mental! I just have a good memory!”
Rick let out a dramatic groan and threw his arms skyward in theatrical surrender, the sheer futility of outscoring Lily on spell trivia crashing down on him like a poorly cast levitation charm. With a heavy sigh and a flourish of defeat, he shuffled over to Marlene and, mimicking her melodramatic antics, lowered his forehead onto the coffee table with a loud thud. It was a silent gesture of solidarity in suffering, and just the kind of ridiculousness their friendship thrived on.
“What on earth are you doing?” the blonde asked, arching a brow in bemusement as she tilted her head sideways to catch a proper look at her dirty blonde friend, who was currently pressed against the table like a parchment of pure exasperation. Her voice was a mix of confusion and reluctant amusement, equal parts inquisitive and accusatory.
“Making sure you don’t feel left out acting like an idiot?”
Marlene’s jaw dropped in outrage, her expression one of mock betrayal as she clutched her chest like a heroine in a bad romance novel. Lily, meanwhile, burst into a fit of giggles, her amusement bubbling out at the sheer absurdity of her two best friends acting like synchronized drama queens.
“Two idiots together, perfect picture.”
“HEY!”
“You say that, Lily, but let’s be honest, who’s really the oddball here? ” Rick said with mock seriousness, forehead still planted against the wood. "You're the real weirdo.”
The redhead paused, her brows knitting together in mock contemplation as she stared at the two dorks slumped across the table. There was a beat of silence, then a flash of mischievous resolve sparked in her eyes. With a huff that barely concealed her amusement, she rose from the cozy rug, padded around the low table, and, without ceremony, wedged herself snugly between Rick and Marlene. Her arrival disrupted their synchronized sulking just enough to make it a trio of absolute chaos.
“There! I’m not the odd one anymore!”
“We’re three, that’s an odd num—”
“Shush!” she interjected quickly by putting her hand against his mouth and Marlene chuckled before letting out a long sigh.
“This sucks. Why did it have to rain today! It’s the week end! We should be outside and enjoying the nice weather.”
“Rain is nice! And if you’re not scared to get wet then—”
“You’re not going to fly with this rain!”
Rick pouted with the full theatrical flair of someone deeply, personally wronged. Lily’s unwavering refusal to let him take to the skies in the rain, light though it was, felt like a personal attack on his very soul. Ever since her fall from her broomstick, caused by one of James Potter’s harebrained midair stunts during flying class, she’d drawn a firm line. And now, she was enforcing it with the same steely resolve she used to disarm any nonsense from said Potter.
Rick, who would fly daily if allowed, and usually with enough recklessness to earn a lifetime ban from Madam Hooch, found himself grounded under Lily’s determined glare. It wasn’t that she was being unfair or cruel, far from it. She knew how alive Rick looked when he flew, how it lit something in him few other things could. But she also knew how easy it was to misjudge the wind, how slippery a broom handle got in the rain, and how close her own fall had come to being fatal. That made her afraid for her friend.
“You’re an evil witch, Lily.”
“Then I’m evil. At least you won’t end up in the infirmary.” she replied with a glare.
“I’m booooored!” complained Marlene.
“Do your homework?” suggested Lily.
“I’m already done because of the two of you hounding me!”
“I’m not hounding you?” Rick said but also asked at the same time.
“You can always study in advan—”
The gasp of horror Marlene let out stopped Lily on the spot.
“How about you write to your family? I think I’ll do that too in fact.” the redhead proposed.
“That’s… not a bad idea.”
“Well, have fun! I’m going to find the kitchen.” Rick said as he stood up, stretched and departed the common room.
“NO FLYING!” Lily shouted and got an okay sign of acknowledgement.
At her side, Marlene sat quietly, her gaze following Rick’s retreating figure with a thoughtful frown and a faraway look in her eyes. There was a subtle tension in her posture, like she was caught between a question she hadn’t quite formed and an answer she wasn’t ready to face. Lily, ever perceptive, caught the shift in her friend’s demeanor.
As she pulled out her quill, ink pot, and a piece of parchment from her bag, she tilted her head curiously and asked, "What are you thinking about?"
“Did you ever see Rick write to his family?”
Lily paused mid stroke of her quill, brow furrowed in concentration as she sifted through her memories like flipping through pages of a well worn diary. She searched for even a vague recollection of Rick scribbling a letter home, by the firelight, during breakfast, late at night in the common room. But nothing came. Not even a stray mention of his family in passing. After several seconds, the absence settled over her with quiet certainty: she had never seen him write to anyone at all.
“Not that I can remember. Did you?”
“No.”
“You think he’s on bad terms with his family?”
“It’s possible. Maybe since they’re muggles they don’t like him having magic?”
“Why did they allow him to attend Hogwarts then?”
“Good question. I don’t know.”
Marlene penned a lively letter to her parents, painting a vivid picture of her first month at Hogwarts. She described the towering castle, the endlessly shifting staircases, and the scent of enchanted parchment that always seemed to linger in the common room. She assured them she was doing splendidly in her classes, thanks in no small part, she emphasized with exasperated affection, to Lily and Rick constantly dragging her into their hyper focused study sessions. Her tone bounced between playful complaint and quiet pride as she detailed how the two brainiacs were making it impossible for her to slack off. 'It’s all their fault I’m turning into a swot,' she scribbled dramatically, finishing her update with a flourish and a doodle of herself drowning in textbooks.
Lily’s letter followed a similar structure to Marlene’s, though laced with a more introspective tone. She skimmed lightly over the more dangerous details, most notably omitting the part where she’d nearly plummeted to her death from a broomstick, and instead filled the parchment with vivid descriptions of her classes, the castle’s ever changing moods, and the unpredictable antics of her classmates. She couldn’t help including a long winded, mildly dramatic rant about James Potter, whose arrogant behavior had somehow become a recurring theme in her days.
Despite her enthusiasm, she held back on elaborating too much about her coursework, knowing it would likely baffle her parents, and carefully avoided mentioning how her favorite lessons were the ones where she was paired with Rick. Those moments, filled with lively debates, shared discoveries, and a rhythm of thinking that matched hers seamlessly, made magic feel alive. ‘More than with Severus,’ she thought quietly, the ache of that realization settling in her chest like a shadow she wasn’t ready to confront.
Her Slytherin friend didn’t take kindly to her newfound closeness with Marlene and Rick. While her two Gryffindor companions had gone out of their way to include him, offering olive branches in the form of shared conversations, friendly invitations, and genuine attempts to bridge the house divide, Severus had steadily drawn inward. He chose instead to spend more time among his fellow Slytherins, whose ideals and outlooks were increasingly in conflict with Lily’s. Marlene, ever the stubborn and hopeful one, continued to try breaking through his shell, while Rick, perceptive and naturally reserved, had gradually stepped back. He never showed hostility, always courteous, always calm, but the warmth faded from his approach, leaving only polite distance in its place.
One month into the school year, and the rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor was already running deep among the first years, like an inherited feud passed down from generation to generation, whispered in corridors and cemented in glares across the Great Hall. It disheartened Lily, this immediate division, this senseless animosity fueled not by personal experience but by tradition and house pride. For the first week, she tried to ignore it, to rise above it. But that resolve began to unravel the more time she spent near Severus’ housemates.
Time and again, she encountered the same haughty sneers, the same dismissive tones, the same self important drivel about 'pure bloodlines' and 'proper magical heritage.' Most of them acted as though being born to a long line of witches and wizards was some divine right rather than sheer luck and a result of time. It made her blood boil, and more importantly, it made her dig in her heels. She wouldn’t just endure it. She would outshine it. She began studying with renewed purpose, doubling down on her coursework and diving into her spellwork with a quiet, fierce determination. If they wanted to look down on her, fine. She’d give them a reason to crane their necks even harder.
“And done!” exclaimed Marlene. “What about you?”
“I’m almost….” Lily was writing a few last words then signed her letter. “There.”
Both girls tucked their finished letters and writing supplies carefully into their bags, sealing them with a mix of satisfaction and lingering thoughts. They would send the messages via owl as soon as the skies cleared, but for now, the idea of trudging through a torrential downpour to reach the owlery, perched high and exposed at the edge of the castle grounds, was laughable. No sane witch would trek through that unless it was a matter of life or death, or a last minute Potions essay due in an hour.
“Now what?” asked the redhead.
“How about joining Rick in finding the kitchen? I’m not going to lie, the possibility of going there to grab a snack is appealing.”
“I admit, that sounds nice.”
They left their bags tucked safely away in their dormitories and slipped out of the common room, the echo of rain tapping against the castle’s windows following them as they descended the stone steps. The corridor was quiet, save for the occasional flicker of enchanted torchlight dancing along the damp walls. As they passed by the hospital wing, something unusual caught Lily’s eye, a flash of familiar messy hair and a figure trailing behind someone. It took her a heartbeat to recognize Amelia Bones leading Rick toward the infirmary with a casual, almost amused gait. Lily and Marlene exchanged glances, curiosity piqued and concern blooming, and without a word, veered off to follow them.
Inside the infirmary, the air was warm and tinged with the scent of potions and antiseptic charms. Rick sat perched on the edge of a bed, shoulders slumped in that particular way only possible when both bored and slightly mortified. Amelia stood beside him, her arms crossed, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips as if she were recounting a particularly ridiculous tale. Further down the aisle, Madam Poppy Pomfrey, the ever dutiful medi witch, rummaged through a shelf of labeled vials, clearly in search of something specific and no doubt related to whatever mess Rick had landed himself in this time.
“What happened?” Lily asked in worry.
“Rick let his curiosity do the walking, and it walked him straight into trouble,” Amelia replied dryly, a wry smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Her tone was equal parts amusement and exasperation, like someone who’d already come to expect mild chaos trailing in Rick’s wake.
“I found the Hufflepuff’s common room’s entrance by accident.” the boy explained.
“Only you could set off in search of the kitchen and somehow stumble into a completely different mystery,” Marlene said, shaking her head in half hearted disbelief. Her voice danced between exasperation and amusement, the kind of tone reserved for a friend who was equal parts genius and chaos magnet.
“How did you get hurt?” inquired Lily, still worried.
Amelia couldn’t suppress a snort at the question, clearly entertained by the situation, while Rick visibly squirmed under the weight of his embarrassment. He averted his gaze, cheeks tinged with a faint flush as he rubbed at his eyes, which Lily now noticed were puffy, reddened, and struggling to stay focused, as if the world had turned into a blurry watercolor. Concern prickled through her as she took a step closer.
“If a student who doesn’t belong to Hufflepuff tries to enter their common room,” Amelia said with a faint smirk, “a very enthusiastic defense mechanism activates.”
“The entrance shoots vinegar at your face.”
“Ouch, that must burn.” winced the blonde heiress.
“You have no idea.”
“And yet you’re not screaming?”
“I don’t need a headache either, thank you.” he replied flatly and Marlene rolled her eyes at his answer.
“Quite vicious for the nice Hufflepuff."
“That’s why you never mess with a badger.” answered Amelia looking at Marlene.
“How did you come across him?” asked Lily.
“I was exiting the common room when I saw Rick rolling on the ground with his face in his hands.”
Marlene couldn’t stop herself, at the mental image of Rick thrashing about with vinegar in his eyes, she burst into laughter, a snort escaping as she leaned slightly into Amelia’s shoulder, both girls sharing in the hilarity of his misfortune. Lily, however, didn’t join in the merriment.
Her brow furrowed and her lips tightened into a line of concern as she kept her gaze fixed on Rick. The humor of the moment was lost on her; all she saw was her friend clearly in pain and trying hard not to show it. At that moment, Madam Pomfrey reappeared, moving briskly with the no nonsense energy of someone who had seen far worse. She approached with a damp cloth and began gently wiping the stinging remnants from Rick’s face before tilting his chin up and carefully administering a few drops of a clear, potion-like solution into his eyes.
“Wait for a few minutes then you should be good to go.” she said and went back to the back of the infirmary.
“Where is the Hufflepuff common room anyway?” Marlene asked as Lily sat next to Rick.
“Why? Want a trip to the infirmary too?” replied a blinking Rick.
“No thank you. It’s so I don’t end up in the infirmary like you.”
It was Amelia who filled her in, her tone casual, as if explaining the location of a well known booby trap rather than a house entrance. She described how the Hufflepuff common room was tucked away in the lower levels of the castle, hidden behind a deceptively mundane section of corridor nestled between the Grand Staircase and the Entrance Hall. A narrow flight of stairs led downward into a cool, dimly lit cellar lined with massive oak barrels stacked against the stone walls.
Most were ordinary enough, but one barrel, cleverly disguised among the rest, served as the enchanted entrance. It required a specific password to grant access; get it wrong, or try to force your way in, and the entrance retaliated with surprising speed, and a face full of vinegar. As Rick had learned the hard way, the badgers didn’t appreciate uninvited guests.
“How in Merlin’s name, did you find yourself there?” the blonde witch questioned.
“Well, I was in the Great Hall when I saw through a window smoke coming from the garden in the south.”
“The one with the glass statue or something?”
“That one. I thought that it was the smoke from something cooking? The potions classroom being on the other side of the castle obviously wasn’t it. The fact that it was underground and close to the Great Hall made me think that maybe it was the kitchen. So with my great sense of direction, I searched around and ended up in the cellar. I thought the barrels were suspicious and perfect for a secret passage so I knocked on them to see if one was hollow.”
“And one of them was.” finished Amelia with a smirk.
“Unfortunately.” he said with a grimace then stood up from the bet. “I think I’m good to go back to it.”
“Don’t you think ending up once at the infirmary was enough for the day?” the older redhead asked.
“Nope. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a kitchen to find!”
“The kitchen is right—”
Rick, with all the dramatic flair of a child refusing to eat their vegetables, jammed his index fingers into his ears and scrunched his eyes shut, clearly determined to avoid whatever Amelia was about to reveal. His stance was defiant, exaggerated, and unmistakably Gryffindor, loud, bold, and entirely impractical.
“I don’t want to know!” he said loudly, not hearing himself talk.
“Why?”
“What?!”
Amelia rolled her eyes, stepped forward with the unimpressed air of an older sister dealing with a particularly stubborn younger sibling, and firmly but gently pried Rick’s hands away from his ears.
"Why, Rick?" she asked, voice laced with mock patience and genuine curiosity, as if she were bracing herself for yet another Rick-ism to add to her ever growing collection.
“Because where would be the fun in that?” Having said his piece he began to leave. “It’s either that or fl—”
“NO FLYING!”
Rick grunted in dissatisfaction and quickly left the infirmary, Lily following him to make sure he wouldn’t.
“Bloody Gryffindor.” Amelia muttered in amusement.
“He has a point, you know. We’re bored as hell. Exploring the castle is the only thing to keep us entertained. Hey! Wait for me!”
With nothing more to say Marlene ran after her friends until she stopped and turned back. “Thanks on Rick’s behalf for bringing him to the infirmary. He can be a bit scatterbrained sometimes and forget things, like thanking people.”