Текст книги "James Potter and the Hall of the Elders' Crossing"

Автор книги: G. Norman Lippert

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        "That's what they've always wanted," Franklyn agreed. "The struggle never stops. It just has different chapters."

        "Who's involved?" Harry asked simply.

        Franklyn sighed again, hugely, and rubbed his eyes. "It's not so simple. It's virtually impossible to tell the instigators from their followers. There are some individuals it would be instructive to watch closely, though."

        "Madame Delacroix."

        Franklyn glanced up, studying Harry's face. He nodded. "And Professor Jackson."

        James gasped, and then clapped his hand over his mouth. His dad and Professor Franklyn stood very still. James was sure they'd heard him. Then Harry spoke again.

        "Anyone else?"

        Franklyn shook his head slowly. "Of course. But then you'd just be watching everyone and everything. It's like an infestation of cockroaches in the walls. You can either watch the cracks or burn down the house. Take your pick."

        James backed away very carefully, then when he felt safely out of earshot, he turned and retraced his steps back to the Americans' quarters. His heart was pounding so heavily he had been sure that his dad or Professor Franklyn would hear it.

        He knew the so-called Progressive Element was no good, but now he knew it must be them that were planning the return of Merlinus Ambrosius, believing he would help them to accomplish their false goal of equality, which would lead inevitably to war. Merlin had said that he would return when the balance between Muggles and wizards was 'ripe for his ministrations'. What else could that mean? He hadn't been surprised that Madame Delacroix might be involved in such a plot. But Professor Jackson? James had come to quite like the professor, despite his crusty exterior. He could hardly imagine that Jackson could be secretly plotting the domination of the Muggle world. Franklyn had to be wrong about him.

James ran lightly past the Americans' quarters, looking for the door to the guest room he and his dad were staying in. With a sudden stab of fear, he remembered that the doorway had vanished when he'd come out. It was a magical room, after all. How was he supposed to get back in? He had to be inside the room, apparently asleep, by the time his dad came back. He stopped in the corridor, not even sure what stretch of wall the doorway had appeared in. He glanced around hopelessly, unable to keep himself from looking for some subtle clue or hint of where the doorway was hidden. What had his dad called it? The 'Room of Requirement'? James had remembered his wand this time. He pulled it out and shook his hand out from under the cloak, revealing it.

        "Uh," he began, whispering harshly and pointing his wand at the wall. "Room of Requirement… open?"

        Nothing happened, of course. And then James heard a noise. His senses had grown almost painfully sharp as his body shot full of adrenaline. He listened, his eyes wide. Voices. Franklyn and his dad were coming back already. They must have begun their return journey at almost exactly the same time as James, but a little slower. He heard them talking in hushed voices, probably as they stood by the door into Franklyn's rooms. His dad would be returning in mere moments.

        James thought furiously. What had his dad done to open the room? He had just stood there, hadn't he, waiting, and then bang, there was the door? No, James recalled, he had spoken first. And paced a bit. James replayed the evening in his memory, trying to remember what his dad had said, but he was too flustered.

        Light bloomed at the end of the corridor. Footsteps approached. James looked down the corridor frantically. His dad was approaching, wand lit but held low, his head down. James remembered that he had his own wand held out, his arm outside the cloak. He yanked it in as quickly and silently as he could, arranging the cloak to cover him completely. It was hopeless. His dad would enter the room and see that James wasn't there. Maybe James could follow him in and claim to have been to his rooms to get a book he needed? He had never been any good at lying. Besides, he'd have the cloak with him. He almost groaned out loud.

        Harry Potter stopped in the corridor. He held the wand up and looked at the wall. "I need to get into the room my son is sleeping in," he said conversationally. Nothing happened. Harry didn't seem surprised.

        "Hmm," he said, apparently to himself. "I wonder why the door won't open. I suppose…," he looked around raising his eyebrows and smiling very slightly, "it's because my son isn't sleeping in the Room of Requirement at all, but is standing here in the corridor with me, under my Invisibility Cloak, trying as hard as he can to remember how in the world to open the door. Right, James?"

        James let out his breath and yanked the Invisibility Cloak off. "You knew all along, didn't you?"

"I assumed it when I heard you gasp downstairs. I didn't know for sure until the trick with the door. Come on, let's get inside." Harry Potter chuckled tiredly. He paced three times and spoke the words that opened the Room of Requirement and they went in.

        When they were both in their beds, James in the top bunk, staring up at the dark ceiling, Harry spoke.

        "You don't have to follow in my footsteps, James. I hope you know that."

        James worked his jaw, not ready to respond to that. He listened and waited.

        "You were down there tonight, so you heard Professor Franklyn," Harry finally said. "There's one part of what he said that I want you to remember. There are always plots and revolutions in the works. The battle is always the same, just with different chapters. It isn't your job to save the world, son. Even if you do, it'll just go and get itself into danger again, and again, and again. It's the nature of things."

        Harry paused and James heard him laugh quietly. "I know how it feels. I remember the great weight of responsibility and the heady thrill of believing I was the only one to stop the evil, to win the war, to battle for the ultimate good. But James, even then, that wasn't my duty alone. It was everyone's fight. Everyone's sacrifice. And there were those whose sacrifice was far greater than my own. It isn't one man's duty to save the world. And it certainly isn't the duty of one boy who can't even figure out how to open the Room of Requirement yet."

        James heard movement from the bunk below. His dad stood, his head rising to look at James in the top bunk. In the darkness, James couldn't make out his expression, but he knew it nonetheless. His dad was smiling his crooked, knowing smile. His dad knew it all. His dad was Harry Potter.

        "What do you think, son?"

        James took a deep breath. He wanted to tell his dad about everything he'd seen and heard. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell him about the Muggle intruder, and Cedric Diggory's ghost, and the secret of Austramaddux, the plot to return Merlin and use him to start a final war with the Muggles. But in the end, he decided not to. He smiled at his dad.

        "I know, Dad. Don't worry about me. If I decide to save the world single-handedly, I'll send you and Mum a note first. OK?"

        Harry smirked and shook his head, not really buying it, but knowing there was no point in pressing the point. He climbed back into the bottom bunk.

        Five minutes later, James spoke up in the dark. "Hey, Dad, any chance you might let me keep the Invisibility Cloak with me for the school year?"

"None at all, my boy. None at all," Harry said sleepily. James heard him roll over. A few minutes later, both slept.

        When James and Harry Potter entered the Great Hall the next morning, James sensed the mood of the room change. He was used to the reaction that the wizarding community showed whenever he was out with his dad, but this was different. Rather than turning to look at them, James sensed people looking pointedly in the other direction. Conversations quieted. There was the strange sensation of people glancing at them sideways or turning to watch once James and Harry had passed them. James felt a surge of anger. Who were these people? Most of them were good witches and wizards, from hardworking parents who had always been supportive of Harry Potter, first as the Boy Who Lived, then as the young man who helped bring about the downfall of Voldemort, and finally as the man who was Head Auror. Now, just because some rabble-rousers had painted a few signs and spread around a few stupid rumors, they were afraid to look directly at him.

        Even as James thought that, however, he saw that he was wrong. As Harry and James sat down at the end of the Gryffindor table (James had pleaded with his dad not to make him sit up at the teachers' table on the dais), there were a few grins and hearty greetings. Ted saw Harry, whooped, and ran down the length of table, giving Harry a complicated handshake that involved a lot of banging fists, hand grips and finally, an embrace that was one part hug and one part body slam.

        Harry collapsed onto the bench, laughing. "Ted, you're going to knock yourself clean out one of these times."

        "My godfather, everybody," Ted said, as if introducing Harry to the room at large. "Have you met Noah yet, Harry? He's a Gremlin, like me and Petra."

Harry shook Noah's hand. "I think we met last year at the Quidditch championship, yes?"

        "Sure," Noah said. "That was the game where Ted scored the winning point for the opposing team. How could I forget?"

        "Technically, it was an assist," Ted said primly. "I happened to wallop their team's Quaffle carrier through the goal on accident. I was aiming for the press box."

        "Hate to interrupt, but do you guys mind if James and I get a little breakfast?" Harry asked, gesturing toward the table.

"Have at it," Ted replied magnanimously. "And if any of these malcontents give you any trouble, just let me know. It's Quidditch tonight, and we hold grudges." He eyed the room grimly, then grinned and sauntered away.

        "I'd tell him not to sweat it, but that'd be taking away his fun, wouldn't it?" Harry said, watching Ted depart. James grinned. They both began to fill their plates from the steaming platters along the table. As they began to eat, James was pleased to see Ralph and Zane enter. He waved them over enthusiastically.

        "Hey, Dad, here're my friends, Zane and Ralph," James said as they piled onto the benches, one on either side. "Zane's the blond one, Ralph's the brick house."

        "Pleased to meet you, Zane, Ralph," Harry said. "James tells me good things about both of you."

        "I've read about you," Ralph said, staring at Harry. "Did you really do all that stuff?"

        Harry laughed. "Straight shooter, isn't he?" he said, raising an eyebrow at James. "The major points, yes, those are probably true. Although if you'd've been there, it would have seemed a lot less heroic at the time. Mostly, me and my friends were just trying to keep ourselves from getting blasted, eaten, or cursed."

        Zane seemed uncharacteristically quiet. "Hey, what's the deal?" James said, nudging him. "You're a little too new to all this to have an idol complex about the Great Harry Potter."

        Zane grimaced, and then pulled a copy of the Daily Prophet from his backpack. "This stinks," he said, sighing and flopping the paper open onto the table, "but you're gonna see it sooner or later."

James leaned over and glanced at it. 'Hogwarts Anti-Auror Demonstration Overshadows International Summit', the main headline read. Below it, in smaller type: 'Potter Visit Sets Off School-wide Protest as Magical Community Re-evaluates Auror Policies'. James felt his cheeks flush red with anger. Before he could respond, however, his dad placed a hand on his shoulder.

        "Hmm," Harry said mildly. "That's got Rita Skeeter's name all over it."

        Zane frowned at Harry, then glanced at the paper again. "You can tell who wrote it just by the headline?"

        "No," Harry laughed, dismissing the newspaper and digging into a slice of French toast. "Her name's on the byline. Still, yeah, that is pretty much her typical brand of tripe. It hardly matters. The world will forget it by this time next week."

        James was reading the first paragraph, his brow furrowed furiously. "She says that most of the school was there, protesting and shouting. That's complete rubbish! I saw it, and if there were more than a hundred people there, I'll kiss a Blast-Ended Skrewt! Besides, most of them were just there to see what was going on! There were only fifteen or twenty people with the signs and the slogans!"

Harry sighed. "It's just a story, James. It isn't supposed to be accurate, it's supposed to sell papers."

"But how can you let them say things like this? It's dangerous! Professor Franklyn–"

        The look Harry gave him stopped him from going any further. After a second, Harry's expression softened. "I know what you are worried about, James, and I don't blame you. But there are ways of handling these things, and one of those ways isn't arguing with people like Rita Skeeter."

        "You sound like McGonagall," James said, dropping his eyes and jabbing at a chunk of sausage.

        "I should," Harry replied quickly. "She taught me. And I think it's Headmistress McGonagall to you."

        James poked at his plate sullenly for a moment. Then, not wanting to look at it anymore, he folded the newspaper roughly and stuck it out of sight.

        "First Quidditch of the season tonight, then, right?" Harry asked, waving his fork at the three boys in general.

        "Ravenclaw versus Gryffindor!" Zane announced. "My first game! I can hardly wait."

        James looked up and saw his dad grinning at Zane. "You made the Ravenclaw team, then! That's very cool. If I can finish early enough, I plan on coming to the match. I look forward to seeing you fly. What position will you play?"

        "Beater," Zane said, pretending to swat a Bludger with his fork.

        "He's pretty good, Mr. Potter," Ralph said earnestly. "I saw him fly his first time. He just about made a crater in the middle of the pitch, but he pulled up at the last second."

        "That takes some serious control," Harry acknowledged, studying Zane. "You've had broom lessons?"

        "Not a one!" Ralph cried, as if he were Zane's public relations agent. "That's the amazing bit, isn't it?"

        James looked at Ralph, his face grim, trying to catch his eye and warn him off the topic, but it was already too late.

        "He probably wouldn't have figured it out at all," Ralph said, "if he hadn't taken off after James when he did the big outta-control-like-a-bottle-rocket-rumba." Ralph squirmed on the bench, mimicking James' inaugural broom flight.

        "But you'll be supporting the Gryffindors, of course!" Zane interrupted suddenly, planting his palm on Ralph's forehead and pushing him backwards.

Harry glanced around the table, chewing a chunk of toast, a quizzical look on his face. "Er, well, yes. Of course," he admitted, still looking from boy to boy.

        "Yeah, well, that's cool. I understand completely," Zane said quickly, waggling his eyebrows at Ralph who was sitting there looking nonplussed. "Be true to your school and all that. Whoo. Look at the time. Come on, Ralphinator. Classes to get to."

        "I have a free period first," Ralph protested. "And I haven't had any breakfast yet."

        "Let's go, ya lunkhead!" Zane insisted, coming around the table and hooking Ralph's elbow. Zane could barely move Ralph, but Ralph allowed himself to be tugged along.

        "What?" Ralph said loudly, frowning at the meaningful look Zane was giving him. "What'd I do? Did I say something I wasn't–" He stopped. His eyebrows shot up and he turned back to James, looking mortified. "Oh. Ah," he said as Zane pulled him toward the door. As they rounded the corner, James heard Ralph say, "I'm just a big idiot, aren't I?"

        James sighed. "So yeah, I stink at Quidditch. I'm sorry."

        Harry studied his son. "Pretty bad, was it?"

        James nodded. "I know," he said. "It's no big deal. It's just Quidditch. There's always next year. I don't have to do it just because you did it. I know, I know. You don't have to say it."

        Harry continued to stare at James, his jaw moving slightly, as if he was thinking. Finally he sat back and picked up his pumpkin juice. "Well, that's a load off my chest, then. Sounds like you've done my job for me."

        James looked up at his dad. Harry looked back at him as he took a very long, slow drink from his glass. He seemed to be smiling, and hiding his smile behind the glass. James tried not to laugh. This is serious,he told himself . This isn't funny. This is Quidditch. On that thought, his composure cracked slightly.He smiled, and then tried to cover it with his hand, which only made it worse.

        Harry lowered his glass and grinned, shaking his head slowly. "You've really been worried about this, haven't you, James?"

        James' smile faltered again. He swallowed. "Yeah, Dad. Of course I have. I mean, it's Quidditch. It's your sport, and Granddad's, too. I'm James Potter. I'm supposed to be excellent on a broom. Not a danger to myself and everybody around me."

        Harry leaned forward, putting his glass down and looking James in the eye. "And you may still be great on the broom, James. Merlin's beard, son, it's your first week and you've not even had your first broom lesson, have you? Back when I started here, we wouldn't have even been allowed to get on a practice broom without lessons, much less try out for the House teams."

        "But even if you had," James interrupted, "you'd have been excellent at it."

        "That's not the point son. You are so worried about living up to the myth of who I was supposed to be that you aren't giving yourself a chance to be even better. You're defeating yourself before you even start. Don't you see that? No one can compete with a legend. Even I wish I was half the wizard the stories make me out to be. Every day, I look in the mirror and tell myself not to try so hard to be the Famous Harry Potter, but just to relax and let myself be your dad, and your mum's husband, and the best Auror I can be, which sometimes doesn't seem to be all that great, to tell you the truth. You have to stop thinking of yourself as the son of Harry Potter…" Harry paused, seeing that James had really heard him, perhaps for the first time. He smiled a little again. "And give me the chance to think of myself simply as James Potter's dad instead. Because of all the things I've done in my life, raising you, Albus, and Lily, are the three things I am proudest of. Got it?"

        James smiled again, crookedly. He didn't know it, but it was the same crooked smile he so often saw on his dad's face. "All right, Dad. I'll try that. But it's hard."

        Harry nodded understandingly and sat back. After a moment, he said, "Am I always that predictable?"

        James broke into a knowing grin. "Sure, Dad. You and Mum both. 'You aren't going outside wearing that, are you?'" Harry laughed out loud at James' impression of Ginny. James went on. "'It's cold in here, put on a sweater! Don't say that word in front of your grandmum! Stop playing with the garden gnomes or you'll get green thumbs!'"

Harry was still laughing and wiping his eyes as they said goodbye, promising to meet that evening at the Quidditch match.

7.Broken Loyalty

        James' first class, ironically, was Basic Broom. The teacher was a giant slab of a man named Cabriel Ridcully. He wore a fawn-colored sport cloak over his Quidditch official's tunic, which displayed his enormous forearms and calves.

        "Good morning, first years!" he boomed, and James guessed that Cabe Ridcully was one of the world's great morning people. "Welcome to Basic Broom. Most of you know me already, having seen me at the Quidditch matches and tournaments and whatnot. We'll be spending this year getting familiar with the fundamentals of flight. I believe in a very hands-on approach, so we'll all be jumping right into essential broom-handling and control. Everyone approach your brooms, please."

James had been dreading getting back onto a broom again, but as the class progressed, he found that, with proper guidance, he was able to manage getting his broom to levitate and support him, and even control its altitude and speed in very small formations. He realized that there were subtle variations in how the broom responded, based on speed and inclination. If the broom was merely hovering, leaning forward on the broomstick pressed it forwards, while pulling up drove it backwards. Once the broom was moving, however, those same controls began to also manage height. The faster the broom was moving, the more James' posture controlled altitude instead of speed. Finding the fine difference between a speed-lean and an altitude-lean was dependent entirely on the velocity of the broomstick at any given time. James sensed that the slightest panic would cause him to lose even the tiny degree of control he had already learned, and he began to understand why he'd been so dreadful during the Quidditch tryouts.

        As pleased as James was at his own tentative control of the broomstick, he still felt a shudder of jealousy when he saw Zane managing his broom through elaborate, effortless swoops and banks.

        "Let's avoid showboating, Mr. Walker," Ridcully called reproachfully, and James couldn't help feeling a petty surge of gratification. "Save it for the match tonight, why don't you?"

        Ralph's entire body was tensed as he struggled to stay atop his broom. He'd gotten it to float about four feet off the ground and seemed to be stuck there. "How do I get it to swoop like that?" he asked, watching Zane.

        James shook his head. "I'd just worry about staying right-side up if I was you, Ralph."

        The rest of the morning's classes were far less interesting, with Basic Spellwork and Ancient Runes. At lunch, James explained to Ralph and Zane the happenings of the night before. He told them about Franklyn's Daylight Savings Device, and the dinner conversation involving Madame Delacroix's voodoo powers. Finally, he explained the conversation he had heard between his dad and Professor Franklyn, and how it fit in with the Austramaddux story about Merlin's predicted return.

        "So," Zane said, narrowing his eyes and staring thoughtfully at the wall behind James' head, "I am to understand that your dad has a cloak… that makes anyone who wears it invisible."

        James moaned, exasperated. "Yes! That's hardly the point, though, is it?"

        "Speak for yourself. I mean, forget x-ray specs. Just think what a guy could do with an Invisibility Cloak. Is it steam-resistant, do you think?"

        James rolled his eyes. "I don't think that the wizard who spent his lifetime creating the world's most perfect invisible garment did it to sneak into the girls' showers."

        "But you don't know that, do you?" Zane said, undeterred.

        Ralph chewed slowly, thinking. "So Franklyn told your dad that there were wizards in the States who were pushing for the same thing as the Progressive Element? Muggle and wizard equality and all that?"

        James nodded. "Yeah, but it's all just a sham, isn't it? I mean, since when have Slytherins really wanted anything nice for the Muggle world? All the old pureblood Slytherin houses have always been for going public, but just so they can take over the Muggle world and rule it. They think Muggles are an inferior species, not equals."

        Ralph looked oddly troubled. "Well, maybe. I don't know. Most of the people out in the courtyard the other day weren't even Slytherins, though. Did you notice that?"

James hadn't, actually. "Doesn't really matter. It was the Slytherins that got the whole thing started, with the Progressive Element slogans and badges and stuff. You said so yourself, Ralph. Tabitha Corsica was handing the badges out to all the Slytherins. She's behind the whole thing."

        "I don't think she's in on it like you think she is," Ralph said, "with this whole bringing-Merlin– back-from-the-dead plot and all that. She just thinks we should be fair to everybody, Muggle and wizard alike. She's not trying to start a war or anything stupid. I mean, really, it doesn't seem fair that we shouldn't be able to work in the Muggle world, does it? Or compete in Muggle games and sports? Just because we have magic on our side, doesn't make us outcasts."

        "You sound just like one of them," James said angrily.

        "Well?" Ralph said suddenly, his face going red. "I am one of them, if you haven't noticed. And I don't appreciate the way you're talking about my house. Things are a lot different now than they were when your dad went here. If you're so worried about truth and history, you should be all for debate on the subject. Maybe Tabitha's right about you."

        James sat back, his mouth dropping open.

        Ralph lowered his eyes. "She wants me to be in the first school debate with Team A. I assume you know the topic. They're calling it 'Re-evaluating the Assumptions of the Past: Truth or Conspiracy'?"

        "And you're going to be on the team, then? You're going to argue that my dad and his chums made the whole Voldemort story up just to scare people into keeping the wizarding world a secret?"

        Ralph looked miserable. "Nobody believes your dad made it up, but…" He didn't seem to know how to finish the sentence.

        "Well!" James cried, throwing up his hands. "Great argument, then! I'm speechless! Tabitha sure has a great partner in you, hasn't she?"

        "But maybe your dad wasn't on the right side after all!" Ralph said hotly. "Has that ever occurred to you? I mean, sure, people got killed. It was a war. But why is it that when your side killed people, it was a triumph of good, but when their side killed, it was an evil atrocity? The victors write the history books, you know. Maybe the truth of the whole affair has been skewed. How would you know? You weren't even born yet."

        James threw his fork down onto the table. "I know my dad!" he shouted. "He didn't kill anyone! He was on the right side, because my dad is a good man! Voldemort was a bloodthirsty monster who just wanted power and was willing to kill anyone who got in his way, even his friends! You might want to remember that, since you seem to be choosing to side with people like him!"

Ralph stared at James and swallowed. James knew, in some small, distant part of his mind, that he was overreacting. Ralph was Muggle-born: everything he knew about Voldemort and Harry Potter, he'd only read in the last two weeks. Besides, Ralph was being fed all this by his housemates, who he was desperate to get along with. Still, James was furious to the point of wanting to hit him, mostly because he didn't dare hit any of the Slytherins who were directly responsible for the malicious, self-serving lies about his dad. James broke eye contact first. He heard Ralph gather his books and backpack.

        "Well," Zane said tentatively, "I was going to see if you two wanted to meet after the match tonight for Butterbeers with the Gremlins, but maybe I'll just take a rain check, eh?"

        Neither Ralph nor James spoke. After a moment, Ralph walked away.

        "You were pretty horrible to him, you know," Zane said evenly.

        "Me?" James exclaimed.

        "Before you defend yourself," Zane said, raising a hand in a conciliatory gesture, "just let me say, you're right. Of course, it's all a load of crap. But it's Ralph. He's just trying to get along. You know?"

        "No," James said flatly, "not when 'getting along' means talking up a bunch of lies about my dad."

        "He doesn't know they're lies," Zane said reasonably. "He's just a guy hearing all this for the first time. He wants to believe you, but he also wants to fit in with his house. Too bad for him they're all a bunch of wacked-out, power-crazed lunatics."

        James felt slightly mollified. He knew Zane was right, but he still couldn't quite regret his outburst against Ralph. "So? You're just a new guy hearing all this for the first time, too. Why aren't you running off to join the Progressive Element and chant slogans?"

        "Because lucky for you," Zane said, throwing an arm around James' neck, "I got sorted into Ravenclaw, and they all hated Old Voldy just as much as you Gryffindors. Besides," he looked slightly wistful, "I happen to think Petra Morganstern is, on the whole, just a little bit hotter than Tabitha Corsica."

        James elbowed Zane away from him, groaning.

        They both went to the library for study period. Knossus Shert, the Ancient Runes professor, was monitoring the period, his thick glasses and long, skinny limbs in green robes making him look rather like a praying mantis seated behind the library head desk.

Zane was copying Arithmancy theorems, frowning as he worked them out. James, not wanting to disturb him, but equally disinterested in embarking on his own homework, pulled the morning's copy of the Daily Prophet out of his backpack, where he'd stuffed it at breakfast. He glanced at the lead articles again, pressing his lips together in disgust. Near the bottom of the front page, James was annoyed to see a picture of Tabitha Corsica. She looked like she always did: reasonable, thoughtful, and polite. 'Hogwarts Prefect Discusses Progressives Movement on Campus', the headline next to her picture read. Knowing he shouldn't read it, James glanced at a random couple of lines in the middle of the article.

         "Of course, my house doesn't believe in disturbing the harmony of the school for these discussions, but we respect the members of other houses as they voice their concerns," Miss Corsica explained, her eyes full of regret for the disruptions of the day, but obviously recognizing the validity of her fellow students' motivations. "Despite the Headmistress' reluctance to be clear about the debate schedule, I am confident that we will be allowed to forge ahead with our plan to foster a discussion about Auror practices and policies, and the assumptions those are based on, in an open and free-ranging debate format."