I rewind to the moment we arrived at the door. There was no sign, no note indicating that the space might be closed. Every item in the room, from the comfortable sofas to the well-thumbed magazines to the plate of fresh biscuits, show that the room is ready to welcome all visitors. I sip my coffee, peering over the steam to watch H’s efforts to beckon me back towards the door. “Why would someone frown over us being in here?”
“This ‘ere is Oxford. Everythin’ is a ceremony. Even tha common rooms. This ‘ere is tha Senior Common Room.” He stresses the word senior, making sure I note its importance. “There’s a Middle Common Room an’ a Junior one too. I can’t never keep up with who can go where. Somethin’ about gettin’ chosen for membership…”
I take a bite of my biscuit, savouring the taste of chocolate as it explodes across my tongue. It really is the best medicine. Standing here in this space, licking dark chocolate from my fingers, I’m finding it impossible to find the energy to rush out of here. “Does it really make that big of a difference, H? It’s just a room.”
H scurries across the carpet, stopping at my feet to let loose a jet of flames. I nearly drop my mug when it jumps from lukewarm to scalding. “Ain’t ya been payin’ attention, missie? It ain’t ‘jus’ a room’ and ya, it’s a ‘big difference’. It’s a tradition. A ceremony! Ya outta know better than anybody that these things matter. Now ‘urry it up. We can ask ‘Arry after ya scoffed down a few biskeys and are ya normal, cheery self again.”
The digestive biscuit turns to ash in my mouth as the seriousness of the situation sets in. There should be a guidebook or an app or something to help a new prefect learn these unspoken rules. We’ve got enough problems with the magic without me adding to them.
I snag a napkin from the stack, shove a few cookies into it before tucking it away in my pocket. “Come on, let’s get out of here before I do any more damage.” I cross back to the door, mildly confused when it flies open at the gentlest tug. I jump backwards, but not in time to keep the door from bumping against my forehead.
Wouldn’t you know it, Professor Rude is standing in front of me, angry gaze once again in place. He stares down his nose, skipping straight past any apology, instead opting for an accusation. “What are you doing in here?” His tone sharp, each word enunciated perfectly. “This is the Senior Common Room, open to College Fellows and members only.” He stretches out the syllables in senior, emphasising its importance.
Rubbing my forehead, I wonder for a moment if I misheard him. Whatever guilt I was feeling over potentially causing more problems for the magic evaporates. This man, despite having never spoken with me, despite having just raised a knot in the middle of my forehead, would rather berate me than check that I’m not concussed. I glance down at H, my hands balled into fists, temper flaring. He wisely backs up a step.
I was on my way out, but I’ll be damned if I leave this brute of a man to have the last word. “I don’t know who you are or what you do here, but I am confident my cat has better manners than any you’ve displayed so far. Get over yourself. Get a hobby.” I wave around the empty room. “Pick up a book or a paper. Do whatever you want but stop trying to run me out of here. I stumbled across a dead body on my first day here. If I want to come into a room and eat some bloody cookies, you can damn well deal with it. Now if you have nothing nice to say, I’ll be on my way.”
He raises an eyebrow but steps aside to let both me and H pass. I hear the door bang closed behind us as we make our way down the hall.
“Umm Nat? Do ya know who that bloke was?”
“You know what, H? No, I don’t. I don’t have a clue. I also do not care. That man is rude, plain and simple. I don’t care if he is the president of the entire bloody university. Now do you want one of these biscuits or not?”
“Milk chocolate, please.”
❖
I spend the next few days in the library, boning up on the history of the college. With thousands of volumes to hand, I am thankful for the help of the Eternals. Between the ghosts of previous librarians and books who show themselves when called, the library seems like the first place within the college grounds that wants to make itself useful.
Despite wracking my brain for a theme for the gala, I’m still stuck at start. Every time I come up with an idea, H assures me that it has been done six times already. I’m down to the absolute dregs.
I sort through my ideas list, searching for anything I haven’t already crossed off. “How about ‘Come as your favourite prime minister’?”
He is reclining mid-air, tossing wads of paper into the air and using his flames to turn them to ash. “Done it.”
I swot a wad away seconds before his flames hit it, forcing him to focus on me. “Seriously, H? Someone put on an event with a prime minister theme?”
He frowns, leaning over to pick up another scribbled page from my pile of discards. “Everybody came as Churchill. It was embarrassin’.”
I go back to my list, skimming until I reach the very last line. “Cops and robbers? We could make our murder mystery the centrepiece
