Unfortunately, the celebrations lasted well into the night, and by the time I made it to Bramppath I barely had time to lay my head on the pillow before it was time to meet with the headmaster and prefects. Somehow, I made it through a day’s worth of classes—though I couldn’t tell you a single word that fell from a professor’s mouth all day—and I nearly made it to my room at the end of it all. In fact, I was only meters away from Dewitt, and the sweet oblivion of sleep, when the headmaster flagged me down in the middle of the courtyard and asked me to meet him in his office. I would have dearly loved to give him a graphic list of things I would rather do—for example, drive a searing hot poker through my eyeball—but I find it’s best to start the school year off on the right foot, and so I swallowed my words and turned on my heel.

And here I have been sat for over five minutes. Five excruciatingly quiet minutes.

The polished chestnut wood seems every bit as appealing as a goose-feather pillow at this moment. I’m in the middle of debating whether I have long enough to sneak in a nap when the headmaster hurries in, juggling a stack of papers and notebooks. “My apologies, Rosemary. A lot to do on the first day.”

He drops the paperwork onto the desk with a thump loud enough to shock me from my exhausted haze, and I straighten at once. “That’s fine, sir. May I ask…?”

“Oh, you’re not in trouble,” the headmaster assures me, taking a seat and folding his hands before him. “I just wanted to check in with you. See how you’re handling everything.”

I take care to keep my expression measured. “Everything?”

“Your new role, the new building…”

The headmaster is one of those people who can effectively communicate exactly what they mean just through the gleam in their eye, regardless of the message their body language would otherwise send. Right now, he’s doing just that. His bottom lip is sticking out, and one broad shoulder is raised in a shrug, and he’s tossed up one knobby-fingered hand in a manner that’s clearly meant to convey carelessness. But his eyes—his eyes are saying he’s certain I know exactly why he’s asking after me.

And, of course, I do.

“I would say everything’s going as well as could be expected,” I say. “Given…”

I wave my own hand now, mirroring his gesture.

“The circumstances,” he finishes for me.

“Yes.”