“What do you mean you sent the letter?” asked William, in utter disbelief. They were sitting in the Allard Common room, back in one of the far corners at a wooden table. “You just let him walk back in here so he can try and get the compass again?”
“I didn’t have a choice,” reasoned Patrick. “If the letter never got sent it couldn’t have been anyone else’s fault except for mine.”
“Tell him you couldn’t do it. Tell him you didn’t know where the Owlery was, tell him anything so you didn’t have to take the letter,” shot William.
“It wouldn’t have mattered.” Patrick said, helplessly. “If I told him I couldn’t do it, he would have just found someone else to take it or would have done it himself. No matter what, the letter would have been sent.”
“Well, looks like you’re in trouble again. Professor Snerkin is coming back and we can’t do anything about it.”
Patrick released a weak smile.
“Maybe, we don’t have to.”
“What do you mean?” asked William, uncertainly, raising an eyebrow. “He’s not going to just leave you alone.”
“When I was talking to Professor Montgomery, he told me that he hired Professor Sumpton to look after me.”
William was suddenly intrigued, opening his mouth to question, “Look after you? Like babysitting?”
“Like monitoring,” explained Patrick. “Check on things to make sure nothing happens to me, I guess.”
“Well, finally you’re making sense.” William pronounced. “What did I tell you? Everyone was making a big deal out of him for nothing. That’s why he stayed here over the break, he was questioning Professor Pennipot. He wasn’t able to stop Professor Snerkin the first time, but now that he’s coming back, he knows who he should be looking out for.”
“You think Professor Sumpton’ll catch him doing something, this time?” queried Patrick.
“He’s got a much better chance now. He’s got it narrowed down for him.” William threw his hands behind his head and sat back, balancing himself on two of his chair’s four legs. “If he doesn’t catch him now, you might as well go into hiding.”
Patrick hoped that it would never have to come to the point where he’d have to conceal himself for the rest of his life. However, once the idea set in that Professor Sumpton was here to protect him, Patrick was able to ease his mind a bit, at least throughout the rest of the weekend.
By Sunday night, word of Professor Snerkin’s return spread throughout the Allard Hall while, ironically, there hadn’t been a word about Snerkin’s release in the Sunday edition of The Warlock Examiner that Merton had dropped off earlier that day. While flipping through Magical Properties of Plants, Patrick was approached by Elizabeth to see if he had yet heard the news.
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” admitted Patrick. “So does William.”
Elizabeth had been so busy with repairing her relationship with Henri, Patrick and William hadn’t bothered to tell her about the letter they found. Since then, Patrick didn’t have any desire to go out of his way to update her and decided he’d keep the information that Professor Montgomery revealed to him a secret, as well.
“I know how William feels about Professor Snerkin being behind that whole Quidditch accident. Whatever you and William find out, I want to find out.” Elizabeth looked seriously at Patrick now, he could tell that she meant business. “If anything happens, anything at all…I want to know about it.”
“Uh…right, Elizabeth,” Patrick agreed, reluctantly. “F-from now on, if anything happens…I’ll be sure to tell you.”
“You better.”
Elizabeth looked at Patrick warily before retreating from the common room to the girls’ dormitories. Even as Patrick made his way to bed, the common room was brewing with the chattering of Allard students wide awake, anticipating their hall master’s return.
As Tuesday’s Charms class drew ever nearer, the Allards’ fought with extreme difficulty through their first lesson Monday morning. If at all possible, Patrick and William paid even less attention in Magic History class, and the only portion of Professor Mott’s lesson that the two of them had been sure they heard, pertained to the part where they had been dismissed for the afternoon.
“Does anyone know what we were doing in there?” Elizabeth asked, taking her copy of A Historical Look at Magic and putting it in her book bag.
“I don’t know, but I think Profezzor Mott was paying more attention to ze Mendels anyway,” figured Henri.
“You mean she actually looked at us?” questioned William. “Did she accidentally drop her book or something?”
The four of them left Professor Mott’s classroom from the Garrison side of the Allard Hall building and headed toward the Dining Hall to grab lunch before they had to depart for Professor Marigold’s class. As they turned the corner, leaving behind Magic History, they saw none other than Professor Sumpton advancing down the hall toward them, his neat hair bouncing in time with his uniformed step. Easily, Patrick’s new favorite teacher, Professor Sumpton tucked his hands behind his back and addressed the first-years.
“Good afternoon,” he greeted, “I trust you four are having a pleasant day, so far?”
“Yes, Professor,” the group said, simultaneously, nodding their heads.
“I was wondering if I could have a word with you, Mr. Thatcher…”
“Okay,” Patrick replied. Noticing Professor Sumpton’s intention of making their conversation private, the remaining three Allards sidled around the hall.
“We’ll see you in a bit, Patrick,” called Elizabeth, now several feet away. William, Elizabeth, and Henri were marching quickly ahead, leaving Patrick and Professor Sumpton alone in the hall.
“How exactly have you been since your…well, incident last year?” Professor Sumpton questioned, trying to speak delicately about it, while beginning to walk briskly down the hall. Patrick followed behind him, his hand brushing slightly against Professor Sumpton’s billowing scarlet robe.
“It’s…been okay,” Patrick responded. “I haven’t ran into much trouble since then. I just hope I can finish the year without any more problems.”
“Well, hopefully, you won’t have to worry about anything else. The last thing this school needs is another accident…whether you’re involved with it or not,” he smiled.
Patrick pondered for a second about what Professor Montgomery had told him in his office. He never really had the chance to speak to Professor Sumpton privately before, or at least never wanted to, and now his head was filled with potential questions.
“Sir,” he began, “Professor Montgomery told me that you were hired to protect me?”
He laughed.
“Really? He told you that?” Patrick could tell that he was fighting to hold back a grin. “Well, I don’t know how accurate ‘protect’ is…watch over you, more like. I can only be in so many places at one time that it would be most impractical to try and protect you and teach Transfiguration at the same time.”
“What about Professor Snerkin? He’s back now, isn’t he?” Patrick wanted to know how exactly Professor Sumpton planned to watch over him now that the man responsible for his Quidditch accident returned.
“That’s why I wanted to have this brief chat with you,” he said. The two of them were standing in the entrance hall of the Allard Hall building now. “I just want you to know, that if you ever feel that you’re in danger or need to talk to someone, I strongly encourage you to come to me with whatever problem you have. I’m here to help you and I can only do that if you let me. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Patrick, a feeling of tremendous relief flushing over him. It was a great to know that regardless of whatever happened in the final months of the school year, that Patrick had an ally if anymore predicaments were to arise.
“I’ve got to start my next class soon, but you remember, I’m always here if you need my help.”
Patrick nodded rapidly as Professor Sumpton smiled and headed out the building to the Wentwater grounds. There was no doubt in Patrick’s mind that were his services needed, they would more than likely be used.
A loud, disruptive roar from his stomach reminded Patrick that it was lunchtime. His mind flickered to his owl, Icarus, and how competitive it must be for him trying to find food alongside the other barn owls at Wentwater. It had only been two days, but Patrick still hadn’t seen Icarus turn up in the Owlery and he was suddenly beginning to worry about his whereabouts. Lying unused in his room were the treats that Mrs. Thatcher had so prudently purchased for her son and his owl. Patrick finally felt it might be a good idea to actually make use of them should Icarus ever decide to return to school.
After running quickly up to his dormitory and grabbing the package of snacks that were shoved snugly in the side of his trunk, Patrick made his way out of the Allard Hall Building and stopped by the Owlery before heading to the Dining Hall to join the other Allards for lunch.
There were owls flying in and out of the glassless windows and several more perched in various places inside the building. Patrick was nearly attacked by several swooping birds that, at once, spotted the bag of food he had carried into their home. A quick perusal of the room was enough to let Patrick know that his owl had not yet returned, prompting him to stuff the treats back into his bag and turn around to grab lunch before his Herbology lesson began.
“What did Profezzor Zumpton want?” asked Henri, after Patrick found a seat at the Allard Hall table.
Patrick, who knew that Henri had not been kept informed on any of the things going on with the compass, fished around for an excuse to give him.
“I-I made a mistake on last week’s quiz that he wanted to clear up with me,” Patrick lied. The look on William’s face was as though he could easily tell that the real reason had nothing to do with a quiz, especially considering Patrick had done exceptionally well on their last one. Patrick took a quick look over at Elizabeth and had garnered the same skeptical expression.
“I’ll tell you later,” mouthed Patrick, as Henri took a large bite of his sandwich, covering his face just long enough to prevent him from seeing the words Patrick formed soundlessly to William and Elizabeth.
When the four of them arrived in their Herbology greenhouse, Professor Marigold’s face was an elated shade of pink and her hair was dangling about her face instead of being tied back into a bun as it usually was.
“Hurry, hurry, we must get started,” she chimed, clasping her gloved hands together and waiting for her students to take their regular spaces in the room. The Allards and Rylans piled in, no longer phased by their teacher’s abnormal enthusiasm. Patrick sat between Elizabeth and William, Henri finding a place on Elizabeth’s left.
“We,” Professor Marigold continued, giddily, “will be pruning your very own, Gribbleworts. It’s been about six months since you’ve planted their seeds and now you can see just how much they’ve grown!”
Professor Marigold moved to her right, grabbing a single pot with one of the ugliest plants Patrick had ever seen, off a shelf with several more similar items. The branches looked to be a squishy, clear-white color, like some sort of worm. Visible through the clear outer covering of the branches, were thin limbs that extended from the base of the plant, twisting outward into a shape, not unlike a corkscrew. As she approached the class, Patrick was taken even more aback at noticing that the branches were slightly pulsing, swelling only slightly before returning back to their original size.
“Now, normally, these take ten months to grow, but I was able to speed things up a bit with a handful of Mooncalf dung,” Professor Marigold announced, paying no attention to Henri’s repulsed face as she set the pot down in front of him.
“What did he say?” nagged Elizabeth from Patrick’s left.
“Here? Now?” moaned Patrick, putting on gloves.
“Tell us!” insisted William from the right..
“You promised you’d tell me,” Elizabeth harped, turning a familiar wary eye on Patrick. He was about to respond to Elizabeth, but Professor Marigold had dropped another Gribblewort in front of her and situated one between him and William.
“I hope you don’t mind if you two share,” Professor Marigold said, looking at the two of them. “I don’t believe you got a chance to plant one, Mr. Quinn.”
She turned on her heel to grab more plants to deliver to the remaining students.
“That’s because you didn’t give me the chance,” added William, under his breath, staring at the unsightly white plant separating him from Patrick.
“You’re going to need to carefully slip the white outer layer off and drop it into the soil. It can be used as its own fertilizer,” Professor Marigold instructed, still handing out pots. “Don’t touch that,” Professor Marigold snapped, watching Simon Thornfield reach out to grab one of the branches. “You’re going to need your gloves. You don’t want to touch an unpruned Gribblewort directly. They leave an ugly rash on your hands, very strange colors and nasty to get off. Although, these are freshly grown Gribbleworts so you won’t have to worry too much.”
Upon hearing this, Henri quickly fished out his dragon-hide gloves from his book bag and slipped them over his hands. Elizabeth, who looked as though she was in the midst of bothering Patrick again, followed suit.
“Well,” prodded William once more, his gloves safely on his hands. “What did Professor Sumpton want you for?”
Patrick sighed.
“Because Professor Snerkin is back, he””
“Hey, over here, too!” interrupted Elizabeth, forcing her voice to a whisper, obviously feeling ignored.
“I said,” strained Patrick, trying to position himself so that William and Elizabeth alone could hear him. “Because Professor Snerkin is back, he wanted me to come to him if I ever feel like I’m in danger.”
“You’re going to let him help you, aren’t you?” asked Elizabeth.
“What a stupid question,” added William, “of course he is. He’s not trying to get attacked again.”
“I probably won’t need to see Professor Sumpton,” explained Patrick, “but he’s really the only choice I have. There’s not much I can do.”
Patrick managed to slip one of the white layers off a branch of the Gribblewort, dropping it into the soil as Professor Marigold instructed. Amazingly, the remains of the outer covering burrowed quickly down into the dirt, making Patrick’s earlier observation of its worm-like appearance even more accurate.
Henri, who had been too busy poking the plant than trying to prune it, leaned over toward the three of them.
“’ave you guys figured out how to prune thees plants yet?”
Both William and Elizabeth looked at Patrick, as he was the only one out of the four of them who had even bothered to attempt the day’s lesson. Patrick slightly tilted his head back to address Henri directly, peering around Elizabeth.
“You’ve just got to squeeze it a bit when you pull,” helped Patrick, trying his best to ignore Elizabeth’s glare. “It should slide right off, then.”
Henri turned back to his plant, but Elizabeth moved her head in front of Patrick, obstructing his ability to see if Henri had managed to follow the instructions correctly.
“You’re not holding anything out from me, are you Patrick?” Elizabeth asked. Her gloved hands were wrapped around the base of her pot and she was peering out the corner of her eye at Patrick.
“No, no,” assured Patrick, “he didn’t say anything else.”
“What about Professor Snerk”,” began Elizabeth, but her sentence was interrupted by her own shrieking scream. She quickly tore off her left glove and found a wormy Gribblewort exterior slouching along the back of her hand. She didn’t hesitate to snatch the pulsing membrane off of her skin and drop it furiously into the soil of her own plant.
“I’m so sorry,” apologized Henri from Elizabeth’s left. “Eet jumped out of my ‘ands. I theenk I squeezed eet too ‘ard.”
Professor Marigold, hearing the scream from across the room, rounded over to Henri and Elizabeth. Her concerned eyes fell onto Elizabeth’s left hand, which, as Patrick now noticed, had a small patch of red spread across it.
“Now, don’t panic. Like I said, these are freshly grown, so this will only get a little bit worse,” said Professor Marigold, holding Elizabeth’s hand, inspecting it closer.
“It’s going to get worse?” said Elizabeth, alarmed.
“Not much. Go on to the Hospital Ward. Mrs. Hortshorne shouldn’t have any trouble cleaning this up.”
Elizabeth rose quickly from her seat holding her infected hand as far out in front of her, leading the way out of the greenhouse.
“She’ll be fine,” Professor Marigold assured, “but this only goes to show that you need to pay full attention to what you’re doing.” She paced around her students and their plants. “Just like their seeds, the Gribblewort, when unattached to the branch, has a tendency to want to leap from the grasp of others.”
William leaned in toward Henri who had slumped on his stool, staring at his plant, and tossed a few words at him.
“Wow, I’m surprised, Henri” he said, directing his voice around Patrick. “I didn’t think you’d try and get Elizabeth back after that Charms class. That was pretty sneaky.”
“I didn’t mean to do zat!” defended Henri, not unlike the way Elizabeth defended herself after their disastrous Potions lesson. “Eet was an accident.”
Herbology ended without any more mishaps, all further accidents carefully avoided by the Allards and Rylans’ unwanted desire to be covered in colorful blemishes.
The three of them didn’t see Elizabeth again until the next morning before their Charms class, which marked their first lesson with Professor Snerkin since his return. Luckily, Elizabeth didn’t overreact to Henri’s mistake and any arguments Patrick thought would have risen, didn’t. Patrick did, however, find Elizabeth’s account of her stay in the Hospital Ward mildly relaxing, in that, it momentarily took his mind off their impending lesson.
“She rubbed this thick white paste on my hand,” explained Elizabeth, staring at the spot where the rash had once been. “It didn’t hurt, but I couldn’t move my fingers for a while. She said she had to keep me overnight just to make sure it didn’t come back.”
Unfortunately, Elizabeth’s story was horribly short, and the only thing Patrick could do when heading to Charms was to try and walk slower than normal in an attempt to prolong having to face Professor Snerkin. It might have worked if Henri had not began asking why they were moving so slow.
They had not arrived late to Professor Snerkin’s classroom, but all the seats had been filled with Allards and Mendels except for four chairs in the very front of the room. Being led by William, Patrick reluctantly took a seat in the chair at the farthest left and quickly grabbed his textbook from his bookbag and set it on the table.
Seconds later, Professor Snerkin entered the classroom from behind his students. He was wearing robes of a pale green and his gait seemed to have carried less of a sense of urgency than it once did.
“Good morning, class,” he addressed. Patrick fought at first to avoid making eye contact with his teacher, but couldn’t help giving in. Professor Snerkin looked even less presentable than he normally did, faint bags clearly visible underneath his eyes. Patrick was beginning to wonder just what exactly he had gone through while away at the Republic of Magic.
“Dean Montgomery has filled me in on the lessons that have been covered thus far,” said Professor Snerkin. Even his voice lacked the youthfulness the Allards were used to. “So…we should be able to pick up right where he left off.”
Their lesson was spent reviewing all the material that Professor Montgomery had taught them. Professor Snerkin went over several pages in the textbook, asking questions of the class only when wanting to insure that his students understood a specific concept.
Interestingly, the whole class period went by without Patrick being asked a single question. Everyone present had been called on once, twice in the case of Zoe Morrison, to answer Professor Snerkin, except for Patrick. Even more curious was the fact that Professor Snerkin had not even looked at Patrick during the whole of their lesson. The thought that perhaps he, Patrick, had just never caught his teacher’s eye, crossed his mind, but he figured it too rare to not make contact at least once.
“What are you complaining about?” asked William, later, after they returned to the common room. “This is a good thing. That means he’s leaving you alone. You don’t have anything to worry about anymore.”
“Just because he ignored me doesn’t mean that he’s just going to stop doing whatever he’s got going on. He’s doing it on purpose. To make it look like he’s not interested anymore. I’m not any safer than I used to be.”
Patrick definitely didn’t think his problems could have disappeared so easily, but it became increasingly harder to refute William’s opinion. Over the next few weeks, Patrick and Professor Snerkin’s interaction in-class not only continued to be nonexistent, but even their encounters at various places around the school usually had Professor Snerkin making a quick turn to avoid having to come within any distance of Patrick.
The thought that now he was back at school he would attempt another stunt during the next Quidditch match was quickly defeated, as well.
Four Saturdays into March, the Allards faced their fourth match of the season against Rylan, the results of this match setting the tone for the Inter-Hall Final. Patrick and the rest of the Allards tried not to be shaken by Professor Snerkin’s return, but the lopsided two goals to eight in favor of Rylan, proved that there was more on the Chasers’ minds than earning points.
Instead of trying to rally up the team and distract himself from adding points, himself, Harvey managed to edge out Rylan Seeker, Annie Blevins for the Snitch and secure a ninety point victory.
“It’s not that bad,” said William, after the match. “Now, we’re up a hundred points over Kinsey. All we’ve got to do is beat Garrison.”
“Yeah, but they’re up one-hundred and forty points,” replied Patrick, hopelessly. “They’ve never lost a game.”
“One of them,” rounded William, quickly. “Was a tie.”
Patrick and William both stopped by the Owlery so see if Icarus had yet returned before heading back to Allard Hall. The two of them slouched in chairs, Patrick’s owl treats still unopened, and listened to the various chatter that regularly filled the common room.
A bright flash of lights came from the other end of the room where Henri and Jonathan Hiller had, apparently, just finished a hand of Sizzling Flip. As usual, there were cards floating down to the floor and an outburst of arguments over which player actually won. Their debate, momentarily, gathered much of the attention in the common room.
“I won fair and square!” shouted Jonathan, his hands spread firmly out on the table.
“No, you didn’t. You put down two cards last time. You don’t win eef you don’t play fair.” Henri was picking up the stack of cards furiously from on the table. “And eef you don’t play fair, you don’t play.”
Jonathan didn’t stick around to argue further, but simply stalked off toward the dormitories leaving Henri to continue picking up cards off the table and floor.
“Stupid, Jonathan,” uttered Henri, sticking the deck of cards into its box. “’E theenks ‘e can cheat, ‘e is not going to play with me anymore. “Ere, Patrick, you ‘ave them.”
He extended the pack forward angrily, the deck pointing directly between Patrick’s eyes.
“Um…thanks,” replied Patrick, unsure of exactly what to say. He understood why he was giving them away, however. Jonathan was the only student willing to play with Henri and now, he had no use for them. Patrick took the cards, placed them in his robe pocket while, Henri found a spot on the couch to rest.
“Why don’t you play a different game? Like Gobstones?”suggested William. “Or Wizard’s Chess?”
‘I’ll theenk about it. I’m not very good at anytzing except ‘Zizzling Flip, though.”
There wasn’t much left to do with the rest of the day. Patrick spent much of the remaining hours finishing his work for the upcoming week of school, while William and Henri chatted more about different games that might be suitable now that Henri had, at least for now, abandoned Sizzling Flip. Paul and Douglas took a few minutes from studying for their C.A.T.s to badger Patrick about his Quidditch performance earlier that day.
Exhausted from working, Patrick collapsed on his bed, barely bothering to cover himself in a blanket and drifted to sleep.
Although not entirely awake, Patrick could still periodically hear the dormitory door open and close. A voice would speak occasionally, none too loud to prevent Patrick from falling back asleep again. Sounds floated among Patrick’s ear. All kinds of them: the drapes of a four-poster sliding along its overhead bar, the creaking of mattresses as the other Allard boys shuffled around in their beds, and even the snores that most likely belonged to Henri that wallowed through the room. None of these sounds, though, had been loud enough to give Patrick any reason to shift from his comfortable spot.
Suddenly, a crack rang within the room, and although much louder than any of the other sounds he had heard, Patrick pushed it aside and continued to rest. Or, he would have rested if the earlier voices hadn’t returned. There was only one at first, then joined by another…and another yet. Patrick would have ignored these sounds, too, if he did not feel the firm tug on his robe sleeve.
“Master must wake up,” squeaked a voice.. “Very big news, today. Master is needing to read today’s paper.”
Patrick rolled his head from his pillow and brought a finger to his eye, rubbing lazily at it, trying to remove the drowsiness that had set in. After his eye had regained its ability to see, Patrick realized his nose was inches away from the largest, bold-faced headline he had ever seen, that read: “Sumpton Questions Snerkin’s Release at Saturday’s Session.” There was a wide picture directly below it that depicted President Filibuster alongside an irritated Timothy Sumpton. They were sitting at a long table but appeared to be turned away from each other.
“What’s going on?” grumbled a drowsy Simon Thornfield.
“Is that your house-elf?” called Jonathan Hiller, from the bed on Patrick’s left.
“Yeah,” answered Patrick. “What are you doing here so early?” he asked, turning to Merton, who was peering over the large Sunday edition of The Warlock Examiner to reveal his floppy ears. “My dad hasn’t even read this yet, has he?”
“Master Charles hasn’t,” said Merton, lowering the paper further so he could speak. “But I isn’t keeping him from reading it. Miss Catherine told Merton to get rid of it before Master sees it. Merton is only doing what he is asked, sir.”
“Thanks, Merton,” said Patrick, taking the newspaper. “You haven’t seen Icarus, have you?” he questioned, suddenly wondering if perhaps Merton knew where his owl had been.
“No, Master Patrick, sir,” replied the elf, earnestly. “Merton doesn’t know where he could be.”
Patrick shook it from his mind and slid off his bed toward William’s. Merton Disapparated behind him with another crack, and the other four Allards started their chatter again.
“What’s a house-elf doing here this early, waking everyone up?” groaned Travis Sweeney. “Quidditch players….”
Paper in hand, Patrick shook awake a half-asleep William to show him the large article covering the front page. He sat up with a loud snort and wiped away a bit of drool that had found a home at the corner of his mouth. There was a tiny bit of crust in his drowsy eyes that he didn’t bother to remove before he addressed Patrick.
“What is it? Did the Warblers win another match?” he breathed.
Patrick read.
“Many were concerned about the unique relationship shared between President Franklin Filibuster and his Magic Defense Secretary, Timothy Sumpton, after the two, along with Vice-President Perlston, addressed a joint Magical Congress yesterday afternoon. While much of the session was spent outlining the president’s plan to help make affordable living for all Wizarding families, it was the feedback portion that sparked a large amount of controversy.
“Senator Curmudgeon Plumper of Rhode Island, questioned the method used that released Assistant Dean of Wentwater Conservatory and lead suspect in last November’s Quidditch case, Ernest Snerkin, back to his post of Charms teacher. When asked why news of Snerkin’s interrogation barely reached the public, Professor Filibuster cited Snerkin’s outstanding track record and felt it would have ‘been to no benefit to Mr. Snerkin or the general Wizarding public to cast a darker shadow than was currently being shed.’”
William released a loud, gaping yawn that forced his eyes closed for several seconds.
“Get to the good part. I’m falling back asleep.”
“Okay, okay….” Patrick skimmed the paper, hastily, searching for the heart of the article, finding what he was looking for just a few lines lower.
“Mr. Sumpton, after listening to the president’s response, had an explanation to give, himself. Sumpton insisted that, while Snerkin’s impeccable history of certainly made him an unlikely suspect, his involvement in the corresponding incident could only be pursued to a certain extent with the limited information given. Continuing to assert that it was under the president’s orders that Secretary Sumpton should release Mr. Snerkin and, thus, prevent any attempts to further their investigation.
“President Filibuster offered a quick rebuttal, explaining he felt it was well within his best judgment to let Professor Snerkin free, before continuing on to close the session, seemingly before Secretary Sumpton could attempt to interject another comment.”
“That’s nothing new,” William said, finally rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Didn’t Professor Pennipot already tell you that they don’t agree on everything?”
“Yes, but I don’t remember reading anything about them arguing in public. Or worse, in front of the whole Magic Congress. What happens if they start having trouble agreeing on anything?”
“Dunno…more angry people?” speculated William. “If enough people don’t like the president’s ideas, he might have a gang of Goblins hiding in his backyard.”
Patrick tried to take the article for what it was worth. It was no surprise that an article second-guessing President Filibuster was being printed and it certainly didn’t come as a shock that Secretary Sumpton had wished to keep Professor Snerkin longer than he had actually stayed. If Professor Sumpton was half as vigilant as his father, then Patrick would be in very good hands.
William turned back over in his bed, suddenly regaining his desire to gather more sleep. There was still a bit more of the article left that Patrick read silently to himself as he walked back over to his own bed. He pulled the covers over his legs and laid the paper on top of them, taking in the remaining words on the page.
“Both sharing very different views, it’s a wonder that their affiliation had not caused more controversy, and at an earlier time. This could very well be the first of several episodes between the two leaders, episodes that will surely be watched closely by supporters of both Filibuster and Sumpton.”