19. Gilderoy Lockhart
The next day started with breakfast in the Great Hall. The four long house tables were laden with tureens of porridge, plates of kippers, mountains of toast, and dishes of eggs and bacon. The enchanted ceiling overhead was a dull, cloudy gray.
Harry and Ron dropped onto the bench at the Gryffindor table next to Hope and Hermione. Hermione had her copy of Voyages with Vampires propped open against a milk jug, and when she muttered a stiff "Morning," Harry could tell she was still disapproving of how they'd arrived at school. Neville, on the other hand, greeted them cheerfully.
"Post's due any minute—I think Gran's sending on a few things I forgot," Neville said, buttering his toast.
Hope took a bite of bacon when, sure enough, the sound of rushing wings filled the hall. A hundred or so owls streamed in, circling above and dropping letters and packages into the chattering crowd. A big, lumpy parcel bounced off Neville's head, and a second later, something large and gray crashed into Hermione's jug, sending milk and feathers flying everywhere.
Hope groaned, wiping milk off her cheek as Markl, her owl, dropped a single letter in front of her.
"Errol!" Ron gasped, pulling the bedraggled owl out by the feet. Errol slumped, unconscious, onto the table, legs in the air and a damp red envelope clutched in his beak.
"Oh no—" Ron whispered, paling.
"It's all right, he's still alive," Hermione said, prodding Errol gently with her fingertip.
"It's not that—it's that." Ron pointed at the red envelope, looking stricken. Hope, Neville, and Harry followed his gaze. To Harry, it looked like an ordinary envelope, but Hope and Neville flinched as if it might explode.
"What's the matter?" Harry asked, confused.
Ron swallowed hard. "She's—she's sent me a Howler."
"Just ignore it... she'll never know, right?" Hope said, voice uncertain as she glanced between Ron's Howler and the letter from her father in her own hand.
Neville shook his head quickly. "You'd better open it, Ron," he whispered. "It'll be worse if you don't. My Gran sent me one once, and I ignored it and—" he gulped, "it was horrible."
Harry looked at their horrified expressions. "What's a Howler?"
But Ron's attention was locked on the envelope, which had begun to smoke at the corners.
"Open it," Neville urged. "It'll all be over in a few minutes..."
Ron's shaking hands pried the envelope from Errol's beak. Neville stuffed his fingers in his ears.
A split second later, the Hall erupted with a deafening roar.
"...STEALING THE CAR! I WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN SURPRISED IF THEY'D EXPELLED YOU! YOU WAIT TILL I GET HOLD OF YOU! I DON'T SUPPOSE YOU STOPPED TO THINK WHAT YOUR FATHER AND I WENT THROUGH WHEN WE SAW IT HAD GONE..."
Mrs. Weasley's voice, magnified a hundredfold, shook the very walls of the Great Hall. Plates and spoons rattled, and students all around turned to stare. Ron sank so low in his chair that only the top of his crimson forehead was visible.
"...LETTER FROM DUMBLEDORE LAST NIGHT! I THOUGHT YOUR FATHER WOULD DIE OF SHAME! WE DIDN'T BRING YOU UP TO BEHAVE LIKE THIS! YOU, HOPE, AND HARRY COULD HAVE DIED..."
Hope winced as her name was shouted, rubbing her ears as they throbbed painfully.
"...ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED! YOUR FATHER'S FACING AN INQUIRY AT WORK, IT'S ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT, AND IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LINE, WE'LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT BACK HOME!"
Hope slumped forward, guilt twisting her stomach. The Weasleys had taken care of her all summer, and now she'd gotten Mr. Weasley into trouble.
As silence fell, the envelope burst into flames and crumbled into ashes. Ron sat stunned, looking as if he'd just survived a tidal wave. Laughter rippled through the Hall as students turned back to their breakfasts.
Hermione closed Voyages with Vampires and gave Ron a pointed look. "Well, I don't know what you expected, Ron, but you—"
"Don't tell me I deserved it!" Ron snapped, as Harry pushed his porridge away with a guilty frown.
Neville glanced at Hope. "What'd your dad say?"
Hope frowned down at her letter. "Don't know... don't want to know." She pushed it away, shaking her head.
"You don't get to be upset you didn't get a Howler," Ron grumbled, lifting his head.
"Oh, honestly, Hope," Hermione huffed, snatching up the letter and shoving it in her face. "Just read it."
Hope recoiled. "Hermione!"
When Hope refused to take it, Hermione rolled her eyes and unfolded the parchment, clearing her throat before reading aloud:
"Hope Anne Lupin—"
Hope groaned, banging her head on the table. "Mione."
"Hope Anne Lupin," Hermione pressed on, "Not one day—not one day—at Hogwarts, and already I'm receiving a letter from the headmaster. What in Merlin's name would possess you to not only steal a car but fly it totally unsupervised? You and your friends could have died. And if consequences for yourself aren't enough, think long and hard about the fact that you could have exposed magic. Arthur is facing an inquiry at the Ministry. Being a Gryffindor doesn't mean you have to behave recklessly."
Hope let out a resigned sigh, already knowing where this was going.
"Now, you may be at Hogwarts, but if I get one more letter about your misbehavior, young lady—"
"No Hogwarts, I know," she muttered guiltily.
Hermione's eyes scanned the letter before her brows shot up. "No... No Weasleys."
Ron and Hope's heads snapped toward Hermione so fast they nearly got whiplash. "No Weasleys?!" they exclaimed in unison. Hope grabbed the letter from Hermione's hands, scanning it herself.
"That's what it says," Hermione confirmed.
"That's just cruel and unusual punishment," Ron muttered.
Hope barely had time to process the thought before Professor McGonagall moved along the Gryffindor table, handing out timetables. Hope glanced at hers, seeing they had double Herbology with the Hufflepuffs first.
Hope, Harry, Ron, and Hermione left the castle together, crossing the vegetable patch on their way to the greenhouses where the magical plants were kept. At least Ron and Hope's letters had done one good thing—Hermione seemed to think they had been punished enough and was back to being perfectly friendly.
As they neared the greenhouses, they saw the rest of the class gathered outside, waiting for Professor Sprout. They had only just joined them when she came striding across the lawn, accompanied by Gilderoy Lockhart. Professor Sprout's arms were full of bandages, and with a pang of guilt, Hope spotted the Whomping Willow in the distance, several of its branches now in slings.
Professor Sprout was a squat little witch who wore a patched hat over her flyaway hair. There was usually a large amount of earth on her clothes, and her fingernails would have made Aunt Petunia faint. Lockhart, on the other hand, was immaculate in sweeping robes of turquoise, his golden hair shining under a perfectly positioned hat with gold trim.
"Oh, hello there!" Lockhart called out, beaming at the students. "Just been showing Professor Sprout the right way to doctor a Whomping Willow! But I don't want you running away with the idea that I'm better at Herbology than she is! I just happen to have met several of these exotic plants on my travels..."
"Greenhouse Three today, chaps!" Professor Sprout announced, looking distinctly disgruntled, not her usual cheerful self.
A murmur of interest spread through the class. They had only ever worked in Greenhouse One before—Greenhouse Three housed far more interesting and dangerous plants. Professor Sprout pulled a large key from her belt and unlocked the door. A wave of damp earth, fertilizer, and the heavy perfume of giant, umbrella-sized flowers filled the air.
Harry was about to follow Hope, Ron, and Hermione inside when Lockhart's hand shot out.
"Harry! I've been wanting a word— you don't mind if he's a couple of minutes late, do you, Professor Sprout?"
Judging by Professor Sprout's scowl, she did mind, but Lockhart said, "That's the ticket!" and closed the greenhouse door in her face.
"What do you think he wants Harry for?" Hope asked in a low voice, leaning toward Ron and Hermione.
"Probably another photo op," Ron grumbled.
"Ronald," Hermione began, "he's the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. He probably pulled Harry aside because of his history with Professor Quirrell." She finished, unable to see past Lockhart's admittedly bright and shiny smile to recognize that he was a complete git.
They turned as Harry quietly slipped into the greenhouse, taking a spot between Ron and Hermione.
Professor Sprout stood behind a trestle bench in the center of the greenhouse. About twenty pairs of different-colored earmuffs lay on the bench.
"We'll be re-potting Mandrakes today. Now, who can tell me the properties of the Mandrake?" she asked.
To nobody's surprise, Hermione's hand was the first into the air.
"Mandrake, or Mandragora, is a powerful restorative," Hermione answered, sounding as though she had swallowed the textbook. "It is used to return people who have been transfigured or cursed to their original state."
"Excellent. Ten points to Gryffindor," Professor Sprout said. "The Mandrake forms an essential part of most antidotes. It is also, however, dangerous. Who can tell me why?"
Hermione's hand narrowly missed Harry's glasses as it shot up again. "The cry of the Mandrake is fatal to anyone who hears it."
"Precisely. Take another ten points," Professor Sprout nodded. "Now, the Mandrakes we have here are still very young."
She gestured to a row of deep trays, and everyone shuffled forward for a better look. A hundred or so tufty little plants, purplish-green in color, grew in neat rows.
"Everyone take a pair of earmuffs," she instructed.
There was a scramble as everyone tried to grab a pair that wasn't pink and fluffy.
"When I tell you to put them on, make sure your ears are completely covered," Professor Sprout said. "When it is safe to remove them, I will give you the thumbs-up. Right—earmuffs on."
Hope snapped the earmuffs over her ears, shutting out all sound. Professor Sprout, now in a pink fluffy pair, rolled up her sleeves, grasped one of the tufty plants firmly, and pulled hard.
Hope let out a silent gasp of surprise. Instead of roots, a small, muddy, and extremely ugly baby popped out of the earth. Its leaves sprouted directly from its head, its pale green, mottled skin contorted in a silent bawl.
Professor Sprout took a large plant pot from under the table and plunged the Mandrake into it, burying it in dark, damp compost until only the tufted leaves were visible. She dusted off her hands, gave them all the thumbs-up, and removed her earmuffs.
"As our Mandrakes are only seedlings, their cries won't kill yet," she said calmly, as though she had done nothing more exciting than water a begonia. "However, they will knock you out for several hours, so make sure your earmuffs stay on. I will signal when it's time to stop.
"Five to a tray—there's a large supply of pots here—compost in the sacks over there—and be careful of the Venomous Tentacula, it's teething."
She gave a sharp slap to a spiky, dark red plant as she spoke, making it draw in the long feelers that had been creeping over her shoulder.
Hope, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were joined at their tray by a curly-haired Hufflepuff boy. Hope had seen him around the halls but had never spoken to him.
"Justin Finch-Fletchley," he said brightly, shaking Harry's hand. "Know who you are, of course—famous Harry Potter! And you're Hermione Granger—always top in everything." Hermione beamed as he shook her hand too.
"Hope Lupin," he added with a nod, shaking Hope's hand. "Hufflepuff had quite the laugh when we heard about that prank on Snape." Hope brightened at that.
"And Ron Weasley. Wasn't that your flying car?" Ron didn't smile. The Howler was obviously still on his mind.
"That Lockhart's something, isn't he?" Justin said as they began filling their pots with dragon-dung compost. "Awfully brave chap. Have you read his books? I'd have died of fear if I'd been cornered in a telephone box by a werewolf, but he stayed cool and—zap! Just fantastic."
"My name was down for Eton, you know. Can't tell you how glad I am I came here instead. Mother was a bit disappointed, but since I made her read Lockhart's books, she's seeing the benefits of having a trained wizard in the family."
After that, they didn't have much chance to talk. Their earmuffs went back on as they struggled with the Mandrakes, which squirmed, kicked, and gnashed their tiny teeth. Hope spent ten minutes trying to wrestle a particularly fat one into a pot.
By the end of class, everyone was sweaty, aching, and covered in earth. They traipsed back to the castle for a quick wash before hurrying off to Transfiguration.
Professor McGonagall's classes were always hard, but today felt especially difficult. Transfiguration had never been Hope's strongest subject, and after an eventful summer, it felt like everything she had learned had vanished. The lesson was to turn a beetle into a button, but Hope couldn't get hers to stay still long enough to even try. Harry had the same problem, his beetle scuttling across the desk, avoiding his wand.
Ron was having far worse problems. He had patched up his wand with some borrowed Spellotape, but it was beyond repair. It crackled and sparked unpredictably, and every time he tried to transfigure his beetle, thick gray smoke engulfed him, reeking of rotten eggs. Unable to see what he was doing, Ron accidentally squashed his beetle with his elbow and had to ask for another one—much to Professor McGonagall's displeasure.
Hope perked up at the sound of the lunch bell, her brain desperate for a break. As everyone filed out of the classroom, she lingered behind with Harry and Ron, who was furiously whacking his wand against the desk.
"Stupid... useless... thing..." Ron grumbled.
"Write home for another one," Harry suggested, as the wand let off a volley of bangs like a firecracker.
"Oh yeah, and get another Howler back?" Ron stuffed the now-hissing wand into his bag. "It's your own fault your wand got snapped—"
They headed down to lunch, but Ron's mood didn't improve when Hermione showed them the handful of perfect coat buttons she had produced in Transfiguration. Hope congratulated her, genuinely impressed.
"What've we got this afternoon?" Harry asked, eager to change the subject.
"Defense Against the Dark Arts," Hermione answered immediately.
"Why," Ron demanded, seizing her timetable, "have you outlined all Lockhart's lessons in little hearts?"
Hermione snatched it back, her face turning scarlet. Hope giggled at the sight of Hermione's heartfelt notes but quickly covered it with a cough when Hermione shot her a glare.
After lunch, they stepped outside into the overcast courtyard. Hermione settled onto a stone step, burying her nose in Voyages with Vampires, while the others talked about Quidditch. Hope fretted over the upcoming tryouts, voicing her worries as Harry reassured her.
Then, Harry became aware of someone watching him. Looking up, he spotted a small, mousey-haired boy staring at him, utterly transfixed. Clutching a Muggle camera, the boy turned bright red when Harry met his gaze.
"All right, Harry? I'm—I'm Colin Creevey," he said breathlessly, taking a tentative step forward. "I'm in Gryffindor too. D'you think—would it be all right if—can I have a picture?" He raised the camera hopefully.
"A picture?" Harry repeated, blinking.
"So I can prove I've met you!" Colin said eagerly, edging closer. "I know all about you. Everyone's told me—how you survived when You-Know-Who tried to kill you, how he disappeared, how you've still got that lightning scar." His eyes raked over Harry's hairline. "And a boy in my dormitory said if I develop the film in the right potion, the pictures'll move!"
He took a great, shuddering breath, his excitement barely contained. "It's brilliant here, isn't it? I never knew all the odd stuff I could do was magic till I got my Hogwarts letter. My dad's a milkman—he couldn't believe it either! So I'm taking loads of pictures to send home. And it'd be really great if I had one of you—maybe your friend could take it? I could stand next to you? And then, could you sign it?"
"Signed photos? You're giving out signed photos, Potter?"
Draco Malfoy's voice rang through the courtyard, sharp and mocking. He had stopped right behind Colin, flanked, as always, by Crabbe and Goyle.
"Everyone queue up!" Malfoy bellowed. "Harry Potter's giving out signed photos!"
"No, I'm not," Harry snapped, his fists clenching. "Shut up, Malfoy."
"You're just jealous," Colin piped up, his whole body about as thick as Crabbe's neck.
"Jealous?" Malfoy sneered, no longer needing to shout—half the courtyard was listening now. "Of what? I don't want a foul scar across my head, thanks. I don't think getting your head cut open makes you that special."
Crabbe and Goyle sniggered stupidly.
"Eat slugs, Malfoy!" Ron snapped, his face burning with anger.
Crabbe stopped laughing, cracking his knuckles in a slow, menacing way.
"Be careful, Weasley," Malfoy sneered. "You wouldn't want to start any trouble, or your mummy will have to come and take you away from school." He put on a shrill, mocking voice. "If you put another toe out of line—"
A group of Slytherin fifth-years nearby erupted in loud laughter.
Malfoy smirked. "Weasley would like a signed photo, Potter. It'd be worth more than his family's entire house."
"Back off, Malfoy," Hope snapped, stepping forward.
"Hit a nerve, did I, Lupin?" Malfoy jeered. "I suppose the Weasleys' place would feel like a palace to you. I heard you and your father were practically homeless."
Hope's fists clenched at her sides as she sent him a withering glare.
Ron yanked out his Spellotaped wand, but before he could do anything, Hermione snapped her book shut and hissed, "Look out!"
"What's all this? What's all this?" Gilderoy Lockhart strode toward them, his turquoise robes billowing behind him. "Who's giving out signed photos?"
Harry opened his mouth, but Lockhart flung an arm around his shoulders before he could respond.
"Shouldn't have asked! We meet again, Harry!" Lockhart thundered jovially.
Pinned to Lockhart's side and burning with humiliation, Harry watched Malfoy slip smirking back into the crowd.
"Come on then, Mr. Creevey," Lockhart beamed at Colin. "A double portrait! Can't say fairer than that. We'll both sign it for you."
Colin fumbled for his camera, snapping the picture just as the bell rang, signaling the start of afternoon classes.
"Off you go, move along," Lockhart called to the crowd before sweeping Harry toward the castle. Harry wished he knew a good vanishing spell as he was dragged along.
"A word to the wise, Harry," Lockhart said paternally as they entered the building through a side door. "I covered for you back there with young Creevey—if he was photographing me too, your schoolmates won't think you're setting yourself up so much..."
Ignoring Harry's stammered protests, Lockhart continued leading him down the corridor, past staring students, and up a staircase.
Meanwhile, Ron, Hermione, and Hope made their way to class with the rest of the students. Ron and Hermione took seats on either side of Harry, while Hope sat beside Neville and Parvati.
"I've been looking forward to this class all day," Parvati said giddily.
"Oh, not you too, Parvati," Hope groaned.
"Well, he's brilliant," Parvati replied, turning excitedly toward Professor Lockhart.
Once the class was seated, Lockhart cleared his throat loudly. Silence fell. He reached for Neville Longbottom's copy of Travels with Trolls, lifting it high to display his own winking portrait on the cover.
"Me," he said, pointing at himself and winking. "Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award—but I don't talk about that. I didn't get rid of the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her!"
He paused expectantly. A few students managed weak smiles.
"I see you've all bought a complete set of my books—well done! We'll start today with a little quiz. Nothing to worry about—just to see how well you've read them, how much you've taken in..."
He handed out the test papers before returning to the front of the class. "You have thirty minutes. Start—now!"
Hope glanced down at her paper.
1. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color?
2. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition?
3. What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest achievement to date?
And on it went, over three pages, ending with:
54. When is Gilderoy Lockhart's birthday, and what would his ideal gift be?
Hope rolled her eyes and scribbled down random, lazy answers she was certain were incorrect.
Thirty minutes later, Lockhart collected the papers, rifling through them as he addressed the class.
"Tut, tut—hardly any of you remembered that my favorite color is lilac. I say so in Year with a Yeti. And some of you need to read Wanderings with Werewolves more carefully. I clearly state in Chapter Twelve that my ideal birthday gift would be harmony between all magic and non-magic peoples—though I wouldn't say no to a large bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky!"
He gave another roguish wink. Ron stared at him in disbelief. Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, seated in front, shook with silent laughter. Hope rested her chin on her hand, unimpressed.
Hermione, however, listened with rapt attention. She gave a start when Lockhart suddenly called her name.
"... but Miss Hermione Granger knew my secret ambition is to rid the world of evil and market my own range of hair-care potions—good girl! In fact—" he flipped her paper over, "full marks! Where is Miss Hermione Granger?"
Hermione raised a trembling hand.
"Excellent! Quite excellent! Take ten points for Gryffindor! Now, on to business..."
Lockhart bent down behind his desk and lifted a large, covered cage onto it.
"Now—be warned! It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizardkind! You may find yourselves facing your worst fears in this room. But fear not! No harm will befall you while I am here. All I ask is that you remain calm."
His hand rested on the cover. Dean and Seamus stopped laughing. Neville shrank in his seat, and Hope patted his shoulder reassuringly.
"I must ask you not to scream," Lockhart said in a low voice. "It might provoke them."
The class held its breath. Lockhart whipped off the cover.
"Yes!" he declared dramatically. "Freshly caught Cornish pixies."
Seamus snorted with laughter. Lockhart turned to him with a smile. "Yes?"
"Well, they're not—they're not very... dangerous, are they?" Seamus choked.
"Don't be so sure!" Lockhart wagged a finger at him. "Devilish tricky little blighters!"
The pixies, electric blue and about eight inches high, jabbered wildly, rattling the bars and pulling faces at the nearest students.
"Right then," Lockhart announced. "Let's see what you make of them!"
And he opened the cage.
Chaos erupted. The pixies shot out like rockets. Two grabbed Neville by the ears, lifting him into the air. Another yanked Lavender Brown off her chair by her hair. Books were shredded, ink bottles upturned, and the waste bin overturned. Within minutes, students were diving for cover under desks while Neville dangled from the candelabra.
"Come on now, round them up! They're only pixies!" Lockhart bellowed, rolling up his sleeves. He raised his wand high and shouted,
"Peskipiksi Pesternomi!"
Nothing happened. One of the pixies seized his wand and hurled it out the window.
Lockhart gulped and ducked under his desk just as Neville crashed to the floor.
The bell rang, and the class bolted for the exit. As the dust settled, Lockhart straightened his robes and spotted Hope, Harry, Ron, and Hermione lingering near the door.
"Well! I'll leave you four to handle the rest!" he said cheerfully before sweeping past them and shutting the door behind him.
Ron gaped. "Can you believe him?"
A pixie bit his ear.
"He just wants us to get hands-on experience," Hermione reasoned, freezing two pixies with a charm and shoving them into the cage.
"Hands-on?" Harry huffed, swiping at a pixie taunting him from above. "Hermione, he had no idea what he was doing."
"Rubbish," Hermione scoffed. "You've read his books—look at all those amazing things he's done..."
"He says he's done," Ron muttered.
Hope screeched as one of the pixies yanked her hair. Whipping around, she cast a freezing charm, stopping it midair.
"For once, I'd like a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher who actually knows what they're doing," she grumbled, smoothing out her hair.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁
Hope's heart was still pounding with exhilaration as she stepped through the portrait hole, broom in hand, alongside the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Her robes were windswept, her cheeks flushed from the crisp autumn air, but she could hardly feel the fatigue settling in—adrenaline still thrummed in her veins.
Before she had time to take a breath, Ron and Hermione hurried over, practically tripping over themselves to reach her.
"How did it go?" Hermione asked, eyes bright with anticipation.
"Did you make the team?" Ron pressed, looking like he was holding his breath.
Hope grinned, unable to keep it in any longer. "You're looking at Gryffindor's newest Chaser."
Ron let out a loud cheer, clapping her on the back hard enough to make her stumble. "That's brilliant! Absolutely brilliant!"
Hermione beamed. "I knew you'd make it!"
Before Hope could respond, Dean Thomas and Lee Jordan appeared, both grinning.
"Congrats, Lupin!" Dean said, giving her a high five.
"Yeah, seriously," Lee added. "That last goal was something else."
The rest of the team chimed in next.
"She's got good instincts," Angelina said, nudging her with a smile. "Didn't hesitate once."
"Not to mention that goal she scored right past Oliver." Katie Bell added with a proud smile.
At that, Oliver Wood turned to her, arms crossed, eyebrows raised. "Fluke," he said, though he had a glint of approval in his eyes. "Let's see you do it again in practice."
Fred and George exchanged a look before throwing their arms around Hope's shoulders.
"Welcome to the best Quidditch team in the school," Fred smiled.
George then leaned in just slightly as they started moving toward the fireplace. "You fly well," he said, with a sincere smile. "Real natural."
Hope blinked, caught off guard by the simple, quiet praise. It was nothing dramatic—no teasing, no exaggeration—but something about it made her chest feel oddly warm.
"Thanks," she said softly, not even realizing the way her cheeks had gone a little pink.
Before she could think too much about it, Harry clapped her on the shoulder, pulling her attention away.
"You were brilliant out there," he said. "Welcome to the team."
Hope grinned again, pushing aside whatever that strange feeling had been. "Thanks, guys. I for one am ready to win the house cup."
Oliver clapped his hands together, already back in captain mode. "Agreed. First official practice—tomorrow morning at sunrise."
Making the group collectively groan.