At slightly after seventy twenty-seven, post meridian, Harfang's head appeared from one of the stairwells leading down to the basement, the rest of his ungainly form following behind. For his own part, the heir to his particular branch of the Longbottom family had combed his hair and smoothed his jumper before leaving his dormitory. He'd made certain to leave a few minutes early in order to arrive before 7:30, and he couldn't cover up the crestfallen look that briefly tugged his features down when he sighted Callidora standing by the stairs.
Fighting the urge to jog, he made himself walk calmly over to the Head Girl, sweat-dampened palms itching to go into his pockets - but that wouldn't do, not in front of Callidora. "Good evening, Miss Black," he greeted the young woman in his most sophisticated tone. "Shall we begin?" He gestured with one arm, taking in the staircase and what lay beyond - their rounds.
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