The appetite for gossip is human nature. Even the wizard of the century was not immune.
Dumbledore simply stepped aside and left the stage to Rouse and Frank. The students craned their necks toward the high table.
At Rouse's offhand jab, Frank Graves's face went black. "Wilkinson, if even a wanted man like you can be a professor, why would I be less qualified than you?"
A wanted man?
Gasps rippled through the Hall. Every eye swung to Rouse. Was Professor Wilkinson really unable to escape the curse on the Defense post? That friendly, big-browed professor who always seemed like a pal to students... a wanted man?
Dumbledore's expression tightened, but Rouse's tongue moved faster than any wand.
"Spare me your dog's breakfast, Frank Graves. Did you leave your mouth in your mother's ass when you were born and speak through your backside now? Why does everything you say stink?"
"My wanted notice was canceled ages ago, only in North America your sainted Graves clan keeps it pinned up. To what end? That is called abusing public office for private ends. I will have your dear uncle put in the Tower for life one day."
"So what if I slept with your aunt. I did not sleep with your mother. Why are you so riled up? Planning to apply to me yourself? Send a photo first. After all these years, I truly have forgotten what your mum looks like!"
Silence.
Dead, echoing silence.
Students and professors alike were stunned by the elegance of Rouse's diction and the earth-shaking scandal he had just dropped. From that highly concentrated passage of filth, everyone still managed to extract the key information with perfect accuracy.
Wilkinson slept with Frank Graves's aunt?
Frank looked about Rouse's age, pushing thirty. So his aunt would be...
Tsss. Heavy taste indeed.
The temperature in the Hall shot up for lack of chill, but not as fast as Frank's flush. Well then, his fame was secure. Not only Ilvermorny, but Hogwarts and Castelobruxo would know the Graves family scandal now.
"I will fight you!" Frank growled, reaching for his wand. The Ilvermorny witch beside him was quicker and caught his wrist.
"Calm down, Frank," she hissed. "What are you doing, attacking one of Dumbledore's professors in front of Dumbledore?"
"Ahem." The old man coughed at the perfect moment, one hand that had been poised for a spell rising to cover his mouth.
A vast pressure blanketed Frank. Though the Hall was warm enough for short sleeves, he felt plunged into ice. The blood haze in his eyes cleared at once. He took a long breath. "I am fine... Solenne."
"Solenne...?" Rouse frowned and stared at the woman for a long moment, especially at certain key features.
Solenne did not mind. She drew herself up with pride. "Rouse, your memory is as poor as ever."
"Solenne... Solenne Caruso?" Rouse's eyes bulged. "Merlin's tape, were you not pushing three hundred pounds back then?"
Called out on her history, Solenne did not grow angry. She only smiled more proudly. "A woman will do anything to be beautiful."
Rouse had no answer. He stuck a thumb up in genuine respect. Dropping two thirds of your weight in one go was no small feat.
"Do not get chummy with my fiancée." Frank stepped between them, glaring murder at Rouse. "If you have courage, never set foot in North America again. Otherwise I will have the Aurors on you the moment you land."
He would not draw a wand before Dumbledore, but he was not about to swallow his words.
"Our professors are bound to be emotional when they meet after so long. There will be plenty of time to reminisce during this exchange," Dumbledore said cheerfully, papering over chasms with one breezy sentence. The crowd could only fall silent. No wonder he was Headmaster. No one else could lie with open eyes on that level, not even on a broom.
Dumbledore offered a few more ceremonious words to welcome the delegations, then introduced the chaperones for the students.
Frank Graves, Ilvermorny Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts... one of them.
Solenne Caruso, Ilvermorny Professor of Transfiguration.
Alessio Vela, Castelobruxo Professor of Transfiguration.
Isabella Camado, Professor of Special Potions.
Special Potions?
Tom's eyes lingered on the young, bronze skinned witch. Was this the auxiliary transformation potion Professor Flitwick had mentioned?
Introductions done, Dumbledore invited them to sit where they wished. Ilvermorny chose Slytherin. Castelobruxo chose Gryffindor.
Dishes bloomed across the tables in a feast fit for the Welcoming Banquet. But after that bit of theater, few had an appetite. Small knots whispered, eyes drifting toward the high table.
Rouse was unchanged, thick skinned enough to act as if nothing had happened. He chatted with Professor Flitwick, and from time to time leaned past several professors to exchange greetings with Solenne.
Frank's face was considerably darker. He had humiliated himself abroad this time.
Some students tried chatting with the guests. Ilvermorny posed no language barrier, only the occasional unfamiliar accent. Castelobruxo was not about to send students who could not speak English. With the shared Latin roots, English was among the simplest foreign tongues for them to learn.
Before long, a piece of news reached Tom's ears that genuinely surprised him.
The haughty beauty who looked down her nose like Malfoy had a name Tom knew very well: Cassandra Voray.
Another familiar figure had appeared... and on a timeline that did not match.