Emily kept her face under tight control. She had no idea if she could get someone expelled, although she could probably deny someone access to Whitehall itself if she fiddled with the wards. But then, she was practically plagiarising from Master Tor’s speech. He’d said the same thing, in similar words. And she thought he’d meant it too.
“If you have problems understanding where the line is drawn, come speak to me,” she added, carefully. “But if you cross that line, you will be severely punished. Do you understand me?”
She waited for them to nod, then went on.
“The second point is that you will have limited power to assign punishments,” she said. She knew she’d done it, even though she hadn’t wanted to do it. Sending someone to be caned had never sat well with her. “You can give them everything from lines to a trip to the Warden. If you abuse this power—and you will be tempted—you will face the same punishment yourself, only worse. Those of you who issue unnecessary or excessive punishment will regret it. I will make sure of it.”
There was a long pause. Emily gave them a moment to let it sink in, then leaned forward.
“Are there any more questions?”
“Just one,” a dark-skinned boy said. “How much help are we actually allowed to give them?”
“You are expected to show them how to find the answers for themselves,” Emily said. “If they ask a question about how dragon scales react with unicorn dung, you can point them to 1001 Alchemical Combinations or Florid Foliage Files ... even Basic Potions for Imbeciles, all of which can be found in the library. You are not to give them the answers, no matter how much they beg and plead. Your objective is to help them develop their scholastic skills, not make them go away.”
One of the boys snorted. “But what about our study time?”
“If you have problems coping, come to me,” Emily said, patiently. “We’ll do a review two months into the program. We’ll sort out any problems then.”
She held up a hand. “I know it won’t be easy, at first.” She held up a set of papers, silently thanking Aloha for her foresight. The end-of-year reports had included outlines of all the problems the mentors had faced. “My year had problems too, some of which are listed here. If you have other problems, we’ll deal with them.”
“You will,” Gordian said.
Emily looked down at the papers. “I’ve assigned students at random.” She didn’t think Aloha had put any more thought into her assignments. “If you happen to be closely related to any of the firsties, swap that student for someone else. The idea is to avoid family ties as much as possible.”
“A student of the same sex,” Gordian added. “I don’t want boys mentoring girls and vice versa.”
“Yes, sir,” Emily said. “If you have any questions about the other material in the folders, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
She handed out the folders, then dismissed the Fifth Years. It was mid-morning, yet she still felt tired. Sweat was prickling on the back of her neck. Speaking to so many students, even issuing orders rather than holding conversations, was practically painful. She hadn’t found it that hard to walk into a necromancer’s lair, despite the near certainty of death. And yet, she’d done it.
“Reasonably well done,” Gordian said. “You covered all the basics. You could have been a bit more assertive in places, but your reputation will probably give you some cover.”
“Thank you, sir,” Emily said.
She really did feel tired. If it hadn’t been less than an hour until lunch, she would have thought seriously about taking a shower and perhaps a nap. Frieda had tried to talk her into going walking again, after lunch, but Emily didn’t have the time. She had to meet Caleb too. God alone knew what he wanted.
“You’ll be there when the First Years arrive,” Gordian said. “Make sure you’re wearing your formal robes and badge.”
Emily sighed. The Head Girl wore white, apparently. She wasn’t allowed to wear sorcerer’s black, even the traditional robes of a Sixth Year student. She’d probably be allowed to get away with not wearing it outside formal functions, but she was scheduled to attend a number of them over the coming months. Being Head Girl was already more trouble than it was worth.
And I’ve only been Head Girl for a week, she thought, balefully. How bad is it going to be after the first month?
She shrugged, inwardly. The mentoring program had slowly decreased in importance after the first couple of months, although the near-collapse of the entire school had probably helped. She hadn’t had that many questions after she’d returned from Beneficence, even though she had made time to have tea with her mentees every month. She’d have to do it again, just once. She owed it to her charges to check up on them one last time.
But the Head Girl has far too much to do, her own thoughts mocked her. She has to give the speech at Final Feast, as well as everything else in-between.
Gordian cleared his throat, loudly. Emily jumped.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I was miles away.”
“I could tell,” Gordian said, with heavy sarcasm. “Make sure you get back in time to greet the firsties. You’ll need to set a good example for everyone else.”
“Yes, sir,” Emily said. “I know.”
She sighed. She had no idea what Caleb wanted, unless it was to discuss their work. But she didn’t think so. He wouldn’t have been shy about that, not after they’d rebuilt enough of their friendship to work together.
It’s going to be a long year, she thought. And it’s only just begun.
“This will be the most important year of your education,” Gordian warned. “You do not want to mess it up.”
Emily nodded, slowly. “I’ll do my best, sir.”
“That’s all I ask.” Gordian’s voice was pleasant, but there was a hard edge hanging in the air. “You are not expected to succeed in everything.”
Really, Emily thought. You would be pleased if I failed.
Chapter Eight
IF EMILY WERE HONEST, SHE’D HAVE to admit that she could grow to like her office very quickly. It was large enough to store a considerable selection of reference books and school tomes, and secure enough that she felt reasonably safe working on some of her private projects at her personal workbench. Indeed, with a little effort, she could turn it into a personal spellchamber, although she suspected that wasn’t a good idea. It would have been far too revealing to anyone who looked closely.
And if it hadn’t come with the Head Girl responsibilities, she acknowledged as she felt someone tapping on the door, it would have been perfect.
She sighed inwardly as she linked to the wards, commanding them to open the door. Caleb stood on the far side, looking oddly nervous. He’d grown his hair out, Emily noted absently, and he was wearing a shirt and trousers instead of his robes. She felt a flicker of ... something ... as she remembered him holding her, an odd wistfulness she brushed aside with grim determination. They were better off just being friends. And if they couldn’t overcome the awkwardness by the end of the year, perhaps they’d be better off being apart.