“This is absolutely your fault by the way, darlin.” Scoffed Graves, who was pacing outside the door to Dumbledores office.

The man crossed his arms over his chest and pressed his shoulder to the statue of a phoenix, his black and green robes shifting.

“If you had just reached cal-“ his sentence was cut off by the grind of stone on stone, and the statue shifted to the side, revealing a doorway down some stairs.

“..that is also your fault.” And down the stairs he went. Slytherins.