In Muggle school, when the teacher was annoyed or hungover or didn’t want to teach you for some other reason, they just put on a movie. Professors at RMI couldn’t do that, but a lot of the time they barely taught a lesson and then assigned partner work for the rest of the period, which Elliot figured was basically the same thing as playing a movie.
Today Professor Boot wasn’t even pretending to do a lesson. He must be super hungover. It made sense: staff didn’t have to drive or Apparate home, so they could go pretty hard just about whenever they wanted. And Professor Boot? Come on. Look at those eyebrows. Those were not the eyebrows of a person who went to bed at nine p.m. and didn’t drink anything harder than hot cocoa. Those were “cocainiest option in the Bioware character creator” eyebrows. Those eyebrows had seen things.
It was kind of a shame because Elliot liked History of Magic (waving a wand and wearing silver robes over your diamond ore sweater and skinny jeans were not the only parts of being a wizard: Elliot wanted to learn the lore too), but at least today’s assignment was the best kind of busywork you could get in History of Magic. They didn’t have to read anything for it. Not that Elliot didn’t like reading. Violet Rosse might think goblin wars were boring, but they were actually epic: they had all the best elements of high fantasy, like battle scenes and court intrigue, only they were real. But reading pages and pages of goblin epithets took a long time, and that didn’t leave much room to talk to other people, which was what Elliot wanted to do in class if they weren’t going to be learning. The family tree thing was gonna be a piece of non-lie cake.
Elliot dipped his hawkfeather quill in the ink and wrote his full name, Elliot Roy Phippen, in the box. Like this was the parchment version of ancestry dot com, more boxes popped up for him to fill in. Elliot scribbled down Ophelia Zenda Harper and James Tiberius Phippen in the parent spots, and his sister Ariana Zelda next to himself. See? Easy. The hardest part would be deciding what to write about his family. They were a fun bunch.
He was filling in his maternal grandfathers, Elliot Harper and Roy Lee—the ones Elliot was named after even though they’d died a long time before he was born—when Sadie loudly said beside him, “What the hell am I supposed to do if I’m adopted?”
“What do you mean?” Elliot scratched his temple with the tip of his quill, blithely blotting black ink into his black hair. “You put Cosette and Ava. And Hayden and Bobbie. They’re your people.”