Domitian slipped his fingers into the glove and flexed them, feeling the leather crackle as they adjusted to movement. He'd have to be careful of these; they were a little stiffer than he would have liked. Maybe he could spell them to wear in a bit before the race started.

"History," he repeated impassively, after his son's report. It did not escape his notice that transfiguration had not made the list, but he wasn't going to ask about it. He couldn't judge his son's worth on his own interests. He knew that others would probably judge Nico if he was struggling with transfiguration — it runs in your blood, doesn't it? — but Domitian would never make such a comment. Any talk of what did or didn't run in his children's blood was entirely unwelcome in his presence.