Emrys emerged from the closet long enough to shoot him a withering look and did not deign to reply to either point with a verbal response. Macmillan was not Byron, no matter what he fancied of himself, and he was not a magical savant, either. Getting good NEWT scores was one thing, but Macmillan was not a creature of violence and Emrys would have been very surprised indeed if he had touched any of the spells on the list since graduating. Reuben Crouch, on the other hand, was the sort of person who challenged people to duels. He got into street brawls. Obviously he would be a good deal more confident about this than Macmillan had any right to be.

"Do you even recognize any of the spells on the list?" he asked, waving vaguely to the end table where Pettigrew's letter was sitting. "I don't spend my Saturday afternoons shooting magical arrows at passersby. Do you?"