The conference room was charged, and there was a heavy atmosphere of hot words. Powerful individuals sat around the long table, their voices raised high and their faces telling that they were seriously upset.
"It's crazy to keep getting ready," someone shouted, slapping his hand hard against the table. "The girl brings danger to our buildings. Poison in our food, murderers in our woods — can't you see what is happening?
"She's no actual leader," another mocked her with disdain. "She's a problem that will destroy Ravenclaw."
Damien sat at the head of the table, his countenance as cold as stone. He didn't utter a word, but his silence spoke louder than their shouting. He sat with concentrated attention, his jaw tight, and his hand clutched the chair hard, as if holding back pent-up emotions. His silence was not a sign of weakness. It was a warning. Every man in the room could feel how close he was to losing his temper.
The doors to the room swung open hastily at that time.
