Potions, his only good lesson. And Muggle Studies. Something he was okay at, purely because - as far as he knew, as far as he'd grown up - Dalton was a Muggle. But together? The idea sounded pretty absurd.

And to make it worse, they were working out at the lake. In December. In Scotland no less. Tugging his red beanie hat lower over his ears and shoving his hands deeper into the pockets of his robes, Dalton trudged through the grounds to the logs, nodding at the professors as he took a seat on the the furthest log from the front.

Could he light a cauldron now please? Warm himself up?