On his mission to get more intel about some of his colleagues, Scrimgeour had found himself in an oddly familiar part of the castle. It had been many, many years since he had been up on this level of the school. In fact, the last he could recall was walking out of that fat woman's portrait for the last time on his last day at Hogwarts. The memories were starting to flood back to him as he walked along the corridor.
And then those memories came to a halt at the sight that awaited him at the moving staircases.
His eyes narrowed, his eyes glaring into the back of their heads. The skateboard, the mattress that was clearly taken from a bed, and the mention of surfing — it all was such a disgrace to his former House. The old man was not going to allow these two, among the others who thought like them, to drag the name of Godric Gryffindor through the mud with their idiocracy.
"You will be going nowhere," his gruff voice sounded suddenly. "Explain yourselves. Now." Not that he needed an explanation from them. What they were up to was quite obvious. But this was their only chance to make their inevitable consequence slightly less severe.
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