The speech was over, if it could be called a speech in the first place. Penelope had to admit, she thought she would get along well with the Headmaster. They were both subtle as sledgehammers, more concerned about action than words.

She dug out a piece of paper from under her seat. The number 11 was scrawled on it in poor handwriting. [i]A room number, perhaps?[/i] Truth be told, she had no idea what the number meant, so she sat back down and wait for further instructions to clear her confusion.