Gabe had glanced up when the door opened - and he was getting much better, hadn't even gone for his wand, then again it was lying right beside his hand already - and nodded at Z's throat-clear, but had kept writing, finishing his sentence halfway through her list. Tossing his quill down, he then leaned back in his chair, smile broadening as she continued.
The three questions thing had seemed like a good idea, especially with the seventh years; an exercise in negotiated priorities and a way to shut down interruptions for the remainder of the class. Well, it had sort of worked.
An eyebrow lifted at her final question, and he answered that one first. "I'm doing fine. I recovered from Egypt not liking me years ago. I've even been back since then." OK, he sort of answered it.
"I do know St Johns," he continued, leaning forward again, "but I don't know how far my name would get you with him. Keep me as plan B and try William first." He probably shouldn't refer that casually to other staff with students. He usually didn't. This was Z. "And you can cut it back to nine inches, if you need to, but they'd better be good, and you'd better hit at least the major side-effects." He gave Z a pointed look - well, the cousin of one, at least - then redipped his quill and scratched a note on a scrap of parchment.
Almost as an afterthought, he added, "What's your wards project?"