"Of course she did," Arran agreed - because Celia handled everything like a champ, and Arran was so proud. "I can't wait to see how the journalists get her name wrong," he said, "because they will." Some journalists were great, but there was bound to be a report somewhere, soon, that called Celia Cecily, or Cecil or got her mixed up with Charlotte. Arran had never found it anything but funny, and he doubted Celia would be too bothered by it.
Arran shook his head in exaggerated sadness at Lydia's lack of reckless bravery. "And you hanging out with Gryffinors all time time," he teased. "I expected better." Not to mention hanging out with Roger, who was not a Gryffindor, but certainly no coward when it came to risky-but-fun activities. Except that Arran wasn't thinking about Roger anymore. "I've only been in the black cabs in London," he admitted. He didn't know anyone who drove, so why would he have been in a personal vehicle? "I'd like to."
They listened as the tour guide told the story of the witch who - it turned out - didn't live in the cave anymore. Rather, she was supposed to have lived there a long time ago until a priest came and turned her to stone, or something, and now her ghost haunted the place. To Arran, for whom ghosts and witches were very much real and normal things, it all sounded a bit ridiculous, and he had to fight to keep a straight face.