It took some minutes before Neville spotted the face he was looking for. Part-shrouded by this low-hanging cloud of tobacco-scented battle smoke, Terry Boot was huddled in a corner with another man, a spotty-faced youth who was clearly nothing more than a local Muggle cannabis pusher, and whose clients were probably younger than he was. Neville locked his gaze onto this once-schoolyard peer of his, keeping his eyes fixed on him until Boot seemed to realise that he was being watched.