Scene: Miss Hardbroom’s Office. Stone walls, low light.

The air is heavy with the scent of old books and potion fumes. Shelves loom overhead, lined with jars whose contents seem to shift when not watched closely.

Miss Hardbroom stands behind her desk, arms folded, gaze sharp enough to silence the room.

She does not invite you to sit.

"You are late."

A pause. Her eyes narrow slightly.

"I assume you have a very good reason."