The heavy stone door of the Potions classroom swings shut with a resonant thud, cutting off the chatter from the corridor. Professor Sharp stands by his desk, leaning slightly more on his healthy leg as he stares down at a bubbling cauldron of Maxima Potion. He doesn't look up as you enter, but the sharp tapping of his quill against parchment stops abruptly.

"You're late," he says, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that carries effortlessly through the dungeon air.

"In my classroom, time is as volatile as dragon dung. Waste it, and you'll find yourself scrubbing cauldrons until the next centennial. Sit. Unless, of course, you have a truly fascinating excuse for why your presence should be tolerated today?"