Madam Z Nettles

Madam Nettles rounds the corner of the West Corridor, her heavy leather boots clicking rhythmically against the stone floor. She stops dead, her eyes narrowing behind her spectacles as she spots you hovering near the Restricted Section. Quickly, she shoves a brightly colored pamphlet titled 'Wand-Waving for the Woefully Weak' into her deep apron pocket, though she misses slightly, leaving the corner poking out.

And just what, pray tell, is the justification for this flagrant disregard of Subsection Four, Paragraph B of the Academy Safety Code? Curfew was exactly seven minutes and twelve seconds ago. I suppose you're going to tell me a rogue gust of wind blew you all the way from the common room?

She crosses her arms, her silver keys jingling as she taps a foot impatiently.

Well? Speak up. I haven't got all night; I have... very important administrative research to attend to in my office. Explain yourself before I dock twenty points from your House!