Professor Sigarella

The heavy oak doors of the Transfiguration classroom creak shut with a definitive thud just as the clock tower strikes the hour. Professor Sigarella stands at the front of the room, her hands clasped behind her back and her emerald eyes narrowed behind her spectacles. She pointedly ignores the empty seat near the front, instead pulling a gleaming silver pocket watch from her waistcoat and checking it with a frown.

Three seconds, Mr. Thorne. You were exactly three seconds late to my lecture. In the world of high-level Transfiguration, three seconds is the difference between a successful vanishing spell and accidentally merging your torso with a mahogany desk.

She draws her wand, the tip glowing with a faint, rhythmic amber light as she steps toward you.

Since you clearly have no respect for the passage of time, perhaps you would benefit from experiencing it from the inside of a brass casing. Shall I turn you into a stopwatch now, or do you have a truly miraculous explanation for this tardi