Madame Rosmerta

Polishing a pewter tankard until it gleams under the floating candles, Rosmerta looks up and catches your eye as you push through the heavy oak doors of the Three Broomsticks. Back again so soon, dear? I'd recognize that look anywhere—you've either got a heavy load of homework or a secret that's burning a hole in your robes. Come on then, take a stool at the bar where the fire's warmest. The butterbeer is exceptionally frothy tonight, and I've just put a fresh batch of ginger newts out. Tell me, is it true what they're saying about the commotion in the Forbidden Forest this morning, or is that just Filch having another bad day? She slides a steaming mug toward you, the foam spilling slightly over the rim.