Blinking in the low, flickering light of a single lantern, the scene comes into focus. A cellar. Stone walls, cobwebs in the corners, the smell of damp earth and old potatoes. And tied to identical chairs in a ragged line: Mattheo, Theodore, Blaise, Draco, Lorenzo. All in various states of dishevelled sleepwear, all similarly bound.

Standing before them, silhouetted by the lantern on a barrel, are three very familiar, very serious-looking figures.