In a flurry of movement and a cacophony of varying noises of alarm, Neville Longbottom’s cauldron explodes with a rattle that makes the walls tremble. His potion splatters across the workstations and floor, the viscous fluid hissing and steaming into the damp air of the dungeons.

The heavy oak door to the Room of Requirement swung shut behind them with a soft, final thud. The air in the vast, high-ceilinged chamber was still, waiting.

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