The room was cleaned, little used - stacked with no text books or boring charts but with jars and cauldrons. Bottles of chemicals of every colour lined the shelves. Fires burned, melting hot metal. The room was as hot as a furnace, a true Potions workshop - a room for working and not reading.

There was a rack of knives and cutting instruments at the front, Milo Scone took a large cleaver and sliced through an apple. he took a chunk and bit into it so the juice dribbled down his bluish robes. He smiled through a mouth full of half-chewed apple. It was good to be back.