The memo fluttered around her head with urgency, if paper could be accused of being such a thing, and Morwenna plucked it from the air with a sigh. Nothing good came of memos from the atrium. In her experience anything that required the problem being passed immediately to a senior member of staff was a headache waiting to happen and frankly Morwenna had enough of them to be going on with.

Still, duty called. She sent back the memo and scanned the remainder of the document she had been annotating for the last half an hour. Mr Scamander was a clever young man but he really did need to improve his handwriting if he was to make something of himself.

The rap at the door drew her attention back to the present and she bade her visitor entrance. Ah… she had been wondering whether this would prove a mountain or a molehill, apparently her instinct that it would be the former had been correct.

“Miss Spinnakers, I take it?” She gestured to the seat on the opposite side of her desk. “You’re very prompt. I doubt the ink on the Prophet is even dry.”

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MJ knows my soul rings to the rune of this iconic hat