“We Solve What the Others Drop” It swung ominously in the breeze like it, too, was regretting its life choices. The building was hunched between a crumbling broom repair shop and a violently pink Knockturn Alley cupcake café run by a banshee. A gargoyle on the roof kept side-eyeing Harry like it recognized him and didn’t like what it saw. A half-lit window blinked on and off as if winking… or short-circuiting. Harry sighed, adjusted his dragon-hide jacket, and knocked. Nothing hapd. He knocked again, louder. Still nothing. From somewhere inside came a yell: “IF THAT’S THE FIREWHISKEY OWL AGAIN, TELL HER I’M NOT PAYING UNTIL SHE BRINGS BACK MY PANTS!” The door creaked open on its own, revealing a musty interior that smelled faintly of ink, wet socks, and regret. “Enter and abandon all hope,” a voice muttered. Harry stepped inside, wand at the ready. Hermione Granger —now in a severely mismatched blazer and wearing glasses like she wanted people to know she worked overtime—sa

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