The dungeons are cold at night, Naricssa notes as she casts a warming charm on her study. A year ago, Lady Malfoy wouldn’t be caught dead wearing glasses, sitting in a warm dressing gown and working until late. Despite this, she doesn’t fuss as a knock comes from the corridor, expecting a homesick student to open the door without delay. Instead she finds a curly-hair witch with a pearlescent potion phial in her outstretched hand. "I don’t think students are meant to have these?"