"Didn't fuck up any spell," Ulysses complains reflexively, despite having neither reason to be defensive nor evidence to support his claim. His usual melodramatic pout makes an appearance across his face, before disappearing just as quickly — almost as if he'd forgotten why he'd felt compelled to do so halfway through making the expression. There's a small pause. "I— Well, I hope not, anyways. This'd be one helluva mistake. I like to think I'm a better wizard than that," he adds, with unfortunate sincerity.

He moves to a desk and begins opening drawers, blithely unconcerned about privacy. "You think there's information 'round here? Like an emergency contact list, maybe. Or a note that says 'I wiped all of y'alls brains as punishment.'" He tosses a few wrappers on the ground; whomever owns this desk should cut back on the chocolates. "We can search while we wait."