"The constraints have become somewhat less stringent; they haven't disappeared. I'm afraid I don't recall it well myself. It was generally poker in the staffroom. I didn't think you were," he nods, satisfied with his memory, and switches to a harsh, good-humored voice, rather higher-pitched than his own tones but not comically or effeminately so, and the half-hearted remains of a Hagrid-like accent that lingers on its final syllables. "'Prentices doan't pay, boey," he rasps. "Moi ducks does what they's toald, gives they marster they labor and its froots for they toim in exchaenge fer lurnen', bed an' boaerd, and wurks foar 'em at loaw reets for fair toim arfter they's surtifoied."
"A few for Poppy, and the Guild has asked for as much Wolfsbane as I can provide in time for the moon. That one will be tedious." He sighs. "And revoltingly odiferous."