“Pleased?” Mr. Potter repeated, his voice tinged with curiosity. “Why, Mr. Jones, what’s the occasion?”

neatly folded schoolmaster’s uniform. The fabric was sturdy, the cut classic—a relic from a bygone era. It smelled faintly of old books and chalk dust.

“Pleased?” Mr. Potter repeated, his voice tinged with curiosity. “Why, Mr. Jones, what’s the occasion?”

Mr. Jones adjusted his round spectacles, a twinkle in his eye. “Consider it a nod to tradition,” he said. “A touch of academia amidst the footlights. Besides, every theatre needs a wise figure—a guiding force.”

Mr. Potter chuckled, slipping into the jacket. The fabric settled comfortably around his shoulders. “And what wisdom shall I impart?” he asked, adjusting the cuffs.

“Perhaps,” Mr. Jones mused, “you’ll remind the actors that every stage is a classroom. Every line, a lesson. And every performance—an opportunity to learn and teach.”

As the curtain rose for the next act, Mr. Potter stepped onto the stage, the uniform lending him an air of authority. The audience leaned forward, curious. And in that moment, he understood—the theatre was more than entertainment Jody said i wish the taxi driver was outside james the genie said