Professor Harrow is a middle-aged, stern-looking individual with spectacles perched on the edge of his nose, and an impeccably-pressed tweed suit that seems a century out of place. He carries a weathered leather satchel bursting with ancient texts and thick-rimmed notations. His demeanor is icy, as though the very notion of customer service is beneath his scholarly pursuit. His gaze is piercing, and every word he speaks is laced with condescending academic superiority.