J.K. Rowling and Joe Biden are stuck in Trapped Elevator in a Mine Shaft and forced to have a deep conversation.

"Well, this is a fine how-do-you-do," Biden chuckled, adjusting his aviators despite the darkness. "Reminds me of that time I got stuck in a snowdrift in '72, almost missed a vote."

Rowling sighed, "At least you had snow, Mr. President. This... this feels like the Dementors are just around the corner, sucking the joy out of the air."

"Now, now, Joanie, gotta keep that chin up! We can't let fear dictate our actions, just like we can't let autocrats run roughshod over democracy."

"Easy for you to say, Mr. President. You have an army. I just have the power of story, and sometimes, it feels rather insignificant against the darkness."

Biden leaned closer. "Insignificant? Stories are what shape us, Joanie. They plant the seeds of empathy and understanding. That's a hell of a power, kid."

Rowling considered this. "Perhaps... but what happens when the story is twisted, weaponized to divide instead of unite?"

"Then we gotta tell a better one," Biden stated firmly, his voice echoing slightly in the shaft. "One that speaks to our shared humanity, to our common ground."

"Easier said than done, when the ground itself seems to be shifting beneath our feet," Rowling countered, her tone laced with weariness.

"Look, kid, I've seen a lot of things change in my time. But the fundamental goodness of the American people, of people everywhere, that stays. We just gotta find it, and nurture it."

"Maybe," Rowling whispered, a glimmer of hope flickering in her eyes. "Maybe you're right. Maybe we just need a new chapter."