Fiona's tired eyes scanned the book in front of her. She was feeling the tension in her neck and shoulders from hunching over her desk for what felt like a good decade. A strand of hair fell into her face, obscuring what was already blurred vision. With a huff, she tucked the rogue ringlet behind her ear and blinked heavily. She glanced around the room before landing finally on the clock on her bookshelf, exploding with books. It was far too early to be this tired, but her eyes were beyond fatigued from pouring over books for the last several hours.

Ever since she was given the grant by the Ministry to support her research, she was hopeful that it would motivate her to spend more tireless nights making headway in her work. It seemed to have to opposite effect. With more pressure behind her, she felt much less excited about it. Though, she had always experienced that sort of thing. The moment she was encouraged to pursue something that had once been voluntary, her motivation to do so would dissipate.

Giving up, she sat back in her chair with a sigh. It wasn't a full minute after she sunk into her chair that she heard a tap on her window. Her hazel eyes shot open and peered through the dimly lit room to the heavy paned glass. Her eyebrows furrowed. A beautiful barn owl, white with brown brushes across her wings and chest, was hovering outside of her window.

Fiona quickly strode across the room, wrapping her large sweater tight around her frame to brace herself for the cold. With a flick of the latch, the owl burst forward, eager to have refuge from what seemed to be a brewing storm, and fluttered over to her chair. It's talons gripped the back of the swivel chair and it hooted at her gratefully, holding out its leg, where an envelope hung.

It was particularly odd to receive owl post so late in the night. Her parents were more apt to drop in unexpectedly than to write her and her boss at St. Mungo's often appeared a floating head in her fireplace, having a general mistrust for owl post. But when Fiona's eyes began to scan the letter's contents, she found the answer to many questions.

Miss McBride,

I apologize for the late arrival of this owl. I am aware that you have been hard at work at St. Mungo's as of late and I am sure your night's would do well without interruption. That said, I would not reach out with such urgency unless I felt it were absolutely necessary.

I am hoping that you would be able to meet with me tomorrow, Saturday, July 18th, at 10am to discuss a rather important matter I am hopeful you will assist me with.

If you could kindly respond as soon as you receive this letter, it would be greatly appreciated.

I hope to see you soon,

Albus Dumbledore

Albus Dumbledore? The headmaster was no regular correspondent of Fiona's. She had, in fact, not been acquainted with him since she was a student herself thirteen years ago. What could he possibly need from her? The hopes that the letter would answer her questions was far behind her, as many more questions began to circle her already foggy, exhausted mind.

She snapped back to reality when the owl on the back of her chair extended its wings to their wide expanse.

"Sorry," she muttered to the bird. She leaned over her desk and pulled out a blank piece of parchment from the thick stack she kept at the ready. Fiona quickly scribbled a response:

Professor Dumbledore,

I would be happy to meet with you tomorrow at 10am. Is there any place in particular you wish to meet? Please let me know as soon as you can. Thank you.

Best,

Fiona McBride

Should she have called him professor? She was no longer a pupil at Hogwarts, but anything else seemed far too informal for their relationship. She pondered this as she slipped the parchment into an envelope.

"Take this back to Professor Dumbledore right away." She told the owl as she tied it to her leg. "Thank you." She smiles down at the bird, who let out a hoot as it took off across the room. Fiona opened the window and let her out. She followed her with her eyes until the owl disappeared into the dark sky.

When Fiona woke the next morning, she was surprised to see she had slept in later than usual. The clock read 9:10. The sun was blaring through the windows she had forgotten to close in her dream-like state the night before. She stretched and got out of bed, grabbing her wand from her bedside table.

With a wave, her bed was made up behind her. Her clothes she had left on the bedroom floor fluttered across the room and folded themselves neatly on the velvet armchair in the corner. When she exited her bedroom, she sent sparks from the 11 inch willow in her hand into the kitchen. They split ways in the air, a few igniting the fire in the fireplace in the living room, the other lighting the stove beneath her waiting teapot. Whistling continently, she entered her bathroom, summoned a towel from the cabinet in the hall, and turned on the hot water.

Fiona had just finished tying her hair out of her face when she picked up Dumbledore's letter once more. Had he mentioned a meeting place and she had skimmed over it? She read the letter twice more, no mention of a place to meet in its contents. She turned the parchment over. Blank. The clock read 9:57. She took pride in her ability to arrive ahead of time to ever appointment she kept. Convinced the owl had gotten lost on its way back to Dumbledore, she peered out the window of her second story apartment, looking for any sign of a lost owl lingering in a nearby tree. No sign of the white owl, every tree boasted wet leaves that blew in the harsh wind.

It was as she stared down at the street below that she heard the unmistakable pop in the next room.