They walked down the hall and he showed her through a door.

"This was professor Dellowberry's quarters when he stayed here and because he left with such short notice you will find that all of his books conserning the subject are still in their shelves.You may use them as you please."

She walked by the headmasters side as he showed her a small but fully adequate room that was dominated by a four-poster bed and three heavily overwhelmed bookshelves. There were also a plain writing desk, a padded stool and a humble drawer in the same cherry wood as the bed. Through an opened door to the left she could even catch a glimps of a small bathroom. Her eyes were drawn to the single window from which the late afternoon light poored in and showered the bed in fireing prismas.

"It's wonderful!"

The comment had left her lips before she could stop her self and so she stoped and turned towards the smiling headmaster.

"I mean, I'll have no trouble at all comeing to ease here, headmaster Dumbledore. This is more than enough. Truly."

"Yes, I would imagine. And do adress me as "professor". Or "Albus", by all means. I don't like to put myself apart from my colleagues; we are all in this together. You included, professor Iceleaf."

She nodded her head, trying to look her most professional self and let him know she had understood his request. They had stoped at one of the shelves and her right hand had automaticly lifted itself to one of the torn bookspines. She looked at it and read: Home Life and Social Habits of British Muggles.

Somehow she must have shown her conserns, because the bearded and strangely dressed headmaster sat down on the deskstool and looked at her.

"Though you look very alike you mother I will not assume too much. How much has she told you?"

He put his hands in his lap, making him self comfortable. Both unsure of the conversation and how to conduct herself to her new employer, she tried to follow his example and sat down on the bed opposite him to make a calm impression and, maybe, have the feeling rubed of on her.

"I don't know really," she began. "I though all she told me of this 'Hogwarts' and 'magic' was, well ... stories. I mean, I remember them as stories, but I did belive them when I was a little girl. Silly really, but I actually remember waiting for my letter the days before I began school. My mother told me that I will have to go to 'muggle school' for some years before I could expect to recieve such letter."

She put on a bit of an embaressed face, smiled and shug her shoulders.

"But of course, that was before ... "

She tried to sound as if it didn't matter, that is was water under the bridge, but the sentence died out in the air between them and left things untold. The turn of a knife in her stomach as she brushed the subject made her silent. The headmaster only waited a moment longer before he nodded his head.

"Yes, I know of it. I am sorry. You mother was a bright witch and a loving person, but not even magic can make the pain of a loved one lost disappear."

The wrinkled face, with the remarkably sharp eyes that implied a much younger man, had a sombre expression as he looked at her. She felt that he knew much more about her than she had imagined. But she also knew that anything could happen in the world of magic so she didn't ask any questions. Not yet.

"Well, as the situation is a bit off the tracks, conserning professor Dellowberry's abrupt leave, I have concluded that some changes ought to be in place when it comes to Muggle Studies, especially as you are neither from Britan nor have any experience of magic. None educational experience, that is. But you have studied both pedagogy, history and religion at universital level, have you not?"

As their conversation came on to her qualifications, she straightened her back and nodded at every subject he mentioned.

"Yes, that's correct. I'm a fully educated teacher from the University of Pebblebridge. I brought my qualification papers and certificate. I also have words from all of my mentors that contribute to my practical education."

As she spoke she rose from the bed and opened the outer pocket of one of her bags. She handed him the documents and he took them as he stood up, but didn't look at them.

"This is hardly necessary, professor, but I am sure Minerva most willingly will want to have a look at them as she will be you nearest contact. I will have her contact you tomorrow about the new scedual and other changes that the two of you may agree on. And if you have any questions you are to turn to her."

"Not you, professor?"

Once again her mind slipped her lips and once again she felt utterly exposed to Dumbledore's gentle smile and comforting headnod.

"You may come to me at any time, professor Iceleaf, but I assure you that professor McGonagall is just as good as me in most departments. Often better when it comes to practical things, as a matter of fact."

While speking he crossed the floor towards the door. She followed him out to the corridor where he turned.

"Furthermore she is the one handleing the sceduals. A sharp mind when it comes to adjustment."

He seemed to wander off in his mind, but just as Eleanor was about to ask about professor McGonagall's subject he lifted his eyes and gave her a polite smile.

"Now, you must be tired from your journey. Have a good night sleep and Minerva will fill you in on the plans in the morning. Good night!"

Dumbledore shoock her hand again, quite fiercly to be as farewell, before he strolled down the hallway and left her at the door. She stood still, following him with her eyes as he started humming some unknown melody and turning at the next corner.

Struck, happy, scared. She felt it all as she closed the door and pressed her back at it. She couldn't really belive it. Not yet. Not even as she walked over the floor and stroke one of the beds four pillars. Nor when she opened the cage and let Zider out; whom emediatly started to explore the new enviroment. Not even as she pushed the door open to the bathroom and lifted her eyes to the live candles that was the only light in there. Not even than could she belive it. She did, how ever, belive it when she saw her own face in the oval mirror.

A young woman looked back at her. She had light brown hair falling free around a soft face. Soft, for it had no sharp features what so ever. The chin was round and put back, suffering a prominent overbite. The cheeks were on the brim of round, but the clear cheekbones saved her from looking chubby. The mouth had a plump feel to it too, except for the upper lip that was much thinner. And so the nose. It was tilted upwards, but was otherwise straight.

The big, blue eyes was the thing telling her that this was real, that this was the truth and reality; they were lined and marked by her long journey and by the sleepless night she had suffered the night before. If this had been a dream she'd looked fresh and perky with sparkling stars around her head.

As her day had been very long she couldn't find the strenght to unpack her bags before going to bed. She only put Ziders box to order in tha bathroom and fed her a bowl of the dry catfood she had brought with her, made the bed (that was quite gigantic; she had to use two sheets to fully cover the mattress!) and crawled down under the covers. Zider joined her and finally they both fell asleep.