It was a mess cleaning up the deep rift left by Jacques' death. He
was a liked and respected man, a friend of the family, and because the
cause of his death was so mysterious, pacifying the press was a nightmare.
She had just stepped out to visit Lorelei Malkin and get a bite to eat,
when she was nearly floored by the press. They had been congregating around
the foreign ministries building, waiting for someone to come out, but she
had hated being cooped up in there for so long. She had to get out. To be
safe however, she had wrapped herself in a cloak of spells. She was
completely disguised. New hair color, new eye color, she had changed her
style of clothing and spoke in a British accent, the best she could muster
after five years of living in the country. Her hair and eyes could be
changed back with a flick of a wand, of course, but if she played this
right, it would never have to come to that.
Ah, the press. She was ready.
"WWN. Ma'am, do you know anything about the mysterious death of the french minister, Jacques Lunaire, and the American doctor or her relation to it?"
She blinked her now brown eyes and fluffed her now blonde hair. "I don't know anything you haven't already heard." She said simply and tried to walk away.
Alas, the pesky reporter from the WWN would have none of that. He grabbed the back of her (borrowed) silk-lined cashmere robe and looked into her face. She stared him down.
"Do you know the American doctor? Mr. Lunaire?"
"Only distantly." Why wouldn't he leave?
He finally gave up. "Good." he said, defeated. "May I quote you?"
She nodded.
"What's your name?"
"Margaret Cohen." And with that she walked off. When in doubt, use your middle and maiden name.
Her first stop was at the post office. Due to the large amount of howlers being sent to her address, she had asked her friends to send her letters to the post office, to a Miss Margaret Cohen. She approached the desk and taped the small, silver bell sitting on the middle of the small counter.
"Excuse me."
A small man entered from a back room, he was a nervous jittery man, one who probably shouldn't be working with hundreds of owls, but there he was. "Yes?" He looked at her a little bit longer than he probably should have, which unnerved her. She guessed the blonde hair did something for her, but still, she was married, and a mother. Alas, she had been forced to take off her wedding ring to avoid recognition. "Do you have any letters for Margaret Cohen?"
"Margaret Cohen?"
"Yes. That's my name." Her bare fingers tapped the counter in a bored fashion.
"Nice to meet you Margaret. I haven't seen you around here." He held out his hand.
She contemplated ignoring it, but decided she should just grin and bear it. She shook as she said "Pleasure to meet you as well, Mr.–"
"Jordon. Adrian Jordan."
"Ah, yes, Mr. Jordan. I don't really live around here, just poking about a bit. I was really interested in the shops around this quaint little area." She gestured vaguely, as if she was just a rich man's wife who often searched through small boutiques looking for over priced goodies. "Anyway, I've been staying for a couple days, and decided I should check and see if I have any mail before I left."
"You're leaving?"
"Oh, yes, most unfortunately." Darn it. She'd have to get a new disguise. "Er..about that letter?"
He nodded. "Cohen. Right?"
"C-O-H-E-N. Thank you oh so very much." The man rushed over, and rummaged through the "C" bin in a hurried fashion.
"One." He said, breathless, as he retrieved the letter. It was stained and curled as if it had been wet. He handed it to her, then she thanked him, smiled graciously and left.
She stood staring at the letter for a while, without opening it, trying to decipher the seal. She stared at it for a long while, until she noticed a curve that turned into a snake. Peering at the blurred and mangled lines for a moment longer, she noticed that it was a Hogwarts seal, and slid her [quite unlike her] long fake fingernail under the seal to loosen it up. At least that nail was useful for something. She opened the letter and began to read.
"Dear Margaret,
It's terrible, just terrible. I need so much help! The students are
all getting sick and there is nothing I can do! Dumbledore has put the
school under quarantine, and is letting nothing in or out. This is the last
letter being sent from the castle until everyone is better. Or worse. We
need your help. Please.
-Poppy"
She rubbed her eyes with her hands, careful not to stab herself with those awful fingernails. She would have to talk with Lorelei and tell her she would be missing lunch.
Her bags packed, she stood and kissed her husband. "I'll see you soon." she whispered.
"I hope so."
She had to get out of the Foreign Ministries building to apparate, because of the anti-apparation charm around it. She stood in the center of Diagon alley and apparated to Hogsmede.
The bags she carried had a spell on them, so they wouldn't be heavy, but still, they felt like lead and she was so weary. As she approached Hogwarts, she felt just this awful aura of death and sadness. The letter had most likely been a few days in traveling, and she could see the effects of those few days. It appeared that people hadn't even bothered to go outside, though they could probably venture out on the grounds. The grass had grown long without the anti-growth spell that needed to be used daily, and there were no footprints through the muddy path to Rubeus Hagrid's hut. Either he had gone into the castle, or had locked himself inside his domain with a large bottle of brandy, not to return until the winter holidays were over.
A light snow began to fall, melting into her fake-blonde hair and landing on the lashes of her fake brown eyes. She finally made it all the way up the wide hill to the heavy oak door of the castle, and knocked three times.
A withered old man answered the door. "Yes miss? How may I help you."
"I need to enter."
"Who are you?"
She looked around. She doubted anyone else could hear them, but to be safe decided to use her fake name. "Margaret Cohen."
"Come in, doctor."
Doctor Rebecca Margaret Cohen Jacobson walked slowly through the door.
A/N: Didja see it coming? Didja? Didja? C'mon! Tell me! I want to know.
Ah, the press. She was ready.
"WWN. Ma'am, do you know anything about the mysterious death of the french minister, Jacques Lunaire, and the American doctor or her relation to it?"
She blinked her now brown eyes and fluffed her now blonde hair. "I don't know anything you haven't already heard." She said simply and tried to walk away.
Alas, the pesky reporter from the WWN would have none of that. He grabbed the back of her (borrowed) silk-lined cashmere robe and looked into her face. She stared him down.
"Do you know the American doctor? Mr. Lunaire?"
"Only distantly." Why wouldn't he leave?
He finally gave up. "Good." he said, defeated. "May I quote you?"
She nodded.
"What's your name?"
"Margaret Cohen." And with that she walked off. When in doubt, use your middle and maiden name.
Her first stop was at the post office. Due to the large amount of howlers being sent to her address, she had asked her friends to send her letters to the post office, to a Miss Margaret Cohen. She approached the desk and taped the small, silver bell sitting on the middle of the small counter.
"Excuse me."
A small man entered from a back room, he was a nervous jittery man, one who probably shouldn't be working with hundreds of owls, but there he was. "Yes?" He looked at her a little bit longer than he probably should have, which unnerved her. She guessed the blonde hair did something for her, but still, she was married, and a mother. Alas, she had been forced to take off her wedding ring to avoid recognition. "Do you have any letters for Margaret Cohen?"
"Margaret Cohen?"
"Yes. That's my name." Her bare fingers tapped the counter in a bored fashion.
"Nice to meet you Margaret. I haven't seen you around here." He held out his hand.
She contemplated ignoring it, but decided she should just grin and bear it. She shook as she said "Pleasure to meet you as well, Mr.–"
"Jordon. Adrian Jordan."
"Ah, yes, Mr. Jordan. I don't really live around here, just poking about a bit. I was really interested in the shops around this quaint little area." She gestured vaguely, as if she was just a rich man's wife who often searched through small boutiques looking for over priced goodies. "Anyway, I've been staying for a couple days, and decided I should check and see if I have any mail before I left."
"You're leaving?"
"Oh, yes, most unfortunately." Darn it. She'd have to get a new disguise. "Er..about that letter?"
He nodded. "Cohen. Right?"
"C-O-H-E-N. Thank you oh so very much." The man rushed over, and rummaged through the "C" bin in a hurried fashion.
"One." He said, breathless, as he retrieved the letter. It was stained and curled as if it had been wet. He handed it to her, then she thanked him, smiled graciously and left.
She stood staring at the letter for a while, without opening it, trying to decipher the seal. She stared at it for a long while, until she noticed a curve that turned into a snake. Peering at the blurred and mangled lines for a moment longer, she noticed that it was a Hogwarts seal, and slid her [quite unlike her] long fake fingernail under the seal to loosen it up. At least that nail was useful for something. She opened the letter and began to read.
"Dear Margaret,
It's terrible, just terrible. I need so much help! The students are
all getting sick and there is nothing I can do! Dumbledore has put the
school under quarantine, and is letting nothing in or out. This is the last
letter being sent from the castle until everyone is better. Or worse. We
need your help. Please.
-Poppy"
She rubbed her eyes with her hands, careful not to stab herself with those awful fingernails. She would have to talk with Lorelei and tell her she would be missing lunch.
Her bags packed, she stood and kissed her husband. "I'll see you soon." she whispered.
"I hope so."
She had to get out of the Foreign Ministries building to apparate, because of the anti-apparation charm around it. She stood in the center of Diagon alley and apparated to Hogsmede.
The bags she carried had a spell on them, so they wouldn't be heavy, but still, they felt like lead and she was so weary. As she approached Hogwarts, she felt just this awful aura of death and sadness. The letter had most likely been a few days in traveling, and she could see the effects of those few days. It appeared that people hadn't even bothered to go outside, though they could probably venture out on the grounds. The grass had grown long without the anti-growth spell that needed to be used daily, and there were no footprints through the muddy path to Rubeus Hagrid's hut. Either he had gone into the castle, or had locked himself inside his domain with a large bottle of brandy, not to return until the winter holidays were over.
A light snow began to fall, melting into her fake-blonde hair and landing on the lashes of her fake brown eyes. She finally made it all the way up the wide hill to the heavy oak door of the castle, and knocked three times.
A withered old man answered the door. "Yes miss? How may I help you."
"I need to enter."
"Who are you?"
She looked around. She doubted anyone else could hear them, but to be safe decided to use her fake name. "Margaret Cohen."
"Come in, doctor."
Doctor Rebecca Margaret Cohen Jacobson walked slowly through the door.
A/N: Didja see it coming? Didja? Didja? C'mon! Tell me! I want to know.
