Charlotte would have liked to spend longer in the wonderful bathtub, but as Snape had not specified when they were leaving she thought it better to be ready than to keep him waiting. She chose a gray t-shirt, khaki pants, her forest green hooded sweatshirt and a pair of good walking shoes. Her hair wasn't long enough for a pony tail yet, so she pushed it behind her ears. She wasn't sure how far 50 pounds would get her with wizards, but she put her wallet in her back pocket anyway. All she had to do now was wait.
"Charlotte, Professor Snape is here to see you."
"Thanks, Celeste, let him in please." Charlotte was suddenly a little nervous. The portrait swung open and the potions master swept in, looking less than pleased.
"Good morning Miss Parnell. Are you ready to depart?" Charlotte nodded and he pulled a small bag from the folds of his robe. "I have taken the liberty of having your fireplace temporarily added to the Floo Network. Floo powder is the simplest means for the both of us to get to Diagon Alley." Noting Charlotte's confusion, he added, "The Floo Network is a method of travel using fireplaces. You will take a handful of powder," he held up the bag, "Step into the fire and speak your destination."
Charlotte looked at the cold hearth feeling a trifle stupid, "But Professor, there's no fire."
Snape made an irritated noise and pulled out his wand, "Incendio!" and suddenly there was a cheerful blaze. He opened the bag of Floo Powder. "Our destination is the Leaky Cauldron. Speak clearly and I suggest you keep you eyes closed."
Abashed and astonished by Snape's display of magic, Charlotte meekly did as she was bid. The fire turned a strange green color when she threw the powder on it, and when she stepped into the hearth she felt she was standing in a sauna or sunbathing on a beach. "The Leaky Cauldron!" she cried, and then the world began to spin. Charlotte remembered to shut her eyes after she felt soot hit her face. The spinning got faster and faster, like a teacup ride from hell. At the point she felt sure her brains were going to ooze out her ears (along with her breakfast), the world came to a full and complete stop. Her hands and face collided with something solid and cold. She was on her hands and knees; blind, dizzy, nauseous, and out of breath. There was a strong hand on her left hip and another circling her right wrist. Gently but firmly she was pulled to her feet and placed in a chair.
"Put your head between your legs," someone said. There was the sound of a chair being dragged across the floor. Charlotte bent over, trying to slow her breathing. Her eyes were watering, trying to get the soot out. Rubbing and blinking, she found she could see again. Snape was sitting across from her with something that might have been sympathy in his eyes. He could almost be human when he isn't being a jerk. They were sitting in a small, dingy bar. This early in the morning there were few patrons, mostly clustered around the bar area where a bald older man was presiding over the taps. Charlotte straightened up experimentally and got little protest from her head and stomach. "How do you feel?" asked Snape.
"Better," she replied, wiping her face with her sleeve to pick up any remaining soot. "I think I'm ready to try standing up." That accomplished, she gestured for Snape to lead the way. He told her that Dumbledore had authorized him to procure a wand, robes and basic supplies, anything beyond that was her own responsibility. Charlotte was somehow not surprised to learn that wizards had their own money, but the goblin employees of Gringott's were another matter. She had to remind herself several times not to stare at them as she had her Muggle money exchanged for Knuts, Sickles, and Galleons. Diagon Alley was just that, a narrow street filled with small shops. Charlotte would have liked to examine each one closely, but from the bank Snape took her directly to a shop called Ollivander's. "Makers of fine wands since 382 BC," the sign read. Inside the shop, the walls were lined from floor to ceiling with slender boxes. An old man stood behind the counter.
"Miss Parnell, I've been expecting you," he said as they walked in. He took out a tape measure which began measuring various parts of Charlotte's body. While the tape measure worked, the man went to his stacks and pulled out a box. "Oak, dragon heartstring, 7 3/4 inches," he said, handing her a wand. "Give it a wave!" Charlotte moved her arm awkwardly and the man snatched the wand back. "How about this: willow, unicorn hair, 10 inches." Charlotte tried again and a rush of brightly colored sparks issued forth from the tip. "Well done, Miss Parnell." The wand was placed back in the box. "I will send this to Hogwarts this afternoon. Good day Miss Parnell, Professor Snape."
***
The trip to Diagon Alley with Charlotte was less unpleasant than Snape had expected, mostly due to the fact that Charlotte was too in awe of everything around her (and suffering the lingering effects of traveling by Floo) to cause any trouble. He confessed to feeling a pang of envy in Ollivander's shop, watching the girl's face light up when she waved her wand. It was rare that he got to see anything resembling that excitement for magic. Most of his students were either too scared of him or too familiar with the wizarding world to be thrilled by a simple potion or wave of the wand. Most students would gladly forgo Potions, he wondered if McGonagall or Flitwick saw more interest in their classes.
With tolerable equanimity he watched Charlotte try on robes at Madam Malkin's. She finally selected a set of iridescent sapphire blue shot with silver threads, "They bring out the color of your eyes, love," said Madam Malkin, hemming the bottom as Charlotte examined herself in the mirror. Charlotte blushed and spent the rest of their time in the shop staring at the floor. They bought quills, paper and a cauldron and then went into Flourish and Botts so she could buy books. She had enough money for everything on Snape's list, plus Hogwarts: a History and Recent Developments in Muggle Studies. She explained the last by saying, "I'm supposed to be teaching a class on this stuff, I should at least know what's going on in the field." Their shopping complete they returned to the Leaky Cauldron. Charlotte eyed the fireplace with distaste
"Do we have to go back that way?" she asked.
"Yes," he replied, not unkindly. "It should be easier now that you know what to expect."
A few moments later they were back in Charlotte's room. She was dizzy and disoriented but nowhere near as bad as the first time.
"Your packages should be arriving by owl this afternoon. We will speak again later about your course of study," Snape said, after ascertaining that she was not going to fall over. He was out the portrait hole before Charlotte could ask what 'arriving by owl' meant.
***
September slid resolutely into October; the air became cool and crisp and all of Hogwarts went Quidditch-mad. The buzz had started once the house teams were announced, but had risen to a fever pitch with the first game only a few weeks away. Charlotte had checked Quidditch Through the Ages out of the library and found herself anticipating the game as much as some of the students. Once she had adjusted to the concept of magic, witches and wizards, it actually did not take Charlotte very long to settle into a routine at Hogwarts. Mornings were spent reading and researching in the library. She divided her time between preparing for her coming class and completing the assignments Snape gave her. After lunch was her free time, when she had her weekly chat with Dumbledore, socialized with the other professors or strolled the school grounds. In the late afternoon, she traveled down to the dungeons to meet with the potions master. It was Charlotte who had insisted on this arrangement. "I'm used to having a class; I'd like to have someone around who understands this stuff when I'm waving my wand around." Some days she simply sat in the potions classroom and read while Snape graded assignments and prepared lessons for his younger students. Other days she attempted to transfigure charm, boil or otherwise maim innocent objects. Charlotte was reluctant to admit it, but it was obvious that most of her skill lay in potions. She quietly felt that it would have been cooler to be good at a more overtly magical thing, but potions were the thing she most identified with. Because potions have the most in common with Muggle science, she decided, also very quietly. She likened it to chemistry or cooking, it was concrete and tangible. Unfortunately, Snape was in his most domineering mood when she was working with potions. Nothing was ever good enough for him, and Charlotte was annoyed to find that mattered to her. She was his pupil, she wanted him to be proud of her accomplishments, but all he ever saw were her faults. The evenings she had questioned her reading, or asked him to explain some element of the wizarding world she had seen how intelligent he was, the sheer amount of knowledge he possessed. Intelligence was a trait she admired, a trait she understood and respected. And she respected Snape; she just wished he would loosen up about potion making.
As the weeks passed, Charlotte's skills improved. Her pincushions no longer snuffled like hedgehogs and she had mastered the more basic charms. She went through a period of locking herself into anything and everything she could find that had a lock, just to practice saying "Alohamora!" Until Snape told her to stop behaving like a foolish first-year.
"Don't you understand the concept of fun?" Charlotte asked.
"I would hardly think 'fun' applies in this instance. You are supposed to be learning the skills to protect you once you return to Oxford."
"Tell me, which do you think will frighten my adversaries more, finely chopping and boiling them or turning them into toadstools?" Charlotte's tone was acid.
"Your extensive Muggle education has apparently not endowed you with any common sense. Did you think you could simply wave your wand and be able to cast one of the Unforgivables? We have a concept known as 'hard work,' Miss Parnell; perhaps Muggles have not invented a machine to duplicate it." Snape ignored her spluttered protest. "You are learning the basic principles by which magic operates, only once you have mastered those can you hope to tackle more advanced subject material. I suggest you return to your room and review your lessons, we are done for the day." He sat at his desk and resumed grading papers, not so much a batting an eye as Charlotte angrily gathered her books and slammed the classroom door behind her.
How dare he! Charlotte seethed as she negotiated her way back up to the teacher's wing. "Mangel-wurzel!" she spat, stomping into her room. "I don't know the meaning of hard work? Honestly, master's degrees do not wish themselves into being!" She dropped her books at her desk and paced the floor.
"Something wrong, Charlotte?" asked Celeste.
"Where does he get off calling me lazy? And telling me I have no common sense? And calling me a stupid first-year?" Charlotte yelled in the direction of the portrait
"Let me guess, another fun day with Professor Snape."
"He got mad at me for practicing the Alohamora charm."
"Did you lock yourself in a trunk again? Snape isn't much on frivolity."
"So I've noticed," Charlotte muttered dryly, "I don't want to spend all my time worrying about those creeps who attacked me. I haven't even learned anything to fight them, really. You can still wave your wand in a leg-locker."
"I'm not much for magic myself, but I've been around a fair number of wizards, and I've been under the impression that you've got to start with the basics to understand how to combat the Unforgivables and fight Death Eaters."
"You sound just like Snape," she sighed. "I can't stay here forever. Someday soon I have to go back to Oxford, start my degree. I don't have the time to spend seven years at Hogwarts learning all the ins and outs of magic. I don't think I could take seven years of being lorded over by Snape anyway. I feel sorry for his students. I imagine he's perfectly frightening to a ten year old."
"But you're not scared of him?"
"Celeste, I haven't been ten for a long time. Besides, I survived having Mrs. Mansfield in fourth grade, Snape pales in comparison. He can be mean and nasty, insulting and infuriating, but not scary. Maybe I feel that way because he's not giving me a grade, he has absolutely no control over my future, unlike Mrs. Mansfield. I don't think I'm going to see him tomorrow. I shouldn't have gotten so angry, shouldn't let him goad me. But really, not all Muggles are lazy. I'm going to have to do some damage control next semester; our PR is really in the tubes."
***
Charlotte didn't report to the dungeons the next day, nor did Snape send for her. The idea of a few moments to himself in his own classroom was novel. He attempted to grade some papers, but he was having difficulty concentrating. Glaring into an unusually empty section of the classroom he realized why, it was too quiet. As a man who preferred solitude, he found this discovery highly irksome. When she wasn't busy behaving like a child, Charlotte Parnell was actually a very intelligent young woman. She had made a good deal of progress in the last few weeks and managed to retain her initial enthusiasm for the subject. She always had a question for him, on his less charitable days he compared her to the Gryffindor know-it-all, Hermione Grainger. The problem with Miss Parnell was that she wasn't an impressionable first-year. Not only did she have questions, she questioned the answers he gave. Her tenacity was both amazing and exasperating. He had told her so one night after answering a barrage of questions on the Ministry of Magic, house elves and flying carpets.
"Don't you see? I'm making up for lost time. When I got to college I already knew plenty about languages, history, math and science. Those subjects weren't new to me anymore. A month ago I knew nothing about magic, except from fairy stories. I'm just trying to make the most of my so-called sabbatical," she shrugged, "I just like to learn stuff." Very Hermione Grainger, he snorted. But the room seemed vacant without her. With a growl of annoyance he threw down his quill and stalked out of the classroom, hoping that terrorizing some hapless students would serve to improve his mood.
The day after her missed lesson, Charlotte joined the rest of the school around the quidditch pitch for the first match of the season. She watched the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor players swoop around the field in warm-up through binoculars Professor McGonagall had kindly lent her. A familiar shadow loomed over her seat
"Professor," she said coolly, not taking her eyes away from the pitch.
"Professor," he answered, matching her tone. When he sat down next to her, she put down the binoculars to look at him in surprise. "I am surprised to see you here; I had presumed you returned to Oxford."
"Did you? One afternoon of sneering insults will not send me running, Professor. You're going to have to do better than that to scare me."
"And your failure to show up in the classroom yesterday can be attributed to-?" he left the sentence hanging.
Charlotte flushed slightly but held her ground. "I thought it better to devote my attention to other directions. If everyone in the wizarding world has the same low opinion of Muggles as you, I have a lot of work to do next semester."
He smiled, but it was not a nice one, "Rest assured, Miss Parnell, that there are those who give Muggles far less credit than I do." Charlotte could not fully suppress her shudder and immediately directed her attention to repositioning her red and white New College scarf around her neck. "I trust there will be no barrier to your future attendance at our session?"
"No, of course not—I've got to show you there's at least one Muggle out there isn't lazy."
He looked at her in some surprise. "You stopped being a Muggle the moment you picked up your wand."
She blinked and a slow smile spread across her features. "I'll take that as a compliment, Professor," she said, returning her focus to the quidditch pitch.
***
The day after Gryffindor's crushing defeat of Ravenclaw, lead by star seeker Harry Potter, Charlotte went to see Professor Dumbledore. She had been reading a recent history of the wizarding world and it had unnerved her greatly. She wanted Dumbledore to reassure her, to tell her the business with the Dark Lord really wasn't as bad as it sounded. As she was coming down the staircase, she saw a man headed up. He was slender with white-blond hair and a pale face. He caught sight of her and she watched some unidentifiable emotion play over his face before being submerged under an impassive exterior.
"Good morning," he said in a voice of polished steel, meeting her in front of Dumbledore's office.
"Can I help you?"
"Unlikely. I have an appointment with Headmaster Dumbledore. He has already been alerted to my arrival."
His tone immediately put Charlotte on the defensive. "How nice for you." Inwardly she resigned herself to sitting in the library until Dumbledore was free. She made a move to go past him down the staircase but he stopped her with a hand.
"You're American."
"Last time I checked, yes."
"You must be the new Muggle Studies professor my son spoke of. Dumbledore continues to waste time and money on classes of no value whatsoever." The last part he said almost to himself.
"You think Muggle Studies are worthless?" Charlotte asked
"Certainly. Surely as a member of the wizarding community you realize how beneath them it is for students to study the activities of Muggles." He smiled frostily.
Charlotte drew herself up to her full height. "In America we have a greater understanding of Muggles than I have seen in Europe, their way of life is something that all wizards and witches should understand." She hoped that perspective was supported by the American community; it was certainly how she felt.
The man shook his head. "How unsurprising, Albus hiring another Muggle-lover. Do not think that your American passport will protect you from the Dark Lord. He does not care about nationality, only about purity of blood and spirit." He was only inches away from her, with a look of such malice on his face that Charlotte tensed up, ready to be hit.
From behind her a mercifully familiar voice said, "Lucius, the Headmaster will see you now." Snape stood at the office door, glowering.
Lucius backed away from Charlotte and smoothed out his robes. "Thank you Severus," he replied, his face a mask of benign superiority. With one last appraising look of Charlotte he strode into the office.
Snape waited until the portrait had closed behind Lucius before swooping down on Charlotte. He grabbed her by the wrist and hissed, "You little fool! What were you thinking?" Faced with the unexpected force of Snape's wrath, Charlotte could only stammer. "Have you any idea who that was?" At Charlotte's frightened shake of her head he squeezed her wrist, "Think Miss Parnell!" Charlotte looked in the direction Lucius had gone, remembering what he had said to her. And then she realized – it was that voice of cold steel that had confronted her that day in Queen's Lane; that voice that had used one of the Unforgivable curses on her.
"Oh my God," she breathed, and her knees buckled. Snape put his arm around her waist and kept her from completely collapsing.
"Miss Parnell-," he began, "Charlotte, now is not the time. You are safe at Hogwarts. Lucius can do nothing to you while you are within these walls." Charlotte nodded dumbly. The potions master looked down at her and sighed. "We'd better get you off these stairs before any students see you in this less than professional position."