The
Disclaimers:
Before
you launch into the reading of this story, it may be necessary for
you to understand a few things from the outset. Whether or not it
makes the reading more enjoyable is up to you; it may, however, help
to create a context for your reaction to what you read, whether you
enjoy it or not.
I began writing this story in January 2002, which is to say, a year and a half before Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix hit the stores. Everything in this story that was not written by 21 June 2003 was already plotted out; therefore, except for some terminology that may have been slipped in after my reading of that book, nothing you are about to read was influenced in the least by it. There are some parallels, but I assure you, they are nothing more than creepy coincidence, from Ron being Gryffindor's Keeper to the fifth year DADA teacher being a female. Strange, but true.
This story is a collaboration with the writer of another story (who uses the charming—and apt—name of Snarky Sneak). That collaboration took place after each of us had created our characters. Thus, the similarity of physical descriptions for Zarekael and Meli is entirely coincidental, but highly amusing to Snarky and me.
The opinions expressed by the characters in this story are not necessarily those of the author. I find myself disagreeing with all of them regularly; feel free to do the same.
I am well aware of the timeline set up by J.K. Rowling that places Harry's birth in the year 1980. I am likewise aware that this means that Meli and Zarekael are listening to P.O.D., Linkin Park, and System of a Down in 1995-96. My simple explanation? Time does not matter; this isn't actually a historical record. I know that may shock someone somewhere, but oh, well.
Giving
Credit Where Credit Is Due:
While
I would just love
to take credit for all of the really cool stuff quoted in this story,
almost none of it, alas, was originally written or said by me. All
poems, unless otherwise credited in the narrative, were written by
Robert Burns. The lyrics to "Here I Am Amongst You" were
written by Colm Sands, and the version I know, anyway, was performed
by Seamus Kennedy. And as for characters and terms, obviously if you
recognize them from canon, they're the property of J.K. Rowling. Oh, yeah—and Zarekael is the intellectual property of Snarky
Sneak.
The
Selkirk Grace
by Robert Burns
Some
hae meat and canna eat,
And some wad eat that want it,
But we
hae meat and we can eat,
And sae the Lord be
thankit.
Prologue
PRESENT:
24 JUNE 1995
It
was the last night of the Triwizard Tournament at Hogwarts, and the
four champions were preparing to enter the maze. Within three hours,
Cedric Diggory would lay dead and Lord Voldemort would return.
Jeanne Mason had no clue about any of that. She was a Muggle, and if anyone used the word "magic" around her, she could either assign or write a pretty little essay on the subject, but she had no serious notion of such a thing actually existing. She wasn't one to repress another's imaginative fancies, but she herself didn't really indulge in them.
Her concern at the moment was as practical and kindhearted as anything else about her, and to her credit, she didn't mean any harm by it; she certainly couldn't have foreseen the events of the evening as they eventually unfolded. That didn't stop her, in the days afterward, from irrationally blaming herself for the whole thing.
Jeanne taught at a primary school in Little Whinging, Surrey, and, while there were the usual disagreements, most of the teachers got on fairly well. The one, glaring exception was the young woman who taught across the hall from Jeanne. She had taught in the school for five years, and her students emerged as shining examples of what a properly administered sound English education could accomplish. She taught well, and she had always maintained classroom discipline with a skilled ease that most teachers picked up over ten or more years of hard experience. There was nothing to prevent her from having friends among her fellow teachers—she seemed to have a pleasant enough personality—except that she made it abundantly clear that she had no desire to befriend anyone. She remained solitary, for no readily apparent reason.
Coaxing and friendly smiles hadn't worked so far, so when several other teachers decided to go out for drinks, Jeanne made up her mind to force the issue and bring the antisocial teacher along, by hook or by crook.
Jeanne found her at her desk, carefully alphabetizing student essays by the writer's surname before recording their scores in her grade book.
"Are you busy tonight?" Jeanne asked without preamble.
The other arched an eyebrow. "Probably. I need to finish reading The Lays of Beleriand, and once done with that, I have an emergency cobweb count, followed by a thorough check of my Oxford English Dictionary to make sure that all of the entries are still in alphabetical order. Doxies, you know." She nodded sagely. "I can probably pencil you in for a five minute conversation, but only if it's academic in nature."
Pretty quick on your feet, aren't you, then, Jeanne thought, impressed but not put off. "I was hoping you could pencil in an hour or so at the pub, actually. There's a group of us going out, and—"
"I was under the impression that I'm antisocial," the other interrupted dryly. "I highly doubt you'd want me along."
Jeanne smiled wryly. "Oh, go on. We've worked together for five years, and I hardly know you. I don't ask you to be my best friend—just to let me buy you a pint."
The other's eyebrows were nearly to her widow's peak. "And why would you want to buy me a pint? As you say, you hardly know me."
Jeanne crossed her arms. "In celebration for having survived five years teaching here. The first of which included that miserable thug Dursley," she added with an involuntary shudder.
"I liked that year." The other teacher slowly grinned. "Classroom discipline has never been so fun." She held the grin for a moment then let it fade. "All right, Jeanne, I'll let you buy me a pint. But this is a one-shot deal; I really don't socialize, nor do I have any wish to start now."
"I understand."
She didn't, though, and both of them knew it.
ooo
Their group assembled at the pub just under an hour later. While no one vocalized surprise or annoyance at the antisocial teacher's presence, Jeanne could tell she'd have some explaining to do later; it was clear that the addition to their party wasn't appreciated.
The other woman did pretty well for herself, though, winding her way through the small talk and throwing out some idle chit-chat of her own. The mood eased, and no one seemed to notice then that she soon dropped out of the conversation entirely. Jeanne reflected that it was the best possible arrangement: the one could be silent, and the others couldn't reasonably resent her for it.
The conversation soon turned from work to other things, getting around eventually to where various teachers thought former pupils might be now. That topic drew in even the silent teacher.
"Ah, and then there's Potter," Jim drawled. "Remember him? Harry Potter, I think his name was."
"Dudley Dursley's cousin, wasn't he?" Allison put in.
"Mm." Jim swallowed a mouthful of stout. "Probably got himself killed by now."
"Or jailed," Don added sourly.
"No, actually, he hasn't."
All eyes turned to the once-silent teacher, whose own eyes had hardened along with her voice.
"Oh, no?" Don said.
"No." She twirled her half-empty bottle idly between her thumb and forefinger. "He's studying at my old secondary school now, so I hear of him from time to time. He's quite alive and well, and, though given to the normal amount of rule-breaking, I gather that he lives in line with the law."
Jeanne smiled and cleared her throat, hoping to draw off some of the stares. "So what's he doing now?"
The other smiled coolly. "He plays football for the dormitory team," she replied. "I also understand that he's participating in a skill tournament, along with competitors from other schools." The smile became a smirk. "I think you all underestimated him."
"But you didn't, of course," Don said sarcastically.
His sarcasm lost all of its heat when her cold gaze found him. "I never estimated him to begin with," she countered. "It's my firm belief that students should prove themselves worthy of whatever we eventually hear about them. Perhaps Potter could have turned out bad and ended up in the penal system—the potential was certainly there." She shrugged. "But the potential was also there for him to become something better, and guess which one he's lived up to after all?"
The tension returned, and this time she didn't try to relieve it; it clearly didn't bother her in the least as she finished her drink while the others attempted to re-start the conversation
Another half-hour passed, and nearly everyone had managed to forget about the antisocial teacher again…
Then, a world away, a shrouded figure named Avery threw himself at his master's feet.
The silent teacher's head jerked up, and Jeanne saw something like fear flicker in her eyes. She suddenly went into motion, pulling out her wallet and removing something.
Then the entire world dissolved into chaos.
Her silence shattered in a scream of total agony as she fell to the floor, writhing. Her eyes caught Jeanne's, and she flung up her left hand. Jeanne caught it, felt a piece of folded paper pressed against her palm, then felt the other's hand fly away, its movement controlled now entirely by excruciating pain. The young teacher rolled onto her side, curling into the fetal position and howling as spasms racked her body.
Allison was already on her mobile phone, summoning paramedics. Jeanne unfolded the paper and read the brief message:
In
case of emergency,
contact Kamrin Fallows.
She pulled out her own mobile and dialed the number on the note.
"Hello." The voice that answered was crisp, her tones clipped and edged with a Scottish burr.
"Kamrin Fallows, please."
The voice at the other end swore very colorfully. "I'm Kamrin," she added, for Jeanne's benefit. "What's happened."
"Well, your number's listed as the emergency contact—"
"Is she having a seizure?" Kamrin demanded impatiently.
"Well, she's screaming."
"And writhing?"
"Well, yes—"
"Then she's having a bloody seizure!" Kamrin paused to recover some composure. "I assume someone's already called for an ambulance."
"Yes."
Kamrin swore again then said, "Then call me back when you know what hospital she's at."
"But—" Jeanne broke off; the other woman had rung off.
ooo
The initial seizure stopped long before the paramedics arrived, but it was only the first of a series. Each time she seized, it was worse, and the only relief was that she couldn't much noise anymore; her throat was raw, her voice hoarse, and she coughed up spots of blood in between screams.
Jeanne followed the ambulance to the hospital then called Kamrin Fallows again. This time Kamrin was less terse, but the conversation was no more informative than the previous one had been.
"I'll meet you at Emergency," Kamrin told her, then abruptly rang off again.
Worried as she was, Jeanne was a bit curious to meet the peculiar Kamrin Fallows. Her curiosity turned to amazement when she crossed from the car park to the hospital and found her already there.
"Jeanne Mason?"
Jeanne recognized the voice and looked up in surprise to find a slim woman with wavy brown hair and hard gray eyes.
"Yes."
"Kamrin Fallows." She extended a hand, which Jeanne uncertainly shook. "How many seizures did she have?"
"She was in the middle of her third when they put her in the ambulance."
Kamrin let loose a string of colorful anatomical impossibilities, and Jeanne felt the sudden need to go to the washroom and clean out her ears. There was a pause then Kamrin sighed. "You're probably wondering what this is about, aren't you."
"Well…" Jeanne bit her lip. "Yes."
Kamrin smiled from one corner of her mouth, but it was a bitter, tired smile. "It's a peculiar form of epilepsy. She hasn't had a seizure since we were in school together… fourteen years ago, it'll be now." She shook her head. "We knew it could come back at any time, but of course we hoped it wouldn't. It was bad before, but now it'll be worse."
Jeanne frowned. "How do you know that?"
Kamrin narrowed her eyes. "We all knew it," she didn't quite answer. "Thank you for notifying me. I'll take care of her." She paused, then added in a much darker tone, "She'll need a substitute teacher for one day, but she'll probably be back after that—whether she ought to or not."
ooo
"Kamrin" watched as the teacher left, then pulled out her mobile and dialed without looking at the key pad. The person she'd called answered on the first ring.
"Talk."
"It's Red," she said. "He's back. Skulk."
"Right. I'll spread the word."
"Don't call this number; I won't answer."
"Of course not. We're all yesterday's news."
"Keep it that way, bro."
He snorted. "Just you stay out of the headlines, Red."
She rang off, then muttered something in Latin and dropped the phone in the nearest trash can. It disappeared in a puff of smoke before it reached the bottom. She then proceeded to the ladies' room, locked herself in a stall, and disappeared into thin air.
Part I: Some Hae Meat and Canna Eat
Chapter
1: Meli
1
SEPTEMBER 1979, FIRST YEAR
Meli, contrary to Mrs. Stafford's obvious belief, was not at all nervous about going away to Hogwarts. In fact, since receiving a wand which she considered a Dark omen, she was more resigned and apathetic than anything else, and she couldn't care less that she was entering a new world.
"Now, dear," Mrs. Stafford said, "I saw my sister do it every year. What you want to do is walk straight at the wall between 9 and 10."
A magical passage wall. She had seen one before in her grandfather's house—
There was a boy about her age, slim, with blond hair and light eyes, staring at them. His gaze was rather keener than she liked, and something in his posture made her nervous. She smoothed the newly-cut fringe that covered her suspicious widow's peak and intentionally looked away from him to hug Mrs. Stafford. "I'll see you at Christmas," she said quietly.
Mrs. Stafford smiled warmly at her. "Send us an owl to let us know how you are."
Meli nodded, but she couldn't bring herself to smile. "I will." She turned and passed through the wall without another word.
Someone else came through almost immediately after, and she turned, surprised, to find that it was the same boy she'd seen a moment before. He stood only two inches taller than her, but she felt as if he looked down at her from a much higher level.
"Muggle-born?" he asked without preamble.
"No," she replied, resisting the urge to sigh. As soon as the Hat Sorted her into Slytherin, she'd be unable to escape the blood-credential wars, and even though she could truthfully claim three-quarter blood, she wasn't in a hurry to get started on the whole stupid mess.
The distance between them seemed to shrink as he smiled and offered a hand. "Dirk Pierce." Something fell out of his pocket just then, and he grimaced as he stooped down to retrieve it. It was, Meli saw, a black Sharpie marker, which he stuffed back into his pocket, again offering his hand.
She looked at him with eyebrows raised, but shook his hand, which had gone cold. "Meli Stafford."
They stepped away from the wall now, just in time to get out of the way of two others. The first was a girl with long, wavy brown hair and sparkling gray eyes. She seemed to be in a hurry, pushing her cart in front of her as if it was a featherweight. The second was a boy, also with brown hair, who had somehow or other managed to dislodge his trunk and dump it from his cart to the platform.
"Oh, come on, Collum!" the girl hissed. Her exasperation seemed further emphasized by an accent that Meli thought might be either Scottish or Irish. The new girl stopped and whirled to face the other boy. "Clumsy old thing—you're sure to be a Hufflepuff!"
Scottish, Meli amended, hearing the girl's burr.
"Well, if you'd slow down a bit, Crim," he fumed in the same accent, then resorted to nearly inaudible, but probably uncivil, muttering as he heaved his trunk back onto his cart.
The girl caught sight of Meli and Dirk, and flashed them a brilliant smile, touched by the barest trace of a smirk. "Lovely evening, isn't it?"
Meli furrowed her brow. "But it's morning."
"Prove it," the other ordered. "Show me the sun!"
"It's foggy out," Meli said. "I can't show you the sun."
The girl leaned in closely, a Puckish mischief in her eye. "Exactly!" She grinned, then held out her hand. "Crimson Fell, aspiring first year."
Meli shook this hand, too, and found it far warmer than Dirk's had been. "I'm Meli Stafford."
Crimson's gaze fell on Dirk. "And you?"
"Dirk Pierce." The Sharpie made good its escape once more, and, with a sigh, Dirk bent down to pick it up again. "Sorry about that," he apologized. "Mum's loaded me up with about a dozen of these to label all my stuff with when I get to school. She labeled it all already, but she's sure she missed most of it."
"Good to know our mam's not the only one going crazy over us," Crim said, running a sharp eye over him and probably coming to the same conclusion about his heritage that Meli had.
There was a muffled curse, followed by the sounds of a panicked owl and a wire cage slamming onto the platform, topped off by an awful stream of profanity from the other boy. Crimson looked mildly back at him, then caught Meli and Dirk's eyes and shrugged. "That's my brother Collum," she told them off-handedly.
Collum managed a hoarse "Hullo" as he rearranged the contents of his cart and pushed it over to them. Without a word, Crimson retrieved the ruffled owl and set it on her own orderly cart.
"Older or younger?" Dirk asked.
Crimson shuddered. "Twin," she replied, then glanced at Collum and added, viciously, "Hufflepuff!"
ooo
How the four of them ever made it to the train Meli never clearly recalled afterward, but they somehow managed to stow away all of their luggage and to stow themselves away in a compartment together. Somewhere in the course of all of that, Dirk was christened with the nickname Sharpie, and Crimson asked the others to call her Crim.
Collum started out the conversation from there with one of the last questions Meli would ever have expected. "So," he said, looking from Meli to Sharpie, "have you ever gone pranking?"
Sharpie looked regretful. "My parents watch me far too closely," he replied. "I would, though, if I could."
"What is it?" Meli asked quietly.
The question elicited an amused look from Sharpie and outright incredulity from the twins. "You mean you don't know?" Collum breathed, his eyes the size of saucers.
"You've never even been toilet-papering?" Crim added.
Meli shook her head. "It sounds… intriguing… but no, I've never done it. I don't even know what it is."
"You use toilet paper as streamers and… decorate …someone's trees," Collum explained, a slight smirk indicating that "decorate" was probably a euphemism. "You go in the dead of night, of course, so as not to get caught—"
"And don't go too near home," Crim broke in, "or you may be dragged in as a friend to help clean up." She shrugged. "You can make exceptions, of course, for people you particularly don't like."
Collum grinned. "We get Father Moore, the confirmation teacher, every time he makes our class recite the entire catechism—which is once or twice a month at least."
"You don't like catechism?" Meli hazarded. She hadn't the faintest idea what confirmation involved, or what a catechism was, much less what a full recitation of it might entail, and it utterly mystified her that the man they called father would live in a different house.
Crim shrugged again. "Oh, we don't mind it so much. But everyone else does."
"We get back at him for all the other stuff he inflicts on us," Collum said. "But since we time it right, he thinks it's someone else because of the catechism."
"He's even waited for us a few times," Crim said airily. "But we're too smart for him. He sees his house TPed before his eyes, and he's never yet been able to catch us."
"Invisibility cloaks?" Sharpie guessed.
"Nothing so fancy," Collum replied. "Much more practical to dress in all black and make like a shadow."
Crim snickered. "After we've been confirmed, we're going to fork his lawn. All he can do then is try to excommunicate us, but Mam and Da will put a stop to that."
Meli nearly smiled in her confusion. "Fork?" she repeated. If they had a "da" who was obviously a different person from the "father", it stood to reason that "father" was a title of some sort—though of what, she couldn't reasonably say.
"Oh, yeah," Crim answered. "You put plastic forks in the lawn to spell out messages."
"And what messages will you leave for him?" Sharpie asked.
Crim snorted. "Nothing that bears repeating in polite company. Collum's still working on the precise wording of it."
"I am?!" Collum's eyes flashed. "You always blame me and get off scot-free! Do you know Mam and Da still think I was the one who messed up the poodle?"
Crim looked patiently at him. "Collum, you were in on the poodle incident."
"But you helped! I came up with it, sure, but you planned it out!"
The others traded nonplused looks. "Poodle?" Meli asked faintly.
"We had a teacher we despised," Crim sighed. "Dear Mrs. Holland. So to show her just how much we appreciated her, we dognapped her beloved purebred French poodle Leo, covered it with talcum powder and pink hair spray, gave it a Mohawk, and tied it to the flagpole in front of the school."
"With a note 'round its neck saying, 'Mrs. Holland Is An Idiot'," Collum added.
"'Mrs. Holland Is A Bloody Fool'," Crim corrected acidly. "If you're going to take credit, be a man and take full credit for the whole thing!" She looked long-sufferingly to Meli. "He's going to be a Hufflepuff—only an act of Divine Providence could get him into Gryffindor."
Collum plainly couldn't think of anything to say to that, but he made up for it by slugging his sister in the arm.
The mention of Houses threw a quaver into Meli's stomach. "And what about you, Crim?" she asked softly. "Where do you think you'll be placed?"
"Possibly Ravenclaw," Crim replied easily. "Though I am hoping for Slytherin."
Meli felt suddenly very cold. "But what about Slytherin House's reputation?"
Crim's eye found and held hers with a shrewd and knowing look. "Fewer go bad than not. You show me a truly clever and crafty person tried-and-true—show me a person so calculating and dangerous as to be a devastating detriment to You-Know-Who—and I'll name him a Slytherin not gone bad."
PRESENT:
JUNE
Meli
Ebony sank gratefully into her chair as the last of her students
filed out. It was the last Friday before exams, and she had survived
it. She leaned back, stretching her arms and pretending for a long,
delicious moment that she didn't have of work still left to do, and
none of it had a thing to do with school.
When not sitting or lying down, Meli stood a full five feet, eleven inches, down half of which height flowed a straight waterfall of glossy black hair that behaved whether it wanted to or not. She had long since grown out her fringe, leaving her widow's peak open to observation. Bright, icy blue eyes glittered in a face paler than milk; the only other colors in her complexion were the pallid pink of her cheeks and the lighter pink of her lips. Had her students believed in magical creatures, she might have been open to accusations of being a vampire.
Her short break was interrupted by a timid knock at the door. She looked up, beckoning a shy student to enter. The girl tiptoed uneasily to Meli's desk to whisper, "Miss Ebony, there's a scary-looking man asking for you."
Meli's skin prickled, but she looked carefully unconcerned. "Scary-looking in what way?"
"Looks like a vampire, miss—longish black hair, very pale, and wears a cape."
Meli smiled in spite of herself. So much for that thought. "Does he speak civilly?"
The girl's eyes darted nervously. "Yes, miss, but very impatiently."
"Thank you for letting me know," Meli told her. "I'll take care of it."
The girl nodded and dashed from the room, squealing in alarm as she narrowly missed a man standing in the hallway. He stood aside to let her pass before rapping at the open door.
"Come in, Professor Snape," Meli called, standing to greet him. "Welcome to Surrey."
"Miss Ebony." Snape bowed from the neck as he entered. "I see you've been told I'm here."
"Mmm." Meli smiled wryly. "I was also told you were wearing a cape, but you seem to have lost it since Miss Applegate first saw you."
Snape arched an eyebrow. "Who in his right mind would be wearing a cape in this weather?"
"Had you been wearing one, sir, I should have asked you the same thing." She raised her own eyebrows. "So what brings you to this little corner of the world?"
"Official business for Hogwarts," Snape answered crisply. "Since I know you better than Professor Dumbledore does, he asked me to come and see you."
Meli regarded him coolly for a moment then came around her desk and leaned back against it, her eyes never leaving Snape. "You want me to come to Hogwarts for my protection. Voldemort's back, and you think he'll come after me."
Snape raised his eyebrows. "On the contrary, Miss Ebony, Professor Dumbledore wants you to come to Hogwarts to teach, and if it comes to anyone going after someone, I would expect you to go after the Dark Lord rather than the other way 'round."
Meli instinctively kept her surprise from her face; by now Snape knew her well enough to recognize it anyway. "You want me to teach," she repeated. "To teach what, Muggle Studies? I'm hardly qualified for much else."
"You're highly qualified for both Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts," Snape countered. "I told you once that I would gladly recommend you for either of those positions, and I was quite serious."
"So you're asking me to teach Potions, then?"
"No," Snape replied. "To teach Defense Against the Dark Arts."
Meli felt her eyebrows rise nearly to her widow's peak. "Of all people, Professor, you are asking me to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts?"
"I trust you to teach it." His expression and tone were dark. "Do you honestly think I want to teach Defense because I hate Potions?"
"I hope that's a rhetorical question."
Snape's mouth quirked. "We've had a rash of bad Dark Arts teachers lately," he said. "You, however, are trustworthy, and I know for a fact that you know the material."
Meli sighed. "Sir, I know it because I have to. That doesn't mean I'm qualified to teach it."
"I'm not asking you to make an immediate decision," he assured her. "I only came to ask you to interview for the position."
"Your request is interestingly timed, though." She cleared her throat. "I had a seizure just last week—at least, that's what the Muggles called it. I recognized it as a series of Unforgivables, starting with a few rounds of Cruciatus with an unsuccessful Kedavra thrown in… And then there was a very interesting one the following evening that I believe you probably know about already. Are you in any way hoping to protect me from either myself or Voldemort?"
Snape seemed to be chewing on something very unpleasant before he replied, "I am fully aware of your ability to take care of yourself, Miss Ebony. Professor Dumbledore may be hoping to protect you, but it was I who suggested you for the position. Protection, should you choose to accept it, is a side benefit only."
"And if I have another episode, are you prepared to take over the teaching of my classes while I recover?"
"Naturally." Snape's eyes glittered. "It would be my pleasure."
Meli smirked. "Naturally."
"Shall I tell the headmaster you intend to interview?"
She nodded. "Yes. I'll send an owl setting the date." She hesitated before reluctantly changing the subject. "Have you heard about the Skulkers yet, Professor?"
Snape's brow furrowed. "No—not since you all graduated."
"The Fells have had to go into hiding since Voldemort returned," she told him. "Because of me."
"And Pierce?" Snape's brow furrowed further.
Meli laughed mirthlessly. "As I said, sir, your visit is peculiarly timed. Dirk Pierce visited just yesterday to issue a warning."
"A warning?"
"For old times' sake, he said. He needed no other words, as you may imagine, sir; he bared his arm long enough to show me the Dark Mark, then left." She forced a smile. "I've had in place an escape plan for years—one that can go into effect at a moment's notice. I'd been ready to leave anyway, but after Pierce's visit… well, suffice it to say that I have no intention of staying around to finish out the school term."
Snape's eyes darted rapidly to and fro; she could only imagine the thoughts and calculations passing behind them. "You didn't leave immediately."
"They were watching for that, to see if I'd contact anyone," she pointed out. "No. I had already relocated my necessities—with proper caution, of course—and I planned to apparate from here after work this afternoon." She smiled, far more genuinely. "Once again, your timing is impeccable."
"Why not come directly to Hogwarts, then?" Snape suggested.
"I have some business to attend to first, sir," she replied. "Otherwise, I would. I need to arrange a temporary caretaker for my familiar, and there are a few other things that need to be packed in a rather precise fashion." She smiled. "However, I do hope to see you within a few days."