The Jordan Quartet: Book 1

The Assassin, Part 2

Written by GLitter, plot by Dolphingirl with help from Glitter

"Slytherin. Why am I not surprised?" said Ron sarcastically into the Gryffindor fire.

"You were," said Hermione pointedly.

Harry frowned. "This is getting weird," he muttered.

"No, it's not weird that all of a sudden this new seventh-year girl gets her jaw broke by 'Lord Voldemort', gets put into Slytherin, and makes your scar hurt when she looks at you!" Hermione snapped. "Honestly, Harry, use your brain."

Ron glared at Hermione, who glared back. Harry sighed and fell back in his fireside armchair, massaging his temples. "I just wish I knew who she was!" he blurted.

"Assuming you mean Jordan, right?" Parvati said. She had apparently heard Harry and stopped.

"We were talking about the new girl, Parvati," corrected Ron. "Girl."

"That's her name," Parvati sniffed. "It's Jordan Marvolo."

"Marvolo?" Harry asked, staring into the fire.

"What's she like?" asked Hermione. She knew that with a little urging, Parvati would spill everything she knew. Parvati loved gossip.

"Oh, Padma says she's simply beastly! I mean, she has this rotten little cat that has scratched up three people and she's just as mean as her cat!" gushed Parvati. "But the weirdest thing about her is her hair—black, like yours, Harry, but with golden streaks in it! Padma swears you can feel how mean she is when she walks past you!"

Ron rolled his eyes and was about to make a snide remark when Hermione elbowed him sharply in the ribs. "Thank you Parvati. Has she made any friends yet?"

"I dunno," said Parvati, happy at this new bit of information to dig up. "I'll ask Padma!"

Harry shook his head and gazed into the fire. "Marvolo," he mused, "Jordan Marvolo." Why did something about that name sound familiar?

~

Jordan tossed and turned in her bed. She couldn't sleep, had had nothing to eat all day, and it was fiercely hot. The heating spells had come back unexpectedly, and combined with the attempts to reestablish the spells—well, to make a long story short, it was around ninety degrees in the coolest spots—and Slytherin Tower was not one of the coolest spots.

"You can't sleep either, eh?"

She glanced at the curtains to her left, then parted them. On the next bed was a petite girl who was fanning herself with what looked like the torn-out title page of the book in front of her. The first thing that Jordan noticed about her, however, was that she was completely bald. Other than that she had large hazel eyes, creamy skin, and was reading a book called Romeo and Juliet.

"I'm Evelia Peterson, call me Elia; you would be Jordan, eh?" Elia said, looking her up and down. Noting Jordan's stare, she added "You think I shave my head, hmm?" She grinned, showing white teeth. "The reason I'm bald is because I have alopecia."

"What's alopecia?" Jordan asked. Other than being bald, Elia was very pretty.

"My body has convinced itself that it is allergic to my hair, so it all falls out. Normally I wear a bandanna, but, eh, it's too blinking hot now."

"Shut up, Scrambled Egghead," muttered the girl on Elia's other side. "We are trying to sleep."

"We are trying to sleep, eh Aubrey?" said Elia, rolling her eyes at the mass of brown curls on the other bed. "There is no we. Just you. Jordan is awake."

"Why aren't there more girls?" Jordan asked curiously. "I'd think there would be at least four."

"Eh, there would be," said Elia, shaking her head, "but we got a small crop of Slytherin girls in this year. There are at least eight boys in our year." Leaning closer, she added in a whisper, "Most are cute, so that is not really a loss, eh?"

Jordan smiled. "No, I don't suppose it is."

Aubrey moaned and rolled over, shielding her eyes from Elia's lamp. "Could you can it, Scrambled Egghead? I have classes in the morning, and so do you."

Elia sighed. "O Mistress of the obvious, let me dim the lights and, as you so quaintly put it, I shall 'can it'."

Jordan smiled. Elia was a real personality, and—funny as it seemed—she found she actually liked her. As the lights dimmed, something dawned at the back of her mind—if the Master found out she was friends with Elia, then the bald girl was pretty much doomed. She did not sleep well.

~

"Rise and shine, O beautiful dreamer!"

Opening her eyelids took all her effort, but when she opened them she found herself staring into a large pair of hazel eyes. She yelped, backed away, and hit her head on the headboard of her bed with a resounding crack.

"Ouch! Go away!"

Elia looked as though she went through this treatment often. "I will not go away, I must wake you up so you can go to class."

Jordan slumped back down. "Five more minutes."

"Five, eh? Are you sure it will not become six? Okay then, I will wake Aubrey." Elia crept off towards the other bed and plopped down on her victim's feet and began tickling them. Aubrey snorted loudly, turned over, and resumed snoring even more resounding than before. Elia didn't let up, instead she began to snore even nosier than Aubrey.

"Rise and shine!" she yelled into Aubrey's ear. Amazingly her victim only turned over and mumbled "G'way."

Elia shook her head sadly. "I'm done being nice, Aubrey." The bald girl shoved her victim roughly off the bed, watched her thrash for awhile, and then turned to Jordan, who was enjoying the show. "Eh, your five is done. Up!"

Jordan scrambled out of bed, not eager to receive Elia's wrath. Rummaging in her trunk she found robes, books, and a supply of hats. Rolling her eyes, she pulled out a note from Narcissa Malfoy which read:

Jordan:

Do us all a favor and wear a hat.

Narcissa Malfoy

The dark haired girl rolled her eyes again. That would be just like Narcissa, nitpicky woman she was. Following instruction, she jerked an olive-color hat over her eyes, then rummaged around until she found robes. Jerking them over her head without tearing them was quite a feat—they easily could have fitted her when she was nine and only five feet tall. When she had struggled into them, she glanced in the mirror. The hem was level with her knees. The sleeves went up to her elbows, cutting off the circulation to her hands.

Elia snorted behind her. "Your mother give you your sister's robes, eh?"

Jordan scowled at her reflection, then tried to peel off the robes. It was about as easy as peeling off her skin. Aubrey, drowsy-eyed and yawning, handed her a piece of metal. Jordan stared at it quizzically. It had two cut out circles on one end and two sharpened blades on the other, and she had absolutely no clue what it was for. "What is it?"

"Scissors," said Aubrey in a sleepy tone that was laced with annoyance. "You're going to have to cut them off."

Jordan blushed in irritation. She sincerely hoped that somebody had thought to put in robes that were in her size. Turning so Audrey could cut, she rummaged through her trunk. One by one she held the robes up to her. Too small. Too small. So small it wasn't even funny. Too—wait a second.

With hope she held up a large black mass of fabric and held it up to her. It easily reached to the ground—and had a good foot of fabric left over. She sighed, then turned to Aubrey, who had succeeded in cutting the back of the tiny robes off and was now creating slits in the sleeves so it could be stripped off Jordan completely. "Can I use the skizers?"

"Not yet," muttered Aubrey as she peeled the last of the black fabric of her rear. "Okay, here." She shoved the scissors at Jordan, then shoved the pathetic pile of rags under a bed. Jordan yanked the bigger robe over her head, feeling very relieved when it fell past her feet.

She handed the scissors back. "I decided I'll just leave it like this. Just to be safe." Boy, Narcissa Malfoy was going to get an earful when she saw her again. How could she possibly have mistaken Jordan's height?

The answer came when Jordan came downstairs for breakfast. A snooty looking, pale boy sitting at the Slytherin table was wearing robes that had obviously been hacked off at the bottom and sleeves. After peering at his face, she understood. This must be Lucius Malfoy's son. Narcissa had obviously switched their robes.

Elia dragged Jordan to the end of the table closest to the center of the room, than plopped down in an empty chair. Jordan sat next to her, gazing up in awe. The ceiling was beautiful—or was there a ceiling at all? It was a clear sky blue, tinted with pink and a few wispy clouds. "Enchanted," Elia said. "Rowena Ravenclaw herself did it almost a thousand years ago."

Jordan whistled, impressed. "And it's lasted this whole time?"

"Yea," said Aubrey as she slumped down next to Jordan. "Well, it needed touching up once when Gryffindor almost tore it down." Elia frowned and busied herself by tying a dark green scarf around her head. "I think he was drunk," mused Aubrey, helping herself to a piece of toast.

Jordan glanced at the table. Just about every breakfast food in England was in front of her, from toast to cereal. Unsure of what to start with, she helped herself to two fried eggs and some bacon. She rearranged them with her fork, putting the two eggs on the top and the bacon on the bottom.

The eggs blinked. Jordan gasped and fought the urge to push herself away from the table. Glancing to her right to see if Elia had noticed anything, she saw her friend frozen in the act of tying a scarf around her head. To her left she saw Aubrey with her teeth halfway into an apple. Everyone else was also frozen in similar positions, not only the Slytherin table, but the whole hall. Except for the movement on her plate, nothing stirred.

The eggs blinked again, then the bacon opened and closed. Finally a voice rose from her plate.

Jordan, you have taken this time leisurely. Be sure you will be punished for this. Get moving! Your time is short!

With one last blink, the eggs stilled, the bacon ceased to move as the hall slowly sprang into life around her. Jordan pushed back her chair and tore away from the hall. Halfway along a stone corridor she realized she had absolutely no clue where she was going. Slowly she turned, hoping she would recognize where she was; the only things in the hall were a covered portrait and a dusty old suit of armor that could have been anywhere.

"Jordan."

She didn't turn to face him, which was just as well. His blow caught her in-between her shoulder blades, sending her flying into the suit of armor. She huddled there, waiting for another blow. It never came. Instead, the spear that the armor had been wielding crashed onto her head; the world spun around, then slowly faded into darkness.

~

Snape was on his way to Potions when he tripped over Jordan, sprawled on the floor with a large lump on her head. He muttered a few choice words under his breath, then woke her. "Miss Marvolo, what happened?" he asked.

He got the answer he expected. "Got into a fight with a suit of armor and I lost."

He rolled his eyes as though asking for heavenly strength. "You seem to be losing many fights, Miss Marvolo. You better be careful you don't lose the wrong one."

Jordan scuttled away. Odd, creepy fellow, that Snape. He obviously knew things others didn't. She shivered.

~

"Marvolo!"

Harry sat up straight in bed. He had just remembered where he had heard that name before. It was…was…

"Wassamatter Harry?" Ron asked groggily from across the room. "Bad dream?"

"No," he muttered. "I had a brainwave, now it's gone." Harry pounded his hand on his knee in frustration. He knew, just knew, just couldn't bring it into focus. It was about Voldemort, and Jordan. "Jordan," he said aloud. He could bring her to mind in a flash. Short, messy black hair, gold streaks, brown eyes with long lashes. Voldemort was less easy to bring to his mind's eye, for he had looked different nearly every time Harry saw him. Voldemort was tall. Dark hair. Red eyes. Snakelike. And, of course, he was also Tom Riddle gone bad. Tom Riddle. Tom M. Riddle.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle!" he shouted, jumping out of bed and pulling his robes over his head without bothering to take of his pajamas. "I knew it, I knew it!"

Eight sleepy eyes stared at him, murder in their gaze. He ran downstairs, slamming the door in time to hear four pillows hit it. Hermione gave him a sharp look. "Are you aware, Harry, that half of Gryffindor is going to be after your blood today?" she asked, running her eyes over his pajama legs, which were dangling from beneath his robes.

"No, listen Hermione, I remember where I heard that Jordan person's name before!"

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Where?" she asked skeptically.

"Jordan Marvolo. Tom Marvolo Riddle."

"But that could just be a coincidence, Harry," she muttered, chewing on her thumbnail.

"I don't know," he muttered, staring hard into space as though it held the answer. He wasn't seeing the common room, he was seeing brown eyes with long lashes and pure fear in their gaze. Why fear?

~

"Camouflage Concoctions today, class—Farad, five points from Ravenclaw—well, what are you lot staring at me for? Get to work!"

Jordan stared blankly at the book in front of her, then the caldron, then at the pile of ingredients next to the cauldron. She had never made a potion in all of her seventeen years, much less a rather complicated potion that can easily go very, very wrong.

"Marvolo, what's wrong? These do need to simmer, you know! Start cutting those chameleon intestines!"

Jordan glared at Snape, then glance at the ingredients. Which ones of these piles of rubbish were chameleon intestines? She skeptically picked up a pile of what looked like brown and red spaghetti and began chopping. Were they supposed to wriggle like that? After about ten minutes the squirming spaghetti was down to one-inch strands, and Jordan was out of patience. She threw them in.

Glancing at the book, she began rummaging through her ingredients for cord grass. It said three long shoots. She had two long stems and about fifteen short ones. She figured it wouldn't matter if she had a bunch of short stems instead of three long ones so long as they equaled the same length. In they went. Next was 'Stir thirteen times counterclockwise'. Counterclockwise?

Oh well, she would come back to that later. Now she had to 'Toss in five pinches of red soil'. Jordan grabbed a red powder and tossed it in. It didn't occur to her that something might be wrong with her potion until her caldron began to melt. She watched in horror as her caldron slowly collapsed, releasing the putrid green liquid onto the table and onto the floor. She stared in horror as it puddled on the floor and began to eat the wooden legs of her stool.

Snape came over at that moment, saw the mess, and threw his hands in the air in annoyance—then saw that the potion was eating his robes. He performed a small dance of pain, shaking drops everywhere. At this moment, Jordan's stool collapsed, sending her sprawling.

"What—the—??" Snape roared. He waved his wand, but nothing happened. This only seemed to double his rage as he tried to get away from the potion, which was eating the table. "What did you do, Marvolo?"

Jordan was shaking her sleeve to rid it of her creation, shaking droplets everywhere, and didn't hear him because at that moment a drop flew into her eyes and she was howling with pain, trying her best to scrub it out of her eye with her sleeve.

"Acid," muttered Snape, following this proclamation with a few choice words. Several people screamed as Jordan's potion began to eat through the floor stones. Jordan moaned in pain. Snape looked at her, then snapped "Hospital wing, Marvolo. You obviously aren't up to this level in Potion making yet."

"Hell, she's not even up to second year level!" shouted someone.

Snape nodded. "Marvolo, you won't be taking classes with these poor souls again. Pack your bags and get out of here!" When Jordan didn't move, he bellowed "OUT!" Jordan, cheeks burning, eye stinging, and pride hurt, ran out of the room.

~

Parvati almost broke her neck by racing across the Gryffindor common room in her brand new platform sandals, tripping over anything and everything it is possible to trip on, finally landing in Ron's lap after stomping on Neville. "Have you heard?" she asked in a breathless voice, sounding as though she had just found the cure to cancer. The breathlessness probably came from the fact that she had just raced halfway around Hogwarts in six-inch platforms.

Ron helped her up, sat her on the floor, and watched her hyperventilate. It was Hermione that finally asked "Heard what?"

Parvati positively quivered with anticipation. "Jordan Marvolo just got thrown out of Potions."

"That's it?" Harry blurted.

Hermione shushed him with a look, then turned to Parvati, who was glaring at her feet in their ridiculously high platforms and muttering 'pain is gain, pain is gain' repeatedly under her breath. "Why did she get thrown out?" she asked, feigning interest.

"She—" Parvati held up her hands and began ticking off the evils Jordan had committed—"melted her caldron, dissolved her stool, dissolved the table she was working at, almost burnt her eye out by getting the potion in it, liquefied about ten shoes including Snape's, and fried the hem of Snape's robes." She brandished the six fingers at them. "Padma says that she's not allowed to work with her class anymore, she's gonna have to take classes with the sixth year Slytherins."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Joy, another addition to our happy Potions family," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Just peachy."

Parvati's eyes widened so dramatically that Hermione actually leaned forward in concern, worried that someone had stuck itching powder in her underwear, but Parvati sprang to her feet, squealing "Oh my god! I never thought of that! Wait until I tell Padma, Marvolo herself in our class!" she gave a shriek of delight and zoomed out of the common room, only flooring herself once in her platforms.

~

That night, Jordan tossed and turned in her bed, fighting her sheets in fitful dreams. Sweat rolled down her cheeks and she grimaced in some mental torment as she groaned softly. Her black hair, illuminated by the three gold streaks, was stuck to her forehead, her long eyelashes fluttering. She didn't know she was being watched.

A tall figure, hooded, stood next to her bed. Normally he would never have chanced going up to the girls dormitories—but this wasn't normally. It wasn't every day that Severus Snape had the past come back to haunt him. Of course, this bit of his past had every bit of meaning that the Mark on his left arm did: it tied him to Voldemort.

The last time he had seen this girl, she had been not quite four years old—and asking him why. "Why, Dui? Why must you go?" He smiled. she had insisted on calling him 'dad' for awhile, but at Voldemort's wishes 'dad' had changed to 'Dui'. Little Jordan hadn't known the difference. But, of course, Severus the Almighty Spy's game was up, and he had to flee. Jordan couldn't Apperate, and there was no time to set up a Portkey. She was left behind.

What had happened to her over the last thirteen years? He saw scars, bruises: things that had rarely marred Jordan's body while she was under his care. He had thought her dead. You should have known better, he thought to himself, letting the tinniest bit of pride shine down upon Jordan. She had survived.

Jordan suddenly thrashed in her bed, pulling her arms into her body, then flinging them away; she was moaning through clenched teeth; her face streamed sweat. "No, please, I'll do anything, anything!" she choked, then began to sob. "No, please no, I'll be good, I promise!" she rolled over and tumbled out of bed. Warily Severus backed towards the door. If she woke up… no, she was fast asleep. Her face was shiny in the moonlight from her tears and sweat, her eyes still fluttered. He moved closer.

Hands grasped his robes. He backed away, but tripped as the hands pulled him closer. On the ground he tried to get away, but it was fruitless. Severus spun to see his captor and found himself staring into a pair of unfocused brown eyes, thick eyelashes stuck together with sweat. Jordan's hands knotted themselves in his robes. He held still. She was asleep, he told himself. She was asleep, asleep.

"No," she whispered, horror etched deeply on her features, "don't leave me here. You cannot leave me here. Please… please…" Severus froze, then Jordan screamed loudly, releasing his robes to clutch at her back. "Stop, please stop—please, please—I tried, I really did! " He whirled and ran, slipping soundlessly past several girls who had awoken to see what the shouting was about. Jordan's tortured screams rang out behind him—"Oh, Dui, where are you? Help me, he's going to—" An agonized shriek shattered the still air.

~

Albus Dumbledore sat up straight as a poker in his bed as Severus Snape barreled into his office, face white. "Headmaster, it's Jordan—I don't know what—"

Dumbledore clambered out of bed, pulled yesterday's robes over his head, then followed Severus down the many stairways and through the wall, down the stairs, and into the green-draped room where two pale faces peered out from between their curtains. Jordan lay on the floor, curled into a fetal position, still sobbing. "What happened?" Dumbledore demanded, surveying Jordan as she lay, tears tracing paths down soaking wet cheeks. Her hands were clamped over her mouth.

"We don't know, do we?" muttered Elia. "One minute we are lying here, asleep, then we hear somebody scream as though the Devil were pulling their hair." A snort of agreement came from Aubrey as she peered over Elia, trying to see who had disturbed her regular ten hours of sleep.

The bent, silver haired man knelt by Jordan side and shook her. "Jordan? Jordan Marvolo, wake up."

The dark lashes fluttered, then parted to reveal red-rimmed brown eyes, pupils enormous in the half-light. "Wha—?" She began blandly, confusion slowly clearing from her eyes. Then she saw Snape, still with his hood up. "Dui?" she whispered softly, then the brown irises disappeared, showing only white as she fainted.

~

Parvati caught Harry before breakfast (before he was truly awake) by the arm and dragged him over to a corner. "Have you heard?" she asked breathlessly, flipping her hair excitedly from side to side, throwing the strong smell of hairspray into Harry's face.

"Not"—he coughed, then sneezed—"yet. Not yet."

Parvati bounced on the soles of her feet, looking as though Christmas had come early. "Jordan Marvolo—"

"What?" Harry asked her. "What about Jordan? Why the hell do you think I want to know every detail about the poor girl's life?" Parvati's mouth dropped, her perfectly made-up face stretching into an expression of shock and disbelief. Harry noticed that her foundation had split under one eyebrow.

"But—" she stuttered.

Harry cut her off. "Look, go tell Ron. Go tell Hermione. They may not care that you're trashing her, Parvati, but I do." He spun on his heel and stormed out of the room, leaving Parvati standing, shocked, in the middle of the room.

~

"You're what?"

"Going to see her. If I was up there, it would be nice to have some company."

"Harry, you're mental."

"Shut up, Ron."

Privately Harry agreed with Ron: he was mental. He just wanted to see what Parvati had been talking about (Hermione had enlightened him on Parvati's info by telling him that Jordan had been placed in the hospital wing after waking up everyone by screaming, then fainting after seeing Snape). He also agreed with Jordan: anyone who saw Snape first thing in the morning would probably faint too.

Hesitantly he knocked on the infirmary door. Madam Pomfrey opened it: a swollen eye and a puffy lip made her look even more ferocious than she usually did. "Good Lord save us all!" she exploded. "That—that—deplorable child!" she shrieked. Harry backed away, but she nearly threw him into the room by his collar, screeching "I've had enough! You watch her, I'm leaving!"

Harry glanced around the room. The only occupant was Jordan—a highly annoyed looking Jordan—who was staring at him as though he was advancing on her with an axe. "What are you doing in here?" she demanded. She looked—to say the least—horrible. Her hair was messy, her eyes were bloodshot, her nose was red, and tinny salt traces wound down her cheeks. "Why you?"

"Me?" Harry asked blankly. "I was here to see you. Thought you might like some company."

Jordan glanced at her lap. Harry Potter wanted to see her? Why? He surely had better things to do that look at her. Self-consciously she tried to smooth her hair.

"What was Madam Pomfrey trying to do to you?" Harry blurted. Oh, great move, smart one. Lots of tact there, he mentally lectured himself.

"Why do you want to know?" Jordan asked awkwardly. What was she supposed to say?

Harry nodded at the door. "You gave her a few nasty bruises."

"She was trying to force-feed me some potion and she wouldn't tell me what it was," muttered Jordan. Crud. Why did I tell him? she muttered to herself.

"Oh," said Harry. The silence stretched for a few long minutes as the odd pair sized each other up. Think of something to say, Harry thought frantically. "Uh—" he said, then the image of Parvati came to him. "I heard from a rather unreliable source that you're going to take Potions with the sixth years. Is it true?"

Jordan scowled. "Yeah. Stupid Snape got his shoes melted."

Harry smiled. "At least it accomplished something useful."

He wasn't sure, but it looked as though her expression had softened. "Yeah," she muttered again. "It was a real good acid. Dissolved quite a lot of the Potions classroom."

"You should sell that stuff," Harry told her, smiling just a little bit, "though I don't know what you would package it in."

Jordan looked up. Her retort was forgotten as their eyes locked. Star-bright green met murky brown. Jordan wondered if he knew how beautiful his eyes were. Emerald stars, framed by dark lashes that nearly matched the pupil in color, set under solemn brows, but with laugh lines barely visible at the corners.

Harry, meanwhile, was seeing something he had never seen before in Jordan's chestnut eyes. Humor. She was laughing inside, and not at him—with him. It made a huge difference in her usually sullen, somber face. Laugh lines crinkled, the corners of her mouth quirked. This was a different Jordan. A rather pretty Jordan.

"Well," Harry said awkwardly, "I gotta go. Potions."

"Oh…" Jordan's eyes glanced downward. Why the heck did she feel sad? "Bye then."

"Yeah. See you tomorrow."

Jordan struggled for a moment, then allowed herself to wish he would come back. He was the enemy, but he was nice. And handsome. She sighed, a long sigh filled with things she had driven out of her life ever since they had dared enter. It felt wonderful.

"Hello, Jordan."

Jordan contracted her body into a ball, trembling. It was him. What had she done? She was careful, all she had been doing was talking to Harry…oh dear God, that was it. She was—fraternizing with the enemy. He was going to kill her.

"I'm very pleased with you."

There was a thud as Jordan fell off her bed, half out of shock, half out of being stiff. "Wha—" she asked, peering over the bed like it was a barricade. "You are serious, aren't you?"

"Of course, of course," he said. He looked ecstatic, now that Jordan had a clear view of him. "You are crossing the enemy lines! Making friends! Gaining trust!" He looked as happy as a schoolboy. "You, Jordan, are one of the best spies I've seen!"

Jordan backed away, until she hit a wall. What the hell was going on? "Okay," she said, voice shaking, "Who are you, and where is the Master?" He approached her, and she scrabbled against the wall with the desperation of a doomed animal.

He drew her to her feet and shook her hand. "I see that getting rid of Dumbledore isn't enough, you must take Potter too! So young, and so clever!"

Completely freaked out, Jordan tugged her hand away. "I'm not a spy, I'm your"—she struggled for the right word—"your assassin! I'm not a spy."

"Of course, my dear," the pale man said. Her brown eyes widened to the size of puddles, and she ran to the door, jerked it open, and slammed it behind her. What was going on?

Of course. He must be—drunk, that was it, really stone drunk. Why else would he..? No. Don't think about how he's acting. The Master was the one thing in her life that had never changed. Why now, when her life was upside down?