"Eiram!"
He had come for her after all. He had actually flown across the ocean to Germany, and--thank goodness for his lock-picking hobby--gotten into her apartment! They would get married and get a rabbit! And--
Oh god, how long had it been since she had last bathed? And the apartment was a sordid mess; it could hardly have been much worse if she'd been peeing on newspapers in the corner--
And then there was the toilet.
Fuck.
Should she shoot out of bed without warning and make a beeline for the bathroom? Should she feign sleep for the rest of her life?
"Eiram, wake up," he whispered.
If only she could Petrify him, Scourgify herself, the apartment, and especially the toilet, put on some coffee, and then convince him somehow, when he came to, that everything had been clean and sparkling like that when he'd walked in. She had no idea how to Obliviate, but, then again, it was quite probable he would hardly be able to process such changes in scenery and scent, and he might very well attribute his initial impressions to jetlag, rather than think too much about it…
Was her wand on the nightstand?
Wait. Her wand. Right. Go to Plan B.
She didn't have a Plan B.
"Eiram," he whispered again.
He didn't sound horribly disgusted. Maybe he didn't care? He had flown all the way from the States… And, really, if he hadn't taken one look and flown right back, there was hope that he didn't think it was that bad…
She liked Plan A better. If only.
Alas. She would explain that she had been working so monomaniacally on her Horace paper that she had forgotten basic concepts like cleanliness, eating, sleeping at night; nothing to do with him of course. He was not keen on drama or depression; she would not want him to suspect she had been dramatically depressed. Just a little obsessed with research. That, he could appreciate.
But she would have to brush her teeth before she said anything. Her mouth tasted like…
Freshly-pressed pumpkin juice?
"Eiram," he said quietly.
It wasn't him. It was Twiggy, and her cheek was just about to slide off his shoulder. She drew her head up with some effort.
"We're at Hogwarts," she said.
"Why don't you go get some rest?" said Minerva. "I won't forget the owl."
"I don't remember how to get back to my room," Eiram said.
"I'll take you," said Twiggy.
"Perhaps it would be best," Minerva said, "if I escort Eiram, myself. It might prove disadvantageous were the students, particularly Potter, to speculate that there might exist between you a not-entirely professional relationship which predates your arrival here."
"Your pardon, Minerva; you are entirely correct. I, too, am in need of some rest."
"I'll take her," said Moody, leaning behind Minerva. "She's meant to be my long-lost daughter, isn't she? Look suspicious indeed if she's following everyone around the castle except me."
With that, he whisked her from her seat and ushered her from the table. They did not speak until they reached her door.
"Best let me have a look around," he said. "I checked it for Dark magic before you got in last night, but I didn't know you'd met Voldemort on the way. He might have planted something on you. You can't be too safe."
Eiram nodded dumbly and opened the door.
"What is that?" he barked. He rushed to the bed and carefully picked up a parchment scroll. He peered at it with one eye. Eiram thought she heard a whirring sound. "Oh," he said. "It's a note for you."
He returned and handed it to her. She opened it.
Dear Eiram,
Please come to my office straightaway. Bring Moody.
Yours,
Trent