Past and Present

The sinewy tall man returned into the Hogshead Inn while Leonor crossed the street. She glimpsed from the distance at Alma's shop in the main street. Everything was silent and dark except a little rose-red light in the attic room. She sighed and followed the landlord, still wondering about his age. She couldn't give a good guess. The air in the pub smelled of stale drinks and unclean folks, even though there was just one last guest sitting over an empty tankard. Leonor glanced round and moved to the long bar where the landlord wiped the sticky surface with a greyish brown cloth. The dirt on the floor gnashed under the steps. He called out to the obviously drowsy wizard holding the pitcher with both hands.

"Fletcher, pay your bill. It's closed now."

The burly man blinked, gazed at the landlord and stood up. He looked at Leonor and his eyes narrowed before showing a toothless grimace and wiping his bald head with ugly fingers. The so-called Fletcher tossed some coins at the bar and rushed out of the pub like in a sudden hurry. The landlord grunted to himself, collected the sickles and threw them into a drawer.

"I'm Leonor," she said unemotional and without stretching a hand as a greeting. The landlord watched her with blue piercing eyes before taking two glasses from a cupboard. He filled them with a clear liquid and handed one to Leonor.

"Aberforth," said the landlord and drowned the cup in one go. Leonor copied him. The colourless liquid burned in the throat like fire.

"Brave," snorted Aberforth and refilled the glasses to the brim.

"Why do you watch me?" asked Leonor without preamble. The bloke's resemblance to Dumbledore showed weakly on the surface. Blue penetrating eyes and lanky grey hair scraped up most of the similarities. A grim and bitter look replaced the bright smile and the mischievous twinkle of the headmaster. Shabby robes created a stark contrast to the colourful embroidered clothing of the famous brother. It was almost as if Albus lived in the sun while Aberforth had chosen the shadows. The strong liqueur created a warm pleasant burn around Leonor's stomach, a curative feeling against birthday blues.

"Do I?" Aberforth frowned slightly with a strange lively graveness.

"You do."

"Any issues with it?" replied the landlord grumpily and emptied another cup.

"It's at least impolite."

"It's for your own good."

"What makes you so sure to know what's good for me?"

"Age."

"Age doesn't give the right to stalk. Stay out of my business!" replied Leonor clutching her wand visibly under the cloak.

Aberforth grinned. He leaned over the bar and came threatening close to Leonor's face. A wry grin curled his mouth.

"Girl, I've seen rise and fall of two dark sorcerers. Don't tell me you've seen more! I smell the wrong people, I know what pushes them. They will assault your little perfect apothecary. You are in the wrong company," said the landlord with a stern finality in the voice.

Leonor drowned the refilled cup holding the gaze. She wondered about the motives of Aberforth to tell her. The information itself didn't take her by surprise.

"Why would you warn me?" shrugged Leonor.

"You are not from here."

"Fine, then all is said. No need to trace my steps anymore. Call me if you need a word. Good night!" Leonor shoved the empty glass into the hands of the host and made the way to the exit into the meanwhile cloudy January. He didn't call her back. Suspicion rose like fog above autumnal lowlands. The grudging honesty sounded genuine, not forced. The idea that Dumbledore was involved in the warning in one or another way dispersed by the arrival of two owls.

Peter's birthday card played a catchy tune, a Romanian folk song. Leonor smiled and read. Peter's mother complained about the workload at the school and wished Leonor to come back and help in the hospital. Peter boasted about the happiness with the gorgeous twins. Both deluded Leonor in a nice way. Peter's mother likely had very little to do. Everybody stayed home in winter. Peter himself skipped every mention of his wife. It just meant he cared for everything with magic. His wife stopped to live a muggle's existence when magic solved things quicker. Peter loved his wife and would take the burden as long as he could.

The second letter arrived camouflaged like muggle mail. A stamp and the blue airmail sign were printed above the address, no sender, and no official paper. Leonor took lousy pages with an FBI letterhead and coffee stains out of the envelope and looked at the familiar handwriting. She absorbed the lines eagerly. A picture of the small windowless office with the brick walls came to her mind. The little room was crammed with three desks and shelves of forensic evidence, everything Alan and Leonor hid to keep the magic involved in crimes a secret. The harsh and tight-lipped former partner summarized the events after Leonor left. She'd never expected to get one written sentence out of him, not after more than five years. Leonor couldn't deny feeling good and somewhat homesick. But would she really like to return?

Sandra, the cheerful and good-natured soul of the trio had been insured by a recent investigation. Alan wrote that MACUSA and her husband forced her to take Leonor's place. MACUSA just filled an unpopular position lacking properly trained wizards willing to work with muggles. Her husband wanted the extra money. Alan was already a conscience-stricken man and the inability to keep his partner out of harm's way weighted heavily on the written lines. Leonor remembered how Sandra struggled with the bizarre crimes and now she'd been right in the middle of it, defenceless and overworked. A part of the blame woke in Leonor's soul too; she'd never told her suspicions about the selfishness of Sandra's groom, instead, the escape to Europe left everything unsaid. Leonor had not been there, and the six-year-old daughter almost lost her mother, she wondered if the bloke of a father would care now.

Leonor heaved a sigh; the first private letter from the U.S. arrived at her birthday. She would respond soon, knowing the words wouldn't make Alan forgive himself. She put the pages carefully down on the workbench and checked the maturation process of the Wolfsbane potion. After a minute, she narrowed her eyes and glanced back at the letter. It rippled slightly; she pointed the wand quickly and uttered an incantation giving the old password. Alan knew she would remember and a few more lines appeared at the bottom.

"ICPO will raid the drug mafia in Mexico, soon. Keep fingers crossed that the swoop will catch your brother. Could need some of your skills in N.Y. Happy birthday, mate! PS: Hope the British owls deliver promptly! Alan."

Leonor read the letter again and again, on the way up to the first floor and leaning against the window sill. There were so many possibilities if Juan would be captured. She could publish some of her studies and even return to work for the FBI if in need of a hiding place. Sudden anger clouded Leonor's mood. She'd never really considered returning, the bridges were broken, but the person she cared about forgot her birthday! She folded the letter with some swear words and went for a shower to cool off. The angry mood transformed into disappointment. She lay on her back staring at the dark ceiling, thinking about words. She wanted to hurt Severus, at least a bit. Leonor formed sentences seemingly a hundred times in a row. A butterfly moth circled around her head and flew up into a low loom of light. The moon's light hid behind clouds and the forecasted icy snow flurries clanked subdued on the window. The ceiling was far too bright for such a night. Leonor stiffened and stretched the arm to reach for the magic wand, but it fell to the floor. She frowned upon herself but the only possibility was to investigate the source of light without magic. The witch noticed a folded paper next to two card boxes of equal size, carefully tied with a white ribbon. She must have overlooked them when curling under the blankets in the dark room. The paper emitted a bright glow, enough to attract the moth. Leonor moved her hand carefully around, hesitating to touch it. She was brim-full of curiosity and suddenly she recognized the kind of the white bow, Hattie's signature! It overpowered the caution.

She snatched the parchment and unfolded it to read the spiky writing.

"Happy birthday! I visit you on Friday to check the Wolfsbane potion."

Leonor's heart made a little somersault; once no sneaking into the dungeons. Severus had remembered. She couldn't restrain herself from ripping open the first box. It contained a bottle. The outside glass was clean, but the label yellowed and splotchy. The ancient lettering revealed a very old French Elf-made wine. Leonor became more curious. The second box contained soft stuffing. In between the non-woven fabric lay a white rose, still a flower bud — perfectly shaped and flawless. She took a smell at the petals and a slight sweet haze flowed into her nose. Leonor smiled and moved her eyes back to the short letter. Two more lines appeared slowly on the parchment.

"Prepare two glasses and keep the wine cool, at best little above freezing point."