The sun hadn't yet risen, but she could hear something tapping. Something hard against... glass? What the hell?
Sarah determined to ignore it. She rolled over onto her stomach, turning her sheets, comforter, and quilts into a cocoon. And then she buried her head under her pillow.
The tapping continued.
Sarah groaned something that could have been either 'go away' or 'goh Waaagh!'
The tapping did not stop. Eventually, Sarah flopped back onto her back — which was a feat, constrained as she was — and turned her head to look balefully at whatever was making that ungodly noise.
She cracked her eyes open.
And realised three things: it wasn't actually sunrise yet, the noise was coming from her window, and there was a barn owl sitting outside it.
"J-Jareth?!"
The owl just kept on beating its beak against her window. It didn't stop t acknowledge her.
She struggled free of her blanket burrito and opened the window. The owl hopped into her room and brought the cold air with it.
One of its legs had some sort of tube container affixed. She popped it open and withdrew — a scroll. An actual parchment scroll, with a red waxen seal. Holy moly. No wonder they still used feather quills.
Maybe she should invest in a set of fountain pens.
She scratched the seal away with her thumbnail, then unrolled the letter and had to whistle. Gorgeous penmanship, gorgeous embossed school logo...
She focused and actually read the letter.
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Headmaster Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Miss Williams,
It is my duty to inform you that you have come to the attention to the Hogwarts Enrollment Process as a newly emergent witch. The Ministry of Magic requires all witches and wizards to undergo training at an approved school for witchcraft or wizardry, or other Ministry-approved program.
You are above the usual enrollment age of Hogwarts school, but Hogwarts believes that all who wish to learn have the right to be taught.
If you would care to pursue education and licensure of your new talent, please write back with a time and location we may meet to discuss your options. Soonest is best, but I will be available throughout the week.
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Sarah searched her bag for a good ball-point pen and some paper. She scratched Minerva McGonagall's name and title at the top, then penned a quick reply.
Can you be in Diagon Alley by 16:30?
—SGW
Her reply came back within two hours. By this time it was eight in the morning, and the sun had begun to warm the day.
Indeed I can. Would you care to meet me at the Rosa Lee tea shop?
MM
So Sarah replied, on the same parchment and with the same ballpoint pen, I'll be there.
She headed down to a grocer's for cardboard boxes, which she then dutifully took back to the flat. She boxed up her books, her regular clothes, her belongings. She didn't touch the dishes in the kitchen or any of the furniture she'd brought into the flat.
Scarves, jewelry, her witchy robes all went into the dress bag she'd brought with her from the States.
She finished within an hour and half, and then sat on her stripped bed and stared.
She couldn't really say what had prompted her to do it. But now, looking at her thoroughly boxed, bagged, and labelled life, she felt better.
Everything in a compartment. Everything separated out. Her normal, ho-hum life had far more stuff than the witch life she was about to start.
But it was nice to see the distinction. To see the weight of her own history.
She smiled, then turned to her mirror and said: "Hoggle, I need you."
He was at her side in an instant. He looked around, curious, and she realized he'd only ever seen her flat when she'd still been in the process of moving in.
And that from inside the mirror.
"I'm sorry I haven't called on you much in the last few months," she said.
"I understand. The Labyrinth has to stay secret. 'sides, you think I want to talk to Abovegrounders that aren't you?"
Sarah leaned her head forward and laughed.
"You get tired of the room mates?" He looked at the boxes. "You're not moving on my — on our account, are you?"
"No," she said. "Turns out I'm a witch, Hoggle."
Hoggle looked back at her. His gaze had sharpened. "A witch, like the kind that casts spells and gads about on a broomstick?"
"That exact kind."
"Be careful."
"You always say that."
"Well, you never are."
Guilty as charged. She shrugged. "Hey, Hoggle, there's a Goblin bank up here. I thought goblins lived in the Underground."
"Some do. Some were too smart to go around getting kicked into things whenever His Glittery Highness got bored, so he told 'em they could live up in the Above." Hoggle paused, thinking. "There was some trouble a couple hundred years back. Something about a war. I didn't hear much about it, but it had His Majesty blowing his stack. That was when the Bog got turned into a punishment and not just a landmark."
"Yeah, the Goblin Wars of the 1700's. I read about it. The wizards say goblins wanted to use wands for their magic."
"Jareth doesn't like being told he can't do something — imagine a bunch of fur brains telling him his subjects Above couldn't do something. And his subjects complained to him. He's made his peace with the wizards, but if you ask me..." Hoggle shrugged.
"Ask you what? You can't just leave the story there!"
Hoggle sighed. "I think he's just waiting for wizards to do something stupid again, and then he'll tell the Aboveground goblins to come back down."
"He can do that? They'd leave all that money and treasure and stuff and go back Underground?"
"Oh yeah. They're weird loyal to him, since he let them leave. I think they forgot how he can get. Maybe because they don't live as long Aboveground." Hoggle paused, then added, sly, "But I think they'd bring the money and treasure down with them."
In other words, Sarah realized, Jareth was all but waiting for an excuse to completely trash the wizard economy in Great Britain.
It actually wasn't that much of a surprise, now that she thought about it. Jareth was a big believer in consequences.
What was said was said. What was done was done. And just because it hadn't been meant, or because it happened two hundred years ago, didn't make it un-said or un-done.
She actually tipped her head back and laughed.
She and Hoggle talked until noon, when Sarah realized she needed to get ready. He went back to the Labyrinth. She showered, braided her hair back, and grabbed her bag of robes.
That, she took with her on the train to London.
She was in London by three in the afternoon. She changed into a set of robes in the Leaky Cauldron and waited.
At four fifteen, she asked directions of Tom, then made her way to the tea shop. She told the host that she was waiting for Minerva McGongall, but wound up being shown to a table where a prim, sharp-eyed witch awaited her.
The witch's hair was a shade of gray that hinted that it once been either a rich red or a deep, glossy auburn. Her blue eyes seemed to snap with focus, despite the lines on her face and hands.
"Madam McGonagall?" This woman was no mere 'Mrs.,' that was for sure.
"I am indeed. You are Sarah Williams?"
"Yes."
"Do sit, please."
Sarah sat. Once again she found herself crossing her legs at the ankles and folding her hands in her lap. Ragnok had nothing on Minerva McGonagall when it came to intimidating.
"You are from America."
"I am."
McGonagall peered at her over her glasses. "And you have received no magical training, there or here?"
"I have not." Sarah swallowed.
"Well, that can't continue."
Sarah tilted her head to lift her chin. She was trying for un-cowed or unaffected. She probably just looked stubborn. "No. It can't."
McGonagall poured tea for them both. Her movements were brisk, efficient. She picked up the tongs for sugar cubes and raised an eyebrow.
"Two sugars," Sarah said, "and plenty of cream."
McGonagall, she noted, went even heavier on the cream than she did. Interesting, though probably a useless thing to know. Also kind of interesting — if nice — that McGonagall was offering cream at all; milk was more usual, Sarah was pretty sure. She'd certainly only ever been offered milk before in her three years here.
"I'm given to understand that I'm much older than your students. Thank you," she said as she accepted her cup. "I don't know enough about how your school works to offer an alternate arrangement."
McGonagall sipped her tea and gave a tightly controlled smile. "I think you suspect."
"Right. Are you going to give me some really minor staff position, like assistant to the junior under-librarian? Research assistant or something?"
"MInor, yes. But not so minor. You will of course be paid for your time. Room and board will also be provided, as it is for all students and faculty."
Sarah set her cup down and looked McGonagall in the eye. "So what did you have in mind?"
"Lecturer in Muggle Studies."
She almost laughed. And then she realized that this was not a woman given to making jokes. Certainly not jokes about her work.
"That's much less minor than I was expecting."
"Muggle Studies is an optional course, and not a particularly popular one. You'll teach the third years, who have no established curriculum." McGonagall looked at her over her glasses. It was a sharp, piercing sort of look. "Provided you lecture well, we may call on you to provide lectures in other primarily academic areas of study, grade essays, or proctor written exams."
There was a small part of Sarah that wanted to shrink back from that kind of responsibility. What did she know about teaching kids?
The rest of her wanted to jump at it. Room and board, sure, but hands-on learning to do magic with a school full of instructors and the opportunity to see what the wizarding world idea of school looked like? She imagined floating desks and libraries that stretched on forever, owls and toads and pointy hats.
Not to mention she was graduating at the end of spring. She'd booked her ceremony and everything, assuming she passed all her classes and her thesis passed muster. It'd be nice to have where she would work after graduation settled.
"Alright," she said. "Where do I sign?"
McGonagall's expression turned to one of genuine pleasure. Her eyes crinkled.
Sarah couldn't actually gauge how old the woman probably was — she'd have guessed somewhere north of sixty — but she was surprised at how lovely McGonagall was when she smiled. For an instant, a very different woman seemed to peek out of her lined face.
Sarah wrote a paper to make up for her absence from the discussion of The Yellow Wallpaper.
She traded owls every day until that Saturday, when she placed a crest-shaped talisman around her neck at 11:45.
Apparently portkeys really did only go off when they were supposed to; she had the damned thing on for fifteen minutes before she felt a strange jerk right around her belly button. She dropped onto marshy ground in an undignified — and more importantly painful — heap. She struggled to her feet, aware that she probably looked like a rumpled pile of fabric and grass stains.
A man with a long, silvery beard, half-moon glasses, and a pointy velvet hat looked thoughtfully at her from his seat on a bench.
All around her was green. She could see the glimmer of a lake off in the distance, and there was a castle some ways away.
"Sarah Williams, I take it?"
"I am. And you're..." She thought about it, took in the richness of his robes and his apparent age. "The headmaster. Albus Dumbledore, right?"
He rewarded her with a nod. "I am indeed. Come, let us see to the arrangements."
She followed him into the castle in a daze. McGonagall handled the paperwork. Dumbledore explained the nature and limits of her position and made arrangements for her lessons to begin once she'd graduated Oxford and had the time to devote.
After that, they charmed the talisman into another portkey. And she ended up flat on her butt in a park.
Sarah finished her thesis sitting at a typewriter in a brightly lit kitchen. Brent and Leah, who hadn't studied through their summers, sat around the ktichen table alternately drinking, doing their own studying, or frantically trying to figure out who would help them pay rent on the flat after Sarah left.
The flat was no longer her concern; even if it had been, either one of the Blues or somebody from LMH's crew would surely move in. And she didn't have the time to drink, much as she would have liked to. So Sarah just plugged her headphones into her Walkman and blared Bowie.
Part of her felt weird, like some kind of traitor, for writing a feminist critique of the male-dominated western literary canon while listening to Bowie.
The rest of her just enjoyed the music and refused to attach any significance to how closely Bowie's voice matched Jareth's.
The thesis passed muster. Sarah told Hoggle, Didymus, and Ludo in the mirror even before she called home. Hoggle scoffed at Sarah basically proving it was time for her to go off and take care of herself with a bunch of words on paper. Sir Didymus didn't really seem to grasp it, but he was happy for her all the same. Ludo was simply happy that she was happy.
Apparently Jareth heard, too. A white carnation appeared on her dresser, its stem still protruding from the mirror, the morning of her first exam.
The next day — and each morning several days after — she found pink carnations in much the same position.
And then came the morning of her final exam. Where the pink and white carnations had lain now lay a red carnation.
She took a little malicious joy in watching Brent's and Leah's eyes widen in a mix of jealousy and near-panic when she pinned the red carnation on and walked breezily out the door to her actual, literal, Final.
Dad, Irene, and Toby flew in for her graduation. At her high school graduation she'd worn a deep green dress underneath her cap and gown.
Today, though, it was sub-fusc all the way. White blouse and black tie all the way to black skirt and black stockings.
But since she didn't plan on wearing this particular gown — or ensemble; she missed color when she dressed like this — again she didn't mind when her father crushed her in a hug.
Irene smiled brilliantly behind the camera as the shutter clicked away. And the obvious affection between them both was sure to show in the pictures her father took.
They didn't give Sarah time to change before they went out to lunch. She unfastened the damned gown and utterly failed to give a damn at the looks people gave the loud Americans visiting their Oxford student daughter.
They were lingering over coffee that didn't quite meet Irene's taste, Sarah could tell from the way she pursed her lips just slightly after every long sip, when a shadow fell over their table.
"Sarah," a familiar voice murmured. "I don't mean to intrude, but I wanted to congratulate you."
"You're hardly intruding, young man." Her father's tone was jovial. "Please, there's a seat empty."
Sarah turned to see Jareth standing at her brother's elbow. He looked human. His hair looked mussed rather than like a wild shock of mullet. His left eye was simply brown, rather than having a larger pupil. The inhuman angles had left his face.
Sarah could practically hear Irene's 'find Sarah a good boyfriend' quest start up again.
"Dad, Irene, this is Jareth..." Sarah had to pause for a moment, trying to remember the name Jareth had used with Bill Weasley. "Rex. Jareth, meet my father, Robert Williams, my step-mother, Irene, and my little brother. Toby."
Jareth gave an archaic, courtly half bow before he seated himself. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance."
"How do you know Sarah?"
"We met in spring a few years back." Jareth said. "She beat me out in... Well, I'd rather not say. I was a mess. But I was just burning to know more about this Sarah Williams who beat me by thirteen."
If it wouldn't have clued her family in that Jareth had just taken the truth and turned it into a stretch toy, she would have whistled. That was a very nice pack of truths that amounted to nothing true whatsoever. Well done, Jareth.
Irene took a sip of coffee and didn't purse her lips. "Did you not graduate today?"
"Oh no, not me." Jareth gave Irene and her father a scarily charming smile. "This is Sarah's big day, anyway. I really only stopped by to wish her well."
Three times, essentially, that he'd said he wished her well and didn't want to intrude or make this all about him. That, at least, wasn't him playing with words to make the truth mean a lie.
He was trying to tell her that he was trying to respect her boundaries and hadn't meant to insinuate himself into her family outing as another guest. He evidently took her agreement of friendship seriously.
After a moment's consideration, she forgave him. He was trying to be a friend, in a glittery, inhuman, faintly stalkerish way. She'd meet him halfway.
"Jareth, we actually just finished lunch," she said. "But I think there's a good ice cream shop right around here, if anybody's up for dessert?"
"Me!" Toby raised his hand in the air. "Me me me me!"
Her parents laughed.
After a thoughtful moment — in which he was probably sizing Jareth up — her father said, "Well, that's one vote. Sarah, why don't you take Toby? I've got a few things to arrange for our trip to London, and I'm sure Irene's still a little jet lagged."
"Sure. I'll drop him by your hotel around four?"
"Sounds like a plan," Irene said.
Sarah stripped the gown and thrust it away in her bag. They'd made it about a block before she hefted Toby onto her hip.
A few steps later, Toby peered up at Jareth and said, "I've seen you before."
"A very long time ago, perhaps," Jareth said.
Toby let the topic rest after that, probably for reasons of his own.
It wound up being a fun afternoon. Sarah took the opportunity to spoil her little brother; she wouldn't see him again until Christmas. If she even went back to the US then.
At some point, Toby migrated from Sarah's hip to Jareth's. Part of her panicked at the thought of the Goblin King touching her younger brother again.
But the rest of her knew that Jareth not only took their friendship seriously enough not to kidnap her little brother, but he couldn't. Toby had been won back, fair and square. Taking Toby back Underground would break that bargain.
And besides, a very mortal Goblin King holding a squirming six year old who was trying to eat chocolate ice cream made for a hilarious picture.
They let Toby run and shout the sugar away to his heart's content in a little green park. After Toby had done a few laps around the green near them, Sarah chased after him, ceasing to care if she put a run in her stockings, or if she ruined the black shoes with mud, or if play-tackling Toby to the ground got grass stains on her blouse.
When she looked up from tickling her little brother until he shrieked, Jareth was gone.
She spent a week in London with her parents before she made her way up to Scotland. She'd already packed her cardboard boxes away into a few wooden trunks, and sent them on to the school.
There was a Hogwarts carriage waiting for her in Hogsmeade.
Watching the castle come into view from the carriage was one of the more impressive things she'd ever seen. When it came to sheer strange, stark, beauty (and glitter), the Labyrinth had Hogwarts beat. But Hogwarts had a sense of majesty all its own. It seemed to perch atop the cliff above the lake as if waiting for something. Its towers were ancient, with crumbling crenellations; light glittered off the deep green, nearly black ivy that climbed one wall.
She stared at the castle — so tall, even without its four towers — and its grounds, at the black surface of the lake and the students who evidently had no classes and were studying on the grounds.
Once it reached the front steps, Sarah clambered out of the carriage to find Minerva McGonagall waiting for her. She smoothed her hands over her robes and made her way up the stairs.
McGonagall nodded once. "Excellent. You've arrived just in time to audit a Muggle Studies class, if you'd like."
Sarah thought about it. On the one hand, she had no idea where anything was. On the other, wouldn't figuring out where things were on her own be fun? Certainly less threatening than exploring the Labyrinth, but just as puzzling and strange.
"I'd love to," she said.
McGonagall's mouth curved into an approving smile for just a moment before she said, "Then follow me, Lecturer Williams. I'll need your tentative curriculum for Muggle Studies by the end of term."
"You approve those?"
"No, but I'll know whether Dumbledore will approve it or not. If it wouldn't pass his inspection, I will return it to you for correction."
McGonagall led her to a hall full of staircases. "Mind your step. The staircases move."
Sarah looked up and thought of the Escher Room and the Labyrinth's habit of re-arranging itself.
"...do the walls and doors move, too?"
"No," McGonagall replied, looking at her out of the corner of her eye.
At last, McGonagall led her to a classroom door. A few students were filing out. McGonagall and Sarah waited until the students had all trickled out — both ignoring the looks the students were giving them — and then stepped into the room.
"Professor Rowe. I believe Dumbledore spoke to you about a lecturer picking up your rising third years? This is she, Sarah Williams."
Professor Rowe was a slender man of medium height. His hair was dark and partly obscured his eyes. Sarah couldn't have guessed at his eye color.
He smiled as he stepped forward, offering his hand. "A pleasure to meet you, Lecturer Williams. I'm Cameron Rowe, but feel free to call me Cam away from the students."
"Nice to meet you too," she said, giving his hand a firm squeeze before withdrawing slightly. "Do you mind if I sit in on your next class?"
"Not at all," he said.
Rowe's next class was part of his unit on technology and covered the telephone. Sarah took a seat in the back and simply watched.
She knew she wouldn't be working with any of these students, but she watched their reactions anyway. At least they all looked to be mostly paying attention. They took copious notes, but she didn't see any hands in the air for questions.
Was that a normal wizard thing? Did they have questions at another time, or did they just not permit questions during the lecture?
"Alright," Rowe said, clapping his hands together. "Now for the practical part of today's lesson. Everybody is going to practice 'phoning' a friend. Now remember, this is just like a Floo call, but you cannot actually see your partner."
Something about his tone struck Sarah oddly. She felt her head jerk up. Something about the way he said that... As if praising a dog for figuring out something convenient, maybe?
She mulled over his words and tone throughout the rest of the class, trying to pinpoint what was bothering her. But she couldn't quite place it. Not yet, at least.
Still unsettled by something about Rowe, she didn't stop to talk shop when class ended. She simply filed out after the other students and headed for the castle's top floor, following a group of students with red and gold badges. They made their way to one of the taller towers, then disappeared behind a portrait.
Ah. That must be the Gryffindor common room. Only Gryffindors and instructors allowed in. Sarah nodded to herself, fixing a mental reference point.
The castle turned out to be enormous. She'd have loved it as a child — so many out of the way places to curl up and read. And that wasn't counting its huge, gorgeous grounds. Honestly, she loved it now.
it took her a good forty minutes to find her way back to McGonagall's office. But they were forty enjoyable minutes.
She didn't even mind when she realized that McGonagall wasn't in yet.
Instead, she turned around and went looking for Dumbledore.
She had just found a corridor she thought she vaguely remembered as leading to the Headmaster's office when someone challenged her.
"Enough! Where venturest thou so unaccompanied, lass?"
Sarah looked around. But there was no one in the hall with her.
Then again, in the Labyrinth, that wouldn't mean she was alone. So she she answered the voice.
"I'm sorry, I'm trying to find the Headmaster's office."
"And what rudeness is this, that thou lookst not to whom thou speak?"
She took a deep breath and made sure to keep her tone even. Probably best to speak formally; Didymus certainly preferred it. "And where should I look then, sir?"
"What, art thou fond? To thy right! Look thee To my portrait, lass!"
So Sarah turned dutifully to the right — and realized that a knight had been shouting at her from a portrait. She couldn't help but raise an eyebrow; he was wearing full plate. If the horse he rode had been real, she would have pitied it.
"I beg pardon for my rudness, sir." She sketched a curtsey. Not a deep one, but still deep enough to be polite. "I am Sarah Williams, and unaccustomed to this castle. To whom do I speak?"
"I am Sir Cadogan, Lady Williams." When she raised her eyes to look at him, he puffed out his chest. His horse rolled its eyes.
"Do all portraits talk as you do, sir?"
He grinned at her. "Not the landscapes. But the people, aye. In fact, we often go visiting." He pointed. She turned to look and realized that one portrait was empty.
Well, not quite empty. But the players had left their cards and drinks on the table, and all gone elsewhere.
"I see. You have my thanks, Sir Cadogan." She smiled. "An' if I would find the Headmaster's office, do I continue this hall?"
"Aye. Keep thee to this hall until thou seest gargoyles."
"...and I will know my search is over, for the gargoyles guard the entrance to his office?"
"That they do lass." He chuckled. "Perhaps not so fond after all, despite thy strange speech?"
"Oh, you call my speech strange —" she laughed. After all, she wasn't the one using early modern english in 1991. But no use telling him that, she was sure. She curtseyed again. "I thank thee, Sir Cadogan."
There was a wizard — far too old to be a student; he must be either a parent or an instructor — in dark robes waiting outside the door when she reached the gargoyles. His hair gleamed greasily in the flickering torchlight. It fell to his shoulders, looked a bit stringy.
What she really noticed — though she tried not to — was that a faint smell clung to the air around him. It was a sour, almost briny note. Not a human smell. Had he been doused in something?
He arched a brow at her. "And you are?"
His voice was surprisingly soft. But the quietness of his voice didn't erase the sense of dry mockery.
Sarah turned to him and smiled. It was a delberate gesture, forced. But being anything less than polite or friendly would make her look threatened.
"I'm Sarah Williams, the new lecturer in Muggle Studies. I don't actually start lecturing until September, but." She paused, "It's a pleasure to me you, Mr. …?"
"Professor." He corrected in a voice so quiet she almost had to lean in to hear him. "I am Severus Snape, Potions Master and Head of Slytherin House."
Slytherin. She thought back to Hogwarts: A History, mentally cataloguing what she knew of the House. It still seemed strange to her that children were divided up by primary personality trait — why not just assign them to dormitories by alphabetic order, or randomly? The more children mingtled and learned to deal with personalities that clashed with theirs, the better prepared they were to get along with others outside of school, right?
"I see," she said. "So is potion-making at all like chemistry?"
For a bare moment, he looked taken aback. And then he arched one brow. "Shouldn't a lecturer already know?"
The tone was smooth, its volume low. She flushed anyway, taking a step back. "Give me a break! I just found out that humans had magic a few weeks ago. Apparently I'm a late bloomer."
"Do not advertise that fact. Do not acknowledge it. Not only students but their parents will view that as a failing in an instructor at a school of witchcraft and wizardry."
"...you know, that reminds me. What's the difference?"
Another taken aback look. "The difference? Between you and a qualified professor?"
Ouch. Judging by Rowe, she was more than qualified to teach Muggle Studdies, at least — and she was damned sure she woudl teach it better than he did — but she hesitated to get into that argument. She was still unproven.
"I meant between witchcraft and wizardry. Why the distinction? Do women do some sort of different magic, or is it just an archaic holdover from a sexist worldview?"
Snape stared at her like she'd gone off about being able to juggle her own limbs. When he spoke, there was an edge to his voice. "Magic performed by women is witchcraft."
"Yes, sure, but what's the functional difference from wizardry? Why does it need a whole separate name?" Sounded like very subtle Othering to her, but she had a feeling that this hallway was not the place for Feminism 101.
Professor Snape was saved from having to answer by the door to the Headmaster's office opening. Dumbledore emerged, his eyes twinkling. "Ah, Severus, you've arrived. And I see you've met Lecturer Williams."
Snape didn't bother to conceal his distaste. "Yes."
"Good. Come in, then, both of you. I believe we have much to discuss."
McGonagall was already in Dumbledore's office. She was wearing red velvet today. Sarah wasn't sure that was her best color, but she quickly forgot all about that because there was some kind of bird perched near her.
Sarah stopped and stared. The bird was the color of fire. Its body and wings were crimson, flecked with orange and orange-red. It had a golden tail, long and elegant as any peacock's, that seemed to shimmer with heat.
"That, Miss Williams, is the phoenix Fawkes," Dumbledore said. "Please, have a seat."
She looked back up to him, then moved to sit next to McGonagall. The older witch wasn't precisely personable, but she seemed a sight more welcoming than Snape.
"Severus, I assume Sarah has informed you of her... status? And her position here?"
"She has."
"Very good." Dumbledore folded his hands as he thought. "In exchagne for lecturing, we will train her to Ministry standards. In private."
"I hardly have the time to take on a private student in addition to the courses I will be teaching, Albus. Do you propose we use Time Turners?"
Dumbledore smiled. "No. I propse she concentrate on two subjects at a time and act as a teaching assistant in exchange for lessons."
McGonagall shifted in her seat. "And you propose that her first two subjects be Potions and Transfiguration?"
"I do."
That got a nod from McGonagall. "Very well."
Snape, on the other hand, wasn't nearly so sanguine. "Albus, I am... less than convinced of the merits of an un-taught teaching assitant." How he managed to sound so firm when speaking just barely above a whisper, Sarah couldn't begin to understand.
"Oh, for heaven's sake, Severus," McGonagall snapped. "She's old enough to grasp theory quickly. Give her a stack of books and a stack of essays; I'm sure she'll do just fine grading them."
"As you say," Snape drawled. At a stern look from Dumbledore, he subsided. "Williams, you may meet me in my office at nine tomorrow night."
"Yes, Professor Snape," she said. "Professor McGonagall?"
"Minerva." McGonagall said, firmly. "You may be my student, but you are an adult. I expect you know how to be respectful without having to resort to titles."
Sarah only nodded. "Yes, Professor - I mean Minerva. Although please, call me Sarah."
"Very well. We'll meet later on tonight. My office, half past nine?"
"I'll be there."
"Good. If that is all, Albus?" At Dumbledore's nod, Minerva stood and indicated the door. "Sarah, I'll show you to your office and quarters. And I have a map of the school for you."
Her office was just next to Cameron Rowe's. Her quarters were in the same wing of the castle as his, though she was also near Quirinus Quirrel, Septima Vector, Sybil Trelawney, and Rolanda Hooch.
"Sybil," Minerva said, just a touch of distaste sliding into her voice, "is across the hall from you. Septima and Rolana are on either side - just there," she pointed at two dors. "And Cameron and Quirinus are at the end of the hall."
"I see." It was like a very tiny a very large castle.
"And your map," Minerva said, handing her a rolled up scrap of parchment.
"Thank you," Sarah said. She smiled at Minerva, then tried to open the door to her quarters.
The doorknob refused to turn.
"Um, am I going to need a key?"
"A key? No. The doors operate on passwords. Præcipio eam." The door swung open. Minerva rapped twice on it, then indicated for her to do the same.
So Sarah knocked twice on the door.
"Now give it a new password."
"Uh." She cast around in her mind for a password that wasn't the one to her Gringotts vault. Some part of her was tempted to use the words that had tickled had the edges of her mind for years - fear me, love me, and I will be your - but it was too personal. Too much hers and Jareth's.
So she said, "Valentine Evenings."
Minerva raised an eyebrow. Sarah only shook her head. There was no explaining it.
"I'll see you tonight at half past nine," Sarah said. "Thank you for all your help, Minerva."
Minerva's mouth curved into a small, satisified smile. it didn't last long, but it was lovely. "You're quite welcome, Sarah. I will see you in my office later."
Sarah stepped into her room, closed the door, and stared. She had walked into some sort of sitting room. Huge bookshelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, excpt for the wall in which a fireplace had been built. She saw a comfortable, ancient looking couch - frankly it looked Victorian - and a few wingtip chairs. There was even a cherry wood escritoire, already stocked with quills and ink.
In one wall, there was a door that led to a private bathroom. The other hall had a door leading to a bedroom. There was a four poster bed, a floor length mirror, no closet but a wardrobe and an enormous chest of drawers.
Thick, soft rugs decorated the stone floors of the sitting and sleeping rooms. Sarah bent down, kicked off her heels, and curled her toes against the carpet. She closed her eyes, smiling, then let herself fall back onto the bed.
God, it was soft.
This was totally the life.
This was totally not the life. Sarah stared at the cardboard box full of books - marked in permanent marker as MINE rather than OFFICE OR SOMETHING - and then stared at the wall.
She'd plowed through three cardboard boxes of books. But it felt like there were far, far too many more to go.
"Quitting time, I think." She sighed, then looked down at the boxes. After a moment, she grinned.
And then she pushed the books together. She stacked a few on top of each other, then grabbed a blanket off her bed. She draped it over the boxes, looked at her handiwork, and grinned.
There! A box fort. A fort made of boxes of books. The only better place to read would be a window seat on a sunny day.
With that, she headed into the bedroom. The clock on the wall informed her that it would be dinner soon - literally: the hour hand wasn't far from an hour labelled dinner - and surveyed the wardrobe full of her witch robes. She grabbed a blue summer robe with white flowers embroidered along the sleeves and collar. She brushed her hair and braided it into a thick rope. After a moment, she crossed to her dresser, unzipped a small silk jewelry bag, and withdrew a few pins, which she slipped into the the braid.
Her very first public meal at Hogwarts. She tried to ignore how quickly her heart was beating. There was nothing to be nervous about.
So she took a deep breath, said, "Come on, feet," and left the room.
The Great Hall had a ceiling that looked like the sky. She looked up at it, watching the clouds drift, before she really took a good look around the Hall. Four long tables sat parallel to each other, with students grouped by badge at each. At the front of the Hall was a table placed peripendicular to the student tables, where the professors sat.
She arrived at the dais with the professor's table in time to see that there was a spare chair next to a woman with spiked gray hair and golden eyes. Her eyes glinted like a hawk's, and for a moment, Sarah was reminded strangely of Jareth.
Nonetheless, she smiled and made her way to the seat. Before she sat, she extended a hand. "Good evening! I'm Sarah Williams. Mind if I...?"
The golden-eyed witch had a firm, sensible handshake. "I'm Rolanda Hooch. And go ahead, it's a spare. I assume it's yours anyway."
"Thanks." Sarah smoothed her robes and sat.
"You're the new Muggle Studies lecturer?"
"I am. I don't start until September, though. For now I'm just going to be watching some of Professor Rowe's classes and building my curriculum. What do you teach here?"
"I'm the flying instructor and Quidditch referee."
There was that word again. Sarah bit down on the urge to ask what the hell Quidditch was.
Professor Snape glided in from... somewhere. She didn't think he'd come from the dungeons, but since Hogwarts liked to play with its layout almost as much as the Labyrinth, she couldn't be sure. He stalked past her, robes flaring. When she breathed in, she smelled something that was at once vinegary and nutty. Very like peanuts and pickle brine, actually.
Sarah turned her head to watch him for a moment. "What the hell was he doused in?"
Hooch only laughed. "He's a Potions Master! He's going to smell like some weird things. Just you wait until he's been skinning boomslangs."
Sarah made a face. She had no idea what a boomslang was or smelled like, but the word 'skinning' was enough to tell her it had to be supremely unpleasant.
Cameron Rowe darted in, whirled slightly, and then sat down in a chair near the two of them. "Boomslangs? Ah, explaining the horrifying smells that cling to our favorite Potions Master?"
"Favorite? He's our only Potions Master." Hooch shook her head. "Get your head in the game, Cam."
"So sorry, Rolanda."
At last, Dumbledore stepped to his own seat. He didn't sit down, however, merely looked out across the Great Hall at the students. He lifted and then lowered his hands, gesturing for quiet.
"As you may have noticed, there's a new face at the staff table. It is my pleasure to introduce Sarah Williams, who will be teaching Muggle Studies next September. She's arrived a season or so early because she fell so deeply in love with the Hogwarts grounds; I'm sure you'll all see her around the castle until the end of term."
There was polite but mostly uninterested clapping. And then Dumbledore pulled a carpetbag from beneath the table. He set it in his chair and said, his eyes twinkling with mischief, "As she is from America, Lecturer Williams has no Hogwarts House. Shall we Sort her?"
That drew a lot more excitement. Apparently everybody loved a good Sorting. And everybody wanted to see a teacher get sorted.
Dumbledore smiled, then pulled the chair back. He lifted the carpet bag from the chair, then drew a hand through the air to indicate she should sit.
Her blood began to beat in her ears. Slowly, Sarah stood from her own chair. She reflexively smoothed her robes again, then moved toward Dumbledore. Her footsteps were silent as on the stone.
The headmaster's chair seemed closer and closer, until at last she sank into it and folded her hands in her lap.
From the bag, Dumbledore removed the single ugliest hat she had ever seen. It was battered and ancient and pointy and brown, and she did not want it anywhere near her careful braid.
The hat plopped down onto her head.
Sarah schooled her face into impasivity.
My, my, what have we here, the hat murmured inside her head. She hoped it was inside her head. "So much courage, girl, bordering on recklessness." You've defied a King, confronted him, and fought your way through a labyrinth and a city. You've flung yourself head-first into a brand new world not once but three times - first with the goblins, then with Oxford, and now here. "Perhaps Gryffindor?"
Sarah, rather than reply, imagined taking her wicked potions knife and cutting the hat into thin strips, then stuffing those strips into Dumbledore's goblet. She had not asked to have her head - and, more importantly, her past - invaded. The Labyrinth was private.
Now, now, no need to be like that. I'm just doing my job. Hm, most of those tests were tests of cleverness, really, weren't they? "You love your books. Enough boxes of them in your study to make a fort, my dear?"
Okay, now she really hoped the students couldn't hear what the damned hat was saying.
She got the impression that the hat was smiling nastily. Possibly she shouldn't have threatened it.
But look at the way you analyze and over-analyze! Poor, poor Professor Snape. Your wit could take this school by storm. Yes, whatever your courage, whatever your loyalty, I don't think this will be a shock... "RAVENCLAW!"
Dumbledore whipped the hat off and smiled at her. A table full of students with blue and bronze badges burst into raucous, excited applause. At the staff table, one of the professors - tiny, with a face that reminded her of the Aboveground goblins - clapped, smiling broadly.
"Well done. Always good to have another Ravenclaw at the table," he said, eyes twinkling. "I'm Filius Flitwick, by the way."
Sarah smiled. "A pleasure to meet you."
But Flitwick's expression had turned dazed. "You're the Lady Williams of the Labyrinth?"
Sarah swallowed. "I am. But I've... mostly left all that behind, now."
His smile returned.
At the end of dinner, a tiny girl with a blue badge on her robes approached the staff table. Her steps were timid, and she kept ducking her head, or stopping and looking at the table she'd come from. A rather large group of students all invariably waved her closer to the staff table when she stopped and turned.
At last, she stood beside Sarah's chair.
"P-Professor Williams?"
"Lecturer," Sarah said, trying to keep her voice gentle. Poor thing looked like she'd faint if someone said a cross word to her. "What can I do for you, Miss...?"
"Belby. Maisie Belby," the girl said. "Erm... er... I was wondering if maybe..."
Sarah tried to give her an encouraging smile.
"Canwecomereadinyourbookfort?"
"Can you what?"
"Come-read-in-your-book-fort," the girl said in a breathless, high pitched rush.
Sarah thought for a few moments. She didn't actually want to unpack any more books. Posisbly ever. Ravenclaws apparently loved books.
"I'm not going to open my private rooms to students, I don't think," Sarah said. She continued, over Maisie's crestfallen look, "But I'd be happy to move my book fort to the Ravenclaw common room."
