Flitwick helped her move the boxes marked "MINE" into the Ravenclaw common room. They had to answer a riddle posed by an eagle-shaped door knocker. It brought back memories of one door knocker who couldn't speak and another who couldn't hear.

Flitwick answered the riddle; she was too lost in her own memories to really listen.

"And I need you to stay open," said Flitwick.

The eagle's eyes flew back open. It posed another riddle: "I'd neither a guest nor a trespasser be. In this place I belong, that belongs also to me. What am I?"

"Home," Sarah said.

"Correct," the eagle replied. The door didn't swing shut behind them.

She and Flitwick levitated load after load of boxes. Once they were all in the common room, the door swung shut. With a flick of Flitwick's wand, the cardboard boxes all opened.

Every Ravenclaw student in the Common Room craned their necks to see the books. Sarah gestured with her and, while Flitwick gestured with his.

Books flew from the boxes — Sarah checked the titles on the ones she was levitating; not all of them were age-appropriate for the students — and zipped to the center of the common room, where they dropped into stacks. After a few moments, she and Flitwick had created a perimeter. Another few moments, and they had three particularly tall columns, with the perimeter slightly higher than it had been.

It didn't quite form the castle she was sure the students had been expecting. All in all, once one tossed a blanket over the taller columns, it would look like a tent.

But it was still definitely a book fort. Sarah packed away the books the chldren didn't need to see back into one of her cardboard boxes while Flitwick worked on charming the fort.

"There," he said after a few moments. "It won't topple even if somebody runs into it. And books can be removed, so long as other books are put back in their places."

"A living library-turned-blanket-fort." Sarah grinned. "Well done, Professor Flitwick."

He gave her an odd look, but returned the smile.


Her first lesson with McGonagall consisted mostly of reading the first year Transfiguration texts while McGonagall graded third year essays. When she'd got through the volume — thick, yes, but mostly because of the way the wizarding world bound books; the concepts were easy to grasp — she closed it with a thump.

McGonagall looked up. "Finished already?"

"The concepts weren't too challenging." Once one got over the idea that magic was real, anyway. The basic principle seemed to be one that she lived by: anything could be something else. Nothing was as it seemed, and nothing had to stay what it was.

"Good. Questions?"

"I don't think so. It seemed... fairly simple. Visualization and guided potential, right?"

"That is the gist of it, yes." Minerva looked at her over her glasses for a moment. "Are you ready to grade the first-year Gryffindor and Slytherin essays?"

"I think so."

"Good." Minerva waved a hand toward one of her 'in' trays before returning to the essay she'd been grading.

Sarah picked up two stacks of essays, pulled a ballpoint pen out of her robe's sleeves, and began to read.

Every so often, she would underline a false conclusion and write 'false' next to it. With the book so fresh in her mind, it was easy to evaluate what the students were saying in their essays.

And now that she was reading essays, it was easier to realize where the gaps in her understanding were. Perhaps once every few essays, Sarah would end up looking up and asking Minerva about the conclusion the student had come to.

It was strangely companionable and definitely informative.

When Sarah had set aside the last essay, Minerva gave her the tight, controlled smile that meant she'd done well. And then she set a matchstick on her desk.

"This is a basic exercise. Transfigure the matchstick into a needle."

Sarah looked down. The key was visualization and potential. So she imagined every stage of the transfiguration: turning the matchstick into glinting steel, thinning it down to needle-size, adding the point and the opening for thread.

Still visualizing, Sarah touched her wand to the match.

The steps she'd been visualizing all happened almost at once, almost simultaneously. The transition was so smooth she almost couldn't believe she'd done it.

She looked up at Minerva, who had watched with detached interest.

"Well done," Minerva said.


In some ways, the potions lesson almost went better. Potions was a science, though one that ran on rules she wasn't familiar with. Every potion, if made correctly, would take on the same characteristics and create the same effects.

Introduction To Potion-Crafting: Theory and Practice was actually pretty fascinating.

Less fascinating was Snape's attitude. He made it clear he didn't expect much of her and didn't think she should be allowed to grade even first year papers, never mind teach Muggle Studies.

Sarah found herself not regretting asking just why she had to dice her wormood leaves, rather than cutting into thin slices or just tearing them with her fingers. The question made Snape's brows hook down and his mouth furrow into the deepest frown she'd ever seen on a grown man.

But he said, voice soft and tone poisonous, "The answer is in your book, Williams. Perhaps the hat's estimation of your intellect was overly generous?"

Her cheeks burned.

She was tempted to argue that the book was an introduction, and hadn't gone into why the treatment of ingredients mattered so much. She was dealing with something that could potentially turn into acid or explode if she made a mistake; she thought she deserved to know.

But Snape's eyes seemed to drill into her and she decided it was an argument best reserved for another night.


The next morning, at breakfast, Snape dropped two thick books onto the table in front of her: Philosophy of Potion Making and An Introduction to Occlumency.

"What's Occlumency?"

"Something you may, with enough study, be passable at," he sneered in an undertone, then swept away. His robes billowed out behind him. Sarah indulged several resentful thoughts about the likelihood of all that floating fabric getting caught in a door hinge somewhere.


The tail end of the term settled into a routine. She audited Cameron Rowe's classes two hours a week and devoted the rest of her time to either transfiguration, potions, or creating a curriculum for her Muggle Studies class. She walked down to Hogsmeade once a week to call home and introduce herself to the wide world of wizard cocktails.

Creating the curriculum took up most of her time. She had to consult Rowe's Muggle Studies text books as well as the OWL exams and prioritize. It kept her so busy she didn't have the time to read the books Snape had given her (though, strangely, he didn't seem in any rush to have them back — was this his attempt at being friendly?).

And every so often, Jareth would appear. Never in front of students — or, to her knowledge, instructors — but otherwise he wasn't particularly cautious about it. He'd appear right outside her door and walk with her onto the grounds, or would breeze into the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade and sit with her, sipping mead with his eyes heavy-lidded.

Their conversations were about all sorts of things, some of them expected, some of them strange.

One night they discussed the relative merits of federal republics — "But if everybody has a voice in who it is passing laws, isn't that just mob rule by proxy?" he'd asked, and she'd been hard-pressed to find an answer that would satisfy him — and another they'd talked about the theory of transfiguration.

"Your outlook is more of my kind than... witchly." Jareth said. He sniffed at his mead before drinking it. "Humans acknowledge the potential for metamorphosis, but only you really apply it to inanimate objects unless they're working magic on them."

"Then what's with all the talk about visualization and keeping an open mind?"

"They're trying to train themselves not to view things in fixed shapes. It doesn't often work, of course, though your McGonagall is almost fae in how she views matter. The shapeshifters usually are."

Sarah imagined Minerva's response to being called 'almost fae.' She stifled a laugh at the thought of Minerva's lips pursing and eyes narrowing in her severe, displeased expression. She could just imagine her reply now: 'There is nothing wishy-washy about transfiguration, Mr. King'

The bell above the door jangled, and Sarah turned to see Minerva McGonagall stepping in. Before she could think to hunker down or charm her hair to another color, Minerva caught sight of her. She moved briskly toward their table.

Jareth's eyes half-closed again, like a pleased cat's or a sleepy owl's.

"Minerva!" Sarah forced herself to smile. If she didn't smile, she'd look guilty, and god knew she didn't need that. "Nice to see you around. Jareth, this is the Hogwarts Transfiguration Professor, Minerva McGonagall. Minerva, this is —"

"—I know very well who that is," Minerva snapped. "Sarah, what in Merlin's name are you doing with the Goblin King?"

Sarah looked to Jareth, but his expression told her nothing. So she turned back to Minerva and said, "I've known him since I was fifteen. Is there something wrong?"

"He steals children!"

That got Jareth's attention. He looked up immediately, eyes glinting cruelly in the fire and torchlight. "No. I accept children wished away to me. I do not remove children of my own initiative."

Minerva raised an eyebrow.

Sarah had the sinking feeling that this meeting wasn't going to end well. But still, if they were friends, she couldn't let this slide.

So she said, "Minerva, he really doesn't just go and snatch babies out of their beds. I get that he can be difficult to trust — he's definitely a trickster — but... he's not actually evil."

Jareth's eyes widened for a second before he smoothed the expression away.

Minerva still looked dubious. Her eyes had sharpened on Jareth's face, and Sarah got the impression she didn't love what she saw there.

So Sarah sighed and said, "Minerva, I promise you: no Hogwarts student will ever be harmed because of my association with the Goblin King."

"You," Minerva said, "can't make that promise."

"Then I will." Jareth's didn't bother to lower his voice. His tone was almost as poisonous as Snape's. "You have my word that I will harm no student of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, nor take any child from thence that was not first wished away to me."

That seemed to satisfy Minerva. She was content to exchange pleasantries and finally move on. As she went, Sarah found she couldn't ignore the twisting squirm of guilt in her gut.

"I'm sorry," she told Jareth in an undertone. "You shouldn't have had to make that promise."

"Hardly a promise," he replied, suddenly careless. He poured himself another glass of mead. "I gave her my word I wouldn't act outside my nature."

"Well, it's still stupid you had to do that."

He gave her a lopsided smirk. "So protective, Sarah. If you continue in this friendly vein, I might grow maudlin... or worse, think you cared."

That drew a laugh from her. She shook her head in a mixture of mirth and exasperation at him.


Just a couple of weeks before the final exams was the final Quidditch match of the year. Sarah watched students and professors stream away from the castle, all headed toward a stadium with large hoops on tall poles. Part of Sarah was practically drooling with curiosity. A sport played on broomsticks! She wanted to see that in action.

But the part of her that missed her friends from the Labyrinth knew a prime opportunity to talk to Hoggle, Sir Didymus, and Ludo when she saw one.

So she smiled at Minerva as she headed back to her chambers. "I'll watch all the matches next year," she promised. She didn't miss Minerva's bemused look as she headed up the stairs to the professor's rooms.

"Hoggle," she whispered to her mirror, "Sir Didymus, Ludo. I need you."

They appeared almost immediately. Didymus was ecstatic that his Lady Sarah was now finally in a castle befitting her station; Ludo was, once again, just happy that she and their friends were happy.

Hoggle seemed deeply suspicious of any building inhabited by wizards.

She had to laugh at his disgruntled expression.

"It's alright, Hoggle," she told him. "I promise. Everything's perfectly fine."

He didn't seem satisfied, but Sir Didymus found the door to her suite.

There was a lot of running and shouting in the halls as she tried to make sure her friends didn't go in sight of the portraits. There were questions and there were questions.


Sarah gave her completed curriculum to Minerva the week before final exams. She watched the older witch's gaze zip along the parchment and wondered if that awful Hat had wanted to put her in Ravenclaw. She was obviously fiercely intelligent.

Then again, Minerva McGonagall was pretty obviously fierce in every way. Sarah found herself kind of hoping she could be at least a little bit like Minerva when she got to be... however old Minerva was. Though she could do without the apparent prejudice against goblins and fae.

After about four or five minutes, Minerva nodded. "I can see nothing Albus would take issue with. You've a rather unusual approach to the subject."

"The course is mostly for kids who want to go into the Ministry and might deal with non-magical people anyway, right? Might as well try and prep them how not to sound like they're crazy."

"But cake? Journalling?" Minerva raised an eyebrow. "Sounds very... newfangled."

What Minerva was trying to be kind and not say, Sarah knew, was 'wishy-washy.' She laughed. "Tell you what, if my students don't end up with a better grasp on technology and non-magical conversation than Cameron's, I'll take the minutes at all the staff meetings for an entire term."

Minerva pursed her lips, but her eyes glinted with concealed amusement. "That's hardly necessary. Go submit your curriculum, Sarah."


Sarah submitted her curriculum. Dumbledore read over it, then looked up with a smile.

"A unique but commendable approach," he said. There was a twinkle in his eye as he said, "And how do you intend to compare how much your students learn with Professor Rowe's?"

"I have no idea," she admitted.

Dumbledore chuckled at that. "No need to be so competitive, Miss Williams. But your enthusiasm is duly noted."


Sarah stayed out of both Snape's and Minerva's ways during final exams. She was of little use to them, and they both seemed frazzled. Well, frazzled by their standards.

Instead, she explored the grounds and spent a lot of time in Hogsmeade, trying to figure out what she was supposed to tell her parents about why Hogwarts didn't have a phone.

She was coming back from Hogsmeade one evening when she discovered the Giant Squid. At first she thought the shadow she glimpsed on the lake was just a trick of the light. But then she realized that it was moving too much, seemed too alive.

She bent down, retrieved a heavy-looking stick, and hurled it into the water.

A gray, suckered tentacle snapped out, quicker than the glint of the sun on the surface of the lake, and snapped the branch in two.

Sarah stared.

After a moment, something huge and dark and bulbous surfaced. A huge eye peered at her from just below the water.

And then it was gone, back into the lake, not even its shadow visible.


The rest of the summer was a blur of transfiguration lessons, potions lessons, and acquiring (and charming) the supplies she'd need for her classroom. She ended up buying non-magical school supplies in London.

The electronics, though, wound up being a serious pain in the ass. First she had to actually buy them — which wound up being less of an object, with the money in her Gringotts vault — and then she had to transport them to Hogwarts.

Then she had to figure out how the hell to make them work.

She was arguing with one of the suddenly non-functional ovens when Flitwick happened upon her.

"Sarah," she heard him say, stifling a laugh, "you are aware technology doesn't work at Hogwarts?"

She blew out her breath, ruffling some of the hair that had fallen in her face. "Yeah, but I know there are charms that can make them work, right?"

"There are," he replied. "May I also suggest a locking charm, so the students don't harm themselves?"

"They're ovens." What the hell could the kids do to themselves with them, beyond burn themselves? And she'd be supervising to prevent that.

"Nonetheless," he said.

Sarah gave him a ragged smile and said, "Okay. If you'd like to help me, go for it."

"I think," Flitwick said, softly, "that this is an excellent moment for a practical lesson in casting charms."

Sarah pulled her wand out. "Right."

"You are aware, theoretically, of the difference between a charm and a transfiguration?"

"Transfigurations modify the very nature of the object. Charms are temporary modifications of the object's purpose. If the object is inanimate, it's basically a surface-level spell. Right?"

Flitwick smiled. "Very good. Now, to modify an object's ability to function at Hogwarts, pay very close attention to your wandwork. It's quite a complicated motion."

He demonstrated.

Sarah tried to mimic him two or three times before she got it.

"Now, the incantation is less important, but one never wants to mispronounce an incantation. You could end up with a buffalo on your chest."


Sarah had her office and classroom completely set up by 28 August. The classroom was just a few rows of long desks, table style, with a desk in the front for her and an assortment of technology she planned to use in class, as well as a bookshelf full of textbooks on mathematics, science, history, and literature.

Her office was where she kept the books she'd marked "office," in addition to a functioning tape player (and collection of cassettes) and a record player. She'd done the charm on the record player without Flitwick's intervention; it worked intermittently, but often cut out if the needle lifted for longer than a few seconds.


On 30th August, Sarah headed into Hogsmeade and locked herself in the cubicle with the phone. She dialled the code for an international call, then called her parents's house.

"Sarah!" Irene sounded pleasantly surprised to hear from her. She obviously hadn't been calling enough; Sarah tried not to feel guilty.

"Irene, hey," she said. "How is everybody?"

"Oh, we're all doing just fine. Your father just got back from a trip to Vancouver. I'm a little jealous; I want to go."

"Isn't it freezing out there by now?"

"It'd be worth it," Irene replied. "How's the preparation for your boarding school going?"

"I've got everything done. The students get here on Sunday, and then it's going to be work, work, work straight through until Christmas."

"Please tell me you're coming home. We haven't had you over for Christmas, or even at all, really, since before you left — that's four years."

"I think I can manage it," Sarah said. "Anyway, I just... I just wanted to make sure you're clear on the phone thing. I'll call once a week, if I can. Don't panic if you don't hear from me. And if you guys have an emergency, just call this number and they'll radio for me."

"We know, we know. It's kind of hard to imagine there are parts of England that don't have phone lines."

"I'm in Scotland," Sarah said, with a fond smile. "Way, way up north. Really gorgeous, but... well, really remote, too."

"Oh! Sarah, your father wants to talk to you."

"Sure thing," Sarah said. "Put him on. Love you, Irene."

"Love you, too, dear," Irene said, a little absent, and there was a plasticky rattle as she handed off the phone. After a minute, her father's voice echoed across the speaker: "Sarah?"

"Hey, Daddy."

"How you doing, kiddo? Are you nervous?"

"Only a little," she said, then laughed at herself. "Okay, only a lot. But I'm pretty sure they won't eat me alive or anything."

"Only ask you questions you can't answer."

"Oh, god, don't remind me. I'm going to have dozens of tiny faces staring up at me, thinking I'm an actual grown-up."

That drew a chuckle from her father. "Will you please come home sometime this year? We've missed you."

"I think I can, Dad, but I can only promise to try, okay?"

"Good enough for me. For now."

"So I hear you just got back from Vancouver?"

"Yeah, Stockton pitched a fit and I wound up overseeing a pretty big project."

"Tell that crazy man to go back to his angel collection and leave you alone."

"I'm tempted," her father admitted. "Alright, sweetheart, I should go. You take care of yourself! And call as often as you can."

"Sure thing, Dad. Tell Toby I miss him."'

"Of course."


September First dawned clear and bright. Sarah yawned and rolled over to look at the window. Light drifted in, brightening the motes of dust in the air.

Sarah debated breakfast and sleep. Breakfast would be delicious. Sleep would be nice. But not quite as nice as food. And she was awake now. Might as well.

Then she realized: September First. Students came today. Students!

She was ruthless with her hair when she brushed it out. She dressed in jeans and a tee shirt, then pulled a velvet black robe on. She didn't belt the robes closed, just stuffed her feet into socks and shoes and headed off toward the great hall.

She found her spot at the staff table and promptly heaped a little bit of everything she could reach onto her plate. She ignored the pumpkin juice and levitated a teapot closer to her hand. It was far, far too early for pumpkin juice — first she needed bacon and caffeine.


Sarah spent the rest of the day alternating between impatience and terror. She was in the middle of brushing her hair for the third time when someone knocked on the door to her chambers.

Sarah flung the door open to find Quirinus Quirrell standing outside. He gave her a timid smile.

"Uh, hi," she said.

"H-hello. I j-j-just thought I c-could ch-ch-check on you. Th-the very f-f-f-first day is a l-little n-n-nerveracking, isn't it?"

"A little? You must be keeping a way cooler head than I am." She gave a sheepish grin. "I'm really not that much older than the seventh years. I'm kind of scared they're going to see right through me."

"A-a-and s-say, 'Ah-ha! I see through y-your clever r-r-r-r-ruse! You're n-not really an adult'?"

"Exactly."

"J-just d-don't let th-th-them see you sweat. They can smell f-f-f-fear."

That drew a laugh out of her, but Quirinus's eyes seemed cold and serious. Her laughter drained away, and Sarah found herself feeling awkward. She wanted him the hell away from her doorstep, actually.

So she said, "Right. Well, I... have to... wash my hair."

"G-good luck," Quirinus said.

She slammed the door shut behind him, bolted it, and tried to figure out just how a timid-seeming man with a pointy chin and a really awful stutter had freaked her out so badly.


Sarah took a fresh bath when they had just a few hours to spare before the Feast. After that, she rose, cast a drying charm on her hair, and brushed it until it hung smooth as silk and shone like glass. She didn't do anything else to it; she'd spend the rest of the term with it in hasty braids and ponytails, she was sure.

Besides, with the sheer amount of hair, leaving it loose to tumble down her back would probably make an impression.

She dressed in her nicest robes — deep green, embroidered in gold, with the long, tapered sleeves she loved — gave her hair a quick brush through one last time, and settled in to read. Her clock had gained new hours in addition to meals: class and Quidditch.

It would chime when she needed to get to the Feast.

She settled in to read the books Snape had given her at the start of summer. Private lessons with Snape were becoming more and more complicated. To be honest, she'd expected her chemistry background to help her a bit more than it did; transfiguration came much, much easier.

Snape had underlined sections and written in notes in cramped handwriting. His additions were just as fascinating as the book itself. Sarah found herself writing down questions on scratch paper, completely engrossed.

The clock chimed. She looked up, looked at the ink she'd smeared on her wrists, and sighed.

She cast a quick cleaning charm on her arms and sleeves as she headed down to the Great Hall for the feast.


Sarah smiled at the sight orf the tables all separated out once again. And not only that, but the students had gathered already; she saw smiles all around, students laughing. The scene seemed lit with a glow, but that could have been the floating candles.

She stopped short just before she reached the staff table.

Jareth was lounging in her chair. How he'd known it was hers, she had no idea. But he'd evidently figured it out and was now sprawled sideways in it, his knees slung over an armrest. As if sensing her approach, he looked up and over at her.

Sarah unclenched her fists and smoothed her robes. Now was not the time to start asking him just what the hell he thought he was doing. She mostly managed to sound pleasant, if a little confused, when she said, "Jareth. You're in my seat."

"Precious, I'm a King, remember?" He kept his tone dry and eminently reasonable. "By definition, this chair is now my throne."

Hooch looked up from her seat next to him, her golden eyes glittering with mirth. She was trying not to smile, but not only had one corner of her mouth curled up, she was dimpling.

"He's got you there, Williams."

"Yes," Sarah admitted. "Yes, he does. Hooch, do you mind scooting over a little?"

Hooch dragged her chair to the side. Sarah took a deep breath, waved her wand, and really hoped she wouldn't completely screw up conjuring herself a chair. Conjuration was just transfiguring air; just because a chair hadn't been there before didn't mean there couldn't be one now.

It worked. She grinned at Jareth, then took a seat next to him.

"Nicely done, precious thing," he murmured to her.

"You didn't leave me much choice. That's your throne now, I could hardly ask you to give it up."

His mouth quirked into a sharp smile, but his eyes were intent on hers. He opened his mouth to say something, but Dumbledore brought out his carpet bag, and Jareth made no attempt to talk over the sudden surge of noise.

This time Dumbledore set the hat on a stool in front of the staff table.

After a few moments, the main doors flew open. McGonagall strode in with a gaggle of tiny-looking children behind her. They were all dressed in simple black robes, over which they wore cloaks. No few of them looked frightened.

Next to her, Jareth tilted his head, either contemplating or angry. She got the feeling he'd never seen the Sorting. Maybe the sight of fearful children roused some fae instinct.

She reached over and let her hand fall atop his for a moment. He looked to her, evidently startled. Sarah only smiled.

"They'll be fine."

Jareth turned his gaze back to the first years. Firsties, as she'd heard other students call them.

McGonagall reached the dais and the stool. The children shuffled to a stop, staring at the hat. At least one — red-headed, strangely familiar — looked relieved.

With a brief explanation by McGonagall — and a rather ludicrous song from the Hat in question — the Sorting began. Child after child stepped up to the stool and put on the hat. Sarah cringed in sympathy at the idea of having one's thoughts looked into and rifled through.

"Granger, Hermione!"

Sarah sat up. Hadn't they met in Gringotts? Sure enough, she saw a mop of bushy, unruly brown curls. The girl's expression was an awkward blend of curious and terrified as she took her seat. She was so focused that she didn't see Sarah.

After a few moments, the Hat shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"

The Gryffindor table burst into applause. Hermione took the hat off and made her way to sit with the Gryffindors. She flashed one look back at the Hat and the staff table, smiling.

Their eyes met. Sarah smiled back and watched Hermione's eyes widen.

But then another student took her place on the stool. Sarah watched with mild interest. None of these children would study with her for another two years, assuming she was still here two years from now.

And then Minerva called out, "Potter, Harry!"

The Great Hall went silent. Students craned their necks to see a suddenly frightened young boy with messy black hair and broken glasses move toward the stool. He seemed to drift as in a daze.

He sat down. Minerva plopped the very ugly Hat down onto his head.

Nobody said anything.

The boy sat with the Hat on his head for five full minutes. Students and professors alike awaited that Hat's verdict, as if which Hogwarts House he was sorted into would tell them something invaluable.

At last, the Hat murmured, "Well, if you're sure... better be GRYFFINDOR!"

The tension drained from the room in a trice. The Gryffindors burst into raucous cheering. A couple of them let out earsplitting whistles, while others pounded on the table.

Sarah blinked. They seemed pretty excited by the Sorting of one frightened eleven year old boy.

Jareth leaned in and pressed his mouth close to her ear. "Eleven years ago," he murmured, breath tickling her earlobes, "a wizard they all feared tried to kill him and failed, and hasn't been heard from since."

That certainly explained the excitement. She turned to look at Jareth, but he was watching intently as Potter made his way to the Gryffindor table.

"Well," said Hooch, matter-of-factly, "of course the Boy Who Lived would be a Hatstall."

"Gryffindor must be so proud," Snape said.

Minerva simply looked over at them all and smiled. Sarah had never seen a human look more like a satisfied cat. It was kind of eerie, actually.

Jareth seemed much less interested in the rest of the students who stepped up to be Sorted. She felt kind of bad about it, but she wasn't as interested either. She noted the new Ravenclaws and wondered if they would be the types, in a couple of years, to take her class. The Sorting ended with "Weasley, Ronald," running off to join the Gryffindor table.

Dumbledore made a few announcements, conveying a few messages from Filch and news about the third floor corridor on the right-hand side being off limits.

He paused for a moment, then added, "In addition, Lecturer Williams would like it known that her classes are open to all auditors. If any of you have a free period, you are welcome to listen in on her Muggle Studies classes."

And then the Feast began. Food appeared on plates — Jareth frowned; she made a mental note to ask what had made him so unhappy later — and carafes and decanters suddenly filled with juice and wine and water.

Sarah poured herself a glass of mead and then ladled food onto her plate.

"First day of class tomorrow. Are you..." Rowe began to ask from a few seat away. And then he trailed off.

It was if somebody had flicked a switch, and people who weren't Rolanda Hooch could see Jareth now. The other professors all jumped in their seats before relaxing into a merely staring at Jareth. Had he been basically invisible before?

Snape jerked away from the table and drew his wand. His arm was steady, but his gaze kept flicking from Jareth to her, as if trying to draw some sort of connection.

Jareth didn't deign to notice. He reached over for Sarah's mead, which she handed to him. His smile was still sharp.

"Goblin King," Dumbledore said. His tone held hints of both caution and humor. "What brings you to my table?"

Jareth's smile turned even sharper. Predatory. "Why, Headmaster of Hogwarts, you mean to tell me you've been hosting a Champion of my Labyrinth for an entire season, and never knew?"

"You know this creature, Headmaster?" Snape's voice was still soft. It conveyed incredulity nonetheless.

"He is no threat to us or our students, Severus," Dumbledore said, softly. "It is not in his nature to harm children. But I do wish his Champion had declared herself."

His gaze fell heavily on her.

Sarah shrugged. "I'm sorry. I didn't think it was relevant. Professor Snape, there's really no need to threaten him; do you mind...?"

Jareth laughed. "A single wizard? Threaten me? Sarah, that glorified twig is no more threatening to me than a crutch. But do sit down, Severus Snape. This farce is drawing attention from your students."

Sarah looked back to the student tables to see dozens of faces turned their way. A few were whispering to each other, possibly trying to determine the identity of the mystery adult with the wild hair.

Snape looked, too. After a moment, he put his wand away and sat back down. Dinner resumed almost as if the outburst hadn't happened.

But she felt the weight of Dumbledore's gaze on her several times throughout the Feast. And every so often, Jareth would look at her and smile as if deeply amused by a private joke. If she hadn't known how seriously he took their status as friends, she'd have been worried.

The Feast wound down gradually. Sarah watched students yawn and prefects line up by the doors to the Great Hall. She waved at the new young Ravenclaws, but made her way to the Gryffindor table. Jareth followed, though he banished her conjured chair back to nonexistence.

"Congrats on your sorting, Hermione," she said.

Hermione flushed. "Thank you, Professor Williams." After a moment, she stopped. "Wait, you're the American I met in Gringotts."

"Well, like I said. We're like bad pennies." Sarah winked. After a moment, she added, "Congratulations to you, too, Mr. Hatstall."

Potter looked up at her, seeming both startled and guilty. And overwhelmed. She noted that his plate was still full of some of the richer food offered on the table. She also noted that his wrists looked paper-thin and breakable and that he was even thin in the face.

She had a feeling she knew why Jareth had watched him so intently. Either he'd been wished away, or he'd been on the verge of wishing himself away.

"Well done to you, too, Mr. Potter. I certainly loved watching somebody confound that singing fashion victim."

He grinned at her for a fleeting moment. The way his eyes lit up was almost heartbreaking, and she resolved to see if she could get him to smile like that every day. He probably didn't trust adults, though.

"You're both a little young to take my class, but you're always welcome to sit in on a lesson. And if either of you has trouble adjusting or something, just come see me, okay? I'm here and happy to help."

Jareth chose that moment to place his hand at her elbow. Even through his gloves, his touch seemed to burn. She jumped, then turned so she could see him.

"Well done, Harry," he said. His smile was pleased, but not predatory. On the other hand, that he was smiling at and interacting with Harry was important in itself.

"Walk with me a while," he murmured. As an afterthought, he added, "Please."

"Of course," she said. She gave the kids a smile before letting Jareth lead her away.

When they were alone, she drew away from Jareth's arm. She reflexively smoothed her robes, then crossed her arms and asked, "So, was he ever wished away? Or did he ever wish himself away to you?"

"He slept in a cupboard," Jareth replied. His voice was soft, distant. "And often wished for someone to take him away."

Sarah found herself smiling sadly. "Not specific enough."

"I watched his abuse and could do nothing. He would have been happier with me."

Sarah nodded. "Would you like me to keep an eye on him?"

"Very little would please me more."

"Then I'll try and watch out for him. What kind of abuse am I looking at, here?"

"Neglect, primarily. But there are elements of emotional abuse. He's not inclined to trust adult authority." Jareth paced as he thought. "You're going to have to be careful with him."

Sarah couldn't help but smile. It was... it was good to see the Goblin King in a light other than 'terrifying stealer of baby brothers.' She was starting to receive the impression that his obligations made him view himself as an ally of neglected or abused or simply unhappy children.

"I'll be gentle with him. I'll try and make sure he understands that I'm around if he needs me, but I don't plan on pushing him."

Jareth nodded. "Yes. That is the best approach. I... thank you, Sarah. He is not one of mine, whatever else he could have been. Now, with his magic emergent, my interference in his life is limited."

"You're welcome, Jareth." She said it softly. "And thank you for coming. Even with the drama you caused, it was good to see you."

"I take it I'm being dismissed?" He raised an eyebrow.

"I have class tomorrow. I should get some sleep."

"We both know you won't actually sleep tonight." He grinned slyly at her. "You could always invite me up, and refrain from sleeping for more pleasant reasons."

"In your dreams, Goblin King." She folded her arms over her chest again.

"Worth the offer," he said, then bowed and vanished.


At three in the morning, Sarah sighed to realize he'd been right.

She was way too keyed up about teaching her first class ever to sleep.