Dear readers: I needed to make a few changes to this chapter, as well as 33 and 35 in the run-up to chapter 36. PLEASE RE-READ 33, 34, and 35 if you've read them already BEFORE you read 36. It will make a great deal more sense if you do.

As always, I solicit your reviews. I like my nameless, faceless statistics, but real people are much nicer to hear from.

Enjoy - DN

As predicted, the school business had, indeed, piled up on his desk, even in the short time he'd been away at Malfoy Manor and then the Infirmary. The end of the school year brought an invariable tsunami of business, as college acceptances, requests for recommendations, pleas for apprentices, and invoices for the previous year collided with student applications, solicitations for school services for the coming year, and requests from staff to update the curriculum for the coming year. He'd added Morgan's classes to teach to arranging proctors for N.E.W.T. and O.W.L. exams. And now arrangements for all the builders and crafters working on repairs, too.

He'd been reluctant to leave Morgan's bedside, but there was only so much the Deputy Headmistress could do, and much she was already doing. Some things required the Headmaster's attention only. Minerva had kindly organized the parchments that required his attention in piles of increasing priority, so he'd begun at the top. He called for a veritable army of scribe elves to assist and kept them quite busy for most of the weekend.

After lunch Sunday, he was able to sent them away and address himself to the several personal scrolls that remained. One was different from the others.

He held the item in his hands before opening it. It was like nothing he'd ever touched before. There was clearly magic within it, but of what kind, he did not know. This was of great concern, his having faced little unfamiliar magic in a long time. Strong, powerful magic, but rarely of an unknown type. He turned the scroll, tied with some kind of cord that was neither silk nor thread, over and over in his fingers, assessing its threat. Setting it down, he cast a protective spell on himself before proceeding with caution to untie the fastener.

The soft material unrolled with ease to reveal its written message.

To: Professor Severus Snape, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

From: Hania, Chief of the Sedona School for Magical Development

Dear Sir:

Warm greetings from the Chief of the Sedona School for Magical Development I write today not only as a professional colleague, but also from concern for a prior colleague and friend, Dr. Morgan Hunter.

Dr. Hunter was let go from the Sedona School with great reluctance a little over a year ago, and had been keeping in contact with me and her colleagues here until near the winter solstice. We are concerned for her, having heard nothing in these past four months. It is not her typical style to not reply. The Spring Equinox is a favorite occasion of hers. For many years, she sent messages by butterfly, which then pollinated the cactus flowers in our school garden. It is understandable that this might not be practical from Scotland, but her having sent no word at all has us concerned for her well-being.

She had mentioned in a previous communication that she had met a wizard of interest to her. It is our hope that she has simply been too busy with her professional life and personal life that communications have fallen by the wayside. However, we would like to request some kind of confirmation of her good health. She had left the Sedona School before a full healing process could be completed, and we have special concern that, in matters of the heart, she may be particularly vulnerable to damage, should things go badly or her chosen wizard prove to be unworthy of her or dishonorable in some way. Any such wizard might be in danger.

I humbly ask for a reply to confirm that she is doing well or acknowledgement of otherwise. If I hear nothing from you, I will plan to visit as soon as possible to connect directly with our most esteemed colleague. Please reply using the enclosed parchment.

With highest regards,

Hania

The material of the letter was not stiff and crackly like parchment, but soft with a trace of velvetiness. As Snape further touched the edges of the letter, he felt a warmth and power coming from the page. But once his fingers touched the ink, an intense wave of concern overcame him. He dropped the letter in surprise, then cautiously picked it up again, once his heart had stopped racing. He carefully touched the ink again, with the same result. He was puzzled. He called for Bina, who appeared as though apparating a moment later.

"Bina, what do you think of this letter?" he asked, handing her the item.

She reached up with thoughtful eyes and took the letter in her hands. "Interesting parchment," she noted. "Very soft." She scanned down the words, then blushed and tried to hand back the letter. "Headmaster, this was not meant for me to see," she said accusingly.

Snape declined to take the letter back. "Touch the ink," he said. "No need to read it if you don't want to." Bina lowered her hand and ran her fingers over the writing.

"It seems like the ink is not strange, but the material on which it is written is different."

"Does it...speak to you in any way, Bina?" he asked.

"Speak to me? How do you mean? Do I hear voices?"

"Does touching the ink cause anything unexpected to happen at all? Voices, feelings, anything?"

Bina regarded him with concern. "No, Headmaster," she replied cautiously. "Should I get Madame Pomfrey? Are you not well, sir?"

"No, I'm fine. Thank you, Bina. That will be all," he said with finality. She gave a short bow and vanished as suddenly as she'd arrived.

He placed the letter back on his desk, then carefully placed his hand over the ink yet again. There was worry and concern in measures quite beyond those expressed on the page, bordering on agitation. He wondered why he could sense this, but Bina with her own powerful magic, could not. Perhaps this was a mechanism to be sure that the deeper meaning of the letter could not be discerned by anyone other than the intended reader.

And the material on which the words were written. What was it? It felt so warm and familiar, comforting. He leaned back in his chair, the letter in his hands, alternating between feeling only the material, soft and smooth, silky and yet tough, and touching the ink, only to have that comfort replaced by worry and the stretchy pull of nervousness. When had he last felt that soft but tough kind of material? It was surely a natural item. It didn't seem to emanate from a spell, but to be inherent in the material itself.

He had to suppress a choke when he realized what it was. Deerskin, tied with a piece of ligament. And that feeling of softness and toughness combined, how long ago had it been that he'd felt that in one person? Many, many years. He kept the item in his hands, letting that warmth build in his fingers.

And then the ink again. Morgan's colleagues were worried about her. She hadn't written in some time. But there was more coming through as he kept his fingers on the ink. The meaning became clearer the longer he was in contact with the bland words on the page. The writer suspected that the wizard referenced was up to no good and that Morgan was in some kind of danger because of him. Snape now pressed his hands across the page, covering as much of the writing with his palms and fingers as he could at one time.

A detailed image came to mind. Morgan, sweating in a hot and steamy room, lonely and devastated, surrounded by strangely-dressed magical people, all chanting something he didn't understand and making a rhythmic music he'd never heard before, but something loving and hopeful. Morgan, packing her things, with a smile on her face that was false, not convincing the person to whom she was saying goodbye. The first letters back, claiming all is well, but not being convincing. And then, the feelings from the letters had changed. She was happy, her words were true. Images of her with some rather vague kind of wizard with broad shoulders, brown skin, and long brown hair, green eyes. Then nothing. Concern filled the void, images of a man like Ethinian Ames cursing her or casting spells at her; images of the brown-skinned wizard plotting to take her fortune, to trap her, to take advantage of her. Images of letters sent with no replies. Consulting with other colleagues, followed by the reluctant decision to write this message before taking matters into their own hands and coming here.

Once no new information was coming from the message, he carefully rolled it up and re-tied it, then placed it into a cabinet and sealed it with a Locking charm.

They had tried to heal her at Sedona before she left, but they weren't done. She'd fled before they felt she was ready, left a loving community of concerned friends. She'd come here in desperation, been unhappy for some time at first. Then things had changed, and he knew how. He rested his head in his hands. They had known Ames was a threat, but apparently, she'd stopped writing long before he'd tried to poison her. They weren't sure if Ames was the reason for her silence, or if it was him. They didn't believe for a moment she was too busy galavanting about with her new love; they were worried he was a greedy cad who was taking advantage of the needs of a witch not yet healed from a tragic loss.

They also knew she was a powerful witch and thus didn't come immediately to her aide, but intruded only reluctantly out of respect. They would be here shortly if he did not reply.

This communication he wrote himself, on the piece of parchment supplied.

Dear Sir:

I thank you for your letter and for entrusting me with your message, which I received in the spirit with which it was sent. Dr. Hunter is in recovery from a serious encounter which would certainly have killed a lesser witch. She remains in our infirmary under expert care. Her attacker, Ethinian Ames, is no longer a threat.

Your presence here would doubtless hasten her recovery, and I encourage you and your colleagues to make arrangements for a visit as soon as your schedules permit. All room and board will be provided by the school.

Respectfully,

S. Snape

He prepared a packet to include all the necessary travel documents, such as a timetable for several of the more prominent PortKey operators and forms for the Importation of Foreign Magical Substances. No sense in their facing uncomfortable inquiries after the fact from the Ministry, should anything go awry later. Once he returned to the parchment, he was startled to discover the words he'd written vanished and replaced.

Sir,

Thank you for your prompt reply. The news that Mr. Ames attacked Dr. Hunter is, sadly, not a surprise. I am pleased to find that she is surrounded by those who can care for her best at this time. Thank you for your kind invitation to visit, but her best interests will be served by my not intruding at this time. I will plan on accepting your hospitality near the summer solstice, when I shall be more welcomed, as well as the school being released for the hot season.

A package will arrive soon, containing a gift for Dr. Hunter. I would be ever in your debt if you would give it to her with my warm hopes for her recovery.

Lastly, I would advise caution with her current state. Dr. Hunter is unfailingly loyal, fiercely so, but also expects the same from those for whom she cares. She does not make friends easily, as few witches or wizards rise to her high standards. Given that she has recently been threatened, she will be exceedingly sensitive to any disloyalty, real or perceived. She is a powerful witch who protects her friends and family, but she has been exposed to a great deal of disloyalty in her life. Any wizard who would hope to win her affections would need to be loyal, as well as highly-skilled.

Warmest regards,

Hania."

Snape took the Auto-reply Parchment in his hands, running his fingers over the ink that he knew would disappear soon. His concerns while writing had clearly been transmitted through the parchment, just as he'd received Hania's. As he touched the ink, already fading, he felt more than the words alone. The Sedona Headmaster was worried, both about Morgan's recovery, and what she might do upon her recovery. He knew that he was the object of her desires, but that in being so, he was in great danger. From her.

His already shaky plans had become a bit more uncertain with this letter. He only had the dimmest of ideas about how to proceed and this news further raised the stakes for his need to succeed. Determination he had, but confidence in far less measure. And there had been a pattern of plans interfered with of late. Uncertainty notwithstanding, he would proceed further as best he could, having little other alternative. If he were to endure, he would at least need to be able to tell himself he'd done all he could.