Pieces
"Steph, a word please."
Glancing over her shoulder, she was anything but surprised that the Defence Teacher had decided to keep her back after the rest of the little quintet had walked off. Lupin had been giving her the side-eye the entire time they had been trying to learn the Patronus charm, and perhaps even during the lesson - she had caught his gaze a number of times, each of them with concern poorly hidden behind a weary face.
It was after the full moon; however, it had been over a week since the lunar cycle.
Regardless, his exhaustion would still be an advantage she would have in that moment.
The soft whispers lurking within the shadows of her mind were barely even acknowledged - her occlumency working wonders to keep the increasingly intrusive and frequently violent thoughts under control. Her mind had never felt so.. Controlled - as if she could pull any thought at a moment’s notice, recall any memory, then let go as it sorted itself back into place. By comparison, the darkness remained in its cage, softly whispering thoughts to her from behind mental bars, all but gagged by her occlumency.
Truthfully, she probably should have been concerned by the fact that the voices had continued on beyond the few brief moments in her first two years, but she doubted whatever was causing it could be treated. Learning occlumency probably was the only way she could deal with it.
That was what this would be about, naturally. Lupin had noticed her abject failure to conjure a Patronus charm and would be commenting on her occlumency like he had briefly done before their little lesson.
"Yes, Professor?" Her words seemed to inspire a slightly more strained expression upon Lupin's lips, the man taking a second to collect his thoughts before he spoke.
"If you do seek to make any progress with the Patronus charm, I would perhaps suggest relaxing the strength of your occlusion." As expected, the target of his concern was her occlumency, and Steph gently tilted her head to the side, resisting the urge to give a small frown. "The Patronus charm requires your positive emotions to flow freely, especially when first learning the charm. I am of the belief that your occlusion is choking the flow."
"That is my intent, sir." Lupin blinked owlishly at her, and Steph cocked her head even further to the side at his reaction. The man seemed entirely unprepared to hear her freely admitting what they both knew to be true - did he expect her to try fight him on it?
"But.. Then why continue when you know the cause?" Steph could feel her lips pressing together into a thin line - and in turn clamped even tighter on her occlumency until the unease in her mind was securely restrained. Swallowing and blinking languidly to reassert her control over herself, Steph met the werewolf's gaze impassively.
"Because to allow my emotions to run free would potentially be detrimental to my physical and mental health." Giving a soft hum, Steph briefly allowed herself to drift into her mind - to stand before the cage of darkness and stare between the bars at the sedated part of herself that normally lusted for sadistic pleasures.
"... So, you decided that limiting yourself with occlumency was perhaps the best way forwards?" Was he seriously going to make her explain every step?
With a sigh that expelled a little of her irritation that managed to wrestle its way through her occlumency, Step forced herself to swallow the sensation and respond levelly. "At a balance - yes. Whilst not ideal, allowing emotions to freely influence my moods would create an environment where I would not be able to properly cast magic."
"Stephanie, I may not be the best judge of character, but I would imagine someone such as yourself would be able to control yourself to the point that your magic is properly cast." Lupin's tone was gentle, yet firm and encouraging - or at least thats probably what he intended. Steph heard instead slight incredulity and slight condescension. Her lips pulled thinner as she recalled the conversation she had more than two years ago.
"My wand wood is Hawthorn. One of the particular quirks of the wood is that it is liable to backfire if magic is not cast well." The professor blinked - evidently that was news to him. It had been news to her at first, but Garrick Ollivander had been rather firm in his instructions regarding proper treatment of wand and self.
Never cast whilst distraught, never practice whilst exhausted. Hawthorn will reward diligence, but will punish sloppiness, Ms Scamander.
"Mr Ollivander told me that when I purchased my wand." Softly exhaling, Steph met the teacher's gaze. "Occlumency removes that potential, and it keeps me level in stress. It lets me lock out the whispers and the stigma."
"Whispers?" Lupin's voice was quiet, and Steph wrestled the wince under the mask of blank apathy that her occlumency had summoned. That had been a bit much to reveal.
"A darkness within. Untempered ambition and callous indifference to magical might. A lust for power and indulgence over morals and balance." Her words seemed to alarm the man opposite her, and so she addended her comment with a placative remark. "I lock it within, so that it does not influence me."
"... I see." For a while, the Professor was lost in thought, pinching his chin, and running his fingers over the stubble that grew upon his jaw. After almost a straight minute of silence, Lupin looked back at her. "I've not heard of such before, but that does not mean it is unheard of. Some of the older houses tend to have genetic quirks passed down through their ages - for example the Malfoy's are almost notorious for only producing one male a generation. Septimius Malfoy was known to have only one son, Oswyn, but he had over a dozen daughters, if the rumours are to be believed."
"It may not even be hereditary; it could simply be your occlumency allowing you to more visually manifest your shifting mental state as a teenager - puberty does affect physical development." Lupin paused for a second, before tilting his head. "If you allow yourself to entirely block out the effects of these 'whispers' as you term them, you may stunt your emotional growth entirely. I caution that you only employ occlumency when you truly need it, lest you develop either a dependence upon it, or an artificially limited emotional range, neither of which are healthy for a family."
Condescending imbecile.
Ignoring the thought that slipped through the bars of the mental cage - and ignoring the teachers almost off-handed remark about society's expectations for her later in life, based on her standing and blood status - Steph had to admit his speech did make some sense. It would be unhealthy to allow her occlumency to stunt her emotional range - it would actually create more issues with her wand than it would solve, which would be decidedly unhelpful.
But what did this man know of being true to himself when he cowered when she had even uttered the truth behind what he was?
With a strained smile that cracked through her occlumency and found its way onto her lips, Steph nodded her head ever so gently. "Of course, Professor."
With nothing else worth saying or hearing, the girl spun, snatching her bag off her desk, and striding out of the room with enough haste and purpose to dissuade the man from speaking any more of his beliefs.
Wormtail was impressed.
He had watched as Stephanie Scamander had unleashed her wrath upon the training dummies in the Room of hidden Things, splintering some and throwing others about with precise, and yet emotion driven swings and swipes of her wand. The girl was proving herself to be a dab hand at the Banishing Charm, keeping her voice low and barely audible, even to his enhanced hearing in this form.
He had not expected to be spying on the student who had attracted the attention of Severus at first, he had been more concerned when he had gotten to the Room and learned that there was someone already in there. For a moment, the choking fear of being sent back to Azkaban and failing his Master had set in - the fear that someone had figured out where he was hiding, and what he was after.
But the Room had offered him access after a short delay, and instead of the winding labyrinth of clutter, he was met with a room that looked like it had once been a small, private library, with books stacked on desks and in piles scattered around the room. But the centre of the room had bookshelves that were clearly pushed aside to create a small duelling area, with three of the dummies that he had once used in school, made of wood and with a single wheel holding them upright.
The girl had stripped her robes off, leaving her in the white blouse and black skirt of the Hogwarts Uniform, blue tie flapping as she made sharp motions, wide and imprecise swings of her wand as if it were a sword being used to smite her enemies. It was needlessly showy, and Peter had initially thought very little of it - until he had looked closer.
Hidden beneath the flashy and needlessly bold swings were sharp and minimal actions akin to a duellist - they were the casts; the clumsy swings were little more than an exertion of frustration - a method of venting.
He had mentally amended his thoughts - this girl could be a capable fighter, if need be, but his interest had been well and truly piqued by her frustrated complaints muttered under her breath, frustration filling grumbles and growls about 'stupid men' and - most interesting, in his opinion - 'fucking werewolf.'
Whatever Remus had done to annoy a student to this extent was most certainly worth learning, even if it was only to remove the man from his posting as Defence Professor. Perhaps, if this became a frequent occurrence, this girl could be swayed down the line the Dark Lord wanted.
Because the Dark Lord was intrigued by her.
It had been a process learning how to extract his memories from his head - it had taken several nights in the library trawling through the restricted section whilst avoiding those whom had come to do the same thing. At one point he had been forced to obliviate a Ravenclaw student with relatively little experience in using the spell - it had very nearly caused an incident, as he had accidentally erased more than what he had intended to, leaving the Asian girl with no memories of the past week.
Thankfully, his botched obliviation had been enough to erase all memories she had of him from her head - at least if the lack of an enraged Albus Dumbledore was anything to go off of.
Eventually he had managed to extract his thoughts - and using a vial he had gotten from the Room of Missing Things, he had sent his memories of Hogwarts to the Dark Lord, via an owl sent to Augustus. The reply had been simple and to the point.
W.
Barn 0200, 31/10.
No more owls.
A.
The barn was an old building in Hogsmeade, filled with barrels of purple Crab Apples - genetic abominations left to sit for a hundred years by the owner of Dogweed and Deathcap, who was insistent that they would be perfect the day they turned a hundred and seven. Because of that, the whole building had been essentially left to slowly rot away, which kept most away from the structure, and in turn, made it a perfect place for an emergency extraction.
Augustus had been insistent upon the idea of Pettigrew having multiple escape routes from the castle, should the need arise. In his eyes, the potential of Pettigrew being interrogated by someone like Albus Dumbledore was too great - if the Dark Lord's survival was revealed to his greatest opponents before the correct hour, the game could be up, and their cause would die. Normally, Wormtail would have scoffed at such precautions, but Augustus was one of the very few Death Eaters who had entirely escaped the Ministry.
He hadn't been named, hadn't been caught, and hadn't been flushed out by the sweeps. He hadn't even been forced to plead the Imperius Curse like Malfoy and his ilk.
With credentials like such, it was no wonder that he was paranoid.
So paranoid that he had placed a tripwire in Pettigrew's head.
What Peter had first thought was a way for him to resist legilimency attacks, was instead a tripwire, a strategic decoy inside the mind that, if tripped, would cause the carriers mind to collapse upon itself, maybe even trapping the Legilimens within. At the very least, it would scatter memories, and even destroy some, meaning that the Legilimens would have to search much harder, and for a much longer period to find what they actually sought.
It wasn't exactly comforting.
But it was a defence for the Dark Lord and Augustus. A role Peter had to play.
Waiting in the Barn, Peter barely had been there five minutes before Augustus strode in deliberately and hit himself with a spell that cleared away the glamour charm he was using to disguise himself as a drunk. Leaping from atop the barrel where he had been hiding, Peter shifted back into his human form and offered a hand to the Unspeakable, one that Augustus took with barely a second thought, softly uttering a word under his breath. "Ascension."
The tugging on his navel was familiar, and the sickening sensation in his gut was so familiar it barely upset him any longer. Whilst he could have taken the portkey as Wormtail, that tended to make him feel far worse, which was not what he wanted to feel when in the presence of the Dark Lord. He would need a level head, and a calm disposition to answer any questions the Dark Lord had for him - and he expected quite a few about Vinda Rosier, the girl was a threat at the best of times.
Emerging from the portkey in a stumble, Peter immediately found himself at the feet of the Dark Lord, and in turn wasted no time in falling to his knees in the gesture of submission that the Dark Lord always expected from his followers. A single, rasped line was uttered with frustration and dangerous contempt. "Wormtail - have you no sense of danger?"
"O-Of course I do, my Lord!" His response was met with an audible sneer, and the flinch that shot through him must have been visible to the Dark Lord.
"Then perhaps you can explain why you sent an owl with your memories." A moment of silence was left for him to respond, but the moment he opened his mouth, the Dark Lord spoke again. "Had it been intercepted by anyone, it would have been... Disastrous.."
A horrible thought crossed his mind - he really hadn't thought about that potential, and the sinking sensation in his gut told him that he really should have. A desperate thought crossed his mind, and he managed to blurt a response. "I-it was most important that you received it, my Lord!"
A heartbeat of silence, followed by another as Wormtail cringed and screwed his eyes shut - whilst the Dark Lord was unable to cast magic, at least without straining himself, Augustus would doubtless take over if the Dark Lord thought Wormtail's failure worthy of torture. At least, in that respect, the rumours were worse than reality - the torture curse wasn't thrown around nearly as liberally as Lucius and others had claimed in their trials. It was saved for true punishments for critical failures - like the one Wormtail had nearly committed.
Then a most surprising noise left the seated homunculus. A hum of agreement. "Mm.. You are correct, Wormtail. It was a very... Important memory."
"M-My Lord?"
"Do not be so... Weak, Peter. Your information was of great interest to me." With a careful motion, Peter raised his head to stare into those dark eyes as the creature seated on the throne made a hum, and Peter's eyes briefly flashed to the colossal serpent coiling around in the darkness behind it. The Dark Lord's words drew Peter's gaze to him again. "Tell me... Who is this.. Stephanie Scamander?"
Winter had come in force.
It wasn't snowing - thankfully. The Muggles said it wouldn't until at least the 28th, by which time it would entirely not her problem, given she would be halfway around the world by then. Instead, Winter was rearing its head with the same old British tradition - rain.
And a lot of it.
But she didn't have to worry about that, the Muggle driver certainly wasn't as he drove along the road full of other cars visible through the lashing rain that pelted down on the windows of the cab. Steph like to think that she, as a younger witch, was inherently more in touch with the modern world, be it Magical or Muggle, than the generation that had come before her. But even she was amazed at just how many drivers were willing to take their cars out into the pouring rain - surely it mustn't've been a pleasant experience.
Then again, perhaps they ran just fine in the rain. Who was she to understand the inner workings of Muggle vehicles - they had specialists for that.
The cab driver barely flinched as another motor vehicle swerved in front of the cab, and Steph felt herself being thrown to the side as the vehicle she was in swung off to the side of the road - and for a moment she nearly went for her wand, statue be damned. But the motion was apparently no cause for alarm, as the driver passed by a green and white sign with the word 'Heathrow' emblazoned upon it.
That was her destination.
"So, who're you flying with, luv?" Turning her head away from the window - which was doing wonderful things to keep her stomach's contents within said organ - Steph looked at the cab driver, who had his head slightly turned towards her. Momentarily pausing - as a moment of startling blankness ripped through her - Steph cleared her throat and recalled the name on the ticket that her Dad had booked for her.
"Oh, uhm. British Airways, to New York." The cab driver made a noise akin to a grunt as he nodded.
"So's you're headin' for terminal three then." Just as he said that, the driver made another sharp turn, and Steph was nearly thrown to the other side of the cab, her hands desperately flying out and finding the handle on the wall of the cab's interior. A flash of other cars outside caught her gaze, and Steph found herself hurtling along next to a building made of glass and metal, glowing through the sheeting rain like an ethereal spell.
Then suddenly the cab swerved further left and stopped between two other black cabs, and Steph recoiled forwards, clutching at the suitcase that she had brought with her. The driver in front of her turned and looked over his shoulder at her. "That's 27 quid, luv."
A brief fishing in her wallet brought out a tenner to accompany the twenty-pound note that she had in her pocket - to most this trip would have been a bit expensive as far as muggle journeys went, but with the exchange rate that Gringotts had for Galleons to Pounds, it was pocket change. Especially for one such as herself.
There in-lay a depressing reality of life for Muggleborns - unless they were wealthy, they had a rough financial situation to contend with.
Scooping the leather suitcase off the floor, and giving a polite smile as the cab driver wished her a good day - and she would hope he would, given the tip she'd given him - Steph ducked her head out of the cab and shivered as she scrambled through the thin veil of rain that splashed down between her and the safety of the awning. Ahead of her lay the terminal building, and within it a swarm of things she was totally unfamiliar with.
Tracey had been a trove of knowledge when it came to understanding what to expect in the airport - so Steph had known that she would have to probably put her suitcase through a Muggle machine that could supposedly see through it. In a way, she wondered how her magic would react with the device - or if they would simply see the same thing that the Muggle Worthy enchantment would present.
After all - it was an Undetectable Extension Charm, and not one to the same extent as her Grandfather's.
Worst come to it, she could confund the Muggle, and she'd probably get away with it.
Ducking in through the doors, Steph took a moment to simply take in the size of the airport - there had to be thirty or forty desks, each with a young woman - although there were one or two men - standing behind them, smartly dressed and giving wide, fake smiles to every person who came through. They were probably polite smiles to most, but Steph spent time around Purebloods, these Muggles were amateurs by comparison.
A breath steeled her resolve as she ran through the checklist in her head, staring at the various desks, with the phrase 'Check-In' above them every so often. Above each person, however, was a different company name and logo - Air France, United, American Airways, others that she couldn't make sense of at this distance. But she did recognise the one front and centre - British Airways.
So. Do this.. Checking in thing, go through security and then get on the plane when they call for her.. Simple, surely.
Walking up to one of the desks, attended by a young brunette woman, Steph watched with slightly muted irritation as the woman seemed almost surprised by the sight of her walking up. Sure, she may have been fourteen, but she was a mature fourteen, thank you very much. Setting her bag down in front of the desk, she simply looked at the muggle woman as she greeted her.
"Hello - welcome to British Airways. Can I help you young lady?" The tone of the young woman didn't help her address much - she couldn't have been more than a decade older than Steph, but she was speaking as if Steph was a child. Putting on a smile that was more believable than the young woman's, but still clearly as fake as her own, Steph tilted her head.
"I would like to check in." The brunette blinked at her for a second, and the smile lost a little bit of its fakeness, the muggle woman nodding.
"Well, you're in the right place. What is your flight number?" Steph blinked - her flight had a number? Squashing the momentary panic, she cleared her throat.
"I.. Don't know the number. But it’s the flight to New York in.." A brief glance was given to her watch. ".. An hour."
The muggle looked down at her desk for a moment, before her eyes widened a little, and she looked back up at Steph. "Oh - you're not at the right place."
Those words sent a momentary jolt of panic through her, but the muggle seemed unconcerned, leaning forwards and, in the process, giving Steph an utterly scandalous view down her top - did muggles really accept dressing so shamelessly? Pointing with her left arm, the woman glanced down at Steph, ensuring she was paying attention. "You need to go to the Concorde desk - at the end of the terminal."
"Thank you." Grateful for her occlumency once again, Steph pushed away the surge of emotions that would have sent blood rushing to her cheeks and picked up her suitcase. With quick steps, she moved away from the desk and followed the muggle's directions - walking down the terminal to the desk with 'Concorde - British Airways' emblazoned above it. This desk was crewed by a smartly dressed man, who greeted her with a smile that was fake - but a carefully curated fake.
"Good evening, welcome to British Airways, may I help you?"
Setting her bag down once again, Steph procured the ticket this time, placing it on the counter. "I would like to check in for my flight. I was told that this is the place to check in for the flight to New York in an hour."
"Of course, may I have your name?" The instinctive answer died on her tongue as her occlumency clamped into place - her dad hadn't put Scamander on the ticket, nor the passport issued to her - at least under the glamour charm. Muggles might raise an eyebrow at the name, it was strange after all. Instead, with a smile, she responded.
"Stephanie Smith." The man glanced down at his desk, softly murmuring the name she had given under his breath - probably scrolling a list of passengers. Evidently, he found it, as he stopped speaking - and instead picked up his pen and looked at her.
"Can I have your passport please?" Digging into her pocket for the item in question, missing how the man frowned a little at the sight of her digging in her skirt's pockets, she withdrew the burgundy-coloured book and placed it on the counter. Picking it up, the man opened it to the page that had always seemed to refuse to shut properly, holding it up between them, his eyes dancing back and forth. Seemingly satisfied, he handed the passport back to her and, presumably, struck her name off the list in front of him with a stroke of his pen. "Thank you, Ms Smith. Are you flying alone today?"
"Ah- yes I am." With a nod, the man gave her a polite smile.
"Is this your first time flying?" At her nod, his expression became a little softer. "I see. Do you have anything dangerous in your luggage? Any food or drink?"
Shaking her head, the man gave her another nod, his smile becoming a little pleased. "In that case, welcome to British Airways Concorde service. Your flight departs from Gate 20 in approximately forty-five minutes. If you would follow me, I can lead you there now."
"Thank you, that would be appreciated." Picking up her bag again, Steph looked at the path to her left, deeper into the terminal. The man got out from behind his desk, and she dutifully followed along - suddenly aware that she was getting relatively tall, given she stood at his shoulder height. A soft frown came over her features - it was a little unnerving knowing that she would be flying in a short while, she'd never done that before. Not in a muggle plane, after all.
A broomstick perhaps, but she somehow doubted the experience really compared.
She vaguely noted that they were entirely bypassing security - and she must have looked a strange sight, following politely along behind the muggle man wearing a knee length skirt, blouse and cardigan over boots that came up to her knees. Most of the muggles in the airport were wearing or carrying large jackets - big puffy things or ones that were more akin to her Gore-Tex, buried in the suitcase she carried, that told her that they had no equivalent to warming charms.
Magic was great.
And judging by how almost every woman had a bag, they didn't have pockets on their skirts.
The walk was.. Strangely long, all things considered. The terminal was positively packed, and Steph almost lost track of how many lounges they walked past, each one absolutely crammed with muggles, all packed in like sardines. Children cried and ran around, whilst the parents read books or tried to corral their screaming offspring whilst clutching their luggage close to hand.
And outside every window, through the gloomy rain, was a white aircraft looming large. Most had Union Jack's upon them, but some were painted strikingly different. One of the larger aircraft had 'UNITED AIRWAYS' stamped in white letters on the grey aircraft skin, with the plane sporting a blue underbelly. She could even see a small room at the front of the plane, with three men illuminated by yellow light doing merlin knows what within.
And then suddenly her escort stopped, gesturing to a comparatively quiet lounge, with only a handful of passengers present. Her aircraft was.. Different to the others. Whereas they were all tall and large, bulky in size, hers looked more like a dart than anything else. Its nose was dipped a bit, and it too had a room at the front, lit by white lights.
"If there is anything you need Ms Smith, please let a member of staff know." With a polite smile and nod, Steph dismissed the man, and strode over to the window to examine her aircraft closer. The entire thing looked strange - like some sort of sci-fi (was that was the muggles called it?) creation. How did it even fly with wings that small?
If there's something I need, it's a damn encyclopaedia on this thing.
Perhaps the comparison to a broomstick was warranted.
Steph really hadn't clocked on to half of what Concorde was about before the flight, but once she had actually sat down and the plane had taken off, she could feel the sensation of being pressed hard into her seat. Something about reheaters and extra speed? The muggle captain hadn't made much sense, and she hadn't learned much about the aircraft - but what she had learned was that she could get used to the sense of luxury afforded in muggle flight.
As she walked up the little mobile walkway in New York, Steph was greeted with the sight of a man wearing a trench coat and a fedora, both black in colour. In his hands was a sign that read 'Stephanie Smith', but which flickered for a moment, changing to 'Stephanie Scamander', before the glamour charm re-applied itself, his expression twisting just a little as he did so.
Neither of them missed how they looked straight at each other the moment he came into view. The corner of her mouth pulled a little - there would be no avoiding this confrontation.
Purposefully striding up to the man, she watched as he lowered his sign and pressed his left hand into his pocket - concealing his wand. His voice carried a soft drawl - ever so slight, not exaggerated like a southern accent, more refined. He was probably northern, judging by his accent. "Steph Smith?"
But he was American, nonetheless.
"Stephanie Smith, yes." Stressing the latter part of her name, she watched with muted pleasure as his features twitched just a little, exasperation overcoming him. She had gotten under his skin in a heartbeat, wonderful. Turning, he sighed, beckoning her to follow with a jerk of his head.
"Let's get this over with." A quick few pace saw them joining the sea of muggles moving from their planes, into the large terminal. They only remained in it for a minute or so, as once they hit the main terminal building, the man led her into a door marked 'Staff Only'.
Within lay what could only be described as an impossibility - a cavernous recreation of what had to be Grand Central Terminal, she had seen photos before. The man barely gave her time to marvel, before he guided her over to an empty wooden desk, patting it with his hand as his other plucked his fedora off and set it upon the table. "Alright Ms Scamander - any contraband? No creatures, dark artefacts, or the like? Potions?"
With a roll of her eyes - evidently her family would never shake that particular reputation even after seventy years - Steph planted her suitcase on the desk, flicking it open and revealing the neatly packed clothes that lay at the top - her rain jacket atop all else. "No - nothing of the sort."
"Can't be too sure with your lot." The joke was decidedly unamusing, and Steph's lips pulled into an unimpressed line. The man had a golden stick in his hand, the end of which he pressed to the top of rain jacket - holding it for several seconds as he spoke. "Purpose of visit?"
"Visiting family. Catching a portkey in.." Making a show of her action, Steph glanced at her timepiece, watching as its hands swung of their own accord, winding back several hours and settling on the local time. Eleven thirty am. Shite. "Five minutes."
"Transcontinental to Seattle, correct?" Giving him a firm nod, the man responded with his own, casual nod. A glance at a clipboard on the desk followed as he lifted the golden stick away from her luggage. "And you're being received by whom?"
Steph actually did make a show of rolling her eyes, fixing the American Auror with an unimpressed look. "My name is hardly common. You and I both know exactly who I am seeing."
The Auror stopped, staring at the clipboard for a handful of seconds, before nodding somewhat stiffly. With a single motion, he stepped away, pointing at a door to their right. "You're clear. Through that door is a portkey on the table. Activation period will have started, phrase is 'Seattle'."
"Thank you." Her tone clipped, Steph locked her case and spun on her heel, picking up the suitcase and striding away from the Auror as he stared at his clipboard, vaguely aware of his gaze rising to stare at the back of her head, before returning to the clipboard once more. It was amusing in a mundane way, really. He'd just treated her as an annoyance, without knowing that her Nanna was his boss.
Pulling open the door, Steph was greeted to the sight of a room devoid of anything - walls and floor bare, with just a simple wooden table in the middle of the room. Upon it sat a black umbrella, which Steph reached out and grasped with little fanfare, swallowing as the anticipation set in - long distance portkeys sucked.
"Seattle."
The tugging sensation on her sternum made it feel like someone was folding origami out of her internal organs, and that she'd end up as a paper crane or something - although perhaps more fleshy and still alive than one made of paper. But the sensation passed, like it always did, when she was shoved out the other end of the tight tube that it felt as if she had been crammed into by the portkey, which it probably was, given it was a momentary tear in space.
As she stumbled to a landing on the grass lawn with a pop, Steph found herself being held upright by gentle arms, as a familiar voice spoke from above.
"Still getting the hang of landing, are we?"
With a smile, Steph set her suitcase down and hugged the woman holding her, glancing up as she did so. Despite being 92 at this point, the woman didn't look a day over fifty, and still had that kind smile on her face as she hugged the girl close to her. Porpentina Scamander gave Steph a fond look as her granddaughter greeted her.
"Hey Nanna Tina."
"Hey yourself, Stephanie. Come on, Grandpa's waiting - and there's a cup of cocoa ready."
Steph's smile pulled wider. This Christmas would be different to the last two.