Early in the morning, while Severus Snape was slowly eating his breakfast, he heard a soft thump, thump sound.
Looking up, he saw a plump barn owl perched on the windowsill outside the living room, tapping its claws gently against the closed windowpane.
Putting down his utensils, Snape stood and walked to the window, pushing it open slightly.
The owl immediately stretched out one leg. Tied to it with a thin string was a tightly rolled piece of parchment.
Snape took the letter from it, but before he could even offer the owl a bit of owl treat, it ruffled its feathers, spread its wings, and flew off into the sky.
Dumbledore's letter had finally arrived.
Unrolling the parchment, Snape saw a few lines hastily scrawled in black ink:
Dear Severus,
I will arrive at the village of St. Catchpole at six o'clock this evening. I hope I won't be intruding.
-Albus Dumbledore
Reading the brief note, Snape guessed that the results of the O.W.L. exams would soon be released. Since he also had no idea why the Headmaster was coming, he decided to go ahead and finish writing the letter he had planned for young Barty Crouch today.
After all, since Barty's father never cared much for him, Snape didn't mind taking over that responsibility on the old man's behalf.
He finished his breakfast in a few bites, and as he turned to head upstairs, he gave his wand a casual flick, the dishes floated off the table and drifted neatly into the sink.
Sitting at his desk, Snape picked up his quill, dipped it into the ink bottle, and began writing carefully:
Dear Barty,
First of all, let me offer my heartfelt (and slightly premature) congratulations on passing all twelve of your O.W.L.s. By the time this letter reaches you, I'm sure all twelve certificates will already be in your hands. Well done!
You're a genius, to have the patience to chew through that dreadful "History of Magic."
I bet that man must have said something like, "You have met the standards of the Crouch family," or, "I hope you continue to maintain focus in your N.E.W.T. years," in that pompous tone of his, right? Ignore him. In my opinion, you ought to celebrate properly!
Yours,
S. S.
P.S. I'm proud of you. Also, does Shining know the house-elf of the Black family?
When he finished, Snape folded the parchment neatly, then called out for his elegant horned owl waiting outside the door. She had a new name now, Nocturna, meaning "Night."
Nocturna perched quietly on the desk, perfectly still as Snape tied the letter to her leg. He gently stroked her small head and opened the window.
Nocturna affectionately pecked at his fingers, then spread her wings and glided out into the sky, vanishing into the horizon as a tiny black speck.
Turning back, Snape sat down again, waiting idly for the Headmaster's arrival.
That evening, to welcome Dumbledore, Eileen had specially prepared several extra dishes and a dessert.
But as the minutes ticked by, and seven o'clock drew near, there was still no sign of Dumbledore.
In the end, they had no choice but to eat a little dinner themselves and tidy up afterward.
"Are you sure you didn't get the date wrong?" Eileen asked, puzzled, as she waved her wand to clear the table.
Snape once again pulled out the piece of parchment that had been folded and unfolded so many times that it was soft at the edges, though this was at least the fifth time he'd checked it.
"'I will arrive at the village of St. Catchpole at six o'clock this evening. I hope I won't be intruding,'" he read aloud, word for word. "No matter how many times I check, it still says that."
"Ordinarily, Dumbledore is never late," Eileen said, frowning. "When I was at school, I never once heard of him being delayed."
"Who knows what's going on," Snape shrugged. "Maybe even he forgets the date now and then. It's fine, I'll just wait a bit longer."
Eileen stayed with him, flipping through a few borrowed issues of Witch Weekly from Mrs. Weasley as they waited.
Time slipped by without notice. Before they knew it, it was past nine. Only after Snape insisted did Eileen finally agree to go upstairs to rest.
"You go ahead," Snape told her. "I'll come up soon. If Nocturna returns and the Headmaster still hasn't shown up, I'll write him a letter to ask."
The living room was now empty, the candle flames flickering softly inside their glass shades. Snape stared blankly at the wavering light, and before long, drowsiness crept over him. Resting his head on the table, he drifted into sleep.
He didn't know how much time had passed when a sharp, ringing alarm suddenly woke him, someone had approached the house.
He winced, flexing his numb arm, drew his wand from his robes, and silenced the alarm spell.
Still half-asleep, he glanced at the clock on the wall, it was already past one in the morning.
Outside, the rain poured down in sheets, drumming violently against the windows as the wind howled through the night.
Snape gripped his wand, carefully opened the front door with a flick of magic, and tossed a ball of parchment into the darkness beyond.
"It's me, Severus." Dumbledore's tired voice came from the storm.
Snape hurried to the door and peered out.
Dumbledore stood in the rain, water streaming down his black traveling cloak and merging with the rivulets on the ground.
A flash of lightning lit up the sky, and Snape saw another figure standing behind Dumbledore, hooded and silent.
That shadowed figure didn't speak a word, shivering uncontrollably in the wind and rain.
"Come in, Professor. Uh, and you, too," Snape called, quickly ushering them inside. He cast a Muffliato charm toward the staircase to keep from waking Eileen.
Dumbledore stepped slowly into the cottage, letting the rainwater drip freely onto the floorboards.
Snape was startled, this was not the Dumbledore he knew. The man who prided himself on being courteous and composed would never have been so careless, just as he had never before been late.
When Dumbledore pushed back his hood, his long silver-gray hair fell forward.
Snape had never seen the Headmaster look like this. His face was ghastly, even worse than Snape could have imagined.
The kindly smile was gone, and behind the half-moon glasses, the blue eyes held no trace of their usual warmth. Every wrinkle on his aged face seemed carved with cold fury.
A palpable power radiated from him, as though he were burning with energy, hot enough to evaporate the rain clinging to him.
The hooded figure behind him was still trembling, wet hair plastered to her clothes.
"Professor, you should dry your robes with a spell first, or perhaps change into something dry," Snape said hesitantly. "I'll fetch some towels and fresh robes, and make some hot tea. There's a spare room-"
"Severus..." The figure raised her head.
In the dim candlelight, Snape recognized those green eyes.
Lily Evans.