The Harpsichordist

Chapter Two: Bye, Bye, Love

Wendy couldn't help but be a little anxious as she closed the door behind Professor Snape. How were they going to handle a long-distance relationship? How did she feel about Luke having won a professorship via word-of-mouth while she was still in school, doing it the hard way?

She turned to look at Luke, who was setting down his newly-signed contract. Before she could meet his eyes, he had her in a huge hug.

"Isn't it great?" he exclaimed.

She dutifully squeezed him back, glad that hugging didn't allow the other person to see your face: one look would have told him that she wasn't happy.

She knew she should be, really. This teaching job, at a school for wizards, no less, could be his big break. But Scotland was thousands of miles away from Berkeley, California. Wendy was in the middle of her Ph.D. Much as she loved Luke, getting her doctorate was something she needed to do. The best place to do it was the University of California at Berkeley. And Luke would be going to Scotland in less than a week.

She forced a smile on her face as Luke released her. "Isn't it just great?" he repeated. "I mean, wow, really wow, who'd have thought..." He trailed off. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing," she lied.

"Come on -- I know you're upset."

"Nothing, really!" But her stomach flip-flopped as she tried to grin again. She could never lie to him, face to face, and Luke was looking at her expectantly, concerned. "It's just that -- Scotland's a long ways away."

"You can come with me, though, if you want -- so Snape said," he replied. "You'd love it, I'm sure..."

She gave him a weak smile, and his broad grin faltered.

"Oh," he said at last.

"Right," she replied, a hint of sarcasm evident.

"Oh," he said heavily, sitting down. "Your degree."

"Uh, yeah." She couldn't help it, the sarcasm just came. "That little thing I'm in the middle of right now -- that thing that I've been working my butt off on for two years already." She sat down next to him, but couldn't look him in the eye. "I can't just up and leave my research -- and I've got my qualifying exams coming up next fall... I have to write my proposal for Bergeron, and I'm scheduled to work for Taruskin in the spring, and you know how much his name means..."

She looked around at Luke. He was gazing at her with love and pride and no small amount of sadness. "I just can't leave behind everything I've worked so hard at." She sniffed. A tear trickled down her cheek and she wiped it hastily away, hoping he hadn't seen.

He had. "We'll figure out a way. I promise," he said, reaching over to hold her tightly.

* * *
The next day was foggy and cool, a typical August day in Berkeley. It wasn't warm yet -- that wouldn't happen until mid-October -- nor was it really cold, as November and July were.

Wendy tried hard not to think about Hogwarts as she walked to the Music Department. But the joy in Luke's face as he'd signed his contract and the happiness she felt at his success did little to buoy her nervousness about the whole situation. As the walk took about forty minutes, she had more than enough time to think and resolve firmly that she really didn't know what to do.

She was so engrossed in thought that, her feet on automatic, she didn't notice where she was until she bumped into someone in the door to the stairwell of the music department, sending his tottering pile of scores to the floor. "I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed. "I didn't see where I was going."

"It's quite all right," the person said, and she realized it was Professor Moroney.

She helped him gather the rest of the fallen items, then, remembering it was he who had recommended Luke, she asked, "Do you have a minute to talk?"

"I'm a little busy right now," he said, gesturing with his pile of scores. "Perhaps around two?"

As she couldn't exactly say, "I never knew you were a wizard, what's this whole Hogwarts thing about, and what the heck should I do?" in the middle of a well-travelled hallway, she settled with "Um -- I guess..." which he took as an affirmative.

"Great. I'll see you at two, in my office," he replied as he opened the door to the copy room.

"Than -- " she started to say, but he had already disappeared behind the door. " -- ks." Wendy sighed and made her way up to the library.

* * *
Around five minutes past two, Wendy peered down the upstairs hallway and saw Professor Moroney's door open. Her heart thudded a bit at the sight. It wasn't every day that you confronted a much-loved teacher about his past. Boy, did that sound wrong, she thought absently. Now or never.

Steeling herself thus, she walked down the corridor and tapped on his open door before poking her head around the corner.

Davitt turned from his laptop to look at her, a smile spreading. As always, she was struck by his curiously almond-shaped eyes set into a generally pleasant face, even if the ears were a bit large and the lines were deepening.

"Yes, come in," he said cordially, indicating the chair by his desk. "What can I do for you?"

"You might want to close the door for this," Wendy said in a low voice.

At any other time she might have realized the mark of respect and trust it was for Davitt to actually get up from his chair and walk over to the door to close it -- there were strict guidelines about doors and students in offices -- but at that moment, she was too nervous.

Perhaps something in her voice worried him, for when he sat back down, his expression was slightly concerned. "What's wrong?" he asked gently.

Despite the fact that she had spent all morning contemplating her next words, the little rehearsed speeches that had sounded so wonderful inside her head no longer seemed adequate under such scrutiny. A moment's silence rang throughout the office. A door slammed somewhere outside the office, and students' voices singing out-of-tune drifted up from the walkway below.

"You're a wizard?" she finally said.

Davitt sighed deeply and leaned back in his chair, making it creak. "However did you learn that particular bit of information?" he asked.

"From Severus Snape."

"Snape? Goodness, I haven't seen him in years. How did you run into him?"

This conversation wasn't going anything like she'd planned. "He came to our house."

"Whyever -- "

It was rude to interrupt, but still -- "Luke's been invited to teach music at Hogwarts, and Professor Snape was sent over with the contract," she said in one breath.

"Luke? Oh, Luke Navarra -- I remember him. Excellent student -- a bit nervous, but it always takes a while to get used to performance. Yes, I remember mentioning him to Albus last month. That's wonderful, that is, really wonderful. I didn't know you knew him."

"We've been together for five years," Wendy explained. This conversation wasn't going at all the way she'd planned. "Look," she burst out, "I want to know what's going on and what the hell I'm supposed to do while my boyfriend is in Scotland at a school for wizards."

Davitt sighed deeply. "It's a long story."

"I've got all afternoon."

"I haven't -- I have another class at four, and office hours at two-thirty."

"When are you free?" she asked.

"I won't really be free until about six, but I'd like to get a dinner tonight -- "

"My treat," Wendy offered, and he smiled.

* * *
Wendy's pita bread had long gone cold.

"So what you're saying," she finally said, each word making her very aware of her tongue, "is that there's a school for teenagers who are magical?"

"Yes." Davitt bit into his levant sandwich. "Ages eleven to eighteen," he said around a mouthful.

Wendy had treated him to Mediterranean, and while she normally loved this restaurant, with its eccentric waitresses -- having a tattoo and/or belly ring seemed to be a prerequisite for employment -- and its excellent hummus, this evening she hadn't tasted one bite.

The restaurant did give good cover for a very strange conversation, though. Everyone was so busily gabbing at each other, or ogling the waitresses' belly rings, that a professor and a student sitting at one of the cramped little outdoor tables having an unusual talk went completely unnoticed. Then again, Davitt had said something... funny... as they were seated, so maybe it wasn't simply a preoccupied crowd.

"Witches, and -- and wizards?"

"Mm-hmm." He brought a forkful of salad to his mouth

"And there's this Lord V -- "

Davitt almost choked in his haste to speak over her next words. The fork clattered to the plate, and some bits of field greens landed on the tiled table. "Don't say his name!" he said hoarsely. He picked up his water glass and took a large gulp.

"Sorry. This -- this Dark Lord? And he wants to kill all the, um, what did you call them?"

"Muggles," he said into the bottom of his water glass.

"He wants to kill all the Muggles -- all of us Muggles?"

"Yes."

"And why, again, does it have to be Luke?"

Davitt swallowed and wiped his face on his napkin. "All that Albus told me in his letter was that he needed a good teacher for the students. Someone young, energetic, and dedicated to his craft. I knew Luke hadn't been accepted to Berkeley, and I knew he'd planned to spend a year practicing. He was the first available harpsichordist I thought of." Davitt shrugged. "I didn't know the two of you were seeing each other. "How are you going to manage the separation?" Davitt asked. He looked genuinely concerned.

Wendy remembered that he was currently in a long-distance relationship as well; his other half lived in France, and department gossip had them seeing each other every three to six months.

"That's another thing," she sighed sadly. She picked up a piece of cold pita bread and idly scooped some hummus onto it. "I don't know. How do you manage?" she asked through a mouthful.

"We Apparate."

"Huh?"

"Apparition. Disappearing in one place and re-appearing in another. It's difficult, cross-Atlantic, so we don't do it often. Every weekend, though, one of us visits the other. It makes it manageable."

"Can't Luke and I -- um -- Apparate?"

"Oh, no, no. Only witches and wizards can."

"That's unfair."

"I know," he agreed, crunching a radish. "Pity you can't use the Floo," he said thoughtfully.

"The flue? That part of a chimney that you --"

"No, the Floo -- F-L-O-O. It's a network of fireplaces; we can travel through them."

"Why can't I use it?"

"The Floo Department in the U.S. is extremely strict about what houses can be on the Network, and I seriously doubt they'll let a Muggle residence be hooked up. If it were simply across the continent, it might be manageable, but international floos require a lot of paperwork."

"That's not fair, either!"

"I know," he said sadly. "This general unfairness is one of the reasons we wizardkind have separated ourselves from the Muggles. We have so many things that you can never use."

The waitress came by with the check at that point, and, though Wendy had hundreds of questions, Davitt forcibly turned the conversation to her dissertation.

Around eight, Wendy left the restaurant for home. It was an awful lot of information to absorb, and she wasn't quite sure whether it wasn't all some weird dream. But the sidewalks felt real, the smells of urine and incense as she crossed Telegraph Avenue were definitely real, and it was too strange for her to have imagined all of it.

A school for teenagers who were magical. Witches and wizards. And normal people -- Muggles, she told herself, rolling the word around her mouth -- didn't know anything about it. Why, there were probably a few dozen wizards in Berkeley, now that she thought of it -- enough eccentric people, certainly. But the terrorism was a little scary, she had to admit. A racist cult with a leader calling himself Lord Voldemort, flight from death, and many followers, hidden in high places.

Davitt had assured her that the school was safe from external attacks, and that Luke would be well supervised when he was outside the castle. But to be a normal person, a Muggle, in the midst of all that... It was unnerving.

That still didn't solve her own dilemma. Should she go with Luke or stay in Berkeley and see him at Christmas? Her brain told her to stay in Berkeley, finish her degree here, where she had her resources, but her heart desperately wanted to follow him, and she was downright curious about the whole magic thing. If it weren't for the law against setting up magical transportation systems for Muggles, he might have been able to come home once a week. But there was the law, so they'd just have to manage.

Wendy balled her hands into fists in frustration, waving aside the offers of a man with dreadlocks and a collection of tie-dyed shirts. She couldn't ask Luke to stay -- if she did, he certainly would -- but that wouldn't be right. He had to go abroad, to take this opportunity. It was the chance of a lifetime for him. They'd just have to manage.

* * * Luke had been told to use normal -- "Muggle," the note had said, appearing on the living room table the day after he'd signed the contract -- transportation to get to Britain. Though the school had bought the ticket, the purchase had still been a hassle. He was exhausted. It had taken over twelve hours to get from California to Heathrow. No disappearing in a puff of green smoke, he thought ruefully as he waited at Baggage Claim in Heathrow.

A loud thunk told him his trunk, a farewell gift from Wendy, had just popped out. "It looks so much classier," she had said, "and it'll last longer." He ran to get it, heaving it off the conveyor belt with the help of a nearby stranger.

Professor Snape had said that someone would be waiting for him at the airport. Luke looked around eagerly, but didn't see anyone who looked like, well, like a wizard. What had he been expecting? A neon sign, "Wizard over here?" A hunched old woman with warts and a pointy hat, hovering on a twisted broomstick? A welcoming committee? Well, yes. Or at least one of those little cardboard signs on sticks: "Navarra," or even, "Hogwarts."

Luke fought down the paranoia. Of course they'll be here, he told himself firmly. Stop worrying. He sat down on his trunk to wait.

After five minutes of waiting patiently, he got up and bought a newspaper from a nearby kiosk, fumbling over the hexagonal fifty-pence pieces.

Ten minutes after that, he looked up from a story about some mysterious murders in Kent, wherever that was -- he made a mental note to buy a map of Great Britain -- to see... nothing. No witches' hats, no signs. Just drab, tired travelers. He wasn't exactly expecting a flashing sign, but he was sure that the person would make himself, or herself, known.

After a half hour of waiting, he fought down a serious panic attack.

There was no way of contacting the school -- no phone number, or email, or even an address. He supposed that if he were waiting here more than an hour, he might call Wendy and ask her if something had happened. What time was it back in California? Eight hours difference... She wouldn't mind being woken at three in the morning.

After forty-five minutes, Luke started looking around for a pay phone, thinking gloomily of the cost of a call to the U.S. He had begun to drag his trunk towards the first one he saw when he spotted a very old man with several feet of long white hair and beard. "Unusual," he said to himself, then did a double take. On his first look, he hadn't noticed it, but the man was wearing a cloak. A purple one.

Wizard.

The man muttered something to himself, then looked up and caught Luke's eyes. He smiled. Luke knew at once that this was the person he'd been waiting for. The man moved towards Luke, and the crowd parted as though it didn't quite see him, but was avoiding him nonetheless. It reeked of magic.

"You must be Luke Navarra," said the old man in a very kind voice.

"That's me," he said, flinching at how American he sounded.

"I'm Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster at Hogwarts."

"Very nice to meet you at last, sir," said Luke, holding out his hand. People now seemed to be flowing around both of them.

"Call me Albus, please. If you'll follow me?"

"My trunk..."

Albus Dumbledore flicked a long, thin piece of wood in his hands -- his wand, Luke realized with a jolt -- and the trunk began to hover a few inches off the floor. As Dumbledore walked away, the trunk followed like an obedient dog.

No one noticed.

"I apologize for being so late," Albus was saying when Luke turned his attention from the trunk. "The person who was supposed to meet you -- Professor Snape -- was, ah, delayed."

"That's quite all right, sir -- uh, Albus," Luke replied politely. "I was only worried that I had no way of contacting you at the school. Is there a phone number or anything?"

They were now outside the airport, and a lime green car was waiting for them at the curb. Albus levitated Luke's luggage into the trunk of the car -- again, no one noticed -- and gestured for him to get in.

"There isn't really that sort of technology at the school," Albus replied. "We'll have to get you an owl, I suppose; they're best for communication."

Luke nodded, hoping he didn't look too shocked. The car rolled away from the curb smoothly, somehow jumping to the front of the unmoving line at the traffic lights.

"I suppose you must be exhausted and quite shocked by all of this, Luke," said Albus. "Don't worry -- you'll fit in just fine."

"Thanks," said Luke. They were moving through the knot of cars easily, though he couldn't tell how. And they were on the wrong side of the road. He jerked his attention back to Albus. Undoubtedly he'd get used to seeing the cars drive on the left. "I have to admit, I'm quite nervous about the whole experience. They're wizards, after all, and I'm just a -- a Muggle," he said the word still sounding foreign.

"The students know better than to take advantage of a teacher. The younger ones will be too scared of detention, and the older ones should have the honor not to play too many tricks on you."

"Honor?" Luke asked. Now the freeway was flashing past them.

"Most wizards and witches teach their children that Muggles are to be pitied and protected, in a way. I'm sorry to say that there is often a feeling that Muggles are somewhat inferior to wizards -- though none of these people have ever encountered a shotgun, I'm sure." He smiled benignly, though with a trace of sadness.

"But on to more mundane matters," Albus continued. "I've arranged rooms for you on the second floor, since you might have some difficulty with the staircases -- they like to change around, and can be particularly stubborn sometimes..."

Albus talked for most of the trip to Kings Cross Station in the heart of London. Luke let a lot of it wash over him, hoping he'd remember when he needed to.

"Now, I'm going to put you on the train that will take you to Newtonmore, the nearest Muggle village to the school," Albus told Luke, leading him inside the station and handing him a ticket. "I'll be able to take your luggage, so don't worry about that. Someone will meet you at the station in Newtonmore to take you further."

Albus steered him towards a platforrm. Somehow, they were there just as the train was getting ready to leave. Luke boarded, found a compartment, and fell right asleep.

* * *
When he awoke, the train was slowing down and it was just past sunset. Luke knew he must have changed trains, but he didn't remember doing it. The view outside the train showed a quaint little town with mountains in the distance, just like he would have expected a rural Scottish village to look.

Luke stepped onto the platform and looked around expectantly, hoping he didn't have to wait long this time. He was tired, and he didn't even have his trunk to sit on.

"Mr. Navarra."

He whirled. Standing behind him was Severus Snape, scowling.

"Professor," he said, holding out his hand. "It's nice to see you again."

"Indeed," said Snape, not taking the hand. "I must lead you to the school. Follow me."

They took a cab, an ordinary Muggle one that couldn't jump stoplights, from outside the train station, past the outskirts of the small town, and into the hills. After half an hour, when they were in the middle of what seemed like nowhere, Snape said to the driver, "Stop here."

"Wot, 'ere?" asked the driver. "T'ain't nothin' 'ere, sir."

"I know that," said Snape coldly. "Stop."

The driver rolled to a stop, and Luke got out while Snape paid the driver. "We walk from here," Snape said.

"Oh, no," Luke mumbled, and when Snape shot him a nasty look, he said pleadingly, "I've been traveling for twenty hours now -- how far is it?"

"Two miles to the village." Snape had already set off along a path that had appeared out of nowhere as soon as the cab had left.

Luke sighed and followed, wishing he'd brought a flashlight. At least the moon was almost full. The hills were beautiful, bathed in silvery moonlight. Luke never been out in the country at night with the moon this full, and was surprised to find that he could actually see the scrubby bushes around him quite well.

They crested the first hill after about twenty minutes, and Luke caught sight below them of a small bean-shaped lake with a ruined castle on the cliff face above it. It was very picturesque, glinting in the moonlight, the placid lake reflecting the stars above.

But he wasn't given time to gaze, or even to catch his breath. Snape was already continuing down the path to a small village in the shadow of the hill. They passed some caves, then a ruined little shack, and were finally in the main street of a small village, with lights on in windows down the side streets.

"This is Hogsmeade," said Snape curtly.

Another half hour of silence found them taking the path up to the ruined castle.

"Uh," began Luke, "Is this the school?"

"Yes."

"You must have some funding problems, then?" Luke asked as gently as he could.

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, it obviously needs repair..."

To his surprise, Snape laughed, a genuine sound of amusement. "Of course it doesn't. You just can't see it because you're a Muggle."

Now that Luke paid attention, it seemed that the rocky surroundings were a little blurry, like a badly developed photo. If he squinted and pretended he wasn't looking, he could almost see grass beside them. They mounted some steps, and Luke had to fight an urge to go elsewhere.

Aren't you forgetting to do something? a little voice in his head said. You really have other things to do besides wander around here...

But he doggedly followed Snape up the steps to the door, which had a large sign on it saying, "DANGER. DO NOT ENTER: UNSAFE." But Snape opened the door anyways, and Luke gasped.

They were in a large entrance hall, lit with glittering candles and decorated with large suits of armor. Luke glanced behind him and saw well-kept grounds bathed in moonlight before the doors closed with a thud.

"Keep up," said Snape curtly as they mounted a long marble staircase. "If you get lost, you won't be able to find your way out without help."

That didn't sound good. Luke trotted a little closer to Snape. Movement caught his eye, and he turned to look at a large painting of a very haughty-looking man in scarlet robes.

The man frowned, squinting, then spoke. "Are you a Muggle, good man?"

"Uh -- yes, I am," Luke said. He was talking to a painting! A painting!

"Never thought I'd see the day," said the man arrogantly. "A Muggle! Here, in the greatest wizarding institution in the world! Shocking, utterly shocking. The things these young folks will do! These Muggles, ruining everything in our world. Why, if I had my way --"

Snape was at the top of the long marble staircase, and turned to look pointedly at Luke. "Keep up," he repeated.

Luke was glad to leave the painting, who was now elaborating why Muggles ought to be tagged at birth and made to report yearly, and followed Snape up the staircase.

They went down several corridors, through a few tapestries, and up another flight of stairs. Then they went along another corridor lit with torches before Snape stopped in front of a stretch of blank wall flanked with sconces.

He waved his wand, and the wall turned into a door, which opened. "These are your rooms," he said shortly as Luke followed him in. He had barely had a glimpse of space and light before Snape spoke again. "The password to reveal the door is 'harpsichord' right now, though I dare say you will wish to change it. Breakfast will be served tomorrow morning in the Great Hall on the ground floor. If you simply take the nearest staircase down two flights, you should find your way there eventually. If you get lost, ask the paintings for assistance. Goodnight."

Snape closed the door with a snap.