All Things in Time

Chapter 3

Troubled Waters and Shifting Sands

"The illimitable, silent, never-resting thing called Time, rolling, rushing on, swift, silent, like an all-embracing ocean-tide, on which we and all the universe swim like exhalations, like apparitions which are, and then are not: this is forever very literally a miracle; a thing to strike us dumb, for we have no word to speak about it." - Thomas Carlyle, Scottish author (1795-1881)

"However quick the stream may be, it does not carry away the reflection of the moon." - Traditional Zen proverb

_____

Lyssanne emerged from her restroom shortly after noon carrying a recently dampened washcloth and her rather worse-for-wear gown. Clad only in her now short-sleeved white chemise, she spread the outer garment upon the bed and began the task of removing dirt, grass stains, and ash. The latter, she suspected, was a remnant of the unfortunate tree that had suffered her intended fate the previous night. Lyssanne tried to banish all thought of the events of that night as she scrubbed vigorously at a particularly difficult stain. She didn't know how long she would be forced to remain in this place, and this was the only garment she had. It needed to at least appear somewhat presentable. Especially since the professor had said that she would be expected at dinner.

The professor. Lyssanne suppressed a shudder as an icy chill snaked its way up her spine. He had been so angry. Still, he had shown her that remarkable - rest chair. A thing for which she was immensely grateful. Lyssanne had made quick use of the marvelous contraption even as the door was clicking into place behind Professor Snape's ramrod-stiff back. If only Friar Thinsby could be here to examine the wonders of the rest room. He would, no doubt, find hours of enjoyment in observing these things that far surpassed even the advancements touted in his books.

Thoughts of home brought a return of the anxiety she had fought to quell since her arrival. What had become of Gareth? And was the village yet besieged by that foul mist? Could the witch have been right about the prophecy, as ridiculous as that seemed? Lyssanne knew only that, despite the danger to her own life, she must find a way to return as quickly as possible.

Suddenly, a loud pop sounded just behind her left shoulder. Lyssanne dropped the washcloth, her hand flying to rest over her racing heart. Spinning around, she came face-to-face with the house elf known as Dobby.

"Dobby did not mean to frighten Miss Lyssanne," he said in a squeaky, apologetic voice. "Dobby just came to check...oh! He will clean Miss Lyssanne's dress!" The little elf bounced with excitement. He snapped his fingers, there was another loud pop, and the gown looked nearly as good as new.

"Thank you Dobby. I am most grateful." Her voice still reflected how startled she had been. "I admit I do not know if I shall ever become accustomed to your entrances - nor, I suspect, a great many other things as well."

"Dobby will knock from now on, just for Miss Lyssanne," he stated, puffing up his chest as though he had just made a solemn declaration. "Is Miss feeling better with the bandage?" he asked, referring to the burn on her right forearm.

A few hours earlier, the observant house elf had noticed the charred hole in her right sleeve where Funestra's potion had made contact. Only Lyssanne's fervent protests had prevented him from fetching one of the professors to have a look at it. The elf had then proceeded to inspect the badly burned spot and had insisted on magically shortening the snug sleeve so that the injury could be cleaned and bandaged. Naturally, the other sleeve had to be shortened as well.

Lyssanne recalled with some amusement how frightening she had first thought this little creature. Since meeting him the night before, however, she had grown quite fond of the caring elf. Like her, he seemed to find his greatest joy in assisting others.

"It is much better, thanks be to you," she replied, not having the heart to tell him how badly it still hurt. "Would you have time to remain and talk with me for a while?" she asked, suddenly not wishing to be alone with her thoughts.

"You wish...wish for Dobby's company?" he asked incredulously, dabbing at the corners of his eyes. "Miss is...is as great as Harry Potter!" the elf sniffled dramatically.

"Thank you, Dobby. Please do not weep!" Lyssanne implored. Distressed by his tears, she attempted to change the subject. "Who is this one you call Harry Potter?"

Lyssanne spent the next hour listening to Dobby's extraordinary tales of the life of a boy named Harry, a dark wizard, and the wonders of Hogwarts. To her chagrin, she found her mind wandering quite often during his tale and was rather relieved when the elf announced that he must see to his other duties. Once more alone, her thoughts turned inevitably to her predicament. No matter how fascinating these people and their castle may be, she reminded herself, they were still sorcerers and not to be trusted. Especially, she mused with a slight shudder, not this Professor Snape. It was almost as if she could still feel traces of his presence inside her mind, even though she knew that their mysterious mental link had been broken before she had left his dungeons. What had he done to her?

Knowing it would be several hours until she was expected for dinner and that Dobby would come to show her the way when it was time, Lyssanne reclined on the chaise facing the empty fireplace and closed her eyes. She would need all her wits about her for the dinner ahead, and her lack of sleep would not help matters

Lyssanne lifted an antique, ivory pendant from beneath her chemise and began absently turning it in her fingers. She often did this when in distress or thinking of her mother. This small token was the last thing Brynna Caelestis had given her daughter, a keepsake passed from mother to child for countless generations. The heirloom was fashioned in the shape of a dove surrounded by a serpent. One of the dove's wings overlapped the serpent's tail, while the other lay beneath it. The dove's head rested peacefully on a coil, as the head of the serpent gazed outward with menacing eyes. At that moment, both of Lyssanne's usual reasons for retrieving the pendant applied.

It was impossible to relax. The Professor's earlier intrusion into her mind had left her feeling vulnerable and exposed. Lyssanne had the feeling he had seen the same memories that had flashed before her in those brief moments when she had looked into his eyes. Those eyes - dark fathomless pools in which one could easily drown - had pulled her into their black depths with the force of an undertow. To look into those eyes was to risk losing herself entirely. She certainly wouldn't make that mistake again.

The first memory the professor had witnessed had been of her parents' graves shortly after her mother's death. Lyssanne had only been fourteen years old when her mother had succumbed to the Fever. She thought back to the last conversation she had shared with the only parent she had ever known.

"Though your senses may be deceived, your heart cannot be," her mother had said in a raspy voice. "That is the one advantage you have over the rest of us. While other's lips may lie, your heart will know the truth. I can in no way comprehend this gift you have. It comforts me even as it causes me to fear for you." She had clutched Lyssanne's hand then and continued desperately, "Guard your secret well my child, but hold it close. It may one day save your life."

Lyssanne hadn't really understood what her mother meant at the time. She had always just thought herself more sensitive than most to the feelings of others. She'd never had a reason to question what came automatically to her or to think it was anything unusual. But now she was beginning to wonder about the significance of this "gift", and hoped her mother had been right.

Could she trust herself to know the true intentions of these people? Or could they deceive her into false security with some dark spell? She thought of the feeling of safety she had experienced as Professor Snape had cradled her on the floor of the headmaster's office the night before. It had been far too many years since Lyssanne had felt truly secure and protected; as though she had no need to guard against some evil curse or calamity just waiting to strike. Surely he had used some power to deceive her? After all, he could read her thoughts! Lyssanne clutched her pendant so tightly that it left an impression in her palm. If he could do this whenever he wished and could keep his own emotions so completely hidden from her, what hope did she have of protecting herself? And now it was quite possible that they knew about Funestra. What if these were friends of hers? Perhaps the witch had even attended this school during her exile. Would they try to finish what she had started? And were they also aware of Lyssanne's unusual abilities?

"No! I will not give in to this," Lyssanne stated firmly to the emptiness of her grand surroundings. Now sitting forward, her chin resting in her hands, she thought how silly it was to speak when there was no one to hear her words. But, perhaps hearing those words from her own lips would strengthen her conviction.

Her mother's final words came back to her then. "Promise me that, no matter what happens in your life, you will never lose hope."

Lyssanne knew she could, and would, keep that promise. She clung to her mother's words. They were her North Star as she sailed treacherous black waters. She had very nearly lost all hope in those moments in the dungeons. That was the one thing Funestra had tried repeatedly to steal from her, hope. And Lyssanne would not allow these people to succeed where that sorceress had failed. Besides, she knew that her faith had never yet failed her. Though she found herself in this most strange and frightening place, she was...by some miracle...still alive. And while she had no doubt that these people were dangerous, and most likely evil; they seemed, at least for the moment, to want her to stay that way. Holding onto that thin ray of hope, Lyssanne at last gave in to her exhaustion and slept.

***

Professor Severus Snape sat at his desk with various scrolls spread across its surface. He had to begin preparing his lesson plans. He revised them each year to include information which had been provided on potions and their ingredients as a result of current research. He was convinced that the students, because they were nothing but a bunch of dunderheads, did not appreciate his efforts. He revised anyway and always hoped, with each sorting ceremony, that a talented potions student would arrive at Hogwarts and thus be subjected to his careful and thorough tutelage.

While flipping through his notes on current wolfsbane research his thoughts began to wander. He was fascinated by developments with the wolfsbane potion but he hadn't found the most recent updates very useful. Since the report, and his resulting notes, were virtually useless and entirely dull, he thought of the stranger Lyssanne.

What he had seen in her thoughts left him uneasy. She had seemed so innocent on the outside, perhaps even helpless and weak. Her thoughts told otherwise. They spoke of the pain she had endured for so long. Her struggle was right under the surface and he was sure he had scratched too deep. The hopelessness he sensed within her reminded him of how he had often felt. It was all too close to his own desperate thoughts.

How would the presence of such a being affect Hogwarts? He wasn't sure. She had such a fear of magic. He hadn't helped to calm those fears by breaking into her thoughts and robbing her of her perceived safety. How would she survive here with such fears? She'd become even more of a coward, perhaps even running from the children. Though he supposed her strength could shine through somehow. Albus had seen something in her, and Severus himself had even seen a glimpse of it. She had a light hidden inside, beneath the pain, the struggle, the veil she wore.

Severus sighed, exasperated. The headmaster seemed as though he had forgotten the business at hand. We are fighting a war, perhaps not with weapons and wand-to-wand combat, but it will come to that soon. We should be preparing for that, not getting caught up in the affairs of a girl who traveled forward in time some five hundred years. Should we care about her people? Perhaps they have some effect on us today. If we let them die it could be the end of a whole race.

Severus's thoughts were tangled in themselves. He knew he had to separate them and set the strands apart but he was not ready for such intense work. He assumed, perhaps wrongly, that the girl would be around for quite some time. This would give him ample time to sort out his thoughts.

Severus began to wonder why things had to be so complicated. He leaned back in his chair and thought. Sometimes he could sit like that for hours. In his office the jars of potion ingredients would disappear one by one as his mind cleared and became nothing but thoughts. It was as if nothing was there in his office except a man and his thoughts. No extra chair, desk or shelves. It was all a blur as his thoughts cleared.

He recalled the Death Eater meeting which had taken place the week before. Once again it had been a torturous affair. He had returned bruised and bleeding and with little hope. The valid worry that he would be discovered as a spy was never far from his current thoughts. It crept in from nowhere, stalking him like some kind of rabid predator. If he were found out the danger to his life would be nothing compared with the danger to the wizarding world. Nearly everything the Order did was a direct result of information Severus could obtain from the Dark Lord himself, Death Eater meetings, or polite conversation with fellow Death Eaters. Without the information, which flowed into the Orders hands like sunlight on a river, no one would be safe.

He had risked so much. Each day had been a constant battle. He walked in the dark but tried to live in the light. It all had an effect on who he was inside. The gray within him was gloomy and lonely. Sometimes it was like no one cared about him, Severus Snape, Potions Master, professor, son, friend, person, living being with real emotions. They loved him for who he was as spy, Death Eater, and Order member. But that love was only surface deep. Real love, he knew what it was, but it was just beyond his grasp. He had to strengthen the gloom within because the students would be returning soon. He had to practice his act, the curtains surrounding the stage that was Hogwarts had been parted. The audience stood before him, a strange girl from the past who was seeking assistance. Would he help her? This was a decision that created more tangled thoughts within his mind. For now he would write lesson plans and he would face her later, his thoughts gray before her eyes. He was sure she could read them.

***

The corridors of Hogwarts seemed somewhat less foreboding in late afternoon than they had in the depths of the night. Dobby moved through the halls with surprising speed for one so small, and Lyssanne found herself once more rushing through this maze of a castle. Keeping her eyes fixed on the elf, she followed with the air of a soldier heading into battle - her steps steady, head held high, and posture bearing testimony to sheer determination. Some much-needed rest and a soothing bath had helped to clear her mind and restore her physical and emotional strength.

During the past hour, Lyssanne had made a solemn vow to face whatever lay before her with courage and faith. Though she may have little or no defense against sorcery, she would meet her fate with dignity. Perhaps she could not change the path of her destiny, but she alone would determine how she'd tread the road. Lyssanne's unquenchable spirit and will to survive had seen her through fear, pain, and uncertain times before, this would be no different.

I shall find a way to return home or die in the attempt, Lyssanne silently promised herself as the ornate doors of the Great Hall came into view. Too lost in her thoughts to notice her surroundings, she began to mentally prepare herself for the encounter to come. For as long as necessary, she would do everything she could to remain in the good graces of her hosts. And perhaps in the meantime, she would learn something here that could help her if, no when, she again faced the enemy of her people. However, if it were within her power, the residents of Hogwarts would never again see her fear and vulnerability.

At last they had reached their destination and Lyssanne asked Dobby whether she should wait to be announced before entering. The elf assured her that she was expected and promptly vanished with his characteristic pop. The young woman took one last steadying breath and opened the doors to fate.

She simply stood in the doorway for a few moments, in awe of the splendor before her. The room was cavernous, to say the least. It fairly glistened with the light of hundreds of candles that seemed to float in the air under the ceiling - was there a ceiling? The sky appeared overhead as though the hall had no roof, yet Lyssanne could not feel the slightest breeze. The pleasant air had the distinct feel of being indoors. Surely this was an enchanted castle worthy of the most imaginative children's tale. Looking down once more, the young woman's gaze followed the rows of four long tables to the far end of the room. There on a raised dais, a single table stood facing all the others. Seated there were Professors Dumbledore and Snape, along with several people Lyssanne had never seen.

"Ah, welcome my dear," Dumbledore said cheerfully, rising from his high-backed, throne-like chair at the table's center. "Won't you join us?"

Leaving the doorway at last, Lyssanne made her way toward the head table and paused near the end of one of the rows.

"Where shall I sit?" she asked, gazing around at the four longer tables.

"I have reserved a place for you here," he said, indicating an empty seat to his immediate right and next to a rather stern-looking woman in green robes.

Lyssanne noticed that Professor Snape was seated on the same side of the table, but nearer the end. She climbed the dais and moved around the table at the opposite end to avoid close proximity with him.

"Well then let's eat," Dumbledore said once Lyssanne was seated and had been introduced.

Polite but somewhat hushed conversation was made as everyone ate. Some of the professors talked of the students who would be arriving in just two short weeks, others spoke of events in the news, and a few commented on the food. Lyssanne felt overwhelmed by the mingled emotions and often-incomprehensible phrases issuing from the people surrounding her.

She was utterly amazed at the amount and variety of food set before them. So many of the dishes were completely unfamiliar to her. Lyssanne's customary fare usually included some combination of bread, cheese, porridge at harvest time, seasonal fruit or fresh vegetables from her small garden, and occasionally meats shared among the villagers when one of the farmers had livestock to butcher. Deciding to stick with what she knew, she chose a slim slice of ham and a cluster of grapes.

"What do you think of Hogwarts thus far?" asked the woman she believed was named Minerva.

"Oh, it is a remarkable place," Lyssanne replied vaguely as she selected a small roll from the wicker basket in front of her. "I am certain that any royal family would be proud to hold court in such a grand and stately castle. Though it is so immense that I daresay it would be possible to wander for days without retracing one's steps."

"Yes that is true," Minerva agreed. "The pumpkin juice is very good this year," she commented as she lifted a goblet filled with the curious orange beverage that Lyssanne had not yet tasted.

While Minerva returned her attention to a pile of some smooth, white substance that smelled like potatoes, Lyssanne took the opportunity to watch the other staff members briefly. These people could all do magic, she thought. The notion was quite unsettling, although she had not detected any malevolent sentiments thus far. Catching Dumbledore's eye, she decided to ask the question that had been on her mind for several minutes.

"Professor?" she asked, leaning slightly in his direction and speaking almost in a whisper. "Is today a feast day in your country?"

"Feast day?" He seemed quite puzzled until he followed Lyssanne's gaze as she glanced at all the food. "Oh, no. I forget sometimes that not everyone is accustomed to our fine staff of house elves. They do take great pride in preparing the finest selections. When Hogwarts does host a feast, now that is quite extravagant!" He said the last with a rich, deep chuckle. "And I suppose things were quite different in your time."

"In my time?" Lyssanne was quite confused. Perhaps this was another of their unusual phrases.

"Hmmm, I would have thought that Severus might have mentioned this when you saw him earlier. But, then I suppose -." He trailed off thoughtfully with a glance toward the end of the table. "No matter." He cleared his throat, looked into Lyssanne's eyes, and continued in a paternal tone. "This may come as quite a surprise to you. It seems that, the incident which led to your arrival in the Forbidden Forest has also caused you to be transported forward in time."

"Transported -" She blinked several times and looked, unseeing, at her half-eaten dinner. "How far in time?" she asked in a hushed voice.

"Exactly five hundred years, to the minute, I believe."

Lyssanne took a very large sip of her pumpkin juice and closed her eyes. Her stomach lurched as though the entire world had suddenly tilted. She stood on the shore of some vast ocean and the sand was rapidly slipping from beneath her feet.

"Are you all right, Lyssanne?" Dumbledore's concern flooded her senses as he placed a hand gently on her arm.

"Yes, it is just a bit disconcerting. But, after all," she laughed somewhat shakily, "I already knew that I had traveled many miles in a matter of seconds. So, I suppose traveling across centuries is not entirely unthinkable."

"We are investigating methods of turning back the sands of time, which may allow you to return to the world you left behind," Dumbledore assured her.

"If such a thing is possible, I would be unable to adequately express my gratitude to you. Your world is so foreign to me. How does one adjust to 500 years of change?"

"Time," he answered sagely. "As with everything else in life. All things in time."

That said, they turned their attention back to the meal. Lyssanne nibbled a few more grapes, but had little appetite.

"So have you had any experience with modern magic?" Minerva asked.

"It is difficult for me to say which of the things I have experienced here are attributed to magic and which are simply the result of centuries of progress. Though, I have witnessed the use of magic in my own time." Lyssanne unconsciously glanced at her bandaged arm.

"Were you injured recently?' Minerva sounded concerned. She had obviously noticed the bandage.

"That," Lyssanne replied darkly, "is simply the result of one of my encounters with magic. Evil creates wounds that are not easily healed."

"Well, I do believe that magic is neither good nor evil," Dumbledore began, setting down his fork. "The witch or wizard performing the magic is the only one who can decide whether a spell is to be used for good or for evil. Magic is what it is. Some are born with magical abilities and others are not."

"Dobby the house elf said much the same thing," Lyssanne replied thoughtfully. "I would like to believe you, Professor. For, I have always felt that it is both foolish and wrong to judge an entire group based on the actions of a few of its members. However, as everyone here seems to either be a sorce- um - wizard or magical creature, I have no impartial party to ask. How then can I know that your comments are true and not simply self-serving?" This last she asked, not accusingly, but with genuine interest.

"Miss Lyssanne," Snape said from down the table as he leaned forward. "There are few who would dare to question the headmaster's words. Surely he, of all people, should know the complexities of magic and the traits of those who perform it."

"But, as you said yourself," she responded, glancing only briefly in his general direction, "am I to be foolish enough to believe a stranger whom I have barely met?"

The fork, which Snape was still holding poised in midair as if to illustrate the point he had been trying to make, clattered to his plate. He sent a piercing stare in Lyssanne's direction and the ice bit at her skin. She was quite certain that, at that moment, the man despised her.

"Ah, Severus," Dumbledore chuckled, "It would seem that we have at last found someone who possesses a wit to match your own."

Severus did not reply.

"Well magic is quite complex indeed," Minerva commented.

"Even taking care of our magical plants has its complexities, good points, and drawbacks," Professor Sprout exclaimed.

"You do make a valid point," Dumbledore mused. "In these dark times, as in the fifteenth century, it is often unwise and even quite dangerous to trust blindly. It is my hope that during your stay we shall all endeavor to earn your trust." He stressed the word "all" with a meaningful glance toward the end of the table.

Severus ate in silence.

"Well uh Miss uh Lyssanne," the big man called Hagrid began as he looked at her over his bushy beard. "What do ye plan on doin' while yer at Hogwarts?" He wiped his mouth on an enormous napkin and began to eat again even before she could reply.

"Well, I - I do not know, " she said thoughtfully. "I am exceedingly grateful for your gracious hospitality and do wish to find some way of repaying your generosity."

"There must be something that interests you," the healer Madam Pomfrey said enthusiastically. "As far as I'm concerned healing the sick is the most interesting in life. It is so rewarding. I am never bored. There's always something new to learn."

The woman's passion for her craft radiated from her like the brilliant summer sun emerging from a cloud. Lyssanne felt an instant kinship to her.

"I know exactly the feeling you speak of. It is a mirror of my own experience in teaching. I am, or was," she sighed, "caretaker of the village children. To see a young face light up with knowledge or the spark of comprehension dawn in the eyes of a child is, for me, a joy beyond words."

"Well then," Dumbledore said, his blue eyes sparkling like polished gems. "I think I have just the thing to occupy your time."

Snape's head turned abruptly and Lyssanne noticed. He had a scowl across his face and he listened intently.

"Oh? How may I be of service, Professor?"

"I think, if I am not mistaken, that we are in need of another elective course here at Hogwarts," Dumbledore said with a grin.

Snape set down his fork, quietly this time.

Minerva stopped pushing the carrots around on her plate.

Professor Sprout raised her eyebrows and no one could have missed Hagrid beaming, except for Madam Pomfrey who was retrieving her napkin from the floor.

"What type of course?' Lyssanne inquired. "I am completely at a loss as to what fields of study may be presented at a school of magic. And I must admit," she said blushing slightly, "that I am quite curious."

"I'm not sure what subject exactly," Dumbledore said thoughtfully. "We need an elective. Something a little out of the ordinary. What would you suggest Miss Caelestis? What would your people believe was important to teach the children?"

"I believe that the children of noble families - the boys, that is - were instructed in Latin, mathematics, and philosophy. However, I have always preferred literature. In fact, Llytlesby is, was, the only village in Lastarra to boast of a new generation of literate peasant children."

"It's settled then!" Dumbledore exclaimed. "We shall have to sort you into a house, Minerva will take you to Diagon Alley to buy a few supplies, and Severus will help you organize your classroom, become familiarized with teaching policies, and start writing a lesson plan." Still smiling he lifted his glass as if to propose a toast then added, "You need not worry about magic in the classroom. You will not need it and I shall forbid the students to perform magic during your lessons." He lowered his glass perhaps deciding that a toast was a bit much. "I'm glad we have settled the matter. I was beginning to wonder where I would find another professor, and, I'm afraid it may be a bit of time before you can return to your homeland." With this last he presented a sad smile in Lyssanne's direction.

She had no time to register the fact that Dumbledore had just suggested, no proclaimed, that she would teach a class in a school of magic. In the next instant, almost before Dumbledore had finished speaking, Lyssanne's consciousness was assaulted by a wave of emotion so brief, yet so powerful, that it nearly pushed her back against her chair. As a streak of lightning illuminates the night sky and is gone, flashes of the innermost feelings of Severus Snape became clear to her for the first time. There was concern, for the welfare of the students perhaps, and - jealousy? - Yes, though she could not fathom the reason for it. Overshadowing it all was a growing indignation, and Lyssanne braced herself for the explosion that would surely come in the next seconds. She didn't have long to wait.

***

He could not believe what he had just heard! A mere muggle, or whatever she was, would be teaching at Hogwarts? A stranger who had just appeared out of nowhere in the night. What was the world coming to? Hogwarts was completely out of control because the headmaster had been swept up in the affairs of some poor girl from the past and a troubled kingdom. There were no kingdoms now. In modern times there should be considerations before someone was hired. True, the headmaster had chosen a werewolf, evil death eater in disguise, and other incompetent persons to instruct students in Defense Against the Dark Arts. But this girl, Lyssanne, wasn't even a part of their world!

Severus pushed his chair backward with such force that it tottered noisily as he rose from his seat. He turned to face Dumbledore and glared at the girl.

"What is the meaning of this?!" he said as if he were addressing his students, his voice rising with every word.

The headmaster remained calm, his cool blue eyes fixed on Severus.

"Severus, my dear boy, I hardly think this the time or the place to raise objections with my selection of new faculty."

"I am growing uncertain of your judgment," Severus said more quietly.

He could not believe that the headmaster had referred to him as his "dear boy" in front of the entire staff of Hogwarts. Was the man trying to prove some kind of point? Did he honestly believe that such a comment would soothe Severus into silent submission?

"Perhaps we should discuss your concerns in my office. We could retire there in a moment for a bit of after dinner tea." Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling again as he spoke.

Tea? The last thing Severus needed was a spot of tea. Was he supposed to just forget everything? Albus should know that he, Severus, was not a mild spoken compliant little professor. He had his own mind, complete with his own thoughts. Was he not free to express them before the assembled faculty?

"Might it be wise to invite any other members of the faculty, who, despite their present silence, might object to your hasty selection of faculty?" Severus suggested coldly as he returned to his chair, which needed straightening before it could be sat upon.

The table was quiet accept for a few rustles of those who were still eating. Those with larger appetites than Severus possessed. Lyssanne was blushing and looked as though she could slip under the table. She shot a glance at Severus, and whatever he saw in her eyes, he knew not what it was, but he didn't think he liked it.

"I am unaware of any such objections," Dumbledore said.

Most everyone began eating again and a few politely excused themselves from the table without looking back.

Severus had lost his appetite entirely. To make matters worse, he now had a pounding headache. He could feel the blood pumping through his veins. Each vein was going to burst. There was too much blood...not enough room...head pounding...questions unanswered...an old, unreasonable but usually wise, man sat much too close to Severus.

Dumbledore was standing up. Severus was shaken from the thoughts inside his reactive body.

"I believe I will retire to my chambers." He said to everyone. "I have some personal matters to which I must attend. Severus, if you wish to have any further discussion with me please come to my office in the morning. Lyssanne I will be expecting you for your sorting ceremony tomorrow morning at precisely nine o'clock. We shall do that in my office as well."

A few professors gave their goodnights.

"Goodnight, everyone!" Dumbledore exclaimed enthusiastically. "Rest well. We will soon be busy with students who have slipped out of bed, are ill at the most inconvenient hour, or who have devised most interesting pranks in the middle of the night." His eyes danced as he spoke of the little brats as though they were his long lost relatives. The old man loved pranks and late night adventures far too much.

Severus burst through the faculty exit behind him, leaving Lyssanne to sit alone at the head table in stunned silence.