Callbacks

CHAPTER ONE: A PROPOSITION

There was an owl sitting quite comfortably on her oak four-poster.

Granted, there were many stranger things Hazel had been faced with in life, but she hadn't expected this particular situation again. Owl post. She hadn't received a letter this way in years.

She'd been impatient and curious even as a child, and an unwarranted letter was excuse for feminine instinct to take hold with an enthusiastic whoop. With a quick side glance to the owl, currently picking at his graying feathers quite happily, Hazel rescued the letter drowning in her copious amounts of unmade flannel bedspreads - even in the summer, the warmth and comfort felt delicious against her skin - and slid one slender finger under the flap of the envelope addressed in jade ink, so deep a green it was almost black.

The contents consisted of a thick sheet of yellowing parchment, which she immediately unfolded.

August 25

Miss Farren,

We are pleased to offer you the post of Professor of Dramatic Art for the following school year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

The post would require teaching student classes - fifth to seventh years - during the week and one weekly afternoon adult class, to be taught on Friday evenings. In recompense for your services, we will provide you an acceptable salary, room and board at Hogwarts, and facilities tailored to your personal preferences.

Headmaster Albus Dumbledore will be in contact with you shortly concerning the details of the position.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

The owl on her four-poster gave Hazel an encouraging hoot before taking off through the jagged shards formerly known as her bedroom window. God. It was going to cost a fortune to get the thing replaced. Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall owed her a sizeable pane of glass.

All annoyance aside, there was still the issue that she hadn't applied for the job of Professor of Dramatic Art at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. In fact, Hazel strongly doubted there was such a position at any magical school. Regardless, she was still only in a towel, and clothing would make it that much easier to think levelheadedly.

Hazel slathered herself down with pumpkin-and-cinnamon-scented body lotion - a stowaway favorite from her Salem U days - then slipped into casual summer clothing, a worn but clean pair of jeans and deep navy t-shirt, "OXFORD" stretched in bold grey letters across her front. After a brief bout with the hairdryer, it was into the kitchen for breakfast. Nothing better than carbs to counteract a bad morning. French toast might be nice, coated with a thin layer of butter and drowning a private, syrupy death . . . in fact, French toast sounded delicious. She strolled into the kitchen.

Hazel was greatly surprised to find herself facing the cerulean shoulder of a kindly-looking gentleman with a long gray beard and half-moon spectacles. For the third time of the morning, she swore audibly, then checked herself. Her mouth was really getting a bit carried away. It seemed to have picked up some nasty habits from God-knows-where. She'd have to keep careful watch on it.

"Ah, Miss Farren. I've taken the liberty of heating a pot of water. We shall have tea momentarily." His clear halcyon eyes smiled down at her benignly. "I believe Minerva told you to expect me?"

Hazel choked. Was she expecting an old man in long blue robes in the kitchen of her private sanctuary? Nope. Nothing going - nothing she knew of, at least. She raised an apprehensive eyebrow. "You are . . . ?" Letter. Letter. What had been in the letter?

"Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts." The kettle on Hazel's stove let out a piercing whistle. "Will you excuse me a moment, Miss Farren? Sit down, we'll have tea in just a moment."

She sank into one of the sturdy russet chairs encircling her round kitchen table, surprised at her own composure in the face of the morning's alarming events. Presently Dumbledore bustled in holding mismatched mugs of Hedley's Ceylon organic Earl Grey, before seating himself. She took a sip from her steaming mug, the familiar warmth comforting her disbelief. Surprisingly, it tasted better than usual.

"Professor Dumbledore," she began.

"Albus, please," he interjected gently. "Or Dumbledore. Or Professor, if you must, but I hate seeing the oral gymnastics everyone must go through every time they wish to speak with me."

"Professor." She sighed. "I'm not really in a state to tell you how surprised I was to receive your owl this morning. While I am in search of intern opportunities for the following year, I'm not considering a post at a magical institution in addition to my preferences of a Muggle theater company or high school. I'll have to decline your offer."

Dumbledore smiled. The young American actress was every bit as to-the-point as her brilliant mother. "Miss Farren, I'd be gratified if you'd hear the details of our proposal. I'm aware of the reasoning behind your desire to remain working apart from the magical world" - here his eyes were more of a piercing than a clear blue - "but I believe you might be surprised, perhaps for the third time this morning." He chuckled slightly.

The aging headmaster was very polite, and he had been kind enough to make her tea. Hazel hated to protest against his offer without at least giving him time to explain it in detail. "All right. Let's hear it, then."

Reaching into his heavy robes, Dumbledore pulled out a small silver box with hinges and a clasp. He placed it gently on the table facing Hazel, who gave him an uneasy glance. "Open it," he said mildly.

Hazel reached out uncertainly and lifted the lid of the box to uncover a small, perfect model of the interior space of a theater. Tiny purple plush seats scaled three of the theater's walls along the front and sides, almost completely boxing in the floor-level stage. The back wall had no chairs, but was left open for future background set pieces and scenery. The floor and walls were painted black. Examining the lid, she found an amazingly tiny, perfect working model of the theater's light and sound systems. The tech booth was located in the wall behind the front seating area - obscuring the technical staff completely. It was so similar to the space she'd worked in as a little girl, but made over as if to suit her exact needs and desires for the ideal performance space.

She looked up to find Dumbledore watching her musings. "Professor, this is incredible." He nodded cheerfully, but his eyes flicked back to the box. Hazel turned back to the tiny theater. Incredibly, miniscule actors in battle array were now walking out onto the stage, their piping voices combining and mingling to form the first words of the prologue to Henry V.

"This is the working model for Hogwarts' first theater. I wanted your opinion before its installation later this evening."

"My opinion, sir?"

"Miss Farren, our desire to begin a theater program at Hogwarts goes beyond just a superficial interest. The training may also prove invaluable to future Aurors within the ranks of our students. Magic cannot replace common sense." He regarded her seriously. "You know from personal experience the Wizarding community is not entirely receptive to Muggle-dominated art forms. By offering a theater course, Hogwarts will not only be providing skills that students may need in the war against Voldemort. The threat towards innocent non-wizards will only increase if we remain ignorant of Muggle culture."

She closed her eyes briefly, her face slightly pained. "Not too much pressure for a first interview. You haven't even told me the details of the offer yet."

Dumbledore chortled. "I assure you, you will be well compensated for your services to our school. Besides free reign of the theater department, theater facilities, lesson plans for both your Hogwarts classes and a once-weekly adult class, your living quarters and meals, you will be given a substantial salary and summer holidays free."

"Substantial salary?"

He named a figure that would have had any in the acting business immediately hunting for the right place to autograph the contract. Even with years of dorm living and meager actors' wages under her belt, Hazel's mouth went dry.

"And my school?" she queried, but Dumbledore cut her off.

"--has already approved Hogwarts as an internship site."

"Well."

It was as though Dumbledore was reading the Mental Pros of the situation from a printout of Hazel's brain. "Hogwarts will offer you the ability to control exactly what happens on your stage and will not limit your choices of in-class work by editing language, sexual content, or unpleasant moral issues - a luxury few schools will allow you. After a few years as Professor of Dramatic Art at Hogwarts, you will be more than prepared to pursue your career with enough financial backing to support yourself over several years, if you have trouble finding paying work. Of course, we'd be more than willing to hire you for longer than your internship requires."

Hazel had been warned from her first day of classes with her professors that limits would always be placed on her art. There were very specific definitions of what was and wasn't acceptable on stage, boundaries placed by PTAs and PTOs and school boards and boards of directors. But then Albus Dumbledore had Apparated in with his offer of absolute freedom within the school of magic. A concession to her parents' side, then, for what she wanted.

Dumbledore continued to view her pleasantly, but it suddenly seemed as though he were focusing on something behind her - or within her - as he continued to speak. "I've seen your Oxford work, Miss Farren. Your Beatrice opposite Richard Davis's Benedick was one of the most enthralling I've been privileged to witness. The 'Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while?' scene was superb." Hazel was surprised to see he'd gone slightly misty-eyed.

Beatrice had been her first lead at Oxford. Much to her surprise and the great envy of her older female classmates, she'd landed the part of Beatrice in the fall of her sophomore year opposite the department's resident senior heartthrob, Richard Davis.

Standing at the forefront of the stage with a wide smile to her standing ovation after the opening night performance, Hazel had briefly wished her parents had been in the house, front row center, to watch her success. Maybe they'd finally be convinced that her love for theater was worth passing up their approved career opportunities in the Wizarding community. If one more wizard actor was given the chance to pursue a Muggle occupation with his or her parents' approval, she thought, a year or two at Hogwarts would be well worth it.

"When can I move in?"

The beatific expression on the aging headmaster's face remained the same. "Term begins in approximately one week. Some of our staff have already taken up residence in their quarters, but most will be arriving within the next two or three days. Whenever you feel prepared to leave, you may Apparate in Hogsmeade, the nearby village, and stroll the remaining kilometer to the castle. As the weather in the village is quite lovely at the beginning of fall, your stroll will probably be very pleasant." He stood from the table. "I'm rather afraid I must be getting back to Hogwarts, but I'm pleased that you've decided to join the staff this year, Professor Farren."

She smiled slightly. "I'll be down tomorrow morning."

"Excellent. Enjoy this beautiful Grundalfjöður morning, my dear. I have always wanted to spend some time in Iceland, but it seems my family wasn't created for the strange bouts of eternal sun in the summer and constant darkness in the winter. My brother Aberforth once spent Christmas in Keflavik and nearly ended up hexing everyone within hearing distance due to a particularly nasty bout of Seasonal Affective Disorder." Dumbledore winked at her and promptly vanished from the room.

Hazel remained sitting at the table, very still. Goodbye Royal Shakespeare Company, she thought wryly. She felt strangely resigned to the fact that she'd just handed over everything she'd worked for to the kind, old man who'd appeared in her kitchen and made her tea.

Well, no sense in sitting and obsessing over it. She supposed she could always audition for them after her year of teaching, when she had a bit of money set aside to support herself if she wasn't immediately accepted into one of London's competitive professional theatre troupes.

In the meantime, she decided it would be best to say an official farewell to Iceland - at least until next summer.

The remainder of Hazel's morning was spent visiting the nearby volcanic deposits and some of her favorite haunts in the town. As the day waned, she pulled out her old school trunk from the bedroom closet and packed her clothes, favorite scripts, and personal effects. She deliberately took her time about it. The next step in packing would be awkward.

She kept her wand on the top shelf of the linen closet, behind several stacks of threadbare beach towels and boxes of her used schoolbooks from both Oxford and Salem University. Hazel had to retrieve three phone books and a chair from the kitchen to reach the back of the shelf. She rummaged around for several long seconds, nervously glancing at the ground several feet beneath her, until her fingers finally grasped the long, slim box.

Clambering down from her perch, Hazel slowly opened the beige box to reveal her nine-inch dragon heartstring and elm wand. Bits of dust fell onto the wand upon the box's opening, but it was otherwise clean and well-kept. Hazel had taken the time to polish it before she hid it away in the linen closet for good. Now she gingerly removed the slender wand from its case and turned back to the well-packed trunk in her bedroom.

It had been a long time since she'd set foot in any Wizarding area. Ever since that nasty disagreement with her parents . . . Hazel shut her eyes. She'd tried to think as little about her life in Currituck as she could over the past few years. Eventually, she'd succeeded. It wouldn't be as easy at Hogwarts. Hopefully the change of scenery and the busy schedule she'd been promised would be enough to stop her dwelling on unpleasant memories.

It had been a long time since she'd last held her wand.

Feeling surprisingly nervous, she muttered, "Reducio!" under her breath. The trunk shrank to the approximate mass of a Fun Size Snickers bar. Hazel was slightly amazed that she could still perform any spell sufficiently after four years of nonpractice. She moved the miniscule trunk from the floor onto her bedside table.

It was only then she realized she'd forgotten to pack her toothbrush. She had to re-enlarge the trunk and reduce it again - both times successfully. Hazel felt pleased with herself. At least she wouldn't look like a complete idiot at Hogwarts.

She stayed up late into the night, making objects fly across the room towards her and trying to recall how to turn her dressing gown into a life-size moving wizard poster of Alan Rickman.

Searching for her pajamas, Hazel realized she'd put them in the trunk she'd Reduced, along with her change of clothes for the next morning and everything she needed to get ready for the next day - shampoo, toothbrush, toothpaste, hairbrush. She'd have to enlarge the trunk and Reduce it again the next morning. So much for the lack of complete idiocy at Hogwarts, Hazel thought. I've done enough stupid things today to more than make up for it.

Finally exhausted, Hazel climbed into bed without the least hesitation about the day's major decision. After all, if she hated it she could always leave, and Hogwarts looked a hell of a lot better than most of the controlling, censoring public schools she could've come across.