Takes One to Know One

Chapter Two: Brother, Can You Spare...?

Promptly at nine, Marisa returned to Chris's office. "Paging Dr. Haends," she called out. Odd groans answered her greeting, and she added, "That was an allusion, not a suggestion, you twit." Pause. "Chris?"

His head popped up from behind the heavy mahogany desk in one corner. "Greetings, Marisa Haworthia Saldivar. One bag of holding, coming up," he said, levitating a small duffel towards her feet. "Couldn't find it for a moment." His face assumed an unusual gravity, and he waved a toothpick. "Shall madam ride this fine broomstick?"

"Don't mock me--not this morning. What's wrong with the usual?"

"Nothin'. Probably safer, too. Okay, you won't need all this--but shrunken broomstick, check. Regular and Sue clothes, relevant paraphernalia, list of teen miscreants, Feld-signed bona fides, and a little field-tested collection that Rachel and I put together, check. Ownership tag for one Reese Salverton--mustn't get confused--also check." Chris pointed to the duffel. "As they say, it's all inside. Might want to glance through it before you reach Hogwarts. Now, here's what you need to know about the official half of the bag of tricks."

Fifteen minutes later, Marisa felt almost vertiginously overwhelmed. "I feel silly asking, but how do we know the Sue potion will work properly? Isn't an undetectable disguise the cornerstone of this endeavour?"

Chris looked smug. "The bag of tricks has your back. Anyway, we trust your patented ingenuity. Even Feld. He mentioned your flair for the practical, so refreshing in a historian--though he probably attributes it to relative youth."

"Ah, like yours?"

"Quite," Chris replied, rumpling his white hair. "You will investigate the bag, won't you?"

"Yes. I'm visiting with a friend in London tonight before going on to Hogwarts. Thank you so much for arranging things, Chris."

"Best of luck, then, and see you in a few days!"

Marisa smiled and wished him a pleasant afternoon of classes. Perhaps she could think of a practical, impressively vital application for History of Magic so that the school board would reappoint her once she'd returned, wayward exchange students in tow. She suspected the board retained Chris as much for his willingness to pursue extracurricular activities as for his pedagogical expertise and flair.

That was the last coherent thought she registered for some time. After successive transit woes--the Floo connections to NY Grand Central were painfully oversubscribed, and apparition across the Atlantic failed to soothe her digestion--Marisa almost didn't care whether she ever returned. Fortunately, she was able to stumble the few blocks to Alice's flat without mishap.

A warm hug, two cups of tea, and a scone later, Marisa felt restored. Her host bustled about preparing supper while she explained roughly half of what had prompted the unusual outing. "So I'm to talk like you, more or less, so that the professors feel comfortable, and dress like a kid so the kids think I'm cool, and play a narc--do you have those here? Narcotics agents who lurk on school campuses?"

Alice shrugged. "Can't say. Can you still talk like me?"

Marisa said, "Have you got any paracetamol?" Both women laughed. "Really, I'd love some if you have it." As Alice disappeared into the loo, Marisa quickly cast an accent charm. Watching her phrasing would be difficult enough without remembering the quirks of pronunciation. Though she'd picked up Alice's speech mannerisms effortlessly during the year they'd worked together, straight out of school, she couldn't afford any errors the next day.

The conversation turned to reminiscences of their work with autistic children, nine years past, then Alice's annoyance with her counselling supervisor and Marisa's frustration that history was considered redundant.

Finally, finally, Alice vanished into her bedroom for some rest. Her guest cast a privacy charm before laying out the contents of the Sekrit Agent Sue duffel in neat piles. The miniature Sneakoscope (in hot pink, Marisa noted with irritation) went to one side for the morning; a collection of tiny vials on a charm bracelet was laid nearby; the accompanying manifest was placed atop the Sneakoscope, and after a moment's consideration she tucked both inside the string purse that she'd found in the duffel. Better to pretend someone had planted the sheet in her purse than have it found concealed on her person. With regret, she replaced the two-way pager in the duffel, for however useful it was at Salem, Hogwarts' wards would block its signal.

Marisa quickly disposed of the few remaining items and made a pile of tomorrow's tidy but decidedly young-looking attire. As she dragged herself to the couch, she wondered how, exactly, she would effect the Sue transformation without arousing anyone's curiosity. Sleep took her before she could devise a satisfactory answer.

Dawn brought Alice into the kitchen to prepare a quick but noisy meal before hurrying out the door. The friends exchanged farewells on the step, Alice running towards Euston Square and Marisa--Reese, she reminded herself--trudging the several blocks farther to King's Cross. Though she had decided to apparate to Hogsmeade, King's Cross featured kiosks where she could practice being Reese, or Sue, or whoever.

Edging the commuter stream, she ducked into an Underground stairwell. A muttered charm obscured her long enough to down Chris's first dose, and she leaned against the wall for several minutes while it took complete effect. A less girlish figure than her own, indeed, and longer hair, though still--she eyed a hank--the same weight and colour. Well, pondering how her colleague's mind worked could wait.

As Reese turned towards the way out, her abrupt visibility earned a jostle and a muttered "Watch yerself, gel." Before she could reply, the person had vanished into the mass for the Victoria line. She couldn't help feeling both grateful and annoyed by the interruption, for it reminded her forcibly: do not respond like an adult, do not draw more attention than you're likely to garner by appearance anyway. She sighed, paused, flipped her hair, remembered the time. Never mind W. H. Smith and a flimsy novel. She needed to continue to Hogsmeade immediately.

Reese crossed the road and ducked behind an administrative building. After looking both ways (with a wince for the mental phrasing), she apparated.

Hogsmeade lay quiet so early in the morning, and Reese encountered no one as she walked up to the school gates. The castle's imposing size and visible age awed her anew; she'd visited Hogwarts' grounds a few summers ago when a friend towed her through Hogsmeade and wizarding London. She reflected that the Salem school board wouldn't understand the sheer weight of history represented by the castle even if they had to live in it for a while. At least the silly kids she'd been sent to find could appreciate its appeal, the sublime otherness of an institution that had survived for a thousand years--even if the kids now threatened its identity.

With an effort Reese banished all introspective thought and let her expression relax. Three figures awaited her by the gate, and they expected yet another silly kid, not a scowling historian. Soon she could make out individual features: Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, and someone she didn't recognize. The last of these scowled at her, in fact, as she strolled up and flipped her hair. "Good morning! My name is Reese Salverton," pointedly to Dumbledore, "and I'm, er, rather surprised to see so many people here to greet me. It's--"

"The inane chatter is unnecessary, Miss Salverton," person number three said. "Simply step through this device so that each of us may return to our usual duties." The object indicated resembled nothing so much as a muggle airport's metal detector. A small knot formed in Reese's stomach.

"Now, Severus, seeing our guest safely through the doorway is part of our duties," said Dumbledore. So that was Chris's respected counterpart. "I regret the inconvenience, my dear," the headmaster added, turning to Reese, "but the Ministry have suggested we screen all visitors. Security concerns, you understand."

"Screen for what, sir? Explosives? Surely--"

"Less surety on your part will enable more on ours," Snape muttered.

McGonagall said, almost gently, "We're quite certain you aren't one of those horrid Sue creatures, Miss Salverton, but we must insist."

The small knot geminated, but Reese forced herself to smile sunnily. "Of course, Professor McGonagall." She risked a glance at Hogwarts's headmaster and caught a shallow nod. Still clutching her luggage, she stepped over to the device and squared her shoulders.