Quote:
Originally Posted by
Duncan Williams 
When he wasn't teaching or giving extra lessons or even eating, Duncan was trying to get used to this gigantic display of old architecture that the British wizards liked to live and study in. Labyrinthine corridors and moving staircases followed him wherever he went but they were nothing compared to the feeling of familiarity and being lost at the same time.
Finally, he found himself in this room, one he'd taken note of many times before. Being a Potions Master, he was used to analysing things by their scent so it wasn't long before he found himself wrinkling his nose at the stench that clung to the air. It smelt old. It felt old. And there, faintly, was a smell of something that was both tangy and sweet at the same time. Deep sniff... pineapple?
He took out his wand and waved it in the air in an attempt to clear up some of the stench. Personal preference, you know. He didn't think Mel would like being asked to come to a room that didn't smell pleasantly. In fact, a glance at his watch - which had been adjusted to this timezone - told him that she should be arriving any minute now, granted that she wasn't lost. He'd made the specifications clear in the sealed letter he'd left on her desk: sixth floor corridor, office at the end of the corridor. As far as he knew, this was the only office on this side of the corridor. Though his eyes did linger on the doors that led off of this room as well.
... Huh.
She was almost never late, and if she was, something was terribly wrong. Unlike her brother, she had already grown used to the castle and knew almost all of its various walkways and ways of getting from place to another. She could used to living here, she thought, if she didn’t have very specific reasons for being in America. Those same reasons had ensured she come here, to Hogwarts.
“Brother,” she said softly as she slid through the doorway. She firmly shut the door behind her and
locked it. It had been months since she could speak to him candidly, and she wanted to do so now. But even in a locked seemingly empty office, she couldn’t. Everything had to be guarded, coded. Speaking in subtlety was irritating, like an itch she could never fully scratch. She approached Duncan, though, and smiled.
“Brother. We can speak almost like we can back home,” she whispered.
“We did it. We’re here.” she gestured all around her.
She turned to eye up the decor of the room. There was nothing. Nowhere to sit, nowhere to even
stand comfortably. The mirror showing their reflections made her smile ominously though.
“Duncan, I've spoken to who we both miss.” Her switch to French was seamless. Thankfully, too, their French would be very different from any French speaking person from France or even Canada. Southern French was a dialect all its own and difficult to understand.
“We will soon be able to pass the pixie dust along,” she turned to face him. Her hard, dark eyes met his. He would know what this meant.
“And the one we spoke of...he graduates in a year’s time.”
Duncan should also know what that meant, too. Her eyes darted to the door out of paranoia. She drew her wand.
“Muffliato.”