Had anyone told Tilda years ago during her stint as Head Girl that she would eventually be flooing into the personal address of her beau who had been divorced and already had a child, she might have choked on her drink; not at the impropriety of doing such a brazen thing, but merely at the intimacy it implied. And yet here she was, tired and aching but refusing to sit down until she located Eugene. In all fairness, she'd exhausted every other option: his work had told her he was out, and when she reached the location he had been at, they'd told her he had finished not a quarter of an hour ago. Already tired from her assignment, Tilda had resolved to go to the place she knew he would eventually end up and stay put.

Which was how the witch found herself weary, with her carpetbag in hand and climbing from his floo into his sitting room. Brushing the residual dust off of her skirt, she took a refreshing -if not tired - breath, her lungs no longer at the mercy of the constant spinning due to floo travel. The place was quiet, and hopefully she wouldn't be discovered by the housekeeper - a thought that had completely escaped her attention as she paced the room.

A noise at the front told her someone was on their way in, and a quick discreet peek through the curtains told her it was Eugene. So when the lock clicked and she heard him close the door, Tilda rounded the corner and threw her arms around him. "Surprise!"

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