March 22nd, 1891 — Outside Hogsmeade Hospital
Juliana hadn't entirely decided what to think of the interlude with Lachlan MacFusty on Wednesday night (or, in truth, early Thursday morning). Her conversation with Camilla had been... enlightening, but not particularly decisive. She knew she could go see him again, if she wanted; no one had caught on any of the previous times she'd snuck out through the floo late at night, and her parents were only going to get less uptight about her movements the farther away they got from the incident. His house was so remote that they were unlikely to ever be surprised there, especially if she only came in the middle of the night. She was perfectly capable of carrying on an affair with him, if she wanted to — but on a level that went beyond the mere logistics of it, she simply couldn't.
She had found herself thinking about him more than she would have liked, which Camilla had said was one of the signs, but she was convinced that was just because she'd accidentally walked out while still wearing his coat. It was a very damning piece of evidence indeed — and a very large piece of evidence, because he was a very large person, so ensuring it stayed hidden over the past few days had been quite the task. She'd hung it in her closet first, because as an unmarried woman with no interest in fashion no one ever came to help her dress these days — but then she'd gotten anxious about the housekeeper discovering it if she came to do laundry, so she'd take it down and folded it up and shoved it under the back corner of her research desk instead. Except it was so bulky that she kept accidentally brushing it with her toes, which always made her cheeks flush and entirely distracted her from whatever she was doing. She couldn't get anything done like that, so she'd moved the bundled coat to beneath her bed. It was dusty down there, though, so she hadn't been able to leave it more than an hour before she'd fished it out again. She was going to return it to him eventually, somehow, so she didn't want it to get dirty and moth-eaten in the meantime.
So she'd hung it up again, but over the edge of the door instead of in the closet, so she could remember to hide it again before she left her room. The problem then, however, was that it was exceptionally visible, and therefore distracting all over again. So it was the coat's fault, was the point — she wasn't thinking about Lachlan MacFusty because she liked him or wanted to be thinking about him, it was just because his damn coat kept staring at her while she was trying to work. She had to get rid of it, but how? It was too big to mail. Gertrude would never manage it, and if she tried to send it with Gertrude the senile old owl would probably misdeliver it, which would be yet another catastrophe — this time much worse than his handkerchief. It would be too large and bulky to take it to the post office, though; the package would be conspicuous and she wouldn't have any excuse for what she was doing.
She could have just taken it back to his house, of course; she knew the address and he never seemed to lock his floo. She might have done that, if she could be absolutely sure that she would be able to deliver it while he was out. She had no idea what sorts of working hours dragon-tamers kept, though. The only thing she knew for certain was that he had been home both of the times she'd called on him before, which was very little to go on. Both times were at night, so presumably he worked during the day? But he'd known to expect her both times, so might have taken extra steps to ensure that he was home; perhaps his schedule normally was more erratic. Or perhaps dragon-tamers worked like the members of the werewolf capture unit did, with several days working straight through the day and night followed by several days off. In any case, she didn't have enough information. She couldn't risk being in his home with him again, alone.
Which was what had brought her to the Hogsmeade Hospital, with a conspicuously large brown parcel under her arm. She needed to give it to someone else to give to him, because she couldn't see him herself without risking something else happening like what had happened on Wednesday. Anyone she gave it to, however, was going to make a good deal of assumptions. Unmarried women did not just end up with the coats of men they had no business even being alone with in the first place, and there was no reasonable explanation for why she had it. So she needed to give it to someone who, if they were going to make assumptions, at least wouldn't share those assumptions with anyone else. She hoped that the family ties in this case would be enough to make the idea of gossiping about this unappealing.
She'd timed this well, after having done her research to find out which shift Miss MacFusty would be on that day. She was a researcher, after all, so she had a particular set of skills which came in handy in this sort of circumstances. Juliana only had to wait outside about five minutes before she saw a redhead. She hadn't ever met Miss MacFusty before, but was reasonably sure she'd guessed correctly. The family resemblance was there, and she was here at the right time and the right place.
"Excuse me?" Juliana called, to get her attention. "Miss MacFusty? Juliana Binns."
She had found herself thinking about him more than she would have liked, which Camilla had said was one of the signs, but she was convinced that was just because she'd accidentally walked out while still wearing his coat. It was a very damning piece of evidence indeed — and a very large piece of evidence, because he was a very large person, so ensuring it stayed hidden over the past few days had been quite the task. She'd hung it in her closet first, because as an unmarried woman with no interest in fashion no one ever came to help her dress these days — but then she'd gotten anxious about the housekeeper discovering it if she came to do laundry, so she'd take it down and folded it up and shoved it under the back corner of her research desk instead. Except it was so bulky that she kept accidentally brushing it with her toes, which always made her cheeks flush and entirely distracted her from whatever she was doing. She couldn't get anything done like that, so she'd moved the bundled coat to beneath her bed. It was dusty down there, though, so she hadn't been able to leave it more than an hour before she'd fished it out again. She was going to return it to him eventually, somehow, so she didn't want it to get dirty and moth-eaten in the meantime.
So she'd hung it up again, but over the edge of the door instead of in the closet, so she could remember to hide it again before she left her room. The problem then, however, was that it was exceptionally visible, and therefore distracting all over again. So it was the coat's fault, was the point — she wasn't thinking about Lachlan MacFusty because she liked him or wanted to be thinking about him, it was just because his damn coat kept staring at her while she was trying to work. She had to get rid of it, but how? It was too big to mail. Gertrude would never manage it, and if she tried to send it with Gertrude the senile old owl would probably misdeliver it, which would be yet another catastrophe — this time much worse than his handkerchief. It would be too large and bulky to take it to the post office, though; the package would be conspicuous and she wouldn't have any excuse for what she was doing.
She could have just taken it back to his house, of course; she knew the address and he never seemed to lock his floo. She might have done that, if she could be absolutely sure that she would be able to deliver it while he was out. She had no idea what sorts of working hours dragon-tamers kept, though. The only thing she knew for certain was that he had been home both of the times she'd called on him before, which was very little to go on. Both times were at night, so presumably he worked during the day? But he'd known to expect her both times, so might have taken extra steps to ensure that he was home; perhaps his schedule normally was more erratic. Or perhaps dragon-tamers worked like the members of the werewolf capture unit did, with several days working straight through the day and night followed by several days off. In any case, she didn't have enough information. She couldn't risk being in his home with him again, alone.
Which was what had brought her to the Hogsmeade Hospital, with a conspicuously large brown parcel under her arm. She needed to give it to someone else to give to him, because she couldn't see him herself without risking something else happening like what had happened on Wednesday. Anyone she gave it to, however, was going to make a good deal of assumptions. Unmarried women did not just end up with the coats of men they had no business even being alone with in the first place, and there was no reasonable explanation for why she had it. So she needed to give it to someone who, if they were going to make assumptions, at least wouldn't share those assumptions with anyone else. She hoped that the family ties in this case would be enough to make the idea of gossiping about this unappealing.
She'd timed this well, after having done her research to find out which shift Miss MacFusty would be on that day. She was a researcher, after all, so she had a particular set of skills which came in handy in this sort of circumstances. Juliana only had to wait outside about five minutes before she saw a redhead. She hadn't ever met Miss MacFusty before, but was reasonably sure she'd guessed correctly. The family resemblance was there, and she was here at the right time and the right place.
"Excuse me?" Juliana called, to get her attention. "Miss MacFusty? Juliana Binns."
Tilda MacFusty
Prof. Marlowe Forfang
Jules