Emma hesitated outside the door of the staff lounge, feeling incredibly self-conscious as she considered whether she should enter. She'd been so busy for the last month that she'd barely stirred from the infirmary, and occasionally the Great Hall for meals.

But she'd found herself with some idle time on this afternoon and had decided it was time to seek out the mysterious staff lounge. As a student, she'd never been inside, and she was having flashbacks to those years when the lives of professors had been of only vague interest to her. The staff lounge was off-limits to students; it was as simple as that. Emma wondered if other former-students-turned-professors had had the same problem. Maybe she could ask them, if she could get herself to walk inside.

Still she dawdled, pulling her long, black hair over her shoulder and twisting it into a messy braid, smoothing her hands down the front of her spring green robes to make sure there were no stains from the potion she'd been working on earlier.

Finally, she couldn't delay any longer. At any moment, someone could approach or leave the lounge and catch her loitering. With a steadying breath, she swung open the door and strode inside confidently...and promptly caught her toe on the curled edge of a carpet. Emma Prince made her entrance into the staff lounge by sprawling face-first at the feet of those present with a horrified squeak.

She pressed her face into her hands on the floor, wishing that apparition worked within the grounds of Hogwarts. She could return to the infirmary and spend the rest of her career hiding there.

Over breakfast, the Daily Prophet had forecast fog in London and an unseasonably warm Thursday for mid March, but as ever in Scotland the weather hovered somewhere above freezing and still cold to need the winter robes. The sky was dotted with intermittent blankets of cloud all morning, the sixth floor arithmancy classroom gave an excellent view. As much as the view remained second to none, the isolation rather got to Camille some days.

Thursdays were her afternoon off, of sorts, though she had no reason to visit Hogsmeade, and still had some trepidation at long distance apparation to London. The floo was one of her least favourite methods of travel, so she had elected on this occasion to stay put, but relocate to somewhere more sociable.

The staff room on the ground floor was a long, panelled room, with mismatched dark wooden chairs. There was a fire crackling in the grate, as it seemed to be all year round. Camille had chosen an armchair grouped near the fire and had enjoyed the conversation of her colleagues until they had been drawn away to teach, or other duties. In the absence of continued conversation, she had begun a letter to her sister in Paris, though set it aside when conversation presented.

At the sound of the door handle turning, she had looked up expectantly, and gave a start when the arrival suddenly pitched forward and vanished below the furniture between them with a squeak. The letter was discarded with quill, and Camille was up in an instant, hurrying across the flagstones to the prone figure in green robes.

“Gracious!” Camille exclaimed, more in alarm at the poor face pressed into the floor, than anything sarcastic. “My dear, are you quite alright? Are you hurt - here let me help you up -,” her motherly attention came quite as second nature, as she crouched to reach out to Emma.

'Oh, I'm fine, thanks. You can just leave me here,' Emma said, Irish lilt muffled by the floor.

After another moment of assessment, the healer decided that she wasn't really hurt and could face the indignity of her entrance. She pushed up to hands and knees, then sat back on her heels for a moment as both sets of limbs protested. Her palms and knees were going to be bruised from smacking against the stone floor, but other than that, and her embarrassment, Emma was no worse for the wear.

She finally glanced up to see who had come to her rescue and recognized Professor Duerr. 'Thank you,' Emma said with a faint smile, knowing that her face was still scarlet with humiliation. She took the offered hand and stood, straightening and brushing dust from her clothes to occupy herself. Emma was afraid to look around to see if any of the other professors had noticed her spectacular entrance.

The staff room fire flared. A thin but not overly tall wizard stepped out. He had a long black beard. Very dark brown eyes. He wore deep red almost brown robes. Fine gold trim. Flowing. And upon his head a tight black turban. Under his arm he gripped a brown paper package tied up with string. He twirled his wand up over his head with a flourish. The soot on his robes lifted like rain reversed. It vanished as it lifted.

"Good afternoon." He spoke formally. Gave a little bow. Ever so polite. Professor Singh was the Head of Gryffindor and the transfiguration professor. He was a calm presence in the school. Which was lucky. The students were energetic.

Ravindar noticed Emma at once. They had met several times before. But he had not seen her in the staff room. All seemed calm though. No emergency.

"Emma. How are you? Are you well?" Asked Ravindar. She was often looking out for Grant and Temple. They were both in Gryffindor.

“… You can just leave me here.”

Camille’s crouched posture suddenly straightened, a little confused by the suggestion anyone would leave another on the floor prostrate.

But after a moment Emma came to her senses and began to peel from the floor, uttering thanks for her concern. She took Camille’s hand and they ascended together.

“Good afternoon.” Ravindar arrived in the fireplace and addressed the room. He was dressed impeccably as ever. Camille had to admire his robes. One day she would have the money to go to the same tailor.

“Good afternoon Ravindar,” Camille greeted brightly, and then turned back to Emma, lowering her voice, “There now, in one piece.” She squeezed the witch’s hand before she released it out of social awkwardness, not wishing to draw further attention to the misstep, and to allow Emma to answer the Head of Gryffindor’s question.

Emma just knew that her pale skin had gone a blotchy red in embarrassment. Why hadn't she just turned to her animagus form? She could have scampered off into a corner to hide.

She glanced up and offer Camilla a grateful smile for her help, but dropped her gaze again before replying to the other professor who'd arrived and seemed to be carefully not commenting directly on her accident. She'd be grateful for that at some point. Right now, near crippling embarrassment was all she could manage.

'I'm well, Professor Singh. Thank you. I, erm, had a quiet afternoon, so I decided I felt like being sociable.' Emma swung her arms nervously, using the movement to swipe at and straighten her robes slightly.

She moved hesitantly toward a cluster of seats near the fireplace and hoped there was tea. Perhaps if she could busy herself with tea and biscuits, Emma might manage to recover some equilibrium.

"Such a pleasure to have you join us." Said Professor Singh. He mirrored her gesture by reaching his arms out to either side. Indicating the loop of chairs facing the fire.

He decided to stop to enjoy the company of others. He placed his package down. The brown paper crinkled. With a swirl and the grace of a dancer. Ravindar shed his outer cloak. It floated from his fingers to the hat stand. He clasped his hands together. "How do you take your tea?" He asked Emma. Then set about it.

Another teacup leapt from the stack and assembled itself before Professor Singh. A moment later the latch of the staff room door lifted and a tall, smartly dressed wizard with silver hair crossed the threshold. Where the fireplace and the good nature of the colleagues already assembled made the room feel warm and welcoming, this wizard was all sharp angles and had the expression of the opposite.

His long, dark navy robes hung just above ankle height, revealing polished boots beneath which crossed the room in purposeful strides. He all but ignored his colleagues, going to the far side of the room before rifling through a bundle of papers on a table and inspecting inside the cover of a discarded book. His motions had the suggestion that the mess irritated him.

He turned, extended the book to Professor Singh who was busy, and suddenly noticed the presence of the latest Hogwarts healer in the room.

“Prince,” Professor Storm addressed, a hint of surprise in his voice. He had sent two third years up to her that morning. They’d knocked each other out by casting curses simultaneously. This was a fairly standard day in his classroom. It was unusual to get more than two weekdays without someone arriving at the hospital wing from a defence lesson induced injury. So far she hadn’t darkened his door to ‘have a word’ like his predecessors.

“Is the infirmary empty?” He asked, incredulously.

'Thank you, Professor Singh,' Emma said to the transfiguration professor as she sank to perch on the edge of a chair. 'Just milk, please,' she indicated.

Emma had begun to relax slightly when the DADA professor entered. His intensity made her nervous, and when Storm addressed her, Emma nearly jumped out of her seat. She hadn't spoken to many of the professors since she was usually busy in the infirmary; hadn't even made it to many meals because there were often students that had to stay over. The healer had had far more trays brought up from the kitchen since she'd begun working at Hogwarts than eaten meals in the Great Hall. Consequently, she hardly knew any of her colleagues and wasn't sure if Professor Storm's incredulity was directed at her or if it was more general.

'It is,' she responded, only a slight hitch to her voice. 'And I'll be alerted if anyone arrives there for help.' Emma felt the need to defend her choice to emerge from her cave.

Emma made her way into the cluster of seats around the fireplace while Ravindar shed his cloak. It drifted across the room of its own accord to the hat stand as he enquired how Emma took her tea.

Camille returned to her still-warm armchair near the fire. The sound of teacups and bubbling water accompanied the crackle of the fire in the hearth. It was one of her favourite parts of working at Hogwarts - spending time with colleagues in a social moment away from the students.

There went the latch again, and in came the Deputy Headmaster. Ignan always looked like he was in a bad mood, and often was too busy to linger, so Camille merely glanced at his arrival. Instead, she shot Emma a knowing smile. Camille blew on the ink on her half-completed letter to her sister, and carefully folded it away.

"Is the infirmary empty?" Ignan's sudden question and the tone in which it was phrased made Camille look up and round at him in surprise. She glanced between her colleagues, intrigued at how this would play out.

"It is, and I'll be alerted if anyone arrives there for help." Emma replied with barely a hesitation, seemingly unphased by the grumpy professor.

"Has it been a week of theory in your lessons, Ignan?" Camille asked, posed mischievously. "Word is you tend to keep Hogwarts healers busy." She winked at Emma. "Isn't that right Ravindar?" She drew her other colleague back into the conversation.

The teacups knew when someone was coming for tea. They were delightful and clever. Ravindar smiled. But he did not predict Professor Storm would be the fourth for tea. He did not look like he was stopping for tea. Ravindar poured.

Suddenly a book thrust in his direction. He put the teapot down. Took the book from Ignan. Looked at it closer. Distracted. Turning pages. Had Storm borrowed this? He did not remember loaning it.

Camille asked him a question. He had not paid attention. Impolite of him.
"Uh... yes?" He hazarded a guess. Trusting Camille not to lead him into trouble. Glanced at the others. Checking their reaction. Camille looked amused. He put the book down. Hurriedly changed the subject.
"Tea Ignan?"

Apparently Prince had healed every stuffy nose and headache in Hogwarts, for she agreed her infirmary was truly empty. With the outbreak of Praecantatio Deliquus at the new year, the infirmary had been stacked to the rafters. It was one reason Greyfriar had struck a deal with Miranda, as Head Healer, to loan a qualified member of the hospital. Emma's voluntary move up to Scotland more recently had been warmly received.

"Has it been a week of theory in your lessons, Ignan?" His cousin suggested, the corners of her eyes creasing. He knew exactly what she meant without the additional clarification for the recent appointment. His glare conveyed his disappointment at her teasing.

Professor Singh's tentative response caused a turn of the glacial stare to the Head of Gryffindor instead. He was normally above it all. The Arithmancy Professor was sniggering, but the way Singh glanced about them, book in hand, suggested he had misunderstood.
"Tea Ignan?"

The white-haired professor gave the briefest of pauses to consider before nodding. There were four teacups already set out, and only three other people in the room. He could hardly stalk out now. He had to even the score.

"I sent two students to you this morning." He raised his voice. "It wouldn't be Defence Against the Dark Arts without practical application of said defence, Professor Duerr. I doubt an abacus poses much of a threat in your classroom." Too much paper and not enough action in her subject. "Courage is key," he added as a proud afterthought, and crossed between the witches to take a high-backed dusky blue armchair with wings, leaving a seat free between him and their newest colleague.

Emma felt a bit wistful as the others spoke. They seemed to be quite familiar with each other, enough to tease, though Professor Storm appeared to be taking it all seriously. None of them had been professors when she'd been a student, so Emma had no idea how long they'd been colleagues.

She took a teacup, grateful to have something to do with her hands, but somewhat worried about spilling the hot liquid on herself with as nervous as she was. Nerves didn't help her clumsiness in the slightest.

But the healer could answer the deputy headmaster further. 'Sure and it was a quiet morning other than your two,' she said, her voice much calmer than she actually felt, though her Irish accent was stronger.  'Only a few small scrapes and bruises, and one case of an allergic reaction to a potions ingredient.' Emma paused for a sip of tea, the milk having cooled the liquid to the perfect temperature.

With a boldness that surprised her, Emma added, 'It is important for the students to learn to defend themselves. Though I'd be grateful of some warning before any particularly dangerous lessons.' There was the barest hint of humor in her tone.

Ravindar tapped his wand on each of the teacups. Away they flew. Steadily. Not fast enough to spill the tea. They found their drinkers. Hanging in midair. Waiting for hands to pluck them from their gravity defying feat. Professor Singh took his seat opposite to his senior. With the ladies to his left and right. They made a rough square between them.

"My subject has sent you a few." Said Ravindar. "I always remind them self transfiguration is difficult but youth and curiosity..." Ravindar gestured with both hands. Then took his teacup and saucer in both. He sat poised. "One of my third years[1] lost all her hair trying to change it a fortnight ago." He told the others. "You were so kind." He said to Emma. "She told me how embarrassed she was. She did not want to see me disappointed so did not come to me first."

1.	npc making conversation

To Camille’s delight, but also considerable surprise, Ravindar got in on the joke! She had always thought him far too patient and straight-laced to take a pinch at the stoic Ignan, who often deserved it. He looked a little rabbit caught in wand-light when he realised, especially when Ignan turned his pale glare on the Transfiguration Professor. This only delighted Camille further - was a new development in their friendship!

Despite their ribbing, they became a quartet for tea.
“I doubt an abacus poses much of a threat in your classroom.” Camille chuckled, her cheeks rising up to narrow her eyes with laughter.

“… it was a quiet morning other than your two.” Emma confirmed, and to Camille’s continued delight, stood up to Ignan. “I’d be grateful of some warning before any particularly dangerous lessons.”

“A daily owl then,” Camille couldn’t resist muttering, before hiding behind her teacup. Ravindar had meanwhile come to his patient senses and was navigating the jibes away from their Deputy Head.

“My subject has sent you a few…” He intervened. Camille listened, but also found herself studying the fabric of his robes once more. “One of my third years lost all her hair trying to change it a fortnight ago.”

“Helaas![1]” Camille muttered. “Was it reversed or did it need to grow back?” She asked Emma.

1.	Alas/Too Bad!