October Twilight

October Twilight
Chapter Seven
“Morsmordre”

January 9th, 1978
7th Year

An oppressive silence hung over the professors and students as they walked through the halls of Hogwarts Castle. The long procession had begun on the seventh floor at Gryffindor Tower, wound around to Ravenclaw Tower, down the marble staircase to Hufflepuff Cellar, and through the labyrinthine halls to Slytherin Dungeon. Professor Dumbledore and the Heads of House led the long line of silent students all dressed in black robes.

There were no House rivalries on the first day back after Christmas holiday. Every House had lost members during the Christmas Eve Raid. The Great Hall had been draped with blank black banners and all the candles extinguished. The only light came from the single candle held by each student.

Silently, they filed into the Hall and began the long, solemn walk around the room. The tables had been pushed against the walls, leaving an open chasm in the very center of the Great Hall. Smiling photographs of the deceased students sat on the House tables and the High Table. Twenty-seven students and two professors had died on Christmas Eve. In all, Death Eaters had murdered sixty people that day.

With her head bowed, Dorcas moved past the portraits of Geraldine Hart, Stefan Comte, and Michaela McVeirden. Tears blurring her vision and staining her cheeks, she stopped in front of Annabel’s memorial. The photo had been taken the day before sixth-year began. Dorcas had been in the studio, laughing raucously with Annabel’s Muggle sister. It had been sweltering that day, but Mrs. Knight had insisted that Annabel wear her cloak and Hufflepuff scarf for one picture. Under enchanted snow, sweating profusely, and with her owl perched on her arm, Annabel had forced a smile.

Dorcas laid down the bouquet of yellow roses below Annabel’s picture. Professor Sprout, pressing a handkerchief to her cheeks, patted Dorcas softly on the back. She presented a writhing green plant in a clay pot, but couldn’t find the words to describe why she would leave such an ugly flower for Annabel. But she didn’t need to. Dorcas remembered vividly how she and Annabel had accidentally caused their mandrake to choke on a rock and die in second-year.

Inappropriate as it seemed, Dorcas couldn’t contain her laughter. Tears spilled freely down her cheeks as her laughs turned to sobs.

Professor Sprout moved on to the next memorial for Skylar Pierce, a hopelessly timid second-year. Lily appeared beside Dorcas and wrapped her arms around her best friend’s shoulders. They stood there silently, their foreheads pressed together for what seemed like hours. Only when the other seventh-year Hufflepuffs approached did Dorcas and Lily leave to give them some privacy.

The memorials seemed to go on forever. The more faces of deceased students Dorcas saw, the less she could distinguish between those who were her friends and those she didn’t know. The tragedy was too great to grieve for some and not for others.

Lines of students formed at the High Table to pay their last respects to Professor Sayid and Professor Mitchell. Dorcas had never taken a Muggle Studies course, but she had always wondered about quirky Professor Mitchell and his fascination with Muggle ink pens. He always had great splotches of blue ink on his robes and a vibrant orange pen tucked behind his ear. Professor Sayid had been the seventh and best Defense Against the Dark Arts professor they had ever had. Dorcas had learned more in one term with him than in six years combined.

Slowly, the students left the Great Hall and returned to their common rooms. Lily and Dorcas passed groups of students tearfully departing the memorials of their friends. Dorcas glanced over her shoulder at Annabel’s picture one last time. It didn’t seem real that such a young life could be snubbed out so cruelly. Annabel had so much talent and so many dreams that would never been fulfilled.

Just like all the others, she thought sadly.

Her eyes fell on a group of young boys huddled around Tyson Sander’s memorial. Fresh tears sprung to her eyes as she spotted Darius among them. Her little brother, so young and full of life, was bidding farewell to his best friend. All of Hogwarts had been scarred by this tragedy. She prayed that this never happened again. She prayed that her little brother and sister could be spared the losses inevitable in war.

*~*~*

February 3rd, 1979

“No!” Dorcas screamed.

Her shrill cry rent the night air. Vaguely, she felt Black grasping at her arm, but she jerked away from him. Her legs pumped of their own volition, carrying her the half mile to her house. Her vision blurred with adrenaline and tears, but the ugly skull and snake glittering brightly above Meadowes Manor taunted her and urged her on.

In Hampshire Village, the Muggles were standing on their front steps, pointing curiously at the Dark Mark, unaware of how much danger they were in. There could be Death Eaters or Inferi or dementors anywhere, but they didn’t know this and continued to gawk at the mass of green stars without realizing the gravity of the situation.

The cold winter air burned Dorcas’s lungs, but she refused to stop running. She could think only of her father sitting in the drawing room waiting for her to come home. They had been on such bad terms since Halloween. If anything happened to him, they would be eternally parted without ever making amends. In the back of her mind, she was also thinking of her Uncle Malcolm, their Secret Keeper. Clearly Death Eaters had found their home, and that meant either he was dead and the Fidelius Charm broken or he had been tortured into giving up the information.

She stumbled at the gate, crashing to the frozen ground. She thought she had tripped on a rock, but realized a moment later that Black had caught up and was keeping her from entering the grounds. The wrought iron gate had been blown off its hinges. The intertwined M’s, the place where Dorcas had placed the wards, had been reduced to a pool of melted metal.

Looking up, Dorcas saw why Black had restrained her. Great billows of black smoke were rising from the burning house. The naked branches of the ancient trees surrounding Meadowes Manor showed signs of the duel that had taken place. One trunk had been split in two and had crushed the western portion of the house.

Dorcas slumped onto the ground with her legs folded awkwardly under her. She felt Black’s breath grazing her cheek, almost like he was whispering to her, but she couldn’t distinguish any words. She could only hear the creaking of the burning beams and the crackle of the flames. Her father was nowhere to be seen and the fire had overwhelmed the house.

A high-pitched squeal snapped Dorcas out of her daze. She squinted into the darkness, searching for the source of the noise. The brilliant green light of a Killing Curse lit up an area to the left just long enough for Dorcas to see Millie the House-elf crashing through the forest before she fell over dead.

Without thinking, Dorcas sprinted forwards. Black cursed loudly as she pulled away from him and followed after her with his wand out.

Dorcas stumbled through the woods, tripping over logs and snagging her clothes on briars while looking for Millie. She could hear Black behind her and another person to her left, most likely the Death Eater who had killed Millie. Her foot caught on a knot of brambles, and she collapsed into a shallow snow bank. For a moment, she could concentrate only on finding her breath.

She looked up slowly, squinting into the darkness. The canopy of evergreen branches overhead blocked out the moon and stars, but the fire from the house cast eerie orange-tinged shadows through the thick trees. She could make out a large dark shape a few feet in front of her.

“Lumos!” she whispered, pulling out her wand.

When the soft blue light appeared, the rustling to her left ceased and was replaced by a loud whooshing sound. She threw herself to the ground just in time to dodge the Killing Curse sent in her direction. It hit a tree, which groaned against the force of the Curse and burst into flame.

“Stupefy!” she heard Black call.

The light from the burning tree and flash of Black’s Stunner illuminated the dark shape on the ground. Dorcas felt her insides lurch.

She stared in horror at the lifeless body of her father. He was lying face down in the dirt, his blank gray eyes staring at Millie’s dead body. His face was contorted as if he had been uttering a complicated spell when the Killing Curse hit him, and his wand was still clutched in his hand. From his positioning, Dorcas could only assume he had been hit from behind. Horror turned to disgust and anger as she realized how her father had been murdered.

“Nox!” she whispered.

The light extinguished, plunging the woods into semi-darkness. Black and the Death Eater were still somewhere in the woods, both creeping through the snow as silently as possible. She checked her anger, breathing slowly and deeply like Dumbledore had taught her. She had to make sure not to hurt Black and that meant she needed clarity.

For five seconds she focused completely on the image of her father’s dead body. She let the emotions swell and fester. Then she stuffed them away into the deepest recesses of her mind. Her Occlumency defenses firmly in place, she began searching for the Death Eater still lurking in the forest.

It seemed as though Dorcas stood in the woods for hours listening for the slightest hint of movement. The Death Eater probably wouldn’t be aware that the Anti-Apparation wards covered the entire Meadowes Estate. Just as she suspected, a cloud of misty pink stars appeared several hundred feet away. The Death Eater had tried to Apparate on the fringes of the woods and triggered the wards.

“Vestigor!” Dorcas cried, pointing her wand at the pink stars.

The Tracking Charm would follow the Death Eater no matter how cleverly he concealed his presence. With the wand lying on her palm, Dorcas chased after the Death Eater. He had half a mile to run before he could Disapparate, and she was sure she could catch up to him. She might not have been athletic enough for Quidditch, but she had never lost a game of Tag or Capture the Flag. No one could outrun Dorcas, especially not a cowardly Death Eater who murdered a man from behind.

She crashed through the woods and emerged in the barren field between Meadowes Manor and Hampshire Village. The moon bathed the field in cold blue light and reflected off the ankle deep snow. The Death Eater shot a few spells over his shoulder, but he seemed intent on escaping.

Dorcas sprinted after him, leaping through the snow as agile as a deer, except that she was the predator. When she was only a few yards from the Death Eater, she gripped her wand and pointed it at the fleeing wizard.

“Captus Tractium!”

A tongue of bright orange flame like a whip wrapped around the Death Eater’s legs. He stumbled and fell face first into the snow. Dorcas closed the distance between herself and the Death Eater as the spell dissolved and he jumped to his feet.

“Did you kill my father?” she demanded, her wand pointing at the Death Eater’s chest.

She was the same height as the Death Eater, but purposefully avoided eye contact. She had shut away her emotions for the moment, but Dumbledore had warned her that many Death Eaters were skilled Legilimens.

A wave of pain consumed Dorcas. Every fiber of her being screamed for release from the total agony. Just as quickly, the Cruciatus Curse lifted, leaving Dorcas panting and sprawled in the snow. She moved her head slowly, her eyes traveling up the black robes to stop at the masked face. She was in over her head and she knew it. The Death Eater hadn’t so much as whispered the incantation, but had cast a very powerful Unforgivable Curse. Her eyes darted to the wand pointed at her forehead. At any moment, he could kill her and she wouldn’t know it until she saw the green light and heard the rushing sound.

Dorcas and the Death Eater stared at one another for a pregnant moment. The destruction of Meadowes Manor and her father’s murder were not the work of only one wizard, and so this Death Eater might not have murdered her father, but he would know who did. She was as good as dead if she didn’t do something. Her eyes darted towards the white picket fence just twenty feet away. Beyond the fence, she could Apparate, but she couldn’t leave Black behind. The Death Eater followed her line of sight, and putting the pieces together, began walking backwards with his wand still pointing at her.

Dorcas shifted her weight to her knees, ignoring the stabbing pains left behind in the wake of the Cruciatus Curse. He was waiting to strike until he could safely Disapparate. She would have to make her move now or he would escape and she would never know who had killed her father.

Dorcas took a deep breath, summoning all her mental energy. She would have to do this without a wand or the Death Eater would block it, which would be a disaster. She stared directly into the black depths of the wizard’s eyes. Next moment, he stumbled backwards, caught unaware by the force of her mental attack.

Two images had barely flashed behind her eyes before a powerful Occlumency shield forced her out of his mind. But two images were enough. She knew who had murdered her father.

The Death Eater struck back just as quickly and forcefully as Dorcas had.

Dumbledore was inspecting her wand … the Whomping Willow was frozen … Potter’s body lay motionless at the foot of the stairs while He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named walked past him …

Just as Dorcas raised her wand to repel the Legilimency, she felt a spell brush past her arm, and the Death Eater was thrown into the fence so forcefully that the wood splintered. Black was only a few feet behind her, his wand still raised. When she turned back towards the fence, the Death Eater had Diapparated.

Dorcas and Black looked at one another silently, both breathing heavily with wands still clutched in their fists. Dorcas couldn’t find the words to thank Black, who had probably saved her from another Cruciatus Curse. The full weight of the situation was settling in now that she knew who had murdered her father and what she had done to find out his identity. Dumbledore would be furious with her.

Dorcas moved past Black and began the long trek back to her burning home. She glanced briefly at the crowd of Muggles standing beneath the town sign. Obliviators were already moving through the throng and a group of Aurors led by Moody approached Dorcas and Black from the same direction.

“You two all right? No injuries?” Moody growled.

Dorcas couldn’t bring herself to answer so she just kept walking towards the house. She moved almost automatically in the direction of the woods. Behind her, Black whispered to Moody. She couldn’t hear the words, but she knew what he was saying.

The immediate threat was gone, but the tragedy was just beginning. Dorcas had never reconciled with her father, and she knew that she would be forever haunted by their final argument. She and Darius were alone now, both of their parents and innocent little sister dead within a year. Malcolm Meadowes would have died before betraying his brother, and so her cousins and aunt had lost a father and a husband, if they hadn’t been killed as well.

She fell to her knees beside her father’s body. Everything had been in vain--the Fidelius Charm, the carefully placed locks, the wards on the property--they had done nothing but lull Dorcas into a false sense of security. Her father was among the highest ranking Hit Wizards at the Ministry, but even he wasn’t invincible. Just like her mum and Calliope, he had fallen to a Killing Curse.

“We need to take you to Holly Falls,” Black said quietly, placing a hand on Dorcas’s shoulder.

She pulled away from his touch and shook her head. “No.”

“The Aurors will take care of … things,” he replied, his voice sounding strained. “You need to see a Healer.”

“I’m fine,” she insisted, sitting back on her knees.

“You’re bleeding.” Black reached forward tentatively, in case she recoiled again, and illuminated her forearm with his wand tip.

The wound was a gaping cut like one from a weakly cast Severing Charm. The snow around her was stained red from the seeping wound. Strangely, she didn’t feel anything and couldn’t remember where it had come from. The sight of her own blood sobered her enough to control her emotions. With a shaky breath, she focused her mind on the image of a pacing sphinx. As the Occlumency shield settled into place, Dorcas climbed to her feet.

“The Aurors have removed the Anti-Apparation ward for now. We can leave from here,” Black said.

Dorcas nodded absently, her eyes still focused on her father’s body. “Not to Holly Falls.”

Black hesitated. “Moody said Dumbledore--”

“I’m not talking to Dumbledore tonight. I don’t feel like having my mind invaded and being scolded for what he sees there. Take me somewhere else.” The tone in her voice brooked no argument.

Black glanced around, searching for a reason not to agree. The Aurors were extinguishing the fire with their wands, and a group of Emergency Medi-Wizards had arrived to collect Mr. Meadowes’s body.

“All right,” he sighed, linking his arm with Dorcas’s. “Stay close.”

Next moment, they were standing outside Black’s apartment complex. Dorcas was irritated that he’d felt the need to guide her to a place she’d been before, but she didn’t mention it. She couldn’t find the energy to snap at him.

Everything seemed surreal to Dorcas. She felt two steps removed from the crowded London street and the people bustling past her, like she was witnessing the scene in a Pensieve instead of actively participating. Her tears had dried up and her mind gone blank. The oppressive Occlumency defense she had been trained to use at all times blocked out the more painful emotions from her consciousness and separated her from the world around her.

She followed Black up the stairs and into his flat. The piles of empty bottles had grown and the dirty clothes now spilled over from the hallway into the sitting room. Black steered her to the sofa and knelt down in front of her.

“Any special complications I should know about?” he asked, pointing his wand at Dorcas’s injured forearm. When she shook her head, Black said, “Claudio Corpus!”

If she hadn’t been so numb to everything around her, she would have been impressed. The cut sealed over and Black dressed it with transfigured bandages.

“If it weren’t for your aversion to blood, you’d make a good Medi-Wizard.”

Black was looking at her strangely, almost like he was seeing her for the first time. “If you want to talk …”

She shook her head. “Not now.”

Black ran one hand through his dark hair, looking awkwardly at the carpet as he did so. “If you ever want to … I’ll … be here.”

Dorcas forced a smile onto her lips, but it didn’t fool Black. “Thank you.”

How long they sat in Black’s drawing room staring at the fire they never knew. Dorcas’s mind was painfully blank. She didn’t usually hide every thought and feeling with Occlumency, but she knew that if she let one thread out, her defenses would be destroyed.

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would be looking for her now. If the Death Eater hadn’t pieced together the images he’d seen, then the Dark Lord would. She had to keep her defenses strong regardless of the pain it caused her. If she didn’t, hundreds could die because of her mistake.

“You should rest.”

“I can’t.”

“It’s not healthy--”

“I’m the trainee Healer, thanks. I think I know what is and isn’t healthy. Right now, sleeping is the worst remedy.”

Black’s brow furrowed as he tried to understand her meaning. “I really think--”

“You can think all you want, but you don’t know everything! I’ve done something stupid and if I sleep, I’ll only make it worse!”

“What did you do?”

“I can’t tell you.”

Black made a derisive sound in the back of his throat. “How convenient.” He was silent for a few minutes, but Dorcas barely registered the time it took him to respond. “At least have some tea.”

Dorcas grunted noncommittally. Black disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Dorcas alone with her thoughtless staring. It was somehow harder to deal with the silence inside her head without someone else in the room. When Black returned with the tea, she sipped it tentatively, not trusting him to prepare anything properly. It wasn’t the best, but it was strong and the caffeine would keep her awake for a few more hours at least.

It was only when her eyelids began to feel heavy that she noticed a funny taste in the tea, like ground clover. She glared at Black, not at all surprised to see that he wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“How much did you put in here?” she demanded.

“Two ounces.”

“Two ounces in an eight ounce cup of tea!? You’re an idiot, Black.”

She tried very hard to keep her eyes open, but caffeine mixed with undiluted clover was almost impossible to resist. According to her calculations, she would sleep for twelve and a half hours. Of course, Black hadn’t thought to give her anything for dreamless sleep. The last thing she remembered was the orange light of the fire dancing in the hearth.

Exactly twelve and a half hours later, Dorcas’s senses return to her one by one. Her skin felt very hot and her head ached from too much sleep. The room around her was pitch black except for a sliver of light coming from under the door. She pushed herself up slowly, squinting into the darkness. She could just make out a large shape in the farthest corner of the room and a window covered with heavy drapes on the opposite wall. She struggled with the heavy duvet, finally kicking it clean off the bed.

It was the squeaking of bedsprings that caused her to pause. She couldn’t be in her own bed, but she also didn’t remember falling asleep.

The newest song from Full Moon Blush, her favorite band, crackled over the Wizard Wireless Network from a few rooms away. Dorcas pulled out her wand cautiously and whispered, “Lumos!”

The blue light illuminated a room not unlike her own bedroom. The large piece of furniture in the corner turned out to be a bookcase just as cramped and overflowing as her own. A dresser with all the drawers open and robes spilling out stood between the bookshelf and door. The floor was hidden by mounds of clothes, mostly discarded black robes with intertwined silver M’s on the right lapel.

“Black,” Dorcas whispered, remembering the tea laced with clover.

She relaxed against the headboard for a moment before the events of the previous day returned to her. The Dark Mark … Meadowes Manor on fire … her father’s body … the Death Eater. She sat up suddenly; panic sending a surge of adrenaline through her body.

The Death Eater would have told He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named about what he had seen. The Dark Lord would want her on his side now. And Black had made her sleep, a state in which her mind was more vulnerable than at any other time. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named couldn’t do anything to her over long distances, but who was to say that he didn’t know where she was? It would only take a Location Charm, a spell ridiculously easy for a wizard like the Dark Lord, to find her.

Dorcas rose from the bed purposefully and strode into the hallway. Black was kneeling in front of the fire, talking with James Potter’s head. Her plan to scold Black was ruined by Potter’s head, so Dorcas flopped onto the couch, scowling at nothing in particular. A few minutes later, Potter disappeared.

“I didn’t think you’d ever wake up.”

Dorcas arched any eyebrow. “And here I thought you gave me clover out of the goodness of your heart.”

Black looked at her curiously. “Are you … I mean … Do you need anything?”

“What’s that look about?”

“Nothing,” he said too quickly. “I just thought some sleep might … maybe you’d want to talk …”

“I don’t.”

Black sat back in the reclining chair, once again studying Dorcas thoughtfully. “How are you so calm about this? It’s not like you, Meadowes. You were always so emotional about stuff.”

Dorcas swallowed thickly. “I know Occlumency.”

“How did you ….” He stopped himself from finishing the question, realizing the answer might make the situation worse. “It’s not really supposed to be used for--”

“I know that,” Dorcas replied coldly. She stood up abruptly. “I should go see my family now.”

Black was still gazing at her closely. “Dorcas, it’s okay to be upset. Your dad just died.”

“I know that!” Dorcas cried.

She reeled backwards, trying her hardest to push down the emotions surging through her after being shut behind the Occlumency shield for so long. She couldn’t stem the flow once it began. Tears leaked out the corners of her eyes and her lower lip trembled. Black guided her back to the sofa and sat beside her, his hand moving in comforting circles on her back.

“I know that both of my parents are dead and that Darius and I are alone now. I know that the last thing I said to my dad was that he was unreasonable and I wanted to move back to London. I know that my dad’s brother and his whole family are probably dead. I know that I’m not talking to Lily and Remus and something could happen to any of us at any moment. And I know that You-Know-Who is going to be after me because of something stupid I did.”

Dorcas said all of this through the tears clogging her throat. When she finished, her cheeks were stained with tears and her shoulders shaking with sobs. She leaned forward and buried her face in Black’s chest. She didn’t know how long she cried, only that Black let her cling to his shoulders and rubbed her back until she pulled away.

“I don’t know why you’re being so nice to me after all the horrible things I’ve said to you and about you but thank you,” Dorcas said, whipping her eyes.

“We were all right until fourth-year, weren’t we?”

Dorcas nodded. “Yeah, we were.”

Black went into the kitchen to put on some tea (he promised not to put anything except sugar in it) and left Dorcas to compose herself. According to the clock above the mantle, it was eleven o’clock on a Thursday. Despite the late hour, she was wide-awake and had a lot to do. She needed to go to St. Mungo’s and make preparations for her dad’s funeral, and she needed to check on her Aunt Alice and her cousins, her Uncle Malcolm’s wife and daughters.

Before she did any of that, she had to go to Hogwarts and tell Darius. Black had told her about a complex exchange of Patronuses between himself, Moody, and Dumbledore. They arrived at the decision that Dorcas could come to Hogwarts and tell Darius rather than him being told by Professor McGonagall or a letter from the Ministry of Magic.

After a cup of tea and a quick shower, Dorcas wrote a letter to her Uncle Jon, her mum’s brother, explaining the situation and asking if she and Darius could come stay with them until after the funeral. Black volunteered his owl to deliver the note.

“Well, I guess I should get going. It’s not fair to make Darius wait so long. He deserves to know,” Dorcas said, more to convince herself than Black.

“You can use the fire,” Black said, holding out a flower pot full of Floo Powder. “Do you want me to come with you?”

Dorcas was surprised at the gesture. He had already done so much more than she had ever expected from him. She nodded, and tried, but failed, to smile.

“Thank you.” When he nodded in return, she took a pinch from the flower pot and threw it into the fire. “Professor Sprout’s office!”

She stepped into the green flames, tucking her arms in and squeezing her eyes shut. She hated traveling by Floo Powder, but it was the fastest and safest way into Hogwarts Castle. Next moment, she stepped out of the grate into the professor’s office. It hadn’t changed at all in the past year. It still smelled earthy and potted plants of every variety were perched along the high shelves under the windows.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been in here,” Black said, as he stepped out of the fire. “Sprout always sent James and me to McGonagall.”

“Professor Sprout is a softie, that’s why. She was afraid she’d crack under your charming smiles.”

The plain brown door between two bookshelves came crashing open and Professor Sprout skidded into the room with her dressing gown half-covering paisley pajamas and her hair even more frizzy than normal.

“Intruders! Intruders in the Herbology Department!” She stopped short when she saw Dorcas. “Miss Meadowes? Mr. Black? What in the world is going on?”

“Professor Sprout,” Dorcas began, but words failed her. She paused for a few moments to regain her composure. “I need to speak with Darius.”

Professor Sprout’s jovial smile slipped off her lips. “Oh. Oh, dear. I’ll … I’ll call Minerva.” She hurried over to the fire grate and threw in some Floo Powder. “Minerva, it’s Pomona. I need you to bring Darius Meadowes to my office.”

The green fire swirled to life and Professor McGonagall stepped out of the hearth a moment later. She was wearing a tartan dressing gown and looking very displeased.

“What in the world for, Pomona? Can’t it wait until morning?” Her gaze fell on Dorcas and Black. “Oh … oh, I see. I’ll go fetch him.”

Ten minutes later, Professor McGonagall returned with Darius in tow. He was still dressed in his Gryffindor robes and didn’t look the least bit tired.

“We’ll wait outside,” Professor Sprout said, guiding Black out of the office.

Darius’s politely quizzical expression faded when he saw his sister standing by the desk looking resolutely at the floor.