Lorcan was up in the bedroom repacking a small bag. He'd packed it late last night with everything he thought he'd need when he went back south to see if there was anything that could be done for a population of mirrorbirds that had been on the muggle news -- grotesque birds falling dead in the streets of Dover, and no one knew where they came from. Lorcan did; they came from Dover, but they usually had better camouflage, when there was magic. And they deserved better than to die because no one was paying attention, and with everything that was happening around him, Lorcan felt the need to do something, even if it was only a gesture against the chaos that seemed to be coming.
But he hadn't left early; he got distracted scanning the news and then he'd got the call from his grandfather, and he'd paused his plans to see if anything else would happen. In the middle of writing in his journal he'd wondered if anyone had thought to warn the centaurs in the Forbidden Forest, and it had seemed important, and easier to just go warn them himself than to try to figure out what anyone else might have done. (But warning them had not been a rewarding task -- they'd already heard, though Lorcan couldn't figure out if they were leaving or if they just enjoyed being cryptic.)
And by the time he got back it was afternoon and he'd barely had time to eat lunch before his grandfather had called again, and because of that call, Lorcan was now heading south with all the gold he had and a nice muggle change of clothes to see if he could bail his grandfather out of gaol. And trying to think of anything else he might need.
Corrie at the door didn't stop his packing; he couldn't hear what she was shouting, but he shouted back "Come in!" and told Min "Show Corrie up, please."