Cassiopeia smiled to herself as she spotted the windows of the cottage in the distance, illuminated by candlelight. That was one less thing to worry about. Professor Dumbledore wasn't one of those wizards who adopted muggle technologies as soon as there were no secrecy laws to prevent it. In her opinion, what the muggles did was simply compensation for their lack of magic. Very clever compensation in some cases, she admitted, but why anyone would prefer any of it to magic she couldn't understand at all.
She flew in on one of the old family carpets. It was intricately patterned, and large enough to comfortably seat a dozen, although this evening there was only Cassiopeia herself, sitting front and centre, and two house-elves behind her. Nearing the cottage, she let the carpet drift slowly to the ground, and once it had come to a halt, she stood and shed the warm blankets that she had pulled tightly around her, and the fur cloak beneath them. It was colder here than it ever was in Britain, and Cassi had to think always of her health. She didn't venture out in such weather without good reason.
Stepping off the carpet, she instructed the elves to fly it back home. When it was time for her to leave, she could simply Apparate, avoiding the need to brave the elements once again. She walked towards the front door, the hem of her dark grey over-robe trailing in the snow. Like most of her clothing, it was simple in design, but of the highest quality, and with the perfect fit that nothing off-the-rack could match. Beneath it, she wore a light blouse and a long, full skirt in a striking shade of blue.
She drew closer, and then the door opened before she had quite reached it – of course, he must have household wards every bit as sensitive as her own – and then Cassiopeia had her first glance at Dumbledore, whom she hadn't seen in person since leaving school in 1933. He hadn't changed terribly much, and she found that oddly pleasing. She smiled again, more broadly. 'Thank you!' she exclaimed. 'It was so very kind of you to invite me, Professor Dumbledore. It is truly lovely to see you again – and are you making Christmas biscuits? That is a simply wonderful smell.'
Even if she hadn't been pleased to see him, she would have made the effort, but this was someone who knew her. He no doubt remembered her as she had been: the little girl who came reluctantly to Hogwarts, shy and sickly but also, if she was honest about it, very spoilt and difficult. It hadn't been easy for her, but when the headmaster, Dippet, had told her that she'd likely have to repeat the first year, as she had missed so much of it, she had been utterly determined to make sure that didn't happen – and had succeeded. At fourteen her parents had wanted her to marry, and Cassi had avoided that fate by convincing them that she wanted to stay at school, that she was good at it. She could be very convincing when she needed to be. Again, her exam results proved her right.
And even if it had been seven years, and he had never been one of her favourite teachers to begin with – he favoured the Gryffindors and his politics were disagreeable! – having someone familiar here was a comfort to her.