When night fell, after dinner was over and she had tucked her kids into bed herself, reading their story an kissing them goodnight, she went to her room and changed clothes. She dressed in a long black broomstick skirt, a black blouse, black boots and a black veil, with her black cloak. She tucked away Remus's book where it belonged and left a single red rose on Brian's pillow. She had double checked on the location of the pack--who were now in the little tiny narrow twisted tangles of Knockturn Alley.
She apparated there alone. She wandered the street by herself. There were all sorts of unsavory witches and wizards who preferred the night, and they were crowding the dark arts corridor. She saw her stone on her neck starting faintly to glow. She was on the right track. She pulled the cloak closer to hide the stone's light.
And then she picked up on the scent. It was a combination of wet, dirty dog and unbathed human. She knew that scent anywhere. He was close.
Back at the house, Edward ported in from Tuscany with a fierceness that Angus rarely ever saw. Edward came in, in a hurry, in a swirling mist of white mist. It was powerful and elegant--and it was a man on a mission. Edward snatched the newspaper from Robert and looked at him with an urgency that Angus had, likewise, rarely seen.
"Where is your daughter?" Edward demanded. "This moment. Where is she?"
by 
