Between the Devil and Durmstrang

"Try it again." Jones sprawled part way off the chair. It was mid afternoon and it seemed as though nothing was going right. A tiny hammer was pounding away behind her left eye and it felt as though someone had slipped a huge metal rod down her neck. It didn't help that the Great Hall had been full of Aurors when she had tried to get something to eat. A bag of slightly scorched microwave popcorn was not fulfilling its role as a substitute for food.

"Illumino!" Wronski stood in the middle of his living room cum lab flicking and swishing his new wand. Objects glowed at various levels of intensity. A book pulsed with an ugly strobing effect, an early attempt. The basic concept had been mastered; the consistency left a lot to be desired. The latest target, the dartboard, gave off an icy blue glow, the best result thus far.

"Good. Now do the test tube rack."

"Can't we do something else?" Wronski pointed at the dart board. "That looks perfect. I'm sick of this one."

"That's the only perfect one. Do it again."

Hands on hips, he steamed at her. "Why?"

"Finite Incantatem!" She didn't bother to use a wand. "Do it again."

For a moment, it looked as though he was about to throw a tantrum. The brows drew down, the lips pursed and his face began to turn an ugly red color. He had been working on the same spell for two hours. It had taken one hour and fifty-five minutes to successfully produce the required result - far too long. Paul Wronski had reached his limit.

"C'mon, Paul. One more time and then we'll call it quits. Prove to me that you can do it again. Ok?" She wasn't cut out for this. Teaching teenagers some basic Dark Arts skills was one thing, teaching a thirty-four year old man who had no training at all was another.

He took a deep breath and it was almost possible to hear him count to ten although he said nothing out loud. His hands slid off his hips to clench into fists, his feet stamped twice before he realized what he was doing. The pacing began again. For most of the two hours of his class, Wronski had paced back and forth in his small living area. Now, it was time to start again. On the second lap, he stopped, pointed his wand at the test tube rack and, with a small upward arc of his wrist said, "Illumino!" The rack glowed beautifully. Jones applauded the effect and called it satisfactory. Wronski bowed deeply and then collapsed into the other chair. "This magic stuff is harder than I thought it would be."

An eyebrow quirked in response. She threw back her head and groaned. "I'm starving! We need food! Real food!"

"You want to go into the hall with the forces of good in residence?" He chuffed a laugh. "You first. Me, I think I'll just fast."

"You're weird. You really don't care whether you eat or not, do you?" Jones regarded her companion with great annoyance. "How can you just sit there?"

"If you're that hungry, go kill something."

"What?"

"Go kill something. Change and go hunting or something. Accio some food for us. Swap a spell for a sandwich. Something. I dunno."

"I don't want to go hunting. I'm too slow most of the time." Jones rubbed at the place where the tiny hammer was growing larger by the moment. "What brought that up?"

He shrugged. "Loup. She hunts a lot. I thought I smelled blood a while ago."

Jones looked up at him through her fingers. "She spends too much time changed. Some times, she sounds like she's growling when she talks. She wouldn't have the anxiety thing so bad if she didn't spend all that time as a wolf."

Wronski snorted a laugh. "Not to hear her talk. She wanted to know why I don't use the spell more often." He assumed his normal slouch in the chair, his shoulders barely held up by the back. "She doesn't understand why we don't shift as often as she does." A thin smile crept over his face. "Have you noticed that Gregorov hardly talks at all to her? They do that weird non-verbal thing. He sniffs behind her ear sometimes."

"Better than other places." Jones' laugh had a gritty sound to it. "You were around when Tal was still alive. Was he like that then, too?"

Closing his eyes, Wronski steepled his fingers on his belly. "I can't remember. Seems like a long time ago. Tal was so dominant. Gregorov wasn't anywhere close to being in his class. He ran this department like a drill sergeant."

"Oh. Was he the department head?" Jones tried to rouse interest. "How come Rabe took over? Didn't Siegfried want it?"

"Dunno. I was trying to figure out what was what when Tal got shot. Rabe spends a lot of time sucking up. Kessler's too busy boffing the students. I remember thinking that Lowenstein should have been promoted."

"Ludwig? He's too lazy. None of the paperwork would ever get done. I wonder why Haken didn't apply." The headache paused for several heartbeats. "What's up with him? Why's he here and why is he telling Gregorov what to do?"

"Your least favorite person says she thinks he was a member of the police."

"Haken?" Jones considered that piece of news carefully. "No. Can't see it." She drew the sentence out, trying to sort through what little information she had on the man. "He strikes me as a wannabe."

Wronski was quiet, thoughtful. "I think you're wrong. Something's up with him."

They sat silently for a few minutes, each involved in his own thoughts. "What'd you do with the blood?" he asked in a low tone.

Her face went blank. "It's safe."

"Mueller?"

She shook her head. "Gave him a red herring."

He looked impressed. "How long is it, you know, good for? Does it ever get too old?"

"Yeah. It does. The fresher, the better. I figure it's useful for about a week, maybe two. I won't ever get another chance. That guy's a pro."

"Do you like him?"

"Who? Werner? He's kind of scary at times, but he's smart. Gotta respect that." Jones scratched her head thoughtfully. "He seems really tired. I wonder what he's going through with all these guys here."

"No, not Werner. Mueller. Do you like him?" Wronski's face was carefully neutral, but the voice had a plaintive note.

"Shit, Paul, I don't know. If you asked me last week, I'd have said yes. Now, I just don't know. Everything's in flux."

The tapping sound had been going on for a few seconds before they noticed. She stopped Wronski before he opened the door. "It's not safe. Remember that. Aperio!" A small window appeared in the doorway, showing the front of a black Auror uniform. Jones craned her neck about, trying to see the face.

"It's got to be Mueller. He's the only guy big enough." Wronski didn't wait and opened the door. On the other side of the ward's glow, Mueller waited with a pair of bags clutched in a hand. With a look that might have either been amused or annoyed, he held them up to show why he was there. Looking over his shoulder, Wronski grinned. "See. Told you." And walked through to meet him.

A hand snaked out to grab the American by the throat, pinning him against the other wall. From the safety of the warded area, Jones watched in horror as Werner's angry face came into view. "Professor Jones, we have come to talk to you."

Safe on her side of the wards, she stood very still and watched as Werner's hand tightened on Wronski's throat. She didn't think the Auror would kill her friend, but Wronski was already shaky and this might push him over the edge. She carefully weighed her options as Wronski grew redder and made grunting sounds as he fought with Werner. She could stay where she was and be safe and Wronski would probably be released or she could be quite probably foolish and leave the room. It wasn't as easy of a decision as it could have been.

Mueller watched her through the glow, his face impassive. If anything, he looked disappointed and, as their eyes met, she knew her little substitution had been discovered. Werner would check, wouldn't he? He'd cast the spells to verify that the blood on the cloth was his and, when it hadn't matched, he would have wanted to know whose it was. Not a great way to end a day.

"Let him go. He's not part of this. He doesn't understand."

Werner threw Wronski aside and, with deliberate small movements, turned to face her. His features were those of a cornered animal, lips pulled back, eyes slitted. Something precious to him was being held, something that could hurt or control. Jones suspected that it was the 'control' part that worried him. He'd told her several times that he had read all of the volumes of paperwork on her. While nothing had ever been proven, it would give an idea of what she was capable of.

"Your farce did not work. Give it to me." There was no emotion in the words, he could have been asking for directions.

"It's my insurance that we make it through this week unmolested. You can have it after they leave."

"Insurance? Do you think I would let them have you? I'm protecting you, you fool!" Werner hissed the last, his eyes almost closing and his hands balling into fists.

"Really? How noble. Let me be the judge of how well you're protecting us." To steady herself, Jones tapped out a cigarette, allowing the familiar motions to calm her. It was automatic, something she could do and not think about, something that made her look in control.

Werner wasn't fooled. He watched her eyes, watched the hands and ground his teeth as he waited for her to move. "I want it back."

"You'll have it. As soon as they leave. Sorry, Jo. Peterson has it in for me. I'm counting on you to make sure he doesn't haul me back to the States." She took a deep drag and held it in, feeling the burning sensation. She'd played similar games before, it all came down to whom was willing to call the bluff first. As she exhaled slowly, through the gray of the smoke and the soft pulse of the wards, she saw his eyes flicker and knew she'd won the round. They had their own silent conversation and contest of wills. It was a deal, an almost truce.

"I can only protect you here, nowhere else." The Auror's face relaxed for an instant and Jones saw the stress and the anxiety. Things were not going well.

"So, what's up? You might as well tell me. Or, if you'd rather, I can try to guess. Since I can't go eat dinner, it'll help pass the time."

"Ah. Yes, I see that dining would be uncomfortable in our presence. Perhaps something can be arranged. I have seen a black dog slinking around the kitchens at odd hours. At least she is well-fed. No small badgers or large cats." A mirthless grin stretched across the tired face, "Mueller, see to it that they get food delivered here. It is the least we can do for our fine friends."

"Thanks." Jones took another drag and watched for clues.

"Your friends, Smith and Peterson, they are quite confident about their techniques. We have heard a great deal about how your country deals with its Dark professionals. Why, just today, Mr. Peterson told us about many unsolved cases, most of which he attributed to your skills." He almost chuckled, but the sound came out more like a cough. "Were it true, you would have been casting spells every hour to have achieved so many victories. It is odd to me that they boast of the amount of crimes committed. Is it so very prevalent where you are from?"

She leaned in the doorway. "Well, we're an opportunistic country. It's the American way to make as much money as you can as quickly as you can. That sort of thinking means there's a lot of work for people like me. I suspect that Peterson might have exaggerated a bit, but maybe not. My sort tends not to talk about their work very much. You hear rumors and read things in the newspaper, but no one really talks about it. You understand."

Werner looked down for a moment and seemed lost in thought. "It does not seem to be the same here. Our methods have worked quite well for a very long time."

It all made sense. Werner's authority was on the line. His methods were questioned, his job possibly threatened. Jones had heard Smith brag that the new technologies cost less money and allowed them to employ fewer men. That was also the American way. The police forces she'd seen since she'd arrived at Durmstrang had always looked inflated to her, but she'd merely shrugged it off as the way it was. There had never been a drive to get rid of positions, not that she'd heard of anyway, and then the entrepreneurial Americans arrive with their machines that click and hum and there are promises of lower costs and more productivity. Somewhere, a beancounter must have smiled.

Nodding to herself, she tossed the cigarette butt through the wards and stepped out after it. "It isn't the same. The rules are different. I'm giving you my word that I won't use what I have against you - at least not for now. I'm keeping it until they're gone and then I'll give it back."

Werner deflated, the tension still showing in the lines of his face, but he seemed less edgy. "Tell me, Professor, are you really as expert as Mr. Peterson says you are? Your records are one thing, but the tales he tells are extraordinary."

"I know my stuff."

"And am I to believe that you have not practiced it since you have arrived?"

Jones gave a rueful laugh. "No. I haven't. You can tell Peterson that I live in fear of you and wouldn't dare cast a spell or bind someone against their will or help someone with a bad heart on down the path. He won't believe it, but I haven't done anything that wasn't connected with my job here at Durmstrang." She looked puzzled for a second. "Not sure why, but I haven't."

"It must be all the great food and clean mountain air," Wronski croaked as he massaged his throat.

"Yeah. Right. So, that's my deal. Sort of an armed truce. You protect me. Us," she corrected herself, looking over at Wronski, "and I'll give it back to you."

"It is not the deal I would have wished, but it is fair." Werner looked over at Mueller, "Get them some food and make the arrangements. I have an appointment to attend." The rigidity returned to his posture as he tried to force the weariness from his face. He looked angry, an improvement over the slightly defeated air. With a nod goodbye, Werner strode down the hallway to leave.

"I need a drink." Wronski croaked as he passed through his wards, one eye on Mueller.

When the door shut, Mueller turned to Jones and, sadly shaking his head, handed her the bags. He didn't say a word, just looked unhappy. A rush of shame spread over her as she took the luggage. He knew about the handkerchief and she wondered if he knew about the samples she'd taken. The cuts had been small, but they could be located. "Can I get you a drink? " Her voice sounded small as she offered.

Mueller turned and left, walking with his slow, measured pace. When he reached the door, she called out, "How about after you bring some dinner back?" She couldn't be certain, but it looked like he smiled just a bit before he left.