Stacking the Deck

Chapter 11

"Don't say anything." Jones glared at the sleepy-eyed Wronski. She emphasized the need for silence with a quick glance over her shoulder. At that hour of the morning, no one else in the staff room was interested in their whispered conversation. The rest did battle with their own groggy morning demons or, in Rabe's case, frantically reviewed notes for the Introduction to the Dark Arts classes that he had inherited from Haken.

Wronski's smirk refused to go away, but he hid it in the depths of his morning tea. His bloodshot eyes watched her every move, and, just when she managed to take her first sip of coffee, sang in a gravelly voice, "Wild horses, couldn't drag me away. Wild, wild horses couldn't drag me away...." He had the satisfaction of watching her spray coffee over the counter.

"Shut up."

"Did I say anything?" he asked, turning towards the pair of chairs he and Jones favored. Two steps later, he began humming and then singing under his breath. He changed to whistling while he set his mug down. Catching Jones' eye, he held one hand up as if draping it over someone's shoulder and the other encircled his invisible partner's waist. A quick shuffle to one side and a half turn later, he settled into his chair. Jones turned her back to him, her face flaming.

"Professor Wronski, you are cheerful this morning," Magda Lowenstein said with a laugh. "You look tired." Balancing her cup on its saucer, she walked the short distance from her spot on the couch to stand next to Wronski. "You must have made a conquest."

"A conquest? No. I wasn't the one with a conquest." Wronski resumed humming and, before Magda could press for details, picked up a journal from the stack next to his chair and opened it to an article.

The ruse delayed Magda for only a few moments during which she made a detailed study of the unnaturally upbeat Wronski. "No? Then why do you sing? It is not like you to be this cheerful in the morning." Arching her eyebrow in question, she took a sip from her cup. He flashed a grin, sang a few words of the chorus and then returned to his reading. Magda ignored his attempt at evasion. Her smile disappeared to be replaced by a calculating look. "I think you have a lover. Who is she?"

"Magda," Lowenstein called from the couch where he lounged. "Leave poor Professor Wronski alone. It is not for you to meddle with his affairs." He set his cup down on its saucer and held the set for her to collect. "I will be late tonight. The red team has a match this Friday."

"Yes. I know." Turning hard upon her heel, she left Wronski to take the cup and saucer from her husband. Before she left, she cast a speculative glance at the Potions teacher.

Jones waited until Magda left the room before joining her friend. Head down, eyes fixed on her coffee, she made an effort to look normal. Her face was still pink when she reached her chair. Wronski lowered his journal long enough to hum a snatch of the chorus. That was enough to refresh her blush. Not that it mattered. The others were caught up in their own morning. The usual level of self-involvement in the room was reassuring. The wolves sat at the table. In a growling voice, Gregorov complained to Loup that she wrote too many comments on the assignments she'd graded. It invited questions, he grumbled. Rabe huddled in a corner of one of the couches, frantically paging through lecture notes. Jones had never seen him so animated in the morning. His lips moved when he read, she noted with a sneer.

There was no sign of Kessler. Throughout September, there had been a succession of girlish giggles in his quarters. She didn't mean to keep track, but the year was still young and the number of voices was novel enough to notice. It was time to remind him about reinforcing his silencing charms soon. Being woken by the grunts, groans and moans from his latest amours was both annoying and more than a bit cruel. Kessler needed to be reminded every few months. The silencing charms were one of the more ephemeral magics and never held up very well.

Across the room, Haken stood next to the fireplace, reading. The usual smile was gone. There was no humor, real or feigned, in his face. Occasionally, he clenched his jaw while he read. Jones would have loved to have known what was in those sealed records. Looking golden in the dimly lit room, Lowenstein rose from the couch, eclipsing Haken. Lowenstein had acquired what Jones thought of as his "hunting face". He rarely talked to her which she found vaguely insulting. They both were considered specialists in wards but he was uninterested in talking shop.

Wednesday, the official worst day of the week, had arrived. Another day of bored teenagers ignoring her lectures in Ritual Magic. Maybe that would be offset by her Special Projects class. Today, they had to present their projects for the semester. She always looked forward to that. There had been some innovative work in the last two years' classes. Lighting a cigarette, she closed her eyes and began making bets with herself. There would be at least one demon-summoning. There always was. Since Gregorov had attempted it, the idea had taken hold. Some Dark Arts objects fabrication. Last year, someone had consecrated a black mirror and made it work - for a few moments. In Jones' opinion, it had been a few moments too long. The view of the particular realm the mirror had reflected had been gruesome. One person had raised a zombie. Ugly experiment. Hadn't worked quite the way it should have. Variations on the Imperius Curse, always useful. She'd had to exclude contact poisons. Wronski hadn't been able to come up with a good way to help her grade those. If it killed more than one person, was it a success or not? The film that wiped short-term memories had gotten extra credit points. No traces at all. No residual magical energies. Just a slime that could be discarded as any number of things. She had kept the list of ingredients and given the student extra points.

Special Projects was definitely the best of her courses. Detection and Dispersal still bothered her. She had to find something for them to do. They dutifully took notes and did all of the reading. It was pathetic how excited they were about each of the spells she demonstrated. It was all she could do not to yell that they were being duped. It didn't help that Heiniger monitored all of her lectures. He even took notes occasionally. With the way her year was going so far, the notes were probably to build a case for her dismissal.

The first cigarette tasted good so she followed it with a second one. Unfortunately, the coffee was cold. "That was fast," she griped and wrinkled her nose at the taste. "Guess it's officially fall. Snow will settle in soon."

"Uh huh," Wronski muttered and turned the page.

With a flick of a wand, she used the Cale spell to reheat the coffee. Too much energy for a little cup, but it wouldn't take long for the cold air to suck the heat away. Puffing meditatively, she allowed her mind to wander. It was only October and she already felt the weight of the school year as if it were March. Shaking her head at the ugly thought, she sucked down the last of the cigarette and then cautiously tapped at the side of her mug to see how hot it was.

"Whatcha going to do?" muttered Wronski. He lowered his magazine shield enough to catch her eye.

"About what?" The coffee had cooled to just below scalding. With one eye on him, she set the mug onto the stone floor. Mentally, she counted backward from ten and grabbed up the mug on the count of two. Drinkable.

"Hansy. He was pretty cute last night. Dancing you all over the place." Leaning forward, Wronski lowered his voice to a whisper. "How many times did he run you into a chair? I counted three, but Jan said four. I think he counted it when you got pushed into the table."

Jones closed her eyes and turned away. Her ears began to feel hot. "Quit it." The idea of a possible romance settled around her, feeling awkward after all the years of solitude. "He was hammered. I don't think he meant anything." When she looked back, Wronski was slouched in his chair, grinning. "Look, the man was drunk." In response, he began humming the chorus of "Wild Horses". "I spent the entire summer flirting with him and he did nothing. Ok? Nothing. Never touched me. I think last night was a fluke."

"Maybe it took him some time to make up his mind."

"Maybe. Probably not. According to what your buddy Massys says, a pureblood like him shouldn't bother with someone like me. I bet he's got a marriage arranged for him." She stuffed another cigarette into her mouth out of habit, but didn't light it. Instead, she chewed on the filter, working up a righteous indignation to help tide her through the day. "I'll bet he's already married. Or, he had too much to drink and tried to pretend I was someone else." Memories of the previous night came back. The whole thing had been weird. Very weird. She'd tried not to rehash the questions that kept springing up.

"He's not married. I asked. He's not engaged. Jan didn't know of anyone he was seeing." A cruel grin spread over Wronski's face. "He doesn't have a girlfriend or a boyfriend, if that's what you were wondering. I asked about that, too. Just for you."

Leaning as far away from him as she could, she maneuvered the cigarette to hang from the corner of her mouth. "Yeah. Right. Sure you did." The cigarette wagged reproachfully at Wronski who gave up trying to suppress his ever-growing grin. "Quit that." The grin widened. "So, he's not married. He doesn't have anyone on the side that Massys knows about." She tried putting a more positive spin on the situation, but the fantasy she'd carried for the last several months seemed less rather than more plausible. With a shake of her head, she stubbed out the unlit cigarette.

Wronski raised an eyebrow at the sight. "Really got to you, didn't it? I don't think I've ever seen you waste one of those." Tsking, he reached out and tapped her arm with his magazine. "What is your problem? I thought you were all moony over the black wall of death. You hadn't gone down to the village in weeks. Did you give up?"

Jones stared at the bent white cylinder in front of her. It looked like a metaphor of her life at present: unburned, twisted and chewed up. "I guess so. I don't know. Everything is so weird right now. I haven't heard back from any of my family. I wrote to everyone. I'm mad at Werner. Most of the time. Other times, I almost feel grateful. At least he tried to do something for me. It pisses me off that he never talked to me about it, but that's not his style. My classes are making me crazy."

"Want me to brew you something?"

"No, thanks. No magical happy potions for me. I just need to get through the week. I think I'll spend the weekend in bed with a sleazy novel." With a little groan, she rubbed her eyes. A tiny pinprick of a headache seemed ready to strike at the least provocation.

"I wasn't thinking of a potion per se. I was thinking I could distill some alcohol and get you roaring drunk. That way, you wouldn't notice when I stole the last bag of chips."

* * *

The day went better than it had any right to. All of the students in her first section of Ritual Magic had done their homework, a first. The Blood Rites I class that followed managed to take their pop quiz with barely a whimper. Lunch was blessed with an absence of wursts and, best of all, she found a forgotten package of cigarettes in one of the endless pockets that made up the lining of her coat. With Wronski buried in one of his chemistry journals and no one else to talk to, she opted to go outside and enjoy a smoke. It felt good to be in the quiet of the warm autumn sunshine. Leaning against the balustrade, she shut her eyes and tilted her face to the sun. Better soak it up now because winter and the endless dark would begin soon enough.

Warm sun, a full stomach and a "free" package of cigarettes. Not bad for a Wednesday. She lit her second and watched as the smoke spiraled upwards. Amazing how simple life could be. Her basic needs pared down to just these few things. If she tried very hard to ignore her other problems, life wasn't half bad. A little lonely at night, but bearable.

Sticking the cigarette into the corner of her mouth, she dug through her pockets, looking for something sweet. Her coat held more candy wrappers than she wanted to think about. Eventually, her search yielded a roll of mints. As she tore at the bright foil wrapper, she heard it: the crunch of footsteps on the gravel path. Jones finished her cigarette and popped a mint into her mouth. At first, all she saw was a black mass at the bottom of the path, but that was enough to let her know that Durmstrang was receiving a visit from some of the local Aurors. It sent her into a flutter. One hand patted at her hair while the other tugged her shirt down and pulled her slacks up. Coat open or buttoned? Casting a jaundiced eye over her ensemble, buttoned seemed the best answer. The sunshine caught the pale hair of Werner and the black wall of death behind him had to be Mueller. First, she stood straight and then quickly opted to slouch against the stone of the staircase. Better to look cocky than desperate.

The effort went to waste. Werner nodded a greeting as he passed and Mueller barely acknowledged her. She stood at the base of the stairs and watched them ascend. Before she had a chance to work up a good mad, the bells tolled the end of lunch. Defiantly, she lit another cigarette and puffed it all the way to the door where the unlucky soul serving as the doorman met her with a baleful glare. It was petty, she decided and snuffed it out.

The day continued in its positive course. Ritual Magic I's second section were all on time and had their homework ready. Wisely, no one asked about the missing test. Adler even condescended to taking a few notes. Still, she couldn't help but stiffen when they filed out the door at the end of their class. The Special Projects course was, as usual, wonderful. She couldn't help but beam at them when they each stood and presented their project for the semester. They were all ready and they all had such good ideas (not a single demon-summoning in the group) that Jones' mood improved immensely. They finished earlier than she had expected, so she let them chat while she dug out her notes for what would have been the next class.

"...and that's how I would set the Repurcussus. It would misdirect anyone's search."

"It would still allow them to know a spell has been cast."

"Yes, but they would not know where."

Jones looked up, fascinated as always by any conversation about usage. Erica Kreisel and Veronika Stettler, two of the better students in what was arguably the cream of the Dark Arts students bent over a roll of parchment.

Erica pursed her lips as she thought, her forefinger drawing a design on the parchment in front of her. "True, but they would still detect the energy. It would work far better if you could mislead them as to the sort of spell cast. Perhaps some sort of dispersal technique could be applied and then a secondary spell set?"

"Mmmm. It could be done, but timing is always an issue." Veronika leaned back and stared at the ceiling. "So much depends on the timing. Or," she said, looking excited, "the forethought! Ah! If you had your secondary spells set up in advance to be triggered upon the energy release of a spell!"

"Yes! That could be done." Erica stopped in mid-bounce. "I do not know how to do that, though." Chewing on her lip, she leafed through her notes. "There are trigger spells, of course, but I am not certain how they could be applied..." She looked up to see Jones standing at her podium, listening. "Frau Professor?"

"Hypothetically, yes, you could set up trigger spells, but there's always the chance that your target won't be exactly where you need him to be." Jones stopped herself before she could launch in one of her pet lectures on proximity and accuracy. This had promise. "Have you had much in the way of practical experience setting any of these sorts of spells?"

"No, Frau Professor. We have not." Veronika's cheek twitched into a grimace of defeat. "It would not be wise to do such things within the school"

Jones had to grin at the resentful sound in her student's voice. No, it wouldn't be wise to set trigger spells on the campus. Even professionals fouled the things up regularly. The promise was too much to ignore. "Would you like some?"

The class held its collective breath. The best and the brightest of the Dark Arts program turned towards her and, as a body, leaned forward. Jones barely resisted the urge to laugh. They would definitely fulfil the promise.

"As you know, the class that follows this one is part of the Defense Against the Dark Arts curriculum. The Detection and Dispersal class needs some things to detect. They've just started really working with the detection spells and it would do both classes good to have some practical experience." Fighting hard to keep the smile off her face, she asked in a monotone, "Would you be willing to set a few spells - nothing fatal or disabling - that they could use as an exercise? It would be for extra credit, of course. I'd like to do it soon. This Friday? Can everyone be there?"

There were a few disappointed faces. One girl winced and Jones heard, "Quidditch". A hand roughly pushed her shoulder and a low laugh followed. "The Firebirds are favored to win anyway," she conceded, but still looked let down.

"Anywhere within the castle?" Dieter Hasse purred.

Jones' enthusiasm faltered. Dieter was almost a pastiche of the Dark Arts wizard. He was tall, dark and almost skeletally thin. He'd taken pains to cultivate the impression that he was a fell creature. His hair rose in a fountain of unnatural blackness and he affected a Goth look via the heavy application of black eyeliner. His one concession to color, other than his school robes, was a large silver earring with a cascade of dark red stones. He was on of the best students in the Dark Arts' curriculum. He had to be to get away with the fashion statement. Coming from yet another old, established, pureblood family didn't hurt, either.

"Maybe not the areas where the professors live. Not a good idea," Jones said.

Dieter studied his hand. Jones noted the black-painted fingernails. Nice touch, she thought.

"Not where the professors live. I agree. Bad form." Dieter's eyes fluttered shut. "The lower levels, the first level down, that is acceptable?"

The room suddenly smelled of fear and excitement. It had been long enough since her last cigarette that the scent was like an alert. Most of the students squirmed in their seats. A few went completely still. Warily, she asked, "What's on that level?"

"There may be Dark work there to detect for your class that would require no work from our hands, Frau Professor. It would be my honor, of course, to make this as intriguing of a match as I may."

The turn of phrase bothered Jones. "Intriguing" was one of "those" words. Very much like "interesting", it had a bad connotation. Her eyes narrowed as she considered Dieter Hasse. Leaning on his elbows, he crossed his hands loosely in front of him, flashing something silver. A signet ring filled the area between the knuckles of Dieter's right index finger. It seemed at odds with the rest of his fashion statement. Jones' scalp itched in warning. "How intriguing?" When Dieter's hands tensed, she smiled. "Intriguing on several levels, right?"

"Perceptive, Frau Professor, but then I never doubted your insight."

"Even though I'm a halfblood?" Jones regretted letting the term slip out. Many of her students stiffened uncomfortably and others dropped their gaze.

"I," Dieter drawled, "have never felt ability and power was tied in any way to bloodlines. Please believe me that we do not all believe in such myths." One hand limply pressed itself to his shoulder in an odd parody of the bow that Adler enjoyed presenting her.

"Wise, Herr Hasse, very wise."

* * *

It was right for all the wrong reasons. The Detection and Dispersal class buzzed with excitement. All twenty of her students lost their reserve. They babbled and grinned like idiots. At last! They were going to use their new skills and hunt out the Dark. Jones leaned an elbow on her podium and goggled at the usually focused and intense class. It seemed a shame to make them do anything but act like overeager puppies, all big smiles and waving hands. The joy caught at her fragile attempt at reserve. It was going to be fun and a good exercise for both courses. Not even the announcement that they would be giving up a Friday evening bled an iota of excitement from them. There wasn't one mutter about Quidditch or squandering a Friday night.

While her students burbled, Heiniger left his niche in the doorway and crossed over to her. Jones stiffened, waiting for a rebuke or some sort of warning. At the very least, this would be Heiniger's chance to take over the lecture to expound upon some sort of rules and regulations. Instead, he clapped her on the shoulder and grabbed her hand to shake it. The last bothered her. It was all she could do to not jerk away from him. Touching was just not done in the Dark Arts. Not without permission. She put up with it from Wronski because he was like a kid brother, but Heiniger... Heiniger still had the taint of "them" all about. The handshake felt like she was being frisked for a moment. Still, she grimaced a smile while he pumped her hand vigorously.

"After dinner," Heiniger said, "you will be my guest. I would like to have a drink and discuss the details of this exercise with you. You will come, yes?"

"I have a lot of grading to do," she objected. Her satchel lay on its side. There was no way it could be closed. It was stuffed with folders and squashed rolls of parchment. "I need to work tonight and tomorrow to have time to set everything up."

"Then during dinner. You will eat with us." When Jones squeaked out what might have been an objection, Heiniger continued, "There is more than enough room at the department's table. You will eat; we will talk. Make plans."

Jones coughed and cleared her throat, trying to weasel out of any such meeting, but Heiniger clapped her on the shoulder again.

"Done! We will speak over dinner." With his hand held up in a wave, he left. Jones could swear he was humming.

* * *

"He wants you to what?" Wronski asked. Still clutching his satchel, he leaned against Jones' doorway. Bloodshot eyes and a persistent sniffle made him look exhausted. While waiting, he tried to toss his hair out of his eyes, shaking the shock of dark blond hair further into his eyes.

"Have dinner at the DADA table." She stopped her hand midway to pushing the hair away. Having been handled by Heiniger reminded her that it just wasn't done in her profession.

"Yeah, could you?" He exhaled in a puff to ruffle his hair. "It's making me crazy. I need to get a haircut." His eyelids dropped and he yawned. "Now, why does Heiniger want to talk to you? Did they hire someone? Are you done with it?"

Somehow, her hands ended up clenched around her elbows. They stubbornly refused to let go. "No, it's about my class. I finally figured out something for them to do."

Wronski released his case with a thud. With the back of his hand, he pushed back the annoying hair. "I need to wash up. Lab ran late today. Stupid fourth years." He rubbed at his nose with the back of his hand and then shoved at his hair again. "They never finish on time. Spend half the time trying to throw things into each other's cauldrons and the rest of the time whispering. I don't think I managed to get everything cleaned properly. I think there's still some on my hands. It's making me itch." Accordingly, he ground his wrist into his face. "What about your class? Is he mad or something?"

"I'm going to have my Special Projects class set some spells for them to try to find. I'll make them use the Exhibeo and some of the add-ons to try to locate them. It's kind of basic. I'm going to ask Werner if one of his guys can come out and show them that grid thing. If I'm really lucky, maybe they'll teach me how to cast it."

Wronski's scratching had changed to his ear. "Yeah. Right. You might get them to demonstrate, but they're not going to teach you." He bent over in front of her until his head was level with her shoulder. "Scratch my head. It's making me crazy."

Just like Rhys when he was a kid

. Caving into the sight, she dutifully scratched the top of his head and then his neck when he kept leaning over. "You know," she said, sounding very tired, "we Dark Arts types don't usually do this sort of thing."

"I'm not a Dark Arts type," he responded automatically. Wrinkling his nose at a traveling itch, he gave her a puzzled look. "What sort of thing and why not?"

"Touch like that. Too easy to pick up stuff you can use. Hair, skin, blood maybe. The pros won't even shake hands. It's sort of understood that you call all the bits of yourself before and after you meet. Professional courtesy and all that."

"Uh huh." Wronski shrank backwards.

It was the pulling away from something he didn't understood and was afraid to look at look. She'd seen it before. "I'm not trying to scare you; I'm just telling you. I had sort of forgotten about it and then Heiniger started shaking my hand. Really bothered me."

"What? You have retired Auror germs or something?" He stared at her for a few seconds and then started chewing at his lip, looking serious. "I thought you wanted Auror germs on you." He kept the serious look long enough to dart out of her way. "Uh, uh, uh! Play nice or I'll sing your special song. I found a copy of the lyrics and I know the whole thing now."

"You're kidding? You learned the whole song?" Not sure whether to laugh or feel relieved that Wronski wasn't going to start treating her differently, she leaned against her doorway. Her hands found their way back to her elbows.

"There isn't that much to it. Yeah. I thought you," his voice dropped down, "might want me to sing it at your wedding."

"Go! Go now before...." Shaking a finger at him, she fumbled for a suitable punishment.

"Before wild horses drag me away?"

* * *

This is weird

, she thought, looking across the Great Hall at the table where the rest of the Dark Arts staff sat. She knew that her group had the worst space of all of the teachers. The huge doors next to their table practically hid a third of the table from most vantage points. The shadow cast from the blue flame torches cloaked the table in a gloom. Very atmospheric, she decided. The Defense Against the Dark Arts table had a better position. It sat against the far wall, almost directly across from her usual place. The lighting was much, much better. The food was, unfortunately, still Durmstrang standard. Heiniger made certain to introduce her to the rest of the staff as if she were a new employee. She'd met them all before, of course, but this time it was a lot different. They treated her differently. With a little bit of respect and just a little suspicion. Old habits were hard to break.

Of the group, Heiniger's personality was the strongest. He talked. A lot. He'd been an Auror for twenty-six years and then worked as an administrator for another ten. The others' backgrounds were hazier. Berger and Hyde - or was it Hyde and Berger? She never had gotten them straight - were academics. They split the lower level studies. Jessup, who looked as though he would rather be anywhere else, muttered something about cursed objects and poisons. He busied himself reading through a list of CVs and making notes. She tried to read over his shoulder, but between the small print and the flickering torch light, could only make out a word here and there.

Heiniger followed her gaze. "All of the applicants have responded. They should all be here by the end of the month. Then, we will speak to them. They will speak to us. With any luck, we will find two to fill our ranks."

Picking up an earthenware pitcher, he gestured with it, asking if she wanted any. Jones shook her head, assuming it held the usual water that was offered at each table. Dark red wine flowed into Heiniger's glass. Jessup held a hand over his glass, never taking his eyes off the paperwork in front of him. Wine? How did they rate that they got wine? She inhaled to catch the scent. Smelled like good stuff, too. The Dark Arts group never got wine. Feeling put out, she looked across the hall. Even in the shadows, she could see the large bulk of Kessler and, next to him, Gregorov. They were probably the reason there were no pitchers of wine there. Good reasons, too.

"So, Friday," she began. "Friday during dinner, I want my Special Projects class to set some minor Dark Arts spells. Some cursed objects, maybe a few hexes, nothing fatal or disabling. I already told them that. I thought that the Detection class could start around eight, uh, twenty hundred." She knew that most of the staff kept the twenty-four hour clock, but it still sounded strange to her "They'd have two hours to report back with what they found."

"Their goal this time is to locate and map only?" Heiniger nodded and swirled his wine before taking a sip.

Her plans had been to locate only. The mapping sounded like an improvement. "Yes. Locate and map."

"Standard symbology, no? It would be a good exercise to see if they can recall the skills they learned before."

"Sure." She had no idea what the standards were. Her original vision of having a sort of scavenger hunt where her class would sing out when they found something began to evolve. "I thought I'd divide them into four groups."

"Good plan."

"I'll need some help." Sliding a glance over at Heiniger, she expected the sort of response she would have received from the Dark Arts group: grumbling, grimaces, excuses. Instead, Heiniger looked pleased.

"I will be there. One of the local Aurors should also attend. It was at their suggestion that you were chosen to teach this class." Heiniger made it sound like an honor. Jones' lip began to twitch into a sneer. "You should contact them soon. There is enough of a difference in the time that you could do so tonight. In fact, I would recommend it. Depending on which of their staff is scheduled over the weekend, it would be wise to reserve." It was clear that this was a delicate matter, one where the words had to be selected carefully.

"You would rather not have Auror Massys? I'm sure he would be fine if he arrives early enough." To avoid having to look at the horrified expression on Heiniger's face, Jones selected a piece of bread and began buttering it. "He'll be fine as long as he's kept busy. He only drinks when he's off-duty."

Whatever response Heiniger may have planned on giving was lost in what sounded like a trumped-up excuse for coughing.

* * *

"I don't want to go." Wronski's hair was still damp from his shower and draped over his head in a dark, freshly-combed helmet. "I just stopped itching. I don't want to go anywhere except back to my quarters."

"Oh, Paul," Jones whined, pitching her voice into an imitation of Wronski's most pathetic style. "Please. I don't want to go down there alone."

"I was just there. I hate going there. You go. It'll be good for you."

"I'll let you in on a secret if you go with me." Fluttering her eyelashes furiously, her only reward was a grudging half smile.

"I really don't want to go." The fluttering threatened to undo his resolve. Crossing his arms over his chest, he fixed his stare at a point behind her shoulder. "What's the secret?"

"You have to come with me."

"It can't be worth that," he said, but there was a quaver of doubt.

"You're right. It isn't. It's just another annoying thing that everyone else gets but us."

Closing his eyes, Wronski's shoulders slumped. "Don't tell me. I don't want to hear about what the rest of the professors get. It's bad enough that the castle staff won't come over to the building to do the cleaning."

"The smell," Jones reminded him, screwing up her face. "Some of the dead stuff in the trashcans. Those folks can't handle it."

"They're paid to come over once a month and mop the hall and clean the staff room. I don't blame them for not going into the offices. Besides, they can't. Everyone's got protective wards. I'd just be happy if I didn't have to beg for the basics every few weeks."

"Oh." The lack of regular supplies was a sore spot. "Rabe tries. He brings over a case of TP and soap and stuff every other week or so. It's not his fault that you're not fast enough to get your share."

"He brings it over on his short day which is my long day."

"I can't do anything about that." Each had the beginnings of a good whine geared up. As much fun as it would be to allow herself to indulge in that regular amusement, she tried to keep on track. "Look, I have to go; won't you come with me? Please? I have a bag of pretzels."

Sensing defeat, Wronski threw his hands into the air. "For pretzels, yes. But you owe me. I don't like going to the village. I'm going to fall behind in my grading. Probably have to spend part of Sunday." Sounding sulky, he slumped against the wall and dug his hands into his pants pockets.

"You can't fool me. I know you're already behind. I also know that the first two months' assignments are the fill-in-the-blank kind. I'll help you on Sunday. Give me a key and I'll pull out my red marker."

* * *

It was later than she'd anticipated when they arrived at the tavern. There were a few more people there than the day before, but not by much. Wednesdays were nights for serious drinking and silent contemplation. Men leaned on the bar, staring into the depths of their glasses, lost in their own thoughts. A quartet of women sat close by the door with full drinks in front of them. Three gave their attention to a red-eyed woman who sat shredding a napkin while she related her undoubtedly sad tale. The chess players seemed to have not moved at all over night. Close to the television, which this time featured a sports match, that night's bartender stood polishing glass after glass. The television's sound was turned off and the clink of the glasses blended equally with the low muttering of conversation. Unsure of what to do next, Jones hesitated by the bar.

"Ja?" the bartender asked in strangely accented German.

Frowning, Jones wondered for the umpteenth time where the village actually was. To her, they all looked German enough, but the accents were wrong. "I'm looking for Johannes Werner. Has he been here tonight?"

The bartender shook his head in response. His hands continually moved, picking up glasses, shining them with a pristine cloth and storing them away in a fluid sequence. "Too early. Try the office."

The Auror offices were busier this time than last. Two of the junior-level Aurors stood behind a desk where Massys sat talking to a man. The man had his hands secured behind his back and both of the junior Aurors had their wands out. Baldung stood in the back of the room, arms folded, next to the phone. In the bright rectangle of Werner's open office door, two men leaned against the doorjambs, their silhouettes nodded occasionally and now and again a hand moved to make a point. Jones walked to the counter and knocked on it. One of the men leaning in Werner's doorway looked up and, after identifying her, waved them in.

"I feel like a regular or something," she muttered to Wronski who slouched behind her. The men in the doorway proved to be the next shift of Cerebors. Barely hiding a yawn, the taller nodded a greeting while the smaller man quirked a smile. With lazy salutes, they gave way to Jones and Wronski. Poking her head into Werner's office, the sight within doused what little was left of her enthusiasm. Mueller sprawled in one of the two guest chairs. His knees wedged against Werner's desk and his back against the wall; he seemed to fill the small room. Jones tried to meld with the wall as Wronski pushed her into the office.

It was beyond cramped. Cramped had been when they had visited before. That had been a tight visit. With a fourth person, it was claustrophobic and humid. Every exhalation seemed to choke the air. She rushed through her plan for Friday. Werner barely looked up while she nattered. He gave most of his attention to a report. It felt like Mueller's little dark eyes burned through her.

"Agreed," Werner intoned seconds after she finished, pencil scratching a note. "You and Professor Heiniger will take two of the groups. Are you requesting only two of my men?"

"Heiniger," Jones snorted, about to put her personal zing to the situation. She caught the light glinting in Werner's eyes while he continued to write and started again, this time remembering to be properly formal. "Professor Heiniger told me to talk to you about it. I thought he meant to ask for one Auror. One of the juniors will probably be fine. I guess he wants someone there just in case one of my students gets a little enthusiastic."

"You guess?" Werner glanced up from his paperwork, a thin smile spreading across his face. Drumming his pencil against the table in a soft thwacking sound, he leaned back in his chair. "Professor Heiniger is taking precautions. Wise ones. It is a good procedure to have experienced men available should anything go awry. There is, of course, always the possibility of an error by one of your students. There is also the chance that one of these new spells could activate an older one. Durmstrang Castle is very old and is inhabited by an assortment of creatures, some of which may take offense during the exercise. There are any number of good reasons for this office to have a presence there."

"Yeah." It wasn't worth debating. She was tired and Werner looked far more awake than she felt. "So, I want to start my Special Projects class' part around dinner time. I'll have them arrive a little before. With any luck, I can get the kitchen to give us some food and it'll be fun." She flashed a smile, expecting some sort of response. Neither Werner nor Mueller twitched. "Ok." She cleared her throat. "Then, about two hours later, the Detection and Diffusion class gets to look for the spells. They're supposed to map them. With the correct symbols." Whatever those might be.

"What level of detection spell are you using?" Werner leaned forward again, pencil poised to take notes.

"The basics. Exhibeo and its add-ons. I just want them to be able to locate spells that were cast that day and have certain qualities. If this goes well, then we'll do it again another day, using other techniques and spells. I think this could work out for both classes."

"Just the Exhibeo?" Werner and Mueller looked at each other and both smirked in unison.

"It's only the first week of October," Jones growled.

"No. That is fine." Werner cocked his head to one side and smiled. Radiating superiority, he managed to load his next comments with the impression that he was disappointed, but not surprised. "I had hoped for better, but if this is what you feel comfortable with, then that will suffice."

Her lips peeled back in a snarl. Just when she constructed the perfect reply, Wronski stood. "Ok. Then, it's decided, right? Friday's all set up? You've been told and we can go, right?"

Once again tapping his pencil against the desk, Werner nodded. "Of course. I will make the assignments on Friday. The Aurors will arrive at six o'clock Durmstrang time." Werner permitted himself a small smile. "It will be an entertaining evening, no doubt."

"No doubt." The far too-familiar feeling that she'd lost control of the situation was irritating. With Wronski already waiting in the doorway, she rose from her chair. "Friday then." No doubt, the Aurors would have input as to how she ran her class from this time on. She began fumbling in her jacket pocket, hunting for the cigarette pack.

"We do not allow smoking in the offices, Professor Jones." Werner's admonition had the quality of a mother reminding a child.

The evening's charm, such as it was, dwindled. She stepped out into the office and was startled by a familiar sound, but one that was almost as if it came from another reality - the ringing of a phone. It only rang once before Baldung snatched the receiver up. Fascinated more by the half-remembered familiarity, she stopped and stared. A phone. Remember what it was like to just pick up a telephone and call someone?

"Auror Baldung," Werner growled, "personal telephone calls are not allowed. That is for official use only."

Discord amongst the Auror staff was worth delaying the trip back. She leaned against the wall and watched as Werner strode over to where Baldung stood, hunched over the receiver, muttering. In the few moments it took Werner to cross from his office to the back corner of the office, Baldung managed to conclude his conversation, but just barely. Bent over the phone, he continued to speak until just before he hung it up. The Chief Auror and his lieutenant glared at each other. Baldung looked away first.

"The telephone," Werner said in a voice that was meant to carry, "is for business purposes only. You have been told that before yet you still receive personal calls here." Baldung's face quivered with responses, retorts and whines, none of which were uttered. "What was it this time?" The sarcasm warped the question. "Were you to purchase something for dinner? Did she want you to buy wine?"

The office was uncomfortably quiet. Jones swore she could hear everyone breathe. "Oh, well," she said, trying to break the mood. "I was going to ask if I could use it some time. I haven't heard from my family since...." The awful memory of the letters twisted her normal voice to a crack. "The letters arrived. I don't know if my letters are getting to them." No one responded for what seemed like an inordinate amount of time and she floundered. "Durmstrang doesn't have any phones and I never have a phone card ready when I see a payphone." She hadn't meant to add the last, but it rushed out anyway.

The steel left Werner's stance and, as he turned to face her, Baldung slunk along the counter to escape. "The telephone is, of course, only for official business. The local police as well as other offices use it to communicate with us." As he looked at Jones whose face was slowly losing all composure and sliding into lines of worry, he wavered. "It is of interest to this office how the efforts to extradite you are being handled." As her eyes filled with tears, Werner's resolve crumbled. "Use the telephone to contact your family. I only ask that you do not use it for too long." To avoid any other rules he might have to bend, he retreated to his office and the rules safely in place there.

"Go ahead, Rose. Call your brother. Make sure they're ok." Wronski leaned over and whispered to her, "If nothing else, you'll never get a free favor from Werner again. Better use it or lose it."

"Buy one, get one free," she quipped back.

The telephone was a massive thing, all curled cords and heavy plastic. It wasn't a total antique. It did have touch dialing. "Davy will be at work around now. That's probably as good as it gets." It felt very strange pressing out the long sequence of numbers and even stranger to hear the tinny ring. A recording answered and, for a gut-wrenching second, she was afraid that her brother wasn't at his desk. Instead, she heard a recorded greeting that asked for an extension number. Jones let out a whimper when her brain refused to supply one. The annoyingly cheerful automated help walked her through a procedure to eventually find David Jones in the testing section.

God, she wanted a cigarette! The time spent waiting for the software to connect her to Davy's line seemed endless. What if he was stuck in one of the areas where he had to wear the special suits? What if he had called in sick that day? What ifs raised their ugly heads until there was a click and a familiar voice announced, "David Jones, testing."

"Davy?" Her voice didn't sound right. "Davy, it's me, Rose. Can you talk?"

"Rosie? Motherofgod." Davy exhaled loudly into to the mouthpiece. "Are you ok? I haven't been able to get in touch with you. I think they're going through all of our mail. Some of the bills have been coming in late and Rainbow says that she saw someone leafing through our mail. She thinks it was that creep Smith."

"I'm so sorry. I had no idea..." Her voice cracked and her vision blurred. "They took it away."

"It's ok. It was pretty bad for a while. Rainbow's car, your car, was confiscated. They got search warrants and went through our house and a few of your old friends' homes. All of our accounts were audited." Davy sighed and Jones could hear him moving around his office. In the background, a radio belted out the end of a song.

"Are you ok? Can I send you some money?"

"Nah, don't do that. It won't ever get to me." Davy cleared his throat loudly. "If we can figure out a way for you to do it, I wouldn't say no. We really got used to having the second car and now with the baby."

She held the handset away from her ear and cuffed at her eyes. A handkerchief found its way into her hand and she took it without asking, dabbing at her eyes, furious at herself for breaking down even a little. "The baby?" she echoed hollowly. "Oh! The baby! Was it a girl or a boy?"

Davy's voice brightened. "A girl. She's adorable, of course. Looks just like me."

"What's her name?" She almost hated to ask. "Astral Dawn" or "Joyous Spring" were options she'd come up with when she'd first heard about the pregnancy.

"Anne."

"Anne? What about something new agey?"

"Rosie...." Davy sounded peevish. The radio whined again with an ad for a local car dealership. "Hey, sis, are you ok? When your pals Smith and Peterson showed up, they sounded pretty sure they had a case this time."

"Yeah. They took away my citizenship. They're trying to extradite me on tax evasion."

"Motherofgod," Davy groaned. "That explains it. I knew they had a case on tax evasion since they took the car, but I didn't know about the citizenship thing." There was a pause and Jones' stomach sank. All the years of not talking about what she did to make money were about to come to call. "What did you do that made them do this? I knew you were in trouble when you ran away, but what's up? Rose, I need to know. They keep coming by, asking questions and making vague threats. You weren't involved in anything bad, were you?"

Far away from Seattle, Rose Jones sat on the corner of a desk in an office dedicated to putting people like her away and felt all of her energy leave, sucked out by the question her family had tried to avoid asking. How could she explain any of this to her brother? Surely, he had to know? He'd grown up around it like she had.

"Rose? You still there?" Davy waited two heartbeats while she chased around possible answers. "They were talking like you were involved in the Dark Arts stuff. The bad magic. You didn't..." he took a deep breath and then plunged ahead, "you didn't kill anyone, did you? You couldn't have done anything like that. I know you did a lot of wards work and you did that one thing for Marco. That glamour thing where you made it so he was just, I don't know, better or something for that sales presentation. That was probably cheating, right? That isn't a felony sort of thing. Rose?"

"Davy." What could she tell him? Leaning over as far as she could, she braced her elbow onto her knee and, with her free hand, rubbed her forehead. "I may not have always operated exactly within the bounds of the law." Behind her, she heard Wronski snort. "Remember back when I lost my job? Well, after that, when I didn't have any money?"

"Rosie, you could have asked me for money!"

No, I couldn't

, she thought. You were still in school and didn't have a dime that you didn't blow on your own illegal activities. "I may have done a few things that weren't exactly legal. There isn't any evidence. If there was, they would have nailed me years ago."

It was so quiet in the fabled land of Seattle that all she could hear was the radio. The announcer was blathering on about a local club opening. Then, she heard a ragged gasp. "Is any of what they said true?"

"I dunno. I don't know what they told you." Stalling. It was all stalling for time. "Look, I just wanted to tell you I miss you. I'm alive. I don't think I'll be home any time soon." It all sounded inane. "Hey, don't let the bastards grind you down, ok?"

"Motherofgod, Rose. You can never come home. Ever." In the background, Mick Jagger screamed, "I can't get no satisfaction." Ever.