Stacking the Deck

Chapter 16

"I've found another one." Jones poked dubiously at a slab of mystery meat on her plate. It had an unappetizing gray-brown color and could have been pork or beef or who knew what.

"Mmm. That's nice." Wronski turned the page in The Journal of Organic Chemistry and leaned back to support his shoulders against the wall.

Jones wondered why she even bothered to try talking to him during a meal, but she had to talk to someone and he was her preferred someone. "I know how to get into it now. Not that it helps, but I know how part of it works."

She tried dribbling thin, brown gravy over the anonymous meat, hoping it would make it look and possibly taste better - or at least look like something she could identify. The addition only emphasized how anonymous it was. Camouflage would work better. "Pass the potatoes."

Wronski either didn't hear or was ignoring her. His neck was crooked sharply to get closer to the tiny print while he manipulated his much-hated reading glasses to sharpen the focus.

"Can you even see anything in this light? Honestly. Can't you just eat dinner for a change and wait to read afterward?"

He mumbled a response and tucked the magazine in closer. The light in the Great Hall was not meant to do anything except provide ambiance in the evenings. Blue flames flickered in torches unevenly set about the walls. Huge kronenleuchters marched down the ceiling's length, but shed little real light.

"You're going to ruin your eyes."

"Yes, mother." Glaring at her, he angled the magazine so it became a wall.

"Pass the potatoes and take some yourself. You haven't taken anything to eat yet."

Their end of the table still held platters of food, proof that at least one of them wasn't holding up his end of the arrangement. The other end, the one where both Kessler and Gregorov usually sat, had platters wiped clean.

"If you don't take something now, you know there won't be anything left once the big guys realize there's still food down here." She elbowed him and was gratified to see him reach for the requested potatoes. He passed the bowl to her and reviewed the platter of meat.

"What is it?"

Jones didn't need to ask what "it" was. "I have no idea. Take some and try it. Maybe you can tell me what it is. My bet is pork."

"Mmmphf," Wronski grumped and reached for an apple.

"At least take some bread and butter." She speared two potatoes for her plate and then stuck one onto his. "If you eat that, then you can have dessert. You know that's the best part."

"Yeah." Rubbing his face, he sighed and then picked up a knife. She watched to see if he would eat or dissect. There had been meals on end where the only thing she'd seen him eat was the dessert. Usually, he filled his plate, if for no other reason than it meant that Gregorov didn't get it. When he began slicing the potato into equal parts, she reached over his plate and grabbed up a bowl of sour cream.

"If you're going to do that, at least put some snow on it." Blop, she dumped a large spoonful of sour cream in the middle of the plate. She caught a brief smile before he began skating the potato slices over the plate using the sour cream to glide through. It seemed to work, though, as the occasional sled vanished off the plate and into his mouth.

"I found another one," she tried again.

"Another what?" He began poking holes into a potato slice, making sure each stab of the fork was exactly next to the one previous.

"Another weird room." No response. "Like the one on Friday night."

"What are you talking about?" He pushed his plate away to make a spot in front of him. A server obligingly set down a tray of cake and pudding. He took one of each. There was always extra as de Rais never ate.

"You're weird," she said, shaking her head. She held onto her plate when one of the kitchen staff tried to clear the table and grabbed for the bread. "The room with the all the wards. The one on Friday. When I got Massys to break some of the wards and other spells."

Wronski looked blankly at her, clearly not understanding a word she said. From his other side, Haken leaned forward. "You did find others? I had wondered if there were more."

"Yeah." Uncomfortable at the unusual interest from Haken, she picked at her food. It was her puzzle and she didn't want to share it with someone who might solve it before she did.

"How did you discover it? Did you find a commonality between it and the previous room?" Haken stood and slid along the wall to stand next to her, effectively blocking her way out.

Somehow, revealing that she'd used force to discover where one was hidden didn't sound right. "Someone shared the information."

"Shared. I see." The way the corner of his mouth twitched said that he did. "In this 'sharing', was the method of entrance also 'shared'?"

"I figured that out by myself."

"It is tied to a family, no?" Haken studied her, looking for cues. "Yes. Bloodlines, no doubt. You yourself are quite fond of the many qualities of blood above other physical ties. It would do well, cover many generations until it faded." His eyes hooded and the now-false smile broadened. "That would do well for those of a line, but you spoke of others there, too. Wards are flexible spells, well suited for manipulation. But alteration usually entails allowing entrance for long period of time should it be done via blood and those who control such a thing would not care to have it so permanent. The magic used would need to be easily done, something," Haken smiled, "a child could manipulate. An object, something non-living, cold, dead. A weak attractant. Something like a ring."

"You tell me. It sounds like you've thought this through." Hearing him, she felt slow. How long had he known? She was used to being the smart one.

"It makes sense." Haken's easygoing smile was at odds with his posture, which had gone ramrod straight. He looked like a soldier standing at ease, hands resting behind his back, elbows out to fill what little space Jones could have used to slip by. "Tell me, Professor Jones, have you discovered how to find the rooms? And, does your technique work on any not attached to the Adler family?"

"I'm still looking into the wards' mechanics. I know where two other rooms are. One's very small. I didn't go into the other one."

"The one you entered, did it look as though it had been in use recently?"

"No." The little room had been almost empty and the air had been stale. "Why?"

Haken's smile grew toothier, looking more feral. "I would not be surprised if the other rooms are too small for most uses. The ones that had been discovered before were all small. Did you note the sizes mentioned in the reports?"

Jones' face went red. For once, she appreciated the dim lighting in the hall. She'd been looking for other information, things like what the glyphs looked like, not anything about the rooms themselves.

"No. I did not think so," Haken continued. "The chambers were all quite small. Should one wish to host a regular gathering, it would be useful for only a very intimate party. Hardly the sort of thing one wishing to embody the spirit of largess could use."

"So, what are you getting at?" She had the distinct impression that they weren't discussing the same thing, but using the same words.

"Should you discover a method to uncover rooms similarly hidden as Adler family's chamber, the local Aurors would be quite interested."

"And you? You would be interested, too."

Haken smiled and bowed low. "There was a time when I would have killed to know. Now, I have an academic interest. Good evening." He turned and faded into the murk.

"What was that all about?" Wronski asked.

Feeling confused and goaded at the same time, she turned slowly back to face the hall. The "teacher of elementary Dark spells" no longer added up. It felt as though he'd challenged her or maybe she was hoping he had. "The thing I was trying to tell you about, the room."

"What room? You didn't mention anything about a room on Sunday." He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, looking for all the world like a small child about to have a tantrum.

"Didn't I?" Jones tried to recall. Friday felt like a lifetime ago. Saturday had been spent doing research and Sunday spent grading. It seemed odd to think she hadn't talked to him about her current obsession. She spent more time talking to Wronski than she did the rest combined.

"What reports is Haken talking about?" Under the table, he kicked her ankle to make a point.

"He went with me on Sunday to the Aurors' office." Straddling the bench, she turned to face him, glad for the chance to talk. She almost wished she hadn't. Wronski's sulky look had changed to resentment. "It all started with the thing I set up on Friday...."

"You went to the Aurors' office with Haken?" Sounding hurt, he looked away. "You went to the village with Haken?"

"Now, Paul," Jones began, "it was a business trip." Funny how someone who always claimed to hate going some place became resentful when you went there with someone else. "He offered to get the reports for me."

"You needed Haken?" Wronski turned to face her, one eyebrow arched into the shock of hair that had fallen over his face. "You've got to be kidding? Jan or Mueller would have let you look at anything you wanted."

He was right. She hadn't really needed Haken, had she? Somehow, that made it feel worse. "He offered and I.... But...." Any explanation was pointless. She'd managed to insult her only friend without meaning to and for no reason.

"I guess I win if you can't think of anything to say." Looking slightly less peevish, Wronski resumed his slouch, sliding against the wall.

"I'm really sorry."

"For what?" he asked. The real question was why hadn't she found him and dragged him along like she always did.

"For not thinking. The whole Adler thing is making me crazy. He's been holding some kind of party on the first lower level. It was in a room that had a ton of concealment spells and layers of warding. I'd never have found if it Dieter Hasse hadn't decided to set him up."

"That the big Friday night thing? I hear that's the party. Only the 'in' crowd gets invited. The "B" list has to pay." Wronski scooped up his apple, tossed it once, and began spinning it on the tabletop.

"You've heard about it? Am I the only person who didn't know?" Feeling stupid, she leaned an elbow onto the table and onto her plate. There was a soft sucking sound when she pulled herself away from the mound of potatoes and gravy.

"Yeah. One of my seventh year students invited me to go."

"You're kidding?"

"No." Wronski spun the apple. "I think he has a crush on me. I didn't take him up on it." He tossed it again and, as Jones gaped at him, winked.

* * *

It was impossible to go back to the Dark Arts building. Even the nagging thought that she would fall behind in her paperwork wasn't enough. The gauntlet had been dropped. Here was an opportunity too good to pass up. If she could solve the problem of how to detect the hidden rooms, she won points with the Aurors and Haken as well. If she could find a way into them, especially the one that Adler was using, it would be a personal coup. Those were the thoughts that occupied her on the descent down to where the two new rooms were.

It was all shadows and inky voids. She clumped loudly down to the blank wall, her satchel smacking time against her legs, wondering why it was that she'd never spent any time on that floor. The hall was lined with doors, all locked, except for one that opened onto a room that was empty save for dust and cobwebs.

The hall was empty. Stone walls, stone floor and ceiling - no chairs, no benches, nothing to sit on at all. Jones made a perfunctory search before layering folders of homework onto the floor to sit on.

Step one: routine detection spells. She ran through every one she could think of. The results were dismal. The wall was dark, always dark. To be truly "scientific", she hit one of the other walls with a Cale, hoping to warm it up a bit, and used that as a comparison. The wall was warm to the touch. Jones scrambled up from her cold seat and soaked up every bit of warmth she could, fleeting though the comfort was. As the surrounding stones stole away the heat, she began making notes.

Step two: reaction to magic. The thoroughly bespelled wall didn't do anything. Illumino didn't light it, Discolour didn't change its color. She tried making it reflect, tried to change the texture, and nothing happened. Writing the name of each spell made her feel like she was making some progress. If nothing else, she was eliminating possibilities. A lot of possibilities.

Step three: breaking it. Breaking it was an interesting concept. She'd broken wards before, but never with other layers of magic over them. Before, she'd always destroyed the everything over the wards before starting. She didn't even know what she was working against. A shimmer effect was the best she managed. Frustration bordering on a screaming fit coincided with the midnight bells. Tomorrow was another school day. Tonight, she was defeated.

* * *

How to beat the wards? How to find the rooms? The questions repeated endlessly. Her lectures suffered. Her students suffered, too. It was difficult enough to keep them interested in the lecture normally, but when she was preoccupied with her own problem, it was impossible. After her first class, she decided to take the easy way out: pop quizzes and surprise essays. Her classroom was blissfully quiet; the industrious scratch of quills and pens provided white noise for her own studies.

By the time the four o'clock bells rang, she had a plan. Her normally chatty students crept out like whipped dogs and she barely noticed. The hunt was the thing. Pages and pages of ideas lay scattered over her desk. She'd filled the few remaining sheets on a notepad, then scribbled on the back of lecture notes, the backs of folders and whatever else she could find. The more she thought about it, the more possibilities there were.

Early on, she'd divided her quest into two categories: detection and entering. The former had produced the most ideas and lists. How do you find something that appears to not be there magically? That was something she could attack. Her ideas in that area filled most of the papers now littering her desk. The entrance part was a problem. The family blood ties made sense. There was no way she could replicate that, especially since there were so many families. The best she could hope to do was get someone to let her in. During a moment of blinding inspiration, a moment of utter clarity, she scribbled out all of the body's fluids and how they could be used for recognition spells. Then, how to fool them. At last, she felt in control!

Her brain buzzed with possibilities. It also screamed for a cigarette.

Three floors up, an eternity to someone who needed a smoke now. Her hand was already cupped around the pack and her lighter when she reached the upper landing and, by the time she reached the door, she'd tapped a cigarette out and stuck it into her mouth. One of the massive doors to the almost forgotten outside world was propped barely open. From that sliver, a cold tendril of the dusk gathered around her feet, a reminder that winter was settling in.

The staircase was crowded with loitering students and a few shivering teachers. She pushed her way to the landing where a cluster of others stood, also addressing their need for nicotine and company. The chatty batch of professors standing there was not a sight that cheered her. Unlike them, Jones preferred to smoke and think by herself. The artificial friendships that sprung up among those with a shared addiction bored her. Slinking along the other side, she stepped around the end of the balustrade to blend into the darkness between the castle wall and the stairs. Too cold and dark for most, it was perfect for her. She smoked her first cigarette and mulled over her list of things to do.

The complexity was tantalizing. Layers and layers of enchantments, more magic in one place than she'd ever seen, all for a purpose long since past. And, there were others outside of Durmstrang. All of that skill and energy had at one time been known amongst families elite enough to mark their ownership. If it had only been within the castle, she could have written it off as an anomaly, but there were others outside of this world. Even without specifics, it had the feel of an established set of rituals and spells. The need to crack the mystery was a physical itch, digging at her ego. She didn't have to go anywhere to try and figure it out. There were lovely little test cases just waiting for her. Wouldn't it be grand to be the one to find out how to locate and penetrate them! That would show the purebloods! All of them. Adler, Werner and the rest of the Aurors. Bloodlines didn't matter; knowledge and ability did.

First, she had to get it to react and do so consistently. That was the first step. Then, once she had that down, she needed to check the other room and then the first one. Adler's lair was almost not worth doing anything with. The main defenses had been broken. Still, she sneered and tapped off a column of ash, that was one of the ones she knew about. It wouldn't hurt to verify that it responded the same way. Then, she could work on peeling off the layers and identifying them. The report that listed the layers of spells encountered would have been useful. Too bad she hadn't thought of asking for a copy. If she caught Massys in a good mood, he'd probably make her a copy. That would mean going back to the village. The very idea made her groan out loud and light a second cigarette. The extra nicotine jumpstarted her brain. The layers of enchantments over Adler's lair had responded to some auditory things. Maybe that could be worked into the experiment? She just needed to do some more research. The decision meshed nicely with the bells tolling for dinner. Tossing the last butt onto the ground, Jones joined the rest of the flow of bodies back into the castle, other hungers than food driving her.

* * *

Tuesday night's experiments revealed nothing new. This time, Jones brought a chair up from one of the dungeon classrooms and lit the entire corridor as brightly as day. Stripped of the grim ambiance, the hall looked forlorn, dreary. Systematically, she ran through her lists of spells, carefully noting each and every response. There wasn't much to log. Hours dragged by. The cold slithered through her shoes and into her bones. Her tired eyes itched and the occasional yawn became a continuous one. No reaction was no reaction. She found it hard to retain her so-called hopeless optimism when the stone wall remained defiantly normal. She tried talking to it, singing to it, coughing, howling and producing a ludicrous variety of noises. Her voice grew hoarse and the wall continued to do nothing. She gave up before the midnight bells and stomped back to her quarters with nothing but cold feet to show for her efforts.

* * *

Tap...tap...tap....

The noise tickled her into a gray zone. The bed was warm and she was so tired. Tap...tap...tap.... It was an act of will for her to open one eye. Her room was the color of her mind: gray. Jones tugged her duvet up over her head and tried to reclaim the sweet embrace of sleep. Bang! Bang! Bang! Any hopes for just another hour were shattered. Awake, but not alert, she groped around in the dusk of her room until her fingers felt the familiar roughness of her old terrycloth robe. Her slippers had vanished to wherever it was they hid when she needed them. Halfway across her living area, it started again. Bang! Bang!

"I'm up!" she yelled. What came out didn't sound like her. This new, un-Jones-like voice could have belonged to a gravely voiced Blues singer. She reached the door before she realized she'd forgotten her wand. "Shit!" The profanity growled out like a curse. "Who's there?"

"You're late! It's eight-thirty. You haven't even had coffee yet." Only a bit muffled, Wronski added, "Are you sick?"

Eight-thirty! A moan clawed its way out of someone else's throat. She barely had time to get dressed and make it to class. "Paul?" The inflection rubbed at her throat and a hacking cough followed. "I need coffee. Can you get me some? I'll be right out."

"Uh huh." Before she could turn around, he said, "Was it fun?"

"Fun?" The question seemed ridiculous. "Hang on! I'll be out in a second." No time for a shower, barely enough time to throw on clothes and skid to a stop at her desk to refresh her store of cigarettes. What little was left of the monthly junk food care package lay in a brightly-colored heap next to her desk. There was no time to be choosy. She crammed whatever she could grab into her satchel. Her coat lay in a wad next to the door. The coat was completely uncooperative. One sleeve had rucked up inside itself and refused to pull out smoothly. She tried cramming her arm into it and pushing. It stuck twice before it regained its sleeve-like status. The other sleeve was inside out. In her rush to get out the door, she managed to rip the lining and stuck her arm into the gap between the lining and the leather. The beginning of Wednesday was not auspicious.

Standing at her door, Wronski held her mug filled with something that steamed. "You look like hell." He held the cup out of reach. "I hope it was a lot of fun. You look like it was either fun or horrible." She grabbed for the mug and he held it higher. "Where were you last night? Did you go see old Hans?"

Sneering, she dropped her satchel on the floor and tried patting at her hair. "That better?"

Her voice caused a double take. "There better be a good story behind that. Here." He handed her the mug and she downed it in four swallows.

"Do I sound any better?" Her voice sounded thick and raspy, but better than it had. Wronski winced. "It'll have to do." She tipped the mug back one more time to catch the last two drops and the bells began. No time at all! She crammed the still-damp mug into her satchel and began racing for the door.

The Dark Arts building wasn't far from the castle, a leisurely fifteen-minute stroll, a brisk ten-minute walk or a frantic five-minute scramble. The descent to the dungeons was the worst part. Wronski easily passed her. The last she saw of him was the bright wink of his red coat at the base of the outside stairs. The staircase to the dungeons was completely empty of human life although she did see the luminous profile of something on the second level down. She knew better than to really look at it. No telling what horrid tricks it might try to play on her. By the end of the last flight down, she was wheezing thickly and the nicotine lack jangled with every step.

Three hours of lecture. Three hours of trying to wake up enough to concentrate. Three hours of cursing herself for over sleeping. Nothing to hand back to her classes. More homework piling up. She either rattled information off in a continuous monotone or stood staring at nothing. Of the two, talking was better. The moments she was silent, her nicotine demon howled. It was hell.

Hell part two: lunch. After two voraciously inhaled cigarettes, food would be the antidote for most of her remaining woes. The fare at the Institute had never been one of its best points for Jones. Having lived in the middle of restaurant heaven in Seattle for most of her life, she found the mundane, filling meals boring. Until Durmstrang, she had bragged that she could always find something to eat. That had changed. She could deal with the endless sausages and slabs of bland meat. It was dull, but it was easy to ignore. None of the endless varieties of pickled things appealed. As if planned for her completely wretched day, lunch featured two varieties of pickled fish, some sort of pickled meat and a bowl of soggy peas.

"That's it?" Sliding in next to Wronski, she wrinkled her nose. "Isn't there anything real to eat?"

"There was a platter of something else, but, after I passed it down to the big guys, it never came back." Seated behind a filled plate, Wronski amused himself by stacking the squares of herring on top of each other. On the other side of his plate, everything else had been carefully moved into separate mounds, ready for whatever architectural fun he had in mind.

"Hand me the bread."

After four slices of bread slathered with rich butter, two cups of coffee and a slice of chocolate cake, Jones began to feel human. She could think about something other than her puzzle. Her voice still sounded horrible, but it was strong, no sign of laryngitis. Three more classes to go and then she could catch a nap. Just an hour, that's all she needed and then she could try to catch up on some grading. The puzzle would have to wait for a night. Homework increased exponentially this time of year.

With the rest of the group, she grabbed up her satchel and began the trek down. Today was her longest day. At the top of the long stairs down, she took a deep breath and hoped that she could make it the rest of the day without falling apart.

Whatever bright spot she'd found at lunch vanished ten minutes into the next class. True, if anything else was to go wrong, the afternoon Ritual Magic I class was the place it would happen. The class was a collection of tension and fidgets. Jones caught the movement of heads turning. Determined to make something work normally, she took her time pulling out her notes and the roll sheet. One look and she caught the hint of forthcoming woes. Trouble corner, where Adler and his crew sat, was empty. Wary now, she ordered the class to review the current chapter.

Ten minutes into the course, they arrived. It resembled a parade: at the front, looking garish in purple and silver, were two of the Adler retainers, next, two of the Quidditch jocks who clustered around Adler, then Adler himself, followed by more students and, at the end, two more retainers. Adler made a point of stopping in front of her and bowing. The cat that ate the canary smile turned her into ice. She looked at her lecture notes and, without knowing why exactly, put the notes back into her satchel. The preternatural tip was confirmed seconds later.

The aide followed close on the heels of the last retainer. Jones could have sworn the man was attired in black and carried a scythe. The far tamer frock coat didn't do justice to the harbinger.

"Here or there?" She hoped for the latter. Whatever was coming next should be private. The students didn't need to see it. She would rather not, either.

"Follow me."

Trying to appear as though this happened every day, she picked up her satchel and followed. A low chuckle spread from Adler's corner and followed her up the stairs.

The aide didn't take her any further than the administrative wing. For that, Jones was grateful. The long hallway broadened into a gallery. Portraits hung on either side, marking out the centuries. Some moved; others were static. Most of the subjects in the moving ones were finishing up their lunches and a few dozed. The aide clicked to a stop in front of an office and waited. It took her a few seconds to catch up. She'd hoped for a chance to tug things into place but arrived just in time to be waved inside.

The man behind the desk looked vaguely familiar. He glanced up when she walked in and then ignored her. Rolls of parchment were stacked on either side of the desk, leaving only the very center clear enough to work. Jones tried standing still to wait. That lasted only a few minutes. If he was going to dismiss her, he could do it while she sat down. Two chairs sat across from the desk. She sunk into one, set her satchel on the other and waited. Watching someone write was boring. The office was almost equally so. The walls were all dark paneling, blank save for the Durmstrang symbol displayed above the man. Aside from the desk and its inhabitant and the two chairs, the room was barren. Her survey was completed in seconds. She recognized him as one of the men she'd seen in the Headmaster's office during her last tête-à-tête with her boss. His quill scritched steadily, the sound broken only for the seconds it took to dip it into an inkpot and draw out the excess. Watching someone write wasn't what she'd been dragged out of her office for. Being made to wait was so clearly an insult that she decided whatever was in store for her, it couldn't be made much worse.

"What did you want to talk to me about?" With her voice still roughened from too many hours of talking to the proverbial stone wall, her question came out more like a demand than a query.

Without shifting his attention from his paperwork, the man said, "There has been a complaint." He refilled his quill and drew a short line on a blotter. Nib poised to continue, he sighed. "Professor Jones, it is clear that you do not have an affinity for the needs of children."

Her sneer vanished. She'd spent several pen strokes working up a good case of righteous indignation only to be blindsided. "'Needs of children'? I don't understand what you're talking about." She tried to scoot her chair closer to the desk but the thick red carpet held her still.

Carefully putting his quill down onto the blotter, the aide replaced the lid onto the inkpot before addressing her again. "Our students are our future." He ignored the stifled groan from her. "The Durmstrang Institute is honored to have so many scions of the great families of Europe attending this school. For many, it is a tradition that spans centuries." He fixed her with pitiless eyes. For that moment, the silence in the room crushed her. "Professor Jones, there has been a complaint from a member of one of those families, one that the Headmaster himself has taken an interest in."

Jones sucked in her breath and tried to hold back the explosion that was building inside her. That little rat fink Adler! What lies had he been spreading about her? It took all of her willpower to clamp her jaws shut and clutch her hands in her lap. One mistake and the Headmaster would be notified. At best, she would get a stern lecture, more probably a lecture and a taste of the punishment that the Durmstrang Binding spell could produce, at worst... She blanked on that prospect. Surely, the worst she could think of wasn't what the Headmaster could produce. Right?

"The Adler family has attended this Institute for..." he continued but Jones quit listening. Her vision dissolved into little pinpoints of light and somewhere inside of her a door opened. You could take him out. It would be easy. Accidents happen. Let's take a look at what's wrong with him. Might be easy. They hired you to teach the Dark Arts. Let's show them a practical example. No one would really know. They'd guess, but there would be no evidence. If you could avoid Peterson for all those years, what they have here won't have a chance.

"...Therefore, if things do not change, Professor Jones, then the Headmaster feels that perhaps you need more time to bond with the students."

The word 'bond' broke her internal monologue. "Bond?" The word sounded out of place and had a nasty ring to it.

"Yes, bond." The aide leaned back in his chair and slowly steepled his fingers in front of his mouth. In the office's carefully placed illumination spells, his eyes disappeared into shadows, no doubt an effect carefully studied. "You do not have any extracurricular activities. You do not coach any of the teams nor do you volunteer for any outside duties, not even any of the trips to other cities. Your records show no voluntary activities with our students." Now, the twisting began. His hands fell away to reveal a savage smile. "If the Headmaster receives another complaint, he has asked me to assign an appropriate activity to help you to bond with our students." He arched an eyebrow and waited as the threat sank in. "I have given this a great deal of thought, Professor."

"I'll bet you have." Visions of hours trapped with the first years on some inane field trip flashed by, followed quickly by a worse possibility of monitoring the libraries or being transferred into one of the dormitories to keep an eye on the students there. Trapped with her charges in their native environment.... Girls squealing in that improbably high laughter, bed checks, having to explain who knows what to girls who probably knew more about everything than she did... Her face flushed hotly and then everything went cold.

"Yes. I have, but I see you have as well. Let us be frank. If Herr Adler complains that you are harassing him unjustly, then this office will take action. The year is young. There are almost eight months left. Surely, you do not wish this friction to continue?"

Friction. She'd give him 'friction'. "What are the charges? Can I see what he's complaining about?" She knew that mentioning his poor performance in class wouldn't get her anywhere. Even the insolent behavior wasn't enough to change anything. If Baldung was any example of the sort of attitude she could expect in regards to the little room incident, then that would only make things worse. It didn't look good.

"No. I am sorry, but those must remain confidential. You do understand, no?"

"Oh, I understand." She glared while the man cleaned off his quill and reopened his inkpot. "Tell me, is there any chance that Heinrich," she stopped when he raised an eyebrow at her, "that Herr Adler might be transferred to another class? If he's that unhappy with me..."

"No. Impossible. It is not our policy to allow such things." He tutted, shaking his quill at her. "You surely know that." He took a deep breath, clearly intending to lecture her on policy.

"Thank you. If that's it, I need to get back to my class now." She didn't wait for him to respond for fear that he would make her listen to him recite policy and procedures. She grabbed up her satchel and bolted out the door.

* * *

"What are you going to do?" Wronski stood by the door to his classroom. In the brief time allotted for students to get from class to class, he had listened to Jones snarl out her story.

"I know what I'd like to do," she hissed, her hoarse voice sounding cruel. "What I'm going to do is try to nail him on something. He'll slip. Guys like him usually do."

"Look, just ignore him. If he becomes a problem in class, send him to the library. Get him out of there."

"Yeah. Right. What good does that do?" She stepped back to avoid a particularly large student plowing her way through the crowd. "Doesn't he win if I give up?"

"Only if you look at it that way. I say ignore him, give him a passing grade and forget he ever existed." Wronski automatically handed out a sheet of paper to an incoming student. "Put your homework on the corner of the desk. Pick up your last assignment from the other stack. That's what we're working on today. Read it and we'll talk about it."

Feeling stretched to the point of breaking, she glared at an inoffensive second year, barely big enough to push through a group blocking the door to a classroom. The small boy shrank from her glare and backed into a seventh-year boy who shoved him hard against the wall. Seeing the bright red mark spread across the boy's forehead was satisfying. Seeing anyone else have a bad day helped perversely.

"Hey! Get to class!" Wronski shouted at the knot of older boys. The pusher sneered in the direction of the little boy still huddled against the wall and sauntered off with his friends. "You ok?" Wronski stopped next to the second year who nodded as he rubbed at the red spot. "Get to class."

"You're a natural," Jones said, suddenly smiling. "You should have a few. Maybe ten. How's that sound?"

"Don't start, mom. I think it's stupid to have the little kids take classes in the same area as the older teens. Some of the little guys can barely walk without falling over their feet or their robe hems. The older ones take advantage of them." Wronski's mouth set in a tight line as he monitored the activity in the hallway. "I don't understand why we don't move the Introduction to the Dark Arts classes to the level above us. That would work better for everyone."

"You bucking for the next department head position? You'd have to beat out Siegfried. Isn't he the next in line?" Seeing her friend fret over the problems of one little boy was enough to help lift her mood. "I think you should present that at the next staff meeting. See what Rabe has to say. I'm sure he'll rush up to the Headmaster's office and make that suggestion."

"Shut up," said with a smile that fought its way out. Wronski was about to add to the suggestion when the bells tolled for class.

Her Special Projects class was only half full. Those that were there looked startled to see her. She wasn't surprised. When she'd returned (after stopping for a much needed cigarette and pacing break outside), she'd found her classroom empty. None of her students had waited although she hadn't dismissed them. She had a feeling that they knew about her meeting long before she'd been sent for and had shared the news accordingly. Sneering, she spread out her lecture notes for the day. She'd fix the ones that hadn't shown up.

Out of the twenty who should have been present, only twelve had bothered to make an appearance. She made a special note next to all of those absent in her roll sheet. Of the missing, Dieter Hasse was the most obvious. Rangnhilde and Veronika whispered amongst themselves while Jones made her special notes regarding attendance. "So," she said as she checked the last name, "what did you hear?"

As she expected, no one rushed to respond. "Let me guess. You heard that Heinrich Adler complained to the Headmaster and I got yanked around. If that's what you heard, then you heard right." She looked up at the uneasy expressions. "Now that we've gotten that over, I want you to all to understand that Heinrich Adler does not run this class. Those of you who showed up will get extra points; those who didn't will all lose double the amount of points allotted for the last two assignments." The gasps were almost enough to cheer her up. To lose that many points meant that even a superior student would slip a full notch. It was an idle threat at best, one designed to skewer egos. The world most would enter after they left Durmstrang didn't require good grades. Still, it was enough to wound pride and ego.

She took the rest of the class easy, touching only on major points. The entire lecture would have to be given in depth when the whole class was present. It was a strangely quiet period. Everyone was relieved when it was over.

Wednesdays... The day should be over, but it wasn't. The bells had barely ended before the Detection and Dispersal students trooped into her room, all bright eyes and eager expressions. Feeling the inverse of her students, Jones slung a hip over her desk and wondered if there was any way to cancel class for the day. Maybe they could meet later? Worse yet, her lecture notes for the class hadn't really been prepared. There were a few ideas scribbled down, but not enough to fill the time. The day had started badly and was going to end in the same manner. Wearily, she looked up, trying to figure out how to spin enough lecture, when she saw hands raised. Not one or two, but at least ten. That looked promising! "Yes." She pointed at the girl closest to the doorway.

"Frau Professor," the girl said, standing. "May we discuss Friday?"

"Of course." Jones would have sold what little she had left of her soul for a cigarette and a cup of coffee. It was all she could do to pretend a suitable level of interest. While the girl prepared to speak, Jones scanned the class. They all looked alert and attentive. Even Heiniger, who had snuck in while she wasn't paying attention, had left his usual position in the doorway to sit with the rest of her class, looked eager. Good. He could deal with them. "What did you want to talk about?"

Professor Jones didn't have to say anything. She didn't even have to listen. Not that it mattered. The noise level rose until it was impossible to sort anything out. Discipline eroded immediately. Heiniger didn't help in the least. He was just as excited as the rest and, if Jones heard everything correctly in her current state of exhaustion, egged them on by tossing in questions and observations. Structure vanished. All she had to do was stay awake for the time allotted to the class. And brood. Brooding, however, took more effort than surrendering to the tidal wave of enthusiasm. They didn't think the same way she did. She slumped against her podium and listened while they tossed theories back and forth. It was impossible to keep track of everything, but there were ideas, lots of them! At some point during the free for all, Heiniger turned to flash a huge smile at her, obviously enjoying every second. Good. He could stand up to the Headmaster for her when she got into trouble next.

When the bells sounded again, the class was still busy debating. Jones quietly slipped out the door, leaving them to their fun.