Stacking the Deck

Wronski's tenor began timidly and then swelled. He had a beautiful voice. Once started, he let himself be taken by the music, turning it from a rhythm and blues song to a ballad. Any trace of the Rolling Stones was lost.

Hidden by the dark, Jones blushed at the memory of Mueller dancing with her to that song. She almost forgot to look for the effect, but the wall gleamed and was molten. "There! Keep singing! Please!" Wronski had stopped when she exclaimed and the visual effect disappeared. "Lumos!" She cast the spell and riveted her eyes to where she thought she'd seen the sluggish movement.

In the bluish light, Wronski's pale hair glimmered silvery and his face looked wraith-like. It was almost as if creature of the shadows had come to sing instead of an annoyed professor. He cleared his throat again and sang.

His voice was good, but the wall's enchantments rippling in accompaniment was better. As he sang, she raced down to the other wall and looked to see if it was doing anything. It, too, writhed. Its glamour moved sinuously and marked its location where other attempts had failed. Like a strolling minstrel, Wronski followed behind her, pacing in time to the beat. Jones caught a quick glimpse of his face and felt relieved. His eyes were almost closed and he smiled as he sang. When his last note faded, the walls were again solid, boring stone.

"You're really good. You should do that more often." Jones beamed at him, enjoying his talent for its own sake and then lit up more at the thought that she finally had a way to identify at least two of the things.

"We have to go." Wronski grimaced as he turned. "Rabe told me to make sure that you were there. I think it's going to be one of those meetings." With that, he tapped her on the shoulder and pointed towards the stairs.

The more or less weekly staff meetings were usually exercises in staying awake. Todor Rabe loved them. The meetings were quite possibly the only chance he had to exercise his position as department head and pretend that he had any authority over the group.

When Jones and Wronski arrived, he was waiting for them in the doorway. The two Americans exchanged glances filled with dread and slogged over to their seats at the table. Everyone else was already there. Everyone, save de Rais, wore the pinched look of people who had received aggravating news. Mouths were set, eyes squinted and no one was talking. At each place, a piece of paper sat or, in Gregorov's case, had been crumpled into a little ball. Jones looked at the wadded up memo and knew it was worse than she had anticipated. Gregorov's notoriously short temper had mellowed over the last few years and she hadn't seen him throw a tantrum or do much more than snipe in months. Once she picked up the memo and read it, she knew why.

"Yes. You all have read it, no?" Rabe walked over to the head of the table and stood behind his chair, using it as a shield. "The Headmaster himself has ordered me to deliver this edict." He placed his hands behind his back and shrugged into the stance of someone delivering unpopular information. "There will henceforth be mid-year reporting. All students' progress must be noted. Any individual student who is having any problems." Rabe twitched, his long nose wrinkling into an even more beak-like look. "Any problems, whether they are behavioral or academic must be noted and you must outline the procedures you will undertake to help those students. Any missed assignments or tests must be recorded. There will be additional reporting due during the last quarter. Those students who are in danger of-" He stopped while he sought for just the right words.

"In other words," Kessler said, taking over the meeting, "if you have someone who you would not allow to pass your class." He turned to fix Jones with a pointed stare. "Professor Jones, then you will have to create work that will allow that student enough credit to complete the course." Leaning heavily upon his elbows, Kessler sighed dramatically. "Do not attempt to fail Heinrich Adler. Let him pass your course and leave Durmstrang."

"He doesn't do his own homework!" Glaring at Kessler, who held up his hands signaling that he wasn't the one who had caused the problem, Jones fished out her cigarettes. "If he doesn't do his own homework and pass the tests, he doesn't pass the class."

Puffing himself up, Rabe made a grand gesture with his hand to indicate the memo, but Kessler cut him off. "Do you truly believe that matters?"

"It is because of your attempt to fail the Galchenko student last year that this has come about." Rabe jumped in as soon as Kessler finished. Strutting over to where Jones sat, he pointed a finger at her. "Your actions have brought this department under scrutiny. First, the Galchenkos and now you do battle with the Adlers! It is not done! Do you not understand?"

"I thought," Jones said through gritted teeth, "that our jobs were to teach. When I was growing up, you had to pass a class. You didn't just pass because of your family. Galchenko failed. Adler might fail. I don't see any reason to let them through if they don't do the work."

"Oh, they will do the work." Kessler reached down and retrieved a tall bottle from its place on the floor next to him. He shook his head while he unscrewed the cap. "And so shall we all because of your stance. Each one of us will spend hours writing reports on each and every one of our students." He glanced about the table, looking for something and, when he didn't find it, pulled out his wand. "Accio glass." The glass sped from the counter to be plucked from the air. Kessler poured a generous amount and tossed it back expertly. "I, for one, have exceptional students. I am quite certain that all will pass."

"Send him to the library," Wronski muttered, eyes fixed on the sheet of paper.

"But!" Jones objected. "You shouldn't just let them go if they didn't complete the work! It isn't fair!"

"Since when has the concept of 'fair' ever come into play in life's success?" De Rais pushed the paper away and stood. "I await the mid-year exercise. I, for one, look forward to seeing how Professor Jones' reports are penned. The extra assignments demanded, those that would ensure passage for every student who require them, those will be especially intriguing."

"If they can't do the work, then they shouldn't be allowed to move on!" Her protests rang to a disinterested room. Most scowled at her except for de Rais, who had already left. Even Wronski looked annoyed. "How can you let them tell us who to pass? This isn't right! We're teachers, right? That means we teach and they're supposed to learn. If they don't learn, they don't pass. Right?"

At the far end of the table, Lowenstein got up and left, followed by Haken who had barely paid attention during Jones' arguments.

"Rabe, you have to stand up for us. I don't mind the reporting," Jones said. Both Kessler and Gregorov growled at the word. Kessler refilled his glass, drank half in a gulp and pushed the rest over to Gregorov who finished it.

Glaring at the two imbibers, she continued, "I can even see where extra assignments and projects would be a good idea, but what if they don't bother to do those? What then?"

"Then," Wronski said, "you pass them anyway. They paid for their education and they're leaving whether you think they're ready or not. Get used to the idea. Pass them and forget them."

"But," Jones protested, feeling as though the rug was being pulled out from under her, "it's not right. They shouldn't just be able to go on because their blood is supposedly oh-so-pure! Who cares? What about the poor kids? What about the halfbloods? Do they get an automatic pass?"

"Best not to begin that debate," Kessler warned, refilling his glass again. "This department's enrollment has been declining. We need to concentrate on passing the students we have. Their good will means that their siblings and their children will continue to enroll in our courses." He glugged the last of the bottle into the glass, holding it upright until the last drop slid out. "The Durmstrang Institute's Dark Arts courses are known throughout the world. However, there has been considerable pressure from the Aurors and the various Ministries for years to remove them from the curriculum. It is only tradition and the good will of the great families that these courses remain. You do wish to have a job, no?"

The almost-forgotten Rabe, looking both confused and put out, said, "Yes, as Professor Kessler has related..."

"So, Rose, the gist is that you need to just pass them and get them out of here. The less fuss you make, the better." With that, Wronski stood, hefted his satchel and left.

"It is decided then." With a last sigh, Kessler tipped the last of his drink back. He slammed the glass solidly against the tabletop before he rose. "Ignore the Adler whelp. If he grows too bothersome, then assign him a topic to research. Do not cause the rest of us trouble."

* * *

"Trouble," Jones sneered for the umpteenth time. "All I want to do is my job and they accuse me of causing trouble." She sat at her desk, smoking the last cigarette from what had been a full pack when she had begun two hours earlier. Her ashtray grew a smoldering pile of butts from which a gray frosting of ash flooded to form a halo on her desk. Everything about the meeting ate at her, from the pompous way that Rabe had wagged a finger at her to the defeated tone in Wronski's voice when he told her to just pass Adler. A spark of blue-collar rebellion boiled inside her. Just because a student came from a wealthy family with a lot of pull didn't seem like a good enough reason to let them do whatever they wanted. They should have to work like everyone else. As she stubbed out the last cigarette, cascading yet another wad of ash onto her desk, she felt another wave of righteous indignation. At that moment, she despised all of her students. Well, most of them.

Burying her face in her hands, she reviewed all their faces. Most were nonentities, fated to pass with mediocre grades, to continue in whatever role their families had dictated. A few could have promising careers in whatever field they chose. The Dieter Hasses were few and far between. He might be a poseur, but he was smart, talented and powerful. She had a suspicion that Adler, while intent on playing the great lord, harbored a better than average intelligence. The fact that he avoided doing any work was irritating. If he just made an effort.... But, the Heinrich Adlers of the universe didn't have to make an effort. Their name alone carried them through. A growl rumbled in her throat at the idea. It just wasn't fair. He ought to have to work like the students in her Detection and Dispersal course worked. With one or two exceptions, they all smacked of working-class people just like her.

The Durmstrang bells tolled for dinner, startling Jones out of her personal hell. Dinner. Her stomach burbled. It was the only enthusiastic part of her. Dinner would be yet another round of bland food eaten stuffed around the table with people who wanted her to give up and give in. Hardly worth getting excited about. Automatically, her hands picked up the now-empty pack and shook it for another cigarette. Nothing. With one hand, she crushed the paper and cellophane into a wad while the other hand searched in her coat pocket. Nothing. She tossed the refuse in the general direction of her wastepaper basket, ignoring whether it made it in or not. It didn't. The need for a cigarette was a habitual response when she wanted to think. Her head buzzed from too much nicotine and her mouth tasted horrible, but the habit wanted her favorite prop.

Her search continued through all the drawers of her desk, through all the pockets lining her uniform coat, under her desk, around the chairs in her living area, through the sideboard, under her bed, through the scattered mess of her bedroom until she had to declare defeat. She was out. There wasn't another package anywhere. Between the day she'd had and the week that wasn't even over yet, she had to have more! Besides, the prospect of not eating with the rest of the group was worth the inconvenience of going to the village. The village... Money.... The currency problem. Another search, this time for cash, began. All of her hidey holes in the bedroom yielded a few bills and a handful of change. The living area provided two coins of nominal value. Her jacket pockets came up with a bit more and her satchel held just enough to buy a carton of cigarettes. Food might be a problem. From outside her door, she could hear voices and doors shutting. If she could catch Wronski or Kessler, she might be able to change some money. Bastards. The way they treated her, they should just give it to her.

With a handful of Galleons weighing heavily in her pocket, she raced out the door, hoping to catch someone. At the doorway, Kessler stood chatting. Wronski was nowhere in sight. Jones hustled to where Kessler stood. When she got within a few feet of him, he turned and wrinkled his nose at her.

"Professor Jones," he sounded pained as he spoke. "For the last hour, my quarters have smelled like an ashtray. Next time, when you need to sulk, could you cast some sort of dispersal spell to take the fumes elsewhere?"

Jones skidded to a stop next to him. "Can you change money? I need to buy more cigarettes." She watched Kessler's eyebrows draw down, clearly not encouraged by her choice of words. "C'mon, Siegfried! You'll be to blame if I don't have some to get through tomorrow. You think I'm usually obnoxious? Well, if I don't have something to smoke tomorrow...." She didn't have to finish. Kessler began digging through pockets in search of money.

"How much do you need? I can exchange money as well."

The voice was out of place and Jones, who had been staring intently at every movement Kessler made, jerked around to face Haken. "Not much. Enough for a carton of cigarettes and dinner. I have the Galleons." She clanked the coins together in her pocket for emphasis.

Between Haken and Kessler, she exchanged all of her Galleons, probably more than she needed, for the local currency. It didn't come out exactly even, but she didn't care. All she really wanted to do was get out. She stuffed the cash into her jacket and briefly debated whether she needed a coat. The cold evening breeze nipped at her nose and settled onto her face.

Kessler left, jingling two Galleons together. Haken waited until he was out of earshot. "Professor Jones, has your research been fruitful?"

Still caught up in her decision, it took a few seconds to register that he was talking to her. "Research?" Jones tried to think about what sort of research he was talking about.

"Your interest in the rooms, have you discovered anything new?" Haken's toothy grin bordered on being overdone. It was at odds with the intensity of his stare.

"Not really." It was her puzzle, dammit, and she had every plan to solve it by herself. It was bad enough that she'd had to rely on the book's hints to discover how to find the rooms. Something must have shown on her face because Haken's mouth twitched into an actual smile for a second.

"Ah, well then. Should your search uncover anything, I would be interested in hearing of it." His eyes flickered rapidly as he looked for more clues and then he turned and left.

Fencing with Haken intensified the icy blanket of winter. It was like talking to Werner when he wanted information, only creepier in a way. Werner would have been more persistent with his questions, but there was something about Haken that made her feel that he could almost read her thoughts. It bothered her. A lot. Feeling cold and strangely empty, she went back to her office and pulled out her heavy wool coat. Wrapped up in its blue folds, she felt out of place as she trudged through the first snow heavy enough to stick towards the guardhouse and the Portkey to the village.

* * *

It was earlier in the village. Jones walked through a tavern that was just beginning to fill. The old men who seemed frozen over their endless chess game looked up as she passed. In the corner of her eye, just as the door began to swing shut, she saw one make the sign against the evil eye. The icing to the day.

The line for cigarettes was blissfully short. She picked up two cartons of her usual before spotting a familiar blaze of red and white. American cigarettes. The store carried them, of course, but the prices were higher. Anything that spoke of home looked incredibly desirable. A quick session of mental arithmetic later, she picked one carton of the garish American brand and another of the cheapest variety available. It came out about the same and just having something from home made her feel better. With her purchase clamped under one arm, she stood under a streetlight and counted her money. There was enough for dinner and a bit more. Maybe enough for dessert or, if the store was still open, she could pick up some chocolate as a bribe for her self-esteem after tomorrow afternoon's session of Ritual Magic with her current nemesis, Adler.

She dug her hands into her pockets and hoped that the cigarettes in their slippery plastic bag would stay put under her arm. The way to the kebab house had two possible paths from where she stood. One went close to the Aurors' office and the other went through the main square. Usually, she preferred the quiet alleyway where the Aurors' office was situated. Today, the other street, busy as it was, felt like a better choice. The streets were full of cars whizzing their occupants home. Amazing how busy the sleepy village could look at certain hours.

She dutifully waited with a group of people heading the same direction. It felt good to be anonymous. She trooped along with the small crowd, enjoying the camaraderie of not being a part of anything. No one was traveling with anyone else. They were all on their way home, lost in their own worlds. There was the feeling of quiet relief at the end of a working day. It perked her up. She opened a pack of cigarettes, lit one and began pretending she was just another person walking home after work. No magic. No homework. Nothing except a paycheck at the end of the week. Her group crossed through the square and into an end of the shopping district, what little there was of one. Nothing looked quite like home, but she could pretend. Her Seattle neighborhood had a small town feel to it. During the slow months, when there had been few clients, she had rarely left its boundaries. The voices that intruded into her fantasy weren't speaking English and the cadence was wrong. Signs had funny diacritical marks. The cars' license plates were long and skinny. Not home. She tossed away her cigarette butt and glared about. No. Not home at all. There would be no "home" ever again.

"Are you having the combination plate?"

Jones jumped away from the voice and into a mailbox. Clanging dully against the metal, she dropped her package. Massys laughed while Mueller, still dressed in his black uniform, stooped to pick it up.

"You could have said something!" she gasped, more annoyed at herself for not noticing them than scared.

"We waved, but you did not see." Mueller handed her the plastic bag after peering inside. "You should have mentioned that you needed more. There are less expensive sources than the store."

Jones snatched her precious bag back. Part of her wanted to give up any idea of going to dinner and race back to Durmstrang. That bit whispered loudly that spending time with Aurors wasn't a good idea for someone like her. Someone like her. Right now, she was tired of being "someone like her". "Someone like her" was frustrated with her job and her life. Besides, going back meant missing dinner and having to grade papers for students she was angry with.

"You are going to the little restaurant?" Massys asked, pointing towards the side street where the kebab house was.

"Yeah. I needed cigarettes so I thought it would be nice to have something with spices in it for a change." Her voice had a suspicious tone to it. Before she could change it, she saw Massys' eyebrow arch. Mueller looked impassive, but he usually did. "Sorry. It's been a long day. Have you two eaten yet?" The invitation had a hard edge to it. She was torn between hoping the two were still on duty although Massys was out of uniform, not that that meant anything, and hoping to have someone to talk to who wasn't scolding her about the possibility of failing Adler.

"Do you want company?" Mueller shifted a half step away and folded his hands behind his back, a gesture that made Jones kick herself mentally. She'd spent months flirting with him; he seemed to have warmed up to the idea recently, hadn't he? Now, she'd just pushed him away.

"Don't mind me," she said, looking and sounding worn down. "Dinner will help a lot. Come, eat with me." She forced a weak smile. "You have to promise to be funny, though. I need funny."

No one managed funny until after the food arrived. Just the smell was enough to bring a ray of hope into her gray life. Her unhappiness must have been obvious because Ersen, who took the orders at the restaurant, immediately produced a tall glass full of ice cubes and a can of Coke. Food arrived quickly and was, as usual, delicious. Every sip of ice-cold cola made life better. Things improved with every bite. The men let her relax. Massys made carefully chosen small talk. In a public restaurant, the choice of topics had to be monitored. With a full stomach and a cigarette, Jones decided that maybe it was worth living another day. Feeling sleepy and mostly contented, she nodded through the men rehashing office politics, waking a bit to hear that Werner was back and then dozing again when the talk turned back towards the lack of promotions. Nedim arrived with demitasse cups of Turkish coffee and slices of baklava. The combination of caffeine and sugar hauled her eyes open.

The skies were frozen into pure darkness set with bright stars. The few street lamps were poor rivals to the starlight. Through deserted streets, Massys and Mueller walked her back to the tavern. She thought it was a nice touch; walking the old lady across the street had a flavor of boy scout that was either funny or tragic. She decided that funny would save her pride. Still, it was too good to miss when they reached the busiest street, the ring road that passed by the tavern. Taking Mueller's arm, she leaned on it and cracked jokes about being too old and infirm to be trusted to cross it on her own. The joke apparently didn't translate well. Massys trailed behind and Mueller made a point of supporting her. So much for humor, she thought. She stopped at the door, expecting them to leave. Instead, they escorted her inside. The main room was deserted save for a few diehards clustered at the bar, intent on a televised sports program. Halfheartedly, she began walking towards the bathroom on her way to the Portkey when Mueller caught her arm and gently pushed her towards the back room. Ok, she thought, a beer would be a nice change.

It was. Everything about the evening was a nice change. No homework, no colleagues glaring at her for doing her job, no smart-ass students, no Durmstrang anything. She didn't have to do anything except relax, share her cigarettes with Mueller and watch while Massys lost a game of darts with one of the local police. It was such a nice change that she had a second beer and played such a bad game of pool against Mueller that it was funny. Laughing through the break for the second game, it occurred to her that it had been awhile since she'd had fun at all. With that sobering thought, her game sharpened. Mueller didn't have a chance.

"Ah! You must be feeling better." Massys began arranging the brightly colored pool balls into the rack. "The school year is particularly difficult?" He didn't look at her. Instead, he redistributed the solid and striped balls.

"I've had better," she conceded. Her smile faded and thoughts about other duties oozed out. Homework, tests, lectures, what to do about Adler.... She lit another cigarette, ignoring the one burning in the ashtray. Massys stared at the ashtray and then raised an eyebrow at Mueller.

"Have you had an opportunity to learn more about the warded rooms?" Massys managed to sound nonchalant, focusing instead on chalking his cue.

"Yeah. Some." Her puzzle. She didn't want to share it with anyone. As she watched Massys and Mueller lag for the break, the ownership issue bothered her. It was her puzzle, but she'd solved the part of it she'd set out to solve. She knew how some of the rooms in Durmstrang could be found. If she could believe the chatty book, then there was no uniform key applied to the things. It depended on who had set the enchantments. That made sense. Wasn't she the one always trying to drill into her students that there were usually multiple ways to achieve the same result? Why should the things always be set to respond the same way?

"....those listed in the report. It would be an interesting task to peel back the layers should one be found. Do you not agree?" Massys paused. "Professor Jones?"

She'd missed almost all of what Massys had said. Internal debates required concentration or they weren't worth the time. "Sorry. I'm kind of tired. Could you say that again?" Sloppy. She didn't usually ignore people like that. Especially the police - be they called "Aurors", "Politzia", "cops", "agents" or whatever.

"The report that you read last Sunday," Massys prompted, "within it was listed a succession of spell layers. Do you remember?"

Jones scratched at her head, trying to decide whether to play or not. Tricky decision and one that could turn out very wrong if she misread what was being said. "I remember only a little bit. I was more interested in the glyphs." She took her time lining up a shot, ignoring the fact that it wasn't her turn to play. Simple shot, straight in and she hit the cue ball too hard, sending her target to bounce off against the corner of the pocket.

"You were undoubtedly distracted." Sounding far too disinterested, Massys retrieved the blue ball and put it where it had been and then rolled the white cue ball back towards her. "Try it again."

There was more to it than "shoot again". Jones knew it. Massys and Mueller knew it, too. It was an invitation. The comfortable, fuzzy feeling from the beer disappeared into sharp, hard lines. Balancing precariously in the grayness, she sighted down the cue, considering her options as she pulled the stick back and hit the ball again. The cue ball kissed the blue one perfectly, sending it into the correct pocket as the white one bounced back to an advantageous position.

The door to the tavern swung open to admit a waitress carrying yet another tray laden with pitchers of beer into the room. The jukebox's slightly tinny rendition blatted through.

A smile twisted its way across her lips. She liked the appropriateness of the lyrics, stealing a quick look to catch Mueller and Massys whispering almost silently together. No doubt, Massys had filled all of "the boys" in about her and Haken's visit. No doubt. Chalking her cue, she made no effort to look away when they both looked in her direction. Why? She knew that they wanted information and they now knew she knew. Somehow, that made it just that much better. A favor. Werner collected them, using them like a bludgeon at times with just the threat that he might call one in. Why shouldn't she?

"I take it you're still interested in learning more about the rooms? Yeah. Of course you are." Sniffing a stifled laugh, she leaned on her cue and made a point of looking them over, measuring them. It was always the same everywhere, wasn't it? Well, at least these cops pretended to like her. That was an improvement. "I've learned a few things about how the rooms work."

"Rose," Mueller growled, glaring at Massys first. "This does not have to be the time to discuss these things. You have had a difficult week. You have only just begun to enjoy yourself. We do not have to talk about this at all."

"No. It's ok. I know that this is business." Ignoring the pained expression on Mueller's face, she leaned over and sighted her next shot. "After all, business is business and a job is a job." She said the last in English, hanging on to the refrain that those in her old profession tossed about as a cliché. The balls clacked together smartly. She sent a striped ball and another solid one into pockets. If nothing else, her game had improved. "What's in it for me?" Cold, impersonal, just the way it had to be. That's how these things were. Best not to get involved emotionally.

"You misunderstand."

"No, I think I understand perfectly." Always the same. If she didn't play now, there would be ugly rooms with bright lights, refused phone calls, her wand would be confiscated and, if they really wanted to punish her, there would be spells applied. She'd gotten too soft, too trusting. Some time during the last few years, she'd forgotten the rules. "Call you an Auror," Werner had said when she'd outsmarted the damn black box that Smith and Peterson had hauled out from the US, but that had been a joke, a sham. A good one, though.

Massys switched languages to something she didn't understand. Leaning on her cue stick, she listened to what sounded like gibberish. Massys spoke a number of languages: his native Dutch, French, German, English and whatever it was he was going on in now. Mueller spoke at least two: German and whatever this was. The few times she'd heard Mueller try to speak English, it was clear that his English was far worse than her German. She should thank them for that. The translation spells had been a hindrance at times. Massys' voice rose, showing his frustration. Mueller's small eyes squinted to mere slits and he shook his head repeatedly.

"Excuse me," she interrupted, "it's getting late. Why don't we cut to the chase and you spell out what you want." At least she had something to bargain with. Neither man had ever shown any inclination towards unnecessary force. If Werner were present, that would be different. The Chief Auror had the reputation for ignoring the regulations at times.

Massys continued to talk, pressing some point or other. Mueller held up a hand, turning away from him. "There has been a mistake. There was never an intention to force information from you," Mueller said. Massys sucked in a breath, about to speak, but Mueller stepped forward, hand outstretched. "It was never our intent, my intent, for this to be anything but a pleasant evening. Please, accept my apology."

She looked at his huge hand, then at his face. Mueller, for all she could tell, was sincere. But weren't cops trained to fake sincerity? The thought barged out of nowhere, sparking old fears. Massys hadn't done battle with his inner demons all night. Something was keeping his mind distracted. All the fragile bonds of trust shattered. It would take a lot of work to rebuild them.

"No problem." She didn't take his offered hand, preferring instead to light another cigarette. Something to keep her hands busy. Something to look normal. "So, the rooms." Massys crossed his arms over his chest, dark eyes bright upon her. Mueller's shoulders sagged. The big man stepped backwards to the corner of the table. Boundaries set, Jones took a long drag on her cigarette. Always better to be in charge than the one squirming. "I know how to find three of them." She watched as the number registered. "Yeah, there are probably more. I only know how to find a certain kind of them." She moved forward a step to flick the ashes off her cigarette, using the movement to slide a glance towards the door, estimating her chances of getting out if she needed to. Didn't look good.

"Would you be inclined to show us?" Massys asked, body rigid.

"I might." She let time tick, took another drag, examined her hand and waited.

"What do you want?" Mueller this time, sounding very tired.

"I don't know." A mistake that slipped out before she thought it through. She had no idea what she really wanted except to be able to crawl back into the illusion that they were all just friends out for an evening. The old habits were still there. She could feel the armor trying to settle back down onto her shoulders. Time to be tough, time to be hard. Only she didn't really want to return to that. Life here was much more relaxed than it had been back home. She liked not having to watch her back all the time, not having to worry about what was in the shadows or whether someone would show up at her door who was better, stronger, tougher, faster than she was. Finishing her cigarette, she pinched it out and sucked in her breath when it burned her fingers. A tough gesture she'd cultivated years ago. Now, it seemed a pointless vanity, but a vanity to cling to.

"It would be considered a great service if you were to share the information that you have." Massys' voice had a false ring to it, as if he recited from a manual.

"I don't suppose it would be enough that Chief Auror Werner would consider trying to help me out back home, would it?" Of course it wasn't and, even as she said it, she knew that it would take a lot more than Werner for her to ever be able to go back home. Well, he could get her in, but she'd never get out again. Ever. It would either be a cell or a life without any of her magic. Suddenly, she was very, very tired. All she wanted to do was go back to her quarters and go to sleep. Sleep for days.

"I could speak to him." Mueller stood over her, hands hovering, not touching. She'd never noticed it when he moved.

Jones looked up at him, feeling very small and very tired. He was a nice man. Kid, she corrected herself. Five years her junior. Too young. Should never have tried. "That's ok. I know better. This is home now." Her voice cracked. No tears this time, just resignation. "Hey, wanna play house?" She tried to joke and then realized the joke was on her. It probably didn't translate properly in German.

The whisper of a smile was enough for Mueller. One enormous hand landed compassionately on her shoulder and pulled her into his chest. The other hand patted her head. She managed to maneuver her face away from the buttons on his jacket and let him try to comfort her for a few moments. It was sweet and she really needed someone. That close, she could smell the nervous sweat. Someone coughed in the background. That was enough to remind her that she was in a public place; she pulled away.

"Why don't you come out tomorrow after my last class. I'm done at 1500 my time. I'll show you what I've found. It's only so useful. I'd like to watch you work on it. Maybe that's my price. I want to be a part of the breaking and know what you learn from the exercise. I think that's fair. How's that sound?"

"That would be more than fair."